The Life and Times of the Curious Cockroach

Angry Letter to Mayor of Brussels
Written: February 1st, 2009 at 3:34am
Reason for being written: tripping over cobblestone 17th time since arrival in Brussels
Intended to be sent: February 2nd, 2009 at 9:00am
Reason for not being sent: had second thoughts when read it sober next morning

Dear Sir,

We hope this letter finds you well. We understand you have been keeping busy this month, dealing with the dairy farmers’ strike and all. We imagine it isn’t easy concentrating on your work as Mayor of Brussels, what with the tractors circulating around city hall with life-size plastic cows taped to them. We would hand-deliver this letter to you, but fear that we would become one of those unfortunate souls we read about in the papers, who get drenched in sour milk and are forced to endure the running commentary emanating from inside the cows.

Today we have an equally pressing matter to bring to your attention: it is that your entire city is paved with cobblestones. Now now, we understand that tourists love that “old” look. In fact, we were just as charmed by the stones when we arrived in Brussels five months ago. After numerous incidents, however, we regret to inform you that cobblestones are:

1) a menace to public health,

2) an impediment to a lady’s dignity, and

3) dare we say, a matter of national security. Read the rest of this entry →

Written on December 2nd, 2008, at 6:01pm
Location: bathroom stall, super posh Brussels restaurant
Emotional state: indescribable

Here I am: standing in a bathroom stall with marble floors, clutching my boyfriend’s love letter in my hand, watching with complete awe as the automated toilet seat before me rotates while cleaning itself and perfuming the air, and wondering if the ten or so American CEOs in the private dining room outside are aware of the fact that I’ve been hiding in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes. My eyes are glued to the technological display before me – imagine flashing lights, whistling noises, and the occasional rose petal blown forth – and I feel a mixture of happiness (boyfriend’s letter), wonder (auto toilet seat), and panic (CEOs outside). Oh, and I’m a tad drunk.

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Location: apartment bedroom in Brussels, as far away from electrical outlet as possible
Fun Fact: “Duivelszoon” means “son of the devil”

While I was making carrot soup in the communal kitchen today, Monsieur Duivelszoon (the landlord) popped by the house after work. He was wearing a suit with black polished shoes. I hadn’t seen him for a good few weeks, and last time he had been wearing the exact same outfit.

We had a lovely conversation. Monsieur Duivelszoon told me, with much enthusiasm, that he was a nuclear scientist by day “and landlord by night”.

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