52 REASONS WHY I HATE GENK
Genk, (pronounced Gank) Belgium
February 1999
Hi,
Last week Gene Siskel died. Being away from home and always anxious for news, I read the USA Today article and felt a bit saddened. I "Oooo-ed" with a slightly furrowed brow.
I wasn't a fan of his, or his show. I don't like the idea of film critics. How's someone who doesn't even know me going to tell me what to watch. Are we so retarded that we have to have our movie selections chewed, digested and spit out for us to taste? I'd prefer to dig in and go see a "bad" film myself, rather that take the word of some paid opinionater. How many times have you heard silly people pan movies they haven't even seen cause "The Times" or "The New Yorker" or whatever rag’s reviewer had a problem with the "director's handling of subject" or some other vague flaw.
As for Siskel and Ebert, I wasn't even sure which one was Siskel and which one was Ebert. Now I know. There's the 'Fat One' and the 'Dead One.' Some good always comes out of every tragedy.
The 'Fat One' was on Larry King Live. He spoke how his partner had been living in pain for the past month, yet never complained. What the fuck is wrong with people, with our culture!!! Jesus! Have we come to look so negatively on complaining that a dying man with a tumor the size of a football can't even whine a little bit. It seems like imminent death under excruciating circumstances should allow one to bitch and scream a four-letter expletive now and again. I think our country has gotten too hung up on having a positive mental attitude. Going around with a smile on your face while ten thousand demons are sticking pitchforks into the back of your skull is not saintly, it's stupid. Yell, scream, complain, curse and make life a living hell for those around you. This... will make the death process a lot easier for those left behind. Constant complaining will lessen their grief and bring a sigh of relief that your cranky ass has finally been quieted.
Complaining is the way we release the burden of our problems and dump some of the weight on others. Lots of healthy minded individuals "Don't want to hear it." They go their merry way, choosing to carry only the heaviness of their own thoughts. Others, the 'kind hearted', the 'sympathetic', the 'caring', not only have their own burdens, but open ears wide to listen to the nattering of malcontented 'friends.' These people are great to find when you really want to bitch. They will listen patiently while you rant, complain and whine, after which, you walk away lighter and happier, like you just took a good shit. And they, bodies bent, faces in empathetic despair, struggle to drag themselves up again.
If you know people like this who are always willing to listen to your crap, don't clue them in, don't reveal how they're fucking themselves by taking on your negative mental load. ‘Cause without them, we’d be forced to sit alone in a room, battered by the echoes of our own never-ending gripe-fest. Kind of takes the fun out of it, huh?
Not that I’m complaining but…
I've been in Genk, Belgium (about an hour from Brussels) for almost a month now and feel I can accurately assess the whole country and evaluate its entire people based on my experiences. This is a place that I would rather stick hot needles into my eyes than live on any permanent basis. Why?
1. It's cold here. Not just cold; tit-freezing, ball contracting, below zero cold. And everyday is a new variation of gray. Yesterday it was light gray and rainy. Today is dark gray with ice. Last week it was gray-gray with snow flurries. I’ve heard there’s a direct correlation between bad weather and suicide rates. I’m surprised there’s anyone here left alive.
3. I stepped in dog shit for the fourth time yesterday. People in Europe love dogs. There is no such thing as a law making one pick up after poochie, consequently doggie presents are everywhere waiting for deep-grooved snow shoes to come along and grind into their soft mushy stinkiness.
7. People here aren't friendly. Okay, I was raised in California and do have "Have a nice day!" permanently etched into my subconscious, but here, people don't smile when they talk to you and they don't EVER start conversations with strangers. I was in a restaurant and the waitress NEVER smiled or asked how the meal was, or did anything other than take the order and put the food down. Maybe because you don't tip here, there's no reason for them to be nice, or even happy, or even hide the fact that they hate their meaningless small lives. I'll take an arrogant LA actress/waitress/money-whore any day to these pale faced automatons.
10. I am Black. We've been around for a while. We're on TV and have been exposed to the whole world. Why do I have to get stared at every single day I set my shit-stained shoes out onto the street? Not just a polite glance and then turn away, but a long up and down glaring inspection. It was funny week 1, but by now it's just plain old and downright annoying. Unfortunately, saying, "What the fuck are you looking at?" in Dutch is just too damn hard for my American-dialected mouth to articulate.
12. The language is impossible to learn. I tried, I bought a tape. I speak French, studied Latin, a little German, Italian, even some Chinese. (Well, not really but I bought tapes) The pronunciation of the Flemish language is impossible for me. There are a lot of "Hhhhjjjjjouuuyaahecccche" kind of sounds that my mouth is lacking the genetic material to make. I don't even think I could say most words without expelling phlegm from somewhere deep inside.
15. The trains here are impossible to figure out and rarely run according to schedule. I stood waiting for a train from Brussels to Genk for twenty minutes. Suddenly people started running down the stairs to another platform. I looked over and noticed the train I had been waiting for had changed tracks. There was no announcement, no warning, no conductor yelling at people, I just had to join the frenzy and run like the rest of them. Luckily, since I lived eight years in NY and have no problem pushing and being aggressive. I got on the train. Also, I took advantage of some older women who had taken a few seconds to stop and stare at me, and jumped in front of them.
22. When you rent an apartment in Genk, you have to take a lease out for NINE years!!! Who the hell knows where they're going to be in nine years??? The people in Genk.
29. There is no free TV. You can buy a brand new Sony 36” color TV but unless you pay an expensive television tax, it’s just going to sit there making a fancy dust-collector. Okay, I pay outrageously for cable at home, that's my silly choice. For some reason I feel I need Showtime, Bravo and HBO 1, 2 and 3. But here, you can't even get basic stations for free. No picture, just lots of pretty static.
31. This really drives me crazy. There is separate heating for every room in this apartment. You must think about what rooms you're going to be in ahead of time and then turn on the heater, otherwise you freeze.
-The kitchen has no heater. Drinks and foods that are to be kept cold, we keep on the stove. ALSO... the hot water must be turned on ahead of time otherwise there is none and the hot water that does come out only lasts for a minute before it's cold again. Something usually as simple as washing dishes has become a well thought out, strategized activity.
-The room with the toilet has no heat. I had no idea how cold a toilet seat could get. I remember reading once how Jackie Onassis had heated toilet seats in one of her houses. I looked on that as disgusting and a waste of money by the overly rich. I'm sorry, Jackie. I understand now. I had no idea how a cold toilet seat can chill you to the very butt bone. The extreme discomfort makes you almost forget why you're sitting there in the first place.
35. People litter here. Yeah, I know, people litter in LA too. But littering annoys the hell out of me. I once broke up with a guy cause he littered… and cheated on me. But the littering bothered me more. I could much more easily tolerate a guy with a drug habit, as long as he tossed his used drug paraphernalia in an appropriate refuse container. Remember the TV show “Romper Room?” Remember hearing Miss Nancy, Miss Mary, Miss Margaret, Miss (fill in the blank) say, "Don't be a litter-bug!"? I still believe that!
37. My boyfriend quit his job at the bank. He had to give THREE months notice, write a letter and go talk to the personnel department. I told him in America you can get a job one day and quit the next if you feel like it.
-He had the flu for a few days. He HAD to go see a doctor and send in an official note. Then he HAD to stay inside the house for fear of company people checking up on him. There are actually people whose job it is to check up on employees who say they’re sick. They come around to your house and spy on you.
40. Everything is government owned, government controlled, government regulated and government provided.
42. I can't find a place to get a bikini wax.
46. You have to bag your own groceries! The stress I've felt while standing at the counter trying to simultaneously bag my groceries and count out the correct amount of foreign currency, while the next unsmiling customer stares and waits for you to "get your act together," is overwhelming.
47. For the most part, buildings are functional and ugly. Most look like Sears stores. Some make housing projects in the worst neighborhoods look like architectural masterpieces. Prewar Belgium cared about architecture and beauty. Postwar Belgium just wanted to get it rebuilt and working. It looks like it.
48. The video stores have the worst selection of movies imaginable: Everything starring Pauly Shore, Ernest, or Sinbad. The shelves are full of movies that came out and went away in a day.
-All movies are in English, with Dutch subtitles. The translations are never accurate. For example, we were watching "Planes, Trains and Automobiles." In one scene a child asks why grandpa always gives him 'noogies.' Dutch translation: Why does grandfather always give me nougat candy? The other child asks why she never gets noogies from grandpa. The mother replies, "He gives you Indian burns." Dutch translation: He gives you chocolate mints. ‘Noogies’ and ‘Indian burns’ have no meaning in Dutch culture. How deprived they are.
49. We went to a theater to see a movie that premiered in the states about six months ago. I guess this is okay if you don’t know it has been out for six months.
-These people have taken the idea of multiplex to a new height. There were sixteen different theaters, all with large screens and plush, comfortable seats. Inside the complex is a bar, a restaurant and game rooms. One hour into the movie, they have simultaneous intermissions in all the theaters and everyone herds out to buy more junk and smoke. People are very reserved during the films, not much laughing or reaction and no one was talking (Well, there was me.) There was no booing, throwing popcorn, or hissing previews; all the things that make movies fun. No one sits for credits here. They don’t care who the key grip was.
50. Everyone smokes and smoking is permitted everywhere; restaurants, bars, trains, laundromats, churches (Okay, I didn’t go to church but I’m sure you can smoke there.) You just have to get used to it. I'm not.
52. Social activities in Genk - You can walk around the three adjoining "malls" if you are thick-skinned enough. Groups of old women with interlocked arms stroll the malls, faces frozen in disapproving scowls.
-You can walk in the park, feed the ducks and chickens (they have wild chickens running around) and get chased and bitten by territorial geese.
-You can stay home and listen to one of five radio stations. Talk radio when you don't understand Dutch isn't too interesting. The other stations can’t decide on formats and try to play everything. (A Frank Sinatra song followed by a rap song, followed by a country song, followed by turning off the radio)
-You can read a book if you’re lucky enough to have brought one. (Who wants to read when there's so much culture around to soak in?)
-Or, you can do as I have done for the past month, develop your domestic skills. Having come here and promising myself to write a book or a screenplay, I have done neither. I have cleaned the apartment, tried old recipes and spent hours ironing his shirts and handkerchiefs. (How do I break it to him that no one uses hankies in America, except old men? Maybe since I starched them all, he’ll resort to using tissues.)
So, these have been my experiences in Genk-town. There are a lot more things that bug me about this place but I wouldn’t want to complain. And if you’re like me, you probably “Don’t want to hear it.”
I better run now and turn on the heat and hot water in the bathroom. It’s cold and gray outside and, on a whim, I might just want to take a shower sometime in the next century.
Having a great time.
Wish you were here.
Bernadette
Genk, (pronounced Gank) Belgium
February 1999
Hi,
Last week Gene Siskel died. Being away from home and always anxious for news, I read the USA Today article and felt a bit saddened. I "Oooo-ed" with a slightly furrowed brow.
I wasn't a fan of his, or his show. I don't like the idea of film critics. How's someone who doesn't even know me going to tell me what to watch. Are we so retarded that we have to have our movie selections chewed, digested and spit out for us to taste? I'd prefer to dig in and go see a "bad" film myself, rather that take the word of some paid opinionater. How many times have you heard silly people pan movies they haven't even seen cause "The Times" or "The New Yorker" or whatever rag’s reviewer had a problem with the "director's handling of subject" or some other vague flaw.
As for Siskel and Ebert, I wasn't even sure which one was Siskel and which one was Ebert. Now I know. There's the 'Fat One' and the 'Dead One.' Some good always comes out of every tragedy.
The 'Fat One' was on Larry King Live. He spoke how his partner had been living in pain for the past month, yet never complained. What the fuck is wrong with people, with our culture!!! Jesus! Have we come to look so negatively on complaining that a dying man with a tumor the size of a football can't even whine a little bit. It seems like imminent death under excruciating circumstances should allow one to bitch and scream a four-letter expletive now and again. I think our country has gotten too hung up on having a positive mental attitude. Going around with a smile on your face while ten thousand demons are sticking pitchforks into the back of your skull is not saintly, it's stupid. Yell, scream, complain, curse and make life a living hell for those around you. This... will make the death process a lot easier for those left behind. Constant complaining will lessen their grief and bring a sigh of relief that your cranky ass has finally been quieted.
Complaining is the way we release the burden of our problems and dump some of the weight on others. Lots of healthy minded individuals "Don't want to hear it." They go their merry way, choosing to carry only the heaviness of their own thoughts. Others, the 'kind hearted', the 'sympathetic', the 'caring', not only have their own burdens, but open ears wide to listen to the nattering of malcontented 'friends.' These people are great to find when you really want to bitch. They will listen patiently while you rant, complain and whine, after which, you walk away lighter and happier, like you just took a good shit. And they, bodies bent, faces in empathetic despair, struggle to drag themselves up again.
If you know people like this who are always willing to listen to your crap, don't clue them in, don't reveal how they're fucking themselves by taking on your negative mental load. ‘Cause without them, we’d be forced to sit alone in a room, battered by the echoes of our own never-ending gripe-fest. Kind of takes the fun out of it, huh?
Not that I’m complaining but…
I've been in Genk, Belgium (about an hour from Brussels) for almost a month now and feel I can accurately assess the whole country and evaluate its entire people based on my experiences. This is a place that I would rather stick hot needles into my eyes than live on any permanent basis. Why?
1. It's cold here. Not just cold; tit-freezing, ball contracting, below zero cold. And everyday is a new variation of gray. Yesterday it was light gray and rainy. Today is dark gray with ice. Last week it was gray-gray with snow flurries. I’ve heard there’s a direct correlation between bad weather and suicide rates. I’m surprised there’s anyone here left alive.
3. I stepped in dog shit for the fourth time yesterday. People in Europe love dogs. There is no such thing as a law making one pick up after poochie, consequently doggie presents are everywhere waiting for deep-grooved snow shoes to come along and grind into their soft mushy stinkiness.
7. People here aren't friendly. Okay, I was raised in California and do have "Have a nice day!" permanently etched into my subconscious, but here, people don't smile when they talk to you and they don't EVER start conversations with strangers. I was in a restaurant and the waitress NEVER smiled or asked how the meal was, or did anything other than take the order and put the food down. Maybe because you don't tip here, there's no reason for them to be nice, or even happy, or even hide the fact that they hate their meaningless small lives. I'll take an arrogant LA actress/waitress/money-whore any day to these pale faced automatons.
10. I am Black. We've been around for a while. We're on TV and have been exposed to the whole world. Why do I have to get stared at every single day I set my shit-stained shoes out onto the street? Not just a polite glance and then turn away, but a long up and down glaring inspection. It was funny week 1, but by now it's just plain old and downright annoying. Unfortunately, saying, "What the fuck are you looking at?" in Dutch is just too damn hard for my American-dialected mouth to articulate.
12. The language is impossible to learn. I tried, I bought a tape. I speak French, studied Latin, a little German, Italian, even some Chinese. (Well, not really but I bought tapes) The pronunciation of the Flemish language is impossible for me. There are a lot of "Hhhhjjjjjouuuyaahecccche" kind of sounds that my mouth is lacking the genetic material to make. I don't even think I could say most words without expelling phlegm from somewhere deep inside.
15. The trains here are impossible to figure out and rarely run according to schedule. I stood waiting for a train from Brussels to Genk for twenty minutes. Suddenly people started running down the stairs to another platform. I looked over and noticed the train I had been waiting for had changed tracks. There was no announcement, no warning, no conductor yelling at people, I just had to join the frenzy and run like the rest of them. Luckily, since I lived eight years in NY and have no problem pushing and being aggressive. I got on the train. Also, I took advantage of some older women who had taken a few seconds to stop and stare at me, and jumped in front of them.
22. When you rent an apartment in Genk, you have to take a lease out for NINE years!!! Who the hell knows where they're going to be in nine years??? The people in Genk.
29. There is no free TV. You can buy a brand new Sony 36” color TV but unless you pay an expensive television tax, it’s just going to sit there making a fancy dust-collector. Okay, I pay outrageously for cable at home, that's my silly choice. For some reason I feel I need Showtime, Bravo and HBO 1, 2 and 3. But here, you can't even get basic stations for free. No picture, just lots of pretty static.
31. This really drives me crazy. There is separate heating for every room in this apartment. You must think about what rooms you're going to be in ahead of time and then turn on the heater, otherwise you freeze.
-The kitchen has no heater. Drinks and foods that are to be kept cold, we keep on the stove. ALSO... the hot water must be turned on ahead of time otherwise there is none and the hot water that does come out only lasts for a minute before it's cold again. Something usually as simple as washing dishes has become a well thought out, strategized activity.
-The room with the toilet has no heat. I had no idea how cold a toilet seat could get. I remember reading once how Jackie Onassis had heated toilet seats in one of her houses. I looked on that as disgusting and a waste of money by the overly rich. I'm sorry, Jackie. I understand now. I had no idea how a cold toilet seat can chill you to the very butt bone. The extreme discomfort makes you almost forget why you're sitting there in the first place.
35. People litter here. Yeah, I know, people litter in LA too. But littering annoys the hell out of me. I once broke up with a guy cause he littered… and cheated on me. But the littering bothered me more. I could much more easily tolerate a guy with a drug habit, as long as he tossed his used drug paraphernalia in an appropriate refuse container. Remember the TV show “Romper Room?” Remember hearing Miss Nancy, Miss Mary, Miss Margaret, Miss (fill in the blank) say, "Don't be a litter-bug!"? I still believe that!
37. My boyfriend quit his job at the bank. He had to give THREE months notice, write a letter and go talk to the personnel department. I told him in America you can get a job one day and quit the next if you feel like it.
-He had the flu for a few days. He HAD to go see a doctor and send in an official note. Then he HAD to stay inside the house for fear of company people checking up on him. There are actually people whose job it is to check up on employees who say they’re sick. They come around to your house and spy on you.
40. Everything is government owned, government controlled, government regulated and government provided.
42. I can't find a place to get a bikini wax.
46. You have to bag your own groceries! The stress I've felt while standing at the counter trying to simultaneously bag my groceries and count out the correct amount of foreign currency, while the next unsmiling customer stares and waits for you to "get your act together," is overwhelming.
47. For the most part, buildings are functional and ugly. Most look like Sears stores. Some make housing projects in the worst neighborhoods look like architectural masterpieces. Prewar Belgium cared about architecture and beauty. Postwar Belgium just wanted to get it rebuilt and working. It looks like it.
48. The video stores have the worst selection of movies imaginable: Everything starring Pauly Shore, Ernest, or Sinbad. The shelves are full of movies that came out and went away in a day.
-All movies are in English, with Dutch subtitles. The translations are never accurate. For example, we were watching "Planes, Trains and Automobiles." In one scene a child asks why grandpa always gives him 'noogies.' Dutch translation: Why does grandfather always give me nougat candy? The other child asks why she never gets noogies from grandpa. The mother replies, "He gives you Indian burns." Dutch translation: He gives you chocolate mints. ‘Noogies’ and ‘Indian burns’ have no meaning in Dutch culture. How deprived they are.
49. We went to a theater to see a movie that premiered in the states about six months ago. I guess this is okay if you don’t know it has been out for six months.
-These people have taken the idea of multiplex to a new height. There were sixteen different theaters, all with large screens and plush, comfortable seats. Inside the complex is a bar, a restaurant and game rooms. One hour into the movie, they have simultaneous intermissions in all the theaters and everyone herds out to buy more junk and smoke. People are very reserved during the films, not much laughing or reaction and no one was talking (Well, there was me.) There was no booing, throwing popcorn, or hissing previews; all the things that make movies fun. No one sits for credits here. They don’t care who the key grip was.
50. Everyone smokes and smoking is permitted everywhere; restaurants, bars, trains, laundromats, churches (Okay, I didn’t go to church but I’m sure you can smoke there.) You just have to get used to it. I'm not.
52. Social activities in Genk - You can walk around the three adjoining "malls" if you are thick-skinned enough. Groups of old women with interlocked arms stroll the malls, faces frozen in disapproving scowls.
-You can walk in the park, feed the ducks and chickens (they have wild chickens running around) and get chased and bitten by territorial geese.
-You can stay home and listen to one of five radio stations. Talk radio when you don't understand Dutch isn't too interesting. The other stations can’t decide on formats and try to play everything. (A Frank Sinatra song followed by a rap song, followed by a country song, followed by turning off the radio)
-You can read a book if you’re lucky enough to have brought one. (Who wants to read when there's so much culture around to soak in?)
-Or, you can do as I have done for the past month, develop your domestic skills. Having come here and promising myself to write a book or a screenplay, I have done neither. I have cleaned the apartment, tried old recipes and spent hours ironing his shirts and handkerchiefs. (How do I break it to him that no one uses hankies in America, except old men? Maybe since I starched them all, he’ll resort to using tissues.)
So, these have been my experiences in Genk-town. There are a lot more things that bug me about this place but I wouldn’t want to complain. And if you’re like me, you probably “Don’t want to hear it.”
I better run now and turn on the heat and hot water in the bathroom. It’s cold and gray outside and, on a whim, I might just want to take a shower sometime in the next century.
Having a great time.
Wish you were here.
Bernadette
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