Okay, so, less than twenty-four hours after my rant against Belgian bureaucracy, the old bureaucratic machine creaked into astonishing action.
Several panicked phone calls, email debates, and amazing feats of bureaucratic strength later, my visa application is submitted and I am much closer to touching down in Brussels. I should be able to arrive before September 15th (aka the first day of class).
Believe me, there is much rejoicing in the ATL tonight :)
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
That obligatory awkward introductory message
Setting up a blog is a convoluted process.
First, you've got to pick a title. You try several. They are all taken. You mutter under your breath about everyone fancying themselves an author these days. You then listen to yourself muttering. You are being hypocritical. Also, you sound like you are a grumpy old man.
You decide that people probably haven't used Belgian quotes as blog titles before. You consider a quote by Magritte. Too obscure. No one wants to read an essay explaining what your title means. A quote from Henry Morton Stanley? You conclude Stanley was a pretentious pain in the derriere, the Donald Trump of 19th century Africa. You wonder if he had fake hair too. What about something from a modern Belgian? All you can find are things from EU diplomats about how the Euro isn't going to last much longer than Mr. Trump's presidential bid did. How cheery.
Well, so much for that. How about alliteration? King Leopold's always good for a tongue-in-cheek laugh. Or, at least, you think so, having just re-read the book King Leopold's Ghost. What about Heart of Darkness? That's another good book about colonialism in the Congo. Darkness makes you think of chocolate. Oh, right, that's the other reason you're in Belgium. Chocolate. Can't get better than Brussels' own Leonidas chocolate. Haha. Leo and Leonidas.
You hope everyone else will find the Leopold/Leonidas joke just as funny. You fear that the only reason you think that's a joke is because you just read about Western debt and colonial corruption for forty-five minutes. Typical.
Then you've got to pick a background. Unless you're one of those gifted computer-types (and you are not) you must decide between hipster-tastic bookshelves, antique maps, and dandelions. The maps look serious. Up they go.
Then, descriptions. How on earth are you going to describe yourself? If you were to be accurate, you'd say: slightly-sweaty twenty-two year old who bikes around an Atlanta suburb like the Wicked Witch of the West, haunts her local Starbucks, and scares high schoolers with LSAT prep books and big tomes about the Congo Free State. But no one wants to read that. So, plaster the titles back up. You are not terribly impressed with these titles. You know that you had a lot of help from a lot of people better than you.
Now it is time to press the publish button. You can't find it. You just changed your computer's language to French in a desperate attempt to reawaken the slumbering and rather out-of-shape Francophone beast you know lurks somewhere in your brain. Now you can't understand anything on Blogger. Let's be honest: you didn't really understand it in English. Hrm. Homepage= tableau de bord. Who knew? Now you do.
Ah. There it is. It's in bright, obvious orange. Figures. Click/sigh.
No blog posts! Well, that won't do. What if someone stumbles across your blog while googling "the ethics of public memory"? What if a wayward grandparent looks for your blog and thinks you've disappeared in Europe because it's blank? (Sounds unlikely, but it's happened). This will not do. You must write something.
What about: "Howdy, y'all, welcome to my little blog about colonialism!"?
Too Andy Griffith. Doesn't go with the antique maps at all.
Or: "Welcome to my riveting expose of corruption and denial in European museums"?
No. You are neither Woodward nor Bernstein, and the museum where you'll be working is in many ways the exact opposite of Nixon's White House.
Or: "Yummmmmmmmmchocolatechocolatechocolate"?
Well, that is actually what you are thinking, having just run across a lovely series of pictures of Belgian truffles in your hunt for Magritte quotes. But no one really wants to read a blog written by the Cookie Monster's sister, do they?
Resigned, you come up with this:
Hi, everyone. I'm a recent graduate of Davidson College who's studying law, ethics, and public memory as a master's student at Universite Libre de Bruxelles in 2011-2012. I'll also be assisting with a landmark renovation of the Royal Museum of Central Africa's permanent exhibit on Belgian colonialism in Central Africa. I'd be thrilled to have you along for what promises to be an unpredictable ride through Belgian bureaucracies, postcolonial conflicts, and (hopefuly) Brussels streets on a Vespa scooter.
You re-read your post. You are a little confused. You think you should probably stick with one narrative voice for your next blog post. For now, though, you are going to research Vespas.
First, you've got to pick a title. You try several. They are all taken. You mutter under your breath about everyone fancying themselves an author these days. You then listen to yourself muttering. You are being hypocritical. Also, you sound like you are a grumpy old man.
You decide that people probably haven't used Belgian quotes as blog titles before. You consider a quote by Magritte. Too obscure. No one wants to read an essay explaining what your title means. A quote from Henry Morton Stanley? You conclude Stanley was a pretentious pain in the derriere, the Donald Trump of 19th century Africa. You wonder if he had fake hair too. What about something from a modern Belgian? All you can find are things from EU diplomats about how the Euro isn't going to last much longer than Mr. Trump's presidential bid did. How cheery.
Well, so much for that. How about alliteration? King Leopold's always good for a tongue-in-cheek laugh. Or, at least, you think so, having just re-read the book King Leopold's Ghost. What about Heart of Darkness? That's another good book about colonialism in the Congo. Darkness makes you think of chocolate. Oh, right, that's the other reason you're in Belgium. Chocolate. Can't get better than Brussels' own Leonidas chocolate. Haha. Leo and Leonidas.
You hope everyone else will find the Leopold/Leonidas joke just as funny. You fear that the only reason you think that's a joke is because you just read about Western debt and colonial corruption for forty-five minutes. Typical.
Then you've got to pick a background. Unless you're one of those gifted computer-types (and you are not) you must decide between hipster-tastic bookshelves, antique maps, and dandelions. The maps look serious. Up they go.
Then, descriptions. How on earth are you going to describe yourself? If you were to be accurate, you'd say: slightly-sweaty twenty-two year old who bikes around an Atlanta suburb like the Wicked Witch of the West, haunts her local Starbucks, and scares high schoolers with LSAT prep books and big tomes about the Congo Free State. But no one wants to read that. So, plaster the titles back up. You are not terribly impressed with these titles. You know that you had a lot of help from a lot of people better than you.
Now it is time to press the publish button. You can't find it. You just changed your computer's language to French in a desperate attempt to reawaken the slumbering and rather out-of-shape Francophone beast you know lurks somewhere in your brain. Now you can't understand anything on Blogger. Let's be honest: you didn't really understand it in English. Hrm. Homepage= tableau de bord. Who knew? Now you do.
Ah. There it is. It's in bright, obvious orange. Figures. Click/sigh.
No blog posts! Well, that won't do. What if someone stumbles across your blog while googling "the ethics of public memory"? What if a wayward grandparent looks for your blog and thinks you've disappeared in Europe because it's blank? (Sounds unlikely, but it's happened). This will not do. You must write something.
What about: "Howdy, y'all, welcome to my little blog about colonialism!"?
Too Andy Griffith. Doesn't go with the antique maps at all.
Or: "Welcome to my riveting expose of corruption and denial in European museums"?
No. You are neither Woodward nor Bernstein, and the museum where you'll be working is in many ways the exact opposite of Nixon's White House.
Or: "Yummmmmmmmmchocolatechocolatechocolate"?
Well, that is actually what you are thinking, having just run across a lovely series of pictures of Belgian truffles in your hunt for Magritte quotes. But no one really wants to read a blog written by the Cookie Monster's sister, do they?
Resigned, you come up with this:
Hi, everyone. I'm a recent graduate of Davidson College who's studying law, ethics, and public memory as a master's student at Universite Libre de Bruxelles in 2011-2012. I'll also be assisting with a landmark renovation of the Royal Museum of Central Africa's permanent exhibit on Belgian colonialism in Central Africa. I'd be thrilled to have you along for what promises to be an unpredictable ride through Belgian bureaucracies, postcolonial conflicts, and (hopefuly) Brussels streets on a Vespa scooter.
You re-read your post. You are a little confused. You think you should probably stick with one narrative voice for your next blog post. For now, though, you are going to research Vespas.
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