The Red Light District is truly a sight to behold.  Booths line the alleyways, illuminated by the distinctive red bulbs, filled with girls.  They are essentially, slabs of meat on display for public consumption.  Groups of young men, mostly in threes or fours, tourists from the west, psych themselves up on the open streets, only to walk past the booths in a hurried, embarrassed fashion.   Occationally one makes eye contact, garnering a wink from the girl and a tap on the glass.  He may even approach the booth, and ask how much.  He’s informed it will be 50 euros for “as long as it takes,” and he enters the booth, the curtain is drawn shut, and they head to the back room to finish the transaction.   It’s surreal, but the dutch walk by day in and day out thinking nothing of it.

Nightfall in the Red Light District isn’t much different.  I did lose count of the amount of times I was offered coke or heroin in the street, but for the most part everyone is chill.  There isn’t a large clubbing scene, and for the most part everyone retires to a pub or a coffeeshop.   Despite the night population’s high status and the narrow roads, I never once saw anyone hit by a car, vespa scooter, or bicycle.   the booths are filled, customers for women or live sex shows roam the streets.  And then all of a sudden the gorgeous monolithic church chimes it’s bells to the tune of a hymn.  This hymn flows over the city, in it, around it.  It’s religious tone strikes stark contrast to the Red Light District.  It’s heard over everything, by everyone: the prostitutes and their customers, the coffeeshop owners, the smokers, the drinkers, the angel-headed hipsters, the movers and shakers… echoing into the dark night only slightly illuminated by red bulbs.  Amsterdam after midnight, for the night owls.

Amsterdam is an amazing experience to which I would recommend to anyone.  The photos are uploaded and you will find them in the gallery in the first album.

My plane touched down in foggy Londontown yesterday at 9am, which came as quite a surprise to myself as two small sleeping pills seemingly whisked an otherwise mind-numbing 8 hours of my life away to Dreamland, interrupted only once by a brief but startling interlude of nearly choking to death on my own saliva. I went through the motions of waiting impatiently to leave the plane coupled with watching other passengers ahead of me collect a phenomenal amount of crap they obviously felt they couldn’t go 8 hours without. Then to the queues for immigration, which snaked about the room in an impossibly long line. If ever there was a reason to apply for citizenship and apply for a British Passport, it would be soley of the convenience of reaching immigration and having your pick of whichever line is the shortest. I had missed my hubby terribly, but an outsider may not have noticed that amid the torrent of crankiness and homesickness governing my behavior.

After then sleeping most of the afternoon, I embarked on a long and trecherous journey to Azeroth (or, known by the game name… World of Warcraft). Sometime around 4am the following morning, one hand on the keys and the other sporting a bottle of rum, balls deep in a discussion on voice comms about MMORPG (or online gaming, for those of you not gaming inclined) origins, theories, and mechanics with another, similarly inebriated guildmate, duly noting that it was now getting to be light outside… I decided to go to bed. So, at 7:30am, I actually went to bed. I’ll never drink rum again.

Which brings us to the event of 11:13am this morning. That is the precise time at which my mobile rang, piercing my sleepy and hungover brain. After letting it go to voicemail, I listened to the recording only to realize it was my boss. Sighing and on 3.5 hours of sleep, I gave her a callback. Turns out, due to an error in communication somewhere down the line of no less than ten highly specialized departments in between myself and requesting holiday time, they had forgot to note that I wasn’t actually back in the office until Friday. AkA not today. Her apologies. I was awake. The sun was shining, seagulls crying, and I could hear the waves crashing seaside from my open window. I needed aspirin.

Now that real life is once again in full swing I’ve got a list ten million miles long of things I need to do, and my head is reeling with trying to dissern my own ass from a hole in the ground. I’ve got to apply for a credit transfer of the university credits I received whilst studying in Louisiana to see (with a high probability of disappointment) if ANYTHING from that two year “experience” (read: worst two years evar) is actually salvagable. Upon getting the yay or nay, I’ve then got to enrol into the fall semester which, lucky for me, doesn’t begin until October.

The renewal of our lease agreement came through the post today, reminding us we really need to be swift about getting a mortgage, lest we find outselves locked in again. I am quite excited at the prospect of being a homeowner, especially since it means we can make the space entirely our own. I also find the idea of taking a Sunday afternoon to browse through what’s available on the market appealing.

I’ve got to study for and take a “life in the UK” exam as just a small portion of what’s expected in order to apply for the next step in my visa: Indefinite Leave to Remain. ILR will grant me unrestricted, limitless existence in the UK ( I am a firm believer that the fact I pay taxes should also grant me this, but whatever… free healthcare.) And send off yet another lengthy parade of proof, from mail to tickets to letters of sponsorship, that I have indeed been married and living in the country for the past two years. Fun.

I took surprisingly little photos while in the US, but here are a couple of recent shots anyways:

Roebling Suspension Bridge in Cincinnati, Ohio (the second longest suspension bridge of it’s kind in the US, second only to the Brooklyn Bridge. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle).

I call this one “Flying.” The Location is the South Downs here in the UK, and I have no idea who the kid is, but his actions made for an awesome photo. Thanks, Random Kid, wherever you are.

My polish friend, Alicja, who doesn’t like to be photographed. Bless her little cotton socks, she humors me anyways.

You can view the images full size at http://www.flickr.com/photos/othereden/

Something that has really cheesed me off when sharing my work is people who feel the need to say “you over-edit your photos.” No, no I do not. I edit them right to the point in which I like how it looks, which just so happens to be the exact measurement of awesome in photo editing. For me, the post editing work is just as important as the shot itsself, where you can choose to ever so slightly enhance the natural beauty of the image, or go completely off the wall and create a piece of art that eerily reminds you of those years you spent as a teenager experimenting with psychotropic drugs (not me, I’m just saying). For myself, I like to go one or two clicks past natural and into surreal because, at the end of the day, it’s more than just photography… it’s art. I like my skies dark and cloudy… which luckily for me requires very little editing given I live in ENGLAND.

The time now is 1am and I do believe I hear the drums of war calling from the distant shores of Azeroth. Peace.