It’s content, generalization, and motives are highly offensive, however transparent.  Lets review.

1. Just because the kid is holding his finger in a crack doesn’t mean he’s Dutch.  That would make most of the guys in New York and San Francisco Dutch, and that’s not probable.
2. The kid is obviously dressed in Lederhosen.  Lederhosen are German.  There is the matter of Germany having occupied the Netherlands.  It is not OK to confuse invaders with the invaded.  That’s like calling Europeans…I mean, that’s like calling Romans…, I mean that’s like calling Turks…Well, maybe it is conventional to confuse invaders with the invaded, but it still not OK, and it still pisses me off.
3. I’m going to assume this comic is poking fun at the kid who stuck his finger in a dike to plug a hole.  Dikes hold back water, so his intent was to keep water from leaking through the dike.  So why is the kid holding his finger in a wall?    Is he heroically trying to keep air from escaping from China into Mongolia?  If so, he has the small matter of the air moving freely across the top of the wall to worry about first.  This kind of misplacement of priorities is atypical of the Dutch and more prominent in Belgians.  But Belgians don’t wear Lederhosen.

Based on the above observations, I can only assume the comic’s intent is to deliberately start a war between The Netherlands, Belgium, and Germany.  Of the three, only Germany has a history of aggressiveness, so my only conclusion can be that this is the work of a Neo-Nazi bent on world domination.

Suffice it to say, I’m very disappointed in the New Yorker for not seeing through this obvious trick.

That said, a friend from work recently left for a vacation in Cannon Beach.  I received this email from him:

No pictures, no movies – just thoughts.

So I drive through all two blocks of Cannon Beach, all of which are dedicated to the Beach – Kites, bikes, sand castles, and more.

I’m getting into ‘Vacation’ now, and looking forward to going to sleep with the waves riding up on the beach.

As I pull into the hotel parking lot, I get stuck behind a car that won’t seem to turn – and I have no idea what’s going on.

While I’m waiting, I notice a bumper sticker – “I see Dutch people”.   [sigh]

First lesson of my 2009 vacation – no matter how far you go, you can’t escape the Dutch Monkey.

I think we can all agree that I need this bumper sticker.  Accepting donations now.

Although the tradition of a saint delivering gifts to children across the land is shared by both the American Christmas and the Dutch Sinterklaas, the style of the gift-giving is very different. I can’t really speak first-hand about how a typical Dutch family celebrates, but I am to understand it’s fairly similar to what my family did.

The evening starts off with singing various songs, among them “Zie Ginds Komt de Stoomboot” (“Look Here Comes the Steam Boat”), “Zie de Maan Schijnt Door de Boomen” (“See the Moon Shines Through the Trees”), and the all-time classic, “Sinterklaas, Kapoentje” (“We Made Up the Word ‘Kapoentje’ to Rhyme With the Word ‘Schoentje’”).

When we were children, my dad would leave the room after we sang to go work on the car, which always had engine trouble on Sinterklaas. Shortly thereafter, Zwarte Piet would throw pepernoten into the living room through open doors and windows. This had the effect of sending me into terrified hysterics. Most of my memories of this activity involve me hiding behind the couch crying. And, as far as I can remember, I never connected the engine trouble with Zwarte Piet’s arrival.

After the pepernoten, we sit down to fresh-baked rolls for dinner. To our “surprise” and “delight”, we each discover a small, rolled-up note inside our roll when we cut it open. Upon the note is found a riddle, the answer to which reveals the location of the evening’s first gift. We all scurry off around the house to retrieve our gifts and return to the table to open them. We finish the meal before festivities continue. As a child, this felt like standing in front of the toilet after drinking seven strong cups of coffee and being unable to get your pants undone.

After dinner, the real festivities really kick in. This is where it gets to be really fun. Traditionally, the Dutch make what are called “Surprises” (pronounced “sur-pre-sus”) which consist of a gag gift and one or more clues which lead to the actual gift, or a poem. A Surprise with a “gedicht” (poem) makes as much fun of the receiver as possible; no holds barred. The harsher, the better. The receiver then has to read the poem aloud while everyone else listens.

Due to my dad’s position as family alpha-male, he has always been a prime target from all sides. Anyone who knows him knows his lifestyle does not leave a paucity of ammunition. My grandmother has always been particularly good at this, writing such clever poems that we would usually have to take breaks while he read it to catch our breath from the laughing fits. Let me put it this way: sarcasm is not lost on the Dutch.

A Surprise that involves a gag-gift usually needs to be disassembled in order to find the riddle that instructs the receiver of where to find their real gift. A classic example of this was Michelle’s first Sinterklaas with my family. At the time, she was working in a medical research lab as a lab scientist. Michelle received her Surprise from my mother: a small, low dish filled with a green slime with a slip of paper at the bottom. Accompanying it was a note that read, “There’s something fishy in this here petri dishy.” Michelle had to dig through the slime (Jell-o) to get the note out and retrieve her gift.

What is particularly nice about this style of gift-giving is that it really encourages the giving of thoughtful gifts. There is usually less gift-giving, but everyone waits their turn and pays attention to the others while they open their gifts; everyone joins in the enjoyment of each gift as it is being given.

Here is an alternative perspective on Sinterklaas:

Download audio file (Sinterklaas.mp3)

In any case, Gelukkig Sinterklaas!

Apart from us both getting sick, we had a great time running around my home country. It is always a pleasure to be in Europe, but to have the chance to show Michelle my favorite places and spend time with family that we see all too infrequently was a real privilege.

Here is a high-level overview of our trip:

Day 1: After delayed flights and the usual confusion brought on by being in UnAmerica, Michelle and I finally met up at our hotel in Amsterdam. Thrilled to see each other, we popped out for dinner and enjoyed a nice bottle of wine. After dinner, I brought Michelle over to a Snackbar that I had spied with my little eye while trying to find a parking spot. Michelle was introduced to the almighty Croquette. And it was good.

Day 2: My cousin Jochem, who lives in Amsterdam, met up with us in the city center and took us around to his favorite places in town. Amsterdam is a wonderful city and, although it is a small city by many standards, it has so many distinct neighborhoods and such a diverse culture that it feels larger than it is.

Day 3: We traveled a sixth of the way across the country (about fifty kilometers) to Delft, my favorite city on Earth. We started the day by popping down to the market to score some fresh stroopwaffles. Michelle’s life will never be the same. After that, my Uncle Gijs and Aunt Vibeke took us to the Kinderdijk, which is a windmill museum in the province of South Holland. We had lunch in Schoonhaven before returning to Delft to have dinner with my cousin Barent in Leiden.

Day 4: We kicked around Delft and took Gijs and Vibeke out to dinner.

Day 5: We went to Amsterdam to meet my cousins Deborah, Folkert, and Coen and spent the day walking around town, visiting cafes, and shopping. The big event of the day was taking a boat tour of the canals in Amsterdam with a racist boat captain who was so thrilled to have actual Dutchmen on the boat that he spent the boat ride spewing racist jokes at us.

Day 6: We had a ‘rest’ day at my Aunt Doortje and Uncle Max’s house in Utrecht. My dad is knowns as a bit of an over-packer, and traditionally takes up a minimum of three rooms while repacking suitcases. Not one to disappoint family, Michelle and I arrived with the maximum number of suitcases allowed by the airlines, and proceeded to occupy the requisite number of rooms while trying to figure out how to get all our things packed into the right suitcases (this goes to India, this goes to Seattle, etc). My cousin Welmoed, who has since moved to New York City, Jochem, and his girlfriend Anette all joined us for a wonderful dinner in town.

On top of that, I was raised in Minneapolis, MN. I always thought Minnesotans were a friendly lot; people even use the phrase “Minnesota Nice” to describe us. I didn’t realize until I left Minnesota that “Minnesota Nice” facetiously means “Minnesota Ice”.

Given this background, I’m not exaggerating when I say I have a large personal bubble and I become very uncomfortable when someone invades what I like to call “Franktopia”. It’s like what they say about Grizzly Bears: if you can see one, you’re probably too close. (As I write this I realize the analogy goes a little farther; you would probably feel better if you had a can of mace on you, as well. It is also not advisable to make direct eye contact.  The sign of a good analogy is that the farther you take it, the better it works.)

To the point, the client where I’m working right now is on the third floor of a building whose elevator is powered by two gerbils in an exercise wheel. As I was returning to the office yesterday afternoon, I noticed a woman running towards the elevator as the doors were closing. Since I was raised with good Dutch manners, I held the door for her. She thanked me as she entered and proceeded to stand directly next to me, nearly pushing me into the corner.

Since most people are clever enough not to take the elevator and use the stairs instead, we had the entire elevator to ourselves and I was already standing on the far left. I’ve been in the elevator with eight people and didn’t feel as crowded as I did with just me and this woman. I don’t appreciate being able to make an educated guess about what conditioner a total stranger is using.

As soon as someone invents a Personal Bubble Force Field Generator (PSFFG), I will be the first to order one. And, since I’m guessing that once we invent one of those, light sabers will be right behind it, I’ll pre-order one of those, too. With a green blade.

But the truth is that the Dutch are simply a practical people. The Dutch freely gave New Amsterdam to the English not because they didn’t dare fight, but because New Amsterdam was run by an evil corporation which treated the settlers on Manhattan Island very poorly. The English guaranteed the Dutch that they could continue to live as they had before, without loss of status or possessions. It was much more sensible to maintain the status quo than to die fighting for a company that had no respect for their lives in the first place. The English honored their commitment and the Dutch continue to have a strong presence in New York City today. (The term Yankee is based on the Dutch name, “Jan Kees.” Even the American word “boss” comes from the Dutch word “baas”.)

The point is that we’re not likely to get into a fight when it doesn’t make sense. But we can fight like Bruce Lee on eight shots of espresso if we have to, and that is exactly what we did when Spanish invaded the lowlands in 1568.

I’m sure some of my history is a bit off here, but I’m not about to do any real research and get this 100% right when going from memory will get me about 80% of the way there.

The Spanish were a major world power during the 1500′s and routinely invaded other countries. Compare Sixteenth Century Spain to a modern-day United States, if you will. The Dutch rose up and fought them for 80 years. And I’m pretty sure they weren’t drinking.

During the occupation, the Spanish Duke of Alva was Governor General in the Netherlands. The areas he controlled were densely populated lowlands, protected from flooding by dikes and windmills. (Few people realize that the reason the Netherlands have so many windmills is because they ran the pumps that kept the lowlands dry, as much of the Netherlands lie 10 meters below sea level.) He controlled by force and laid siege on any city which resisted his rule.

One of the major cities in this region is Leiden, which happens to be my parent’s home town. Leiden resisted Alva’s rule, and Alva besieged it in October 1573. It was a difficult city to besiege as the city defense works were very strong (and still stand today) and the soil around the city was very poor and difficult encamp. The leader of the Dutch rebels, William the Silent, tried to help Leiden by sending an army to help. Alva halted the siege in April 1574 to defeat the army of Orange in nearby Mookerheyde before returning in June to continue the siege. The city thought of surrendering because the defeat of their army meant there was nearly no chance of relief, but held on because they knew that the Spanish would kill them all to set an example, as had happened during earlier sieges of Naarden and Haarlem. Thousands of inhabitants died of starvation as a result.

But in September 1574, the Dutch decided to cut the dikes in the south to let the seawater in and flood out the Spanish. As it happened, due to a paucity of storms, it took months before the water rose high enough to lift the siege. On 2 and 3 October, the storms finally came and flooded the lowlands. The floods caught the Spanish by surprise and they lifted the siege and retreated.

The city was on the verge of collapse due to starvation. According to legend, an orphan boy named Cornelis Joppenszoon crept out into the flood plains in search of food after the Spanish left. He found a pot of Hutspot which had been left behind.

October 3 is celebrated every year in Leiden by eating Hutspot. It isn’t known exactly what ingredients were in the Hutspot found by Cornelis, but the typical recipe is to boil equal parts potato, carrots, and onions and mash them up with butter and serve it with sausage. This year, we celebrated a few days early and had our friends over to, as Michelle put it, “all be Dutch for an evening.” Keep dreaming. We had a great time and all pitched in to put a bit of a modern twist on the traditional recipe. Jess graciously made the recipe available on Hogwash.

I also struggle to say various English words and expressions correctly, often mixing up the more subtle details. For example, something like “he can’t tell his ass from his elbow” or “he’s got his head up his ass” might become something like, “he’s got his head up his elbow.” I really feel the burden lies on everyone else to show some flexibility and “get” that.

I get called a lot of names. A lot of them get recycled, like “Old Dutch”, “Dumbass”, and “The Windmill”, but sometimes an original one comes along. For me, it’s an interesting exercise to see who has any creativity and can come up with something new. Just last week, I was chatting with Jim up the street, and he came up with one that I hadn’t heard before. We were talking about building some chairs, and I was having a hard time saying “Adirondack.” It’s a hard word. I even had to go to the spell checker just to type it right, so I don’t have to tell you that saying it wasn’t a picnic either. As I stood there stumbling over “Adree-on-dack…Adeernokdan…Abercrombie….”, Jim jumped in and said, “It’s ‘Adirondack’, you Dutch Putz.”

But being Dutch really pays off, too. For example, we know how to make a totally awesome bike. A bike company just opened in Ballard which specializes in importing and selling Dutch bicycles. The company is called Dutch Bike Seattle and they sell a good range of bikes. There’s a lot of distracting crap on the website like “facts” and “information”, so I don’t recommend you go there. Just stay here, and I’ll take you through the relevant details.

Bakfiets. Get rid of that gas-guzzling SUV. This baby will carry anything you need. In fact, get rid of your bathroom, too, because you can fill this bad-boy up with water and take a bath. Check out the kickstand on this thing. You can also use it to give people rides home from the bar. It’s literal translation is “tub bike”. I can’t wait to test drive one of these babies and check out how she corners. Plus, it has a headlight.

Kruisframe. You may think that means “cruise frame”. That’s not a bad guess, because I’m sure you can seriously cruise on this honker. It’s actual meaning is “cross frame”. I think the extra crosses are to make it heavier to justify the motorcycle kickstand on it. It’s not nearly as versatile as the Bakfiets, but this baby is designed to go uphill fast. They outlawed them in the Tour de France because the Dutchies were kicking too much ass.

Oma. Means “grandma”. There’s a model for dudes called the Opa which – not surprisingly – means “grandpa”. Don’t let the name fool you. This sucker is made for quick getaways. Most of the Dutch Mafia uses these suckers for hits. The saddle is spring-loaded for ejecting into lethal Dutchfu maneuvers.

Comes in 5 sizes: 57cm, 61cm, 65cm, 70cm, or Huge.

My only question regards the sizing. I’m six foot five and my racing bike is a 59cm. Who is the “Huge” size built for?

Dutch Lesson: “Tante” [tahn-tah] means “Aunt” in Dutch, and “Oom” [oh-m] means “Uncle”. Doortje is pronounced as Door-t-yah, and has the American equivalent of “Dorthy”. Max is pronounced with the same “ah” that my name has, M-ah-x, and has the American equivalent of “Max”. Max’s sister’s name, Anyez, is pronounced as Ah-n-yez, and has the American equivalent of “Agnes”. Take-away message of the lesson: Dutch people rule.

My response back to them appears to have been a bit “overly excited” because, in hindsight, I’m quite convinced they had not finalized their decision to come to Seattle, but my enthusiastic reply left them with no choice but to come visit us.

A few months later, they emailed again, wondering if we had any suggestions for a car route from Minneapolis to Seattle which avoided the usual suspects like Yellowstone National Park and Mount Rushmore (which looks “fakey”, by the way). We were stumped, but, as luck would have it, we met a great guy at the Tasting Room who highly recommended the Canadian Rockies via Banff as a worth while route.

Taking nearly two weeks to drive from Minneapolis to Seattle via the route we suggested, they arrived in Seattle on Wednesday evening. Unfortunately, we were both unable to take much time off work, so we were left with evenings to spend with them. We recommended various activities for them to undertake during the day while we were at work, including the Underground Tour, Pike Place Market, the Japanese Garden, the Ballard Locks, and a drive along Lake Washington Boulevard. Each evening, we met up with them and showed them a part of Seattle that we love – like Fremont and Ballard – and then we went out for dinner.

For us, this was a wonderful three days of spending quality time with dear family and sharing with them our favorite parts of town.

The basic trouble with seeing family is that it really makes you miss them just that much more.

Photo

This would be significantly cooler, apparently, if there was someone in the family named “Fred”. “Who could we have who would be named ‘Fred’?”, asked Michelle. I assumed the domain of items this included was not restricted to people, but could be anything ranging from wildlife to pets to inanimate objects, so long as a name could be assigned to it. (Michelle has a habit of naming almost anything.)

Suddenly, my memory jumped back to my older brother and his first goldfish named Fred. Shockingly, Fred died. When he did, Erik placed his corpse in a tin Sucrets box, wrapped the box entirely in masking tape and carefully labeled it, “Fred”.

“We kept that box for years. I remember it very well”, I told Michelle, who immediately winced. I continued, “I remember we used to shake the box. The bones rattled.”

And then came the reply, “There’s a dignified death. Becoming a tambourine for a bunch of Dutch kids. Nice.”

In the shocking video below, Steven Colbert lashes out at the Dutch – drawing bold, unfounded conclusions that the Dutch are somehow all doped-up “bong troopers.”

Warning: this video contains disparaging remarks about the Dutch and may not be suitable for all audiences, especially those who don’t like fluorescent light or the Irish.

The entire transcript can be found after the jump. Well, maybe not the entire transcript. I’m a little too lazy and don’t care enough to do the entire transcript. But most of the good parts can be found after the jump. And they may not be transcribed exactly, either, but they’re probably pretty close.

From the Colbert Report’s Steven Colbert:

Worst thing is they’re not the only “Noah it alls”. Some Dutch guy already finished building his own ark in Holland. Hmm…I wonder how someone in Amsterdam came up with an idea like that…I’m sure the whole thing is a front for a floating hydroponic bud farm.

This thing is huge: 3 stories high, two-thirds the length of a football field, and featuring, quote, “a petting zoo, with baby lambs and chickens, and goats. And one camel.” Come the flood, that is going to be one horny camel. My advice to this modern-day Noah: no matter how good you look in it, do no pack the camel hair blazer.

So, at first I scoffed at these arks, but then I wondered, what do hippies and the Dutch know that I don’t – aside from what kind of crystals you can use as a deodorant. Then, it hit me. Global warming is happening – and they’re causing it.

Did you know burning incense and smoking hash releases 20 times as much carbon as a standard SUV? Now, I don’t want to get any letters from the “bong troopers” out there that say that’s not true. I already know that’s not true, I’m the one who made it up. But you have to admit, it does not sound good. These hippies are clearly planning to flood the earth, blame us for it, and use their arc to save themselves. Then they’ll take whatever land is left over and tie-dye it.

The article on CNN.com that the clip is based on can be found here.

So, why do they keep railing on the Dutch, I wonder. Maybe it’s like my mom used to say when I’d come home from school complaining of getting locked in my gym locker again: “They’re just jealous.”

That must be it.

You know, you could all just say, “thank you for your gifts to humanity” – would that really be so hard?