A question for my Dutch friends:  How would you translate the phrase "weet ik veel" into colloquial English?

I was discussing the issue with some (bilingual) American friends today -- and it seemed that we all had a different translation in our heads for this commonly-spoken phrase from Dutch conversation.  I had always thought it was basically the equivalent of "I dunno" (which would be ironic, because the actual literal translation of the phrase is "I know a lot").  But one of my friends from the conversation this afternoon had always thought that it meant "Who knows?"  And the other friend seemed to have another potential interpretation (which I can't completely remember right now).  They were, of course, all shades of the same meaning.

But I'd be curious to know how Nederlanders themselves might try to pinpoint the translation of the phrase.

I posed the question to Elliot this evening, before he went to bed, and he said that it meant "I don't know anything" -- basically the same as "ik weet het niet" (I don't know) -- and then he added that he and his classmates are not allowed to use the phrase at school (which I thought was interesting).

I don't think my Dutch-as-a-second-language education will ever be complete... But then again, weet ik veel!

Dear Elliot,

Happy birthday!  This year we celebrate your seventh birthday.  The perfect seven.  The lucky seven.  Seven years old...  Wow.  What's crazy about you turning seven is that we're now getting into territory where I can remember things that happened to me when I was seven years old.  Basketball, baseball, trading cards, reading books... these are all things that you're into these days, which I also remember from my own childhood.  It's kind of cool -- to be able to relate to you more fully in these things... But I also realize that our relationship, as father and son, must also continue to develop, just like you continue to develop.  The very fact that I can remember life back when I was a seven-year-old means that your consciousness is being shaped to a point of permanence now.  Your mind is not just a boy's mind anymore -- but that of a developing man.  We are both men, learning and going through life together.

So it seems to me that this tradition of birthday letters must also change a little bit now.  Not that I'm going to stop writing them.  Nor am I going to make the communication completely private.  As a matter of fact, I like the opportunity to publicly praise you (i.e. posting these letters on the internet)!  Some of the reason for this is because it helps to showcase how wonderful you are, for the whole world to see.  But it's also because it helps me to think deeply about who you really are (not just who I see you to be) and come up with a better way to explain who you are to the rest of the world.  At the same time, I think it would be smart to allow for two different versions of the letter:  a private version of the letter (which I give to you in person) and a public version of the letter (posted here on the internet), which may be edited and shortened so that we don't embarass or endanger either one or both of us.  We are, after all, learning as we go -- sliping and sliding our way through this whole thing of growing up together.

Anyway -- I think the main thing I wanted to write about in this letter, Elliot, is trust.  I've been watching you for many years now, and I've really come to appreciate what a great and trustworthy kid you are.  You're a hard worker.  You always try to do your best.  You're kind and polite to others.  You're sensitive and gentle (even to the point of letting Cor beat you in wrestling!).  You listen well and respond quickly when we ask you to do something.

Of course, you aren't perfect.  We all make mistakes sometimes.  But for the most part, you are trustworthy.  I certainly can't say this about all seven-year-olds, so I really appreciate that about you, Elliot.  I'm very proud to know that I can trust you as a person and as my boy.

Even more importantly, I've come to see that I can trust God in you, Elliot.  I've seen you grow so much over the last year, but your spiritual growth has to be one of the most amazing ways you've grown.  I'm impressed by your sincere and earnest heart to know God, to love Him, and to serve Him with your whole life.  Your faith is your own -- not just something to impress or please others.  You are genuinely following Jesus and learning from him (in ways that even challenge me sometimes!).  How many seven-year-olds can say that they have personally read through Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and into the first few chapters of Numbers?!?  How many grown-ups can even say that?!?  Most children's "Bibles" don't even include the Book of Leviticus (I know this because I tried to find a Dutch kids Bible for you).  Yet since we gave you your own Bible for Sinterklaas, you've been reading it eagerly and expectantly.  And God has speaking to you through your personal study of the Bible.

I think about your spiritual conversations with Burçu... I think about your confident assurance to Nathalia and Marije that Jesus is God's son (and not God's father), based on your reading of the early chapters of John... I think about you deciding to help me wash the dishes after supper that one night "because whatever the Father does the Son also does" (John 5:19)... I think about that morning that we spent praying and walking through the neighborhood and then sitting together at the Coffee Company, when you told me about some of the things that you heard God saying to you... And I know, Elliot, that you are headed in the right direction.

Keep on deepening and developing this trust in God and His Word, Elliot.  The Great King Solomon said that there's nothing like the Bible "for attaining wisdom and discipline; for understanding words of insight; for acquiring a disciplined and prudent life, doing what is right and just and fair; for giving prudence to the simple, knowledge and discretion to the young -- let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance -- for understanding proverbs and parables, the sayings and riddles of the wise.  The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline."  I've experienced this in my own life throughout the years.  But I hope and pray that you will experience this more and more as you continue to grow up.  You're off to a really great start, my boy.  I can trust you more and more because I know that you're putting your trust in God.

But as you move into this next year of your life, Elliot, I also hope you will learn to trust yourself more and more fully.  You need to realize -- like the rest of us already do -- that you're a good kid, Elliot.  You're a smart kid.  You're a gifted and abundantly-capable kid.  And with God as your strength, you can do just about anything that you set your mind to do.  But here's the trick:  in order for your full potential to be realized, you need to trust yourself.  You need to believe that you can succeed -- whether it's catching that ball, or defending that goal, or shooting that basket, or working hard at school -- and then you need to move forward confidently.  Don't let mean kids get in the way of you.  Don't let your worries hold you back.  You've got a good heart, Elliot -- so go for it!  This is not to say that you'll always succeed.  We all have our set-backs:  times where things don't go quite the way we expected or wanted them to go.  But if you can keep trusting in yourself and in God, you can overcome the challenges and emerge on the other side -- stronger, wiser, and more satisfied.  So be strong and courageous!  Stay optimistic!  Persevere!

I wish I could put this all into words more effectively than what I'm doing right now.  Unfortunately, this is just one of the weaknesses of letter-writing.  But the good thing is that we should get to live life together for a good many more years to come -- and I look forward to continually sorting through these things together in due time, my son.

I love you so much, Elliot.  I trust you.  I'm proud of you.  Happy Birthday!

Daddy

As an American, I cannot understand the European fascination with scooters (bromfietsen).  However, there is one thing about scooters that I love:  the smell of their exhaust (I'm not joking).

When I smell the exhaust of a scooter here on the streets of Amsterdam, my mind immediately takes me back to a hot July day at the Jamestown Reservoir, in North Dakota.  I'm probably about 12 years old.  My arms are skinny and shivering -- both from the evaporation of lake water and from the rush of adrenaline that has flooded my system -- but I'm having the time of my life.  I'm clutching the handlebars of a jet-ski, borrowed from my Great Uncle Si.  I'm revving the engine, waiting for it to pull me forward and up, up, up out of the water -- to skim across the surface of the lake like a superhero.

The smell of the exhaust -- produced by the burningof whatever fuel it must be that powers both late-1980s model jet-skis and modern-day scooters -- is exactly the same.

The Dutch are world-renown for their highly developed skills in the fields of design and engineering... And rightly so.  There's a saying that "God made the world; but the Dutch made Holland" -- which is, in fact, quite true as something like a third of the land-mass of the country is actually below sea-level, only made inhabitable by an elaborate network of dikes used to block out the seas and pumps (traditionally powered by windmills) used to keep the land dry.

But Dutch design and engineering goes way beyond land management.  A couple of weeks ago, Marci and I went on a marriage retreat with our church to one of the country's celebrated CenterParcs, in the southern part of the Netherlands -- and I was freshly amazed by the level and sophistication of Dutch design and engineering in my first experience in such an environment.  For those who have never been to (or never heard about) CenterParcs before, the best description that I can think of is that it's like an extravagant cruise-ship -- only using trees and houses and recreational centers spread out over acres and acres of land.  Each CenterParc is like a little "vacation village" -- completely self-contained, such that one would never have to leave the park's grounds.  Everything from grocery stores to bowling alleys to saunas to little "cabins in the woods" -- it's all right there, at the tip of your fingers.  They've seriously thought of everything.

The CenterParcs location that we visited had approximately 1000 bungalows -- with room for an estimated 5000 to 6000 people -- and yet the most amazing thing is that the park is laid out in such a way that it doesn't feel that crowded.  In fact, you look out the patio window of the place where you're staying, and you can't see a single other dwelling!  It's incredible...

Just like on a cruise, there's not just facilities available -- but practically every service imaginable.  You can even study to get your SCUBA diving license in a cold, cold lake in the middle of March!

And when I say that they think of everything, believe me:  they think of everything (the dog toilet below is just a case in point)!  It's absolutely crazy!  I still can't decide if this level of Dutch design and engineering makes me want to mock my host society -- or admire it... But it is, in any event, noteworthy.

But even since returning to Amsterdam after that week at the CenterParcs location, I've been looking around lately and noticing how incredibly extensive the thought and planning that goes into the most mundane aspects of life can be.

For instance:  the streets and sidewalks.  When I first moved to the Netherlands, I noticed a lack of asphalt and concrete (in comparing the streets and sidewalks of Amsterdam to the streets and sidewalks of cities back in Ohio).  To be honest, at the time I thought that everything was paved with stone- and brick-pavers because it had a nice, "Old World" aesthetic to it (bear in mind that I was, of course, a naive young American when I first moved here!).  However, as time has gone on, I've come to see that the pavers serve a very practical purpose -- because the city of Amsterdam (like much of the sea-side country) is built on sand.  Sand that is continually slipping and settling, such that street levels rise and fall slightly over time.  So when it comes to re-paving a thoroughfare in need of repair, all one has to do is turn up the pavers, pound the sand down flat, and lay 'em all back down again.  The same goes for accessing underground pipes and wiring and things like that.  The pavers actually end up being a perfect way to keep the streets looking and working well (though I still think at times that the city often has its employees tear up a particular section of street and put it back together again for no particular reason, other than to give them something to do!).

And then there's the example of the foldable bicycle.  Seriously.  I'm not kidding.  It sounds a little bit silly to an American -- but when you really think about it, in a country like the Netherlands, where the primary modes of transportation are bicycle and public transport (bus, train, etc.), a foldable bicycle really makes a lot of sense.  You can carry your bicycle around easily (and without having to pay extra costs to bring it on public transportation with you) -- and then it's always there again when you need it.

Again, there's a part of me which goes crazy thinking about all the manufactured "wildlife" (most forests here are planned and planted by careful strategy) and dealing with the elaborate bureaucracy that holds it all together -- and I want to make fun of this trait of the Dutch to so carefully plan and engineer all these things.  But then on the other hand, I don't think there's any other way that life would be livable (or at least not pleasantly livable) with 17 million people living on a land mass the size of Maryland without such meticulous attention to the design and engineering of every little piece of land.

In the end, I've got to hand it to the Dutch for being so clever with everything.  There's really something to be said for a society that can fold up bicycles and streets and oceans -- all with an ability to give me my own little "cabin in the woods" with a fireplace and (manufactured compressed wood-fiber) logs to be bought at the CenterParcs corner store for €1.99...

Now you see it...

And now you don't!

For more pictures of the first step of our major kitchen / dining room renovations, you can visit the Family Pictures section of the website.

This is a great time of the year for sports.  College basketball's "March Madness" is just getting started.  The NBA (professional basketball) is also in its home stretch, with teams fighting hard for play-off positioning.  Major League Baseball is in spring training -- with all the hope and hoopla of a new season just around the corner -- while the international "World Baseball Classic" is simultaneously coming to a climax.  And this is all to say nothing of the European soccer (football) leagues and the North American ice hockey league -- which, I must confess, do not hold my personal interest as much, but which are certainly worthy sports, coming to their own seasonal peaks, in their own right!

Aside from the fascination with the sports themselves, though, I had an interesting moment of cultural realization the other day, as I was following the internet coverage of the World Baseball Classic and watching Elliot complete his collection of stickers from the Dutch Eredivisie (the national premier league of soccer).

I was noticing the colors worn by the national teams in the World Baseball Classic (in which the Netherlands and the United States have both had respectable showings this year) -- and in other international sports competitions, too, for that matter.  The Americans always wear red, white, and blue.  And the Dutch always wear orange.  But then I was thinking about the national sports leagues, and I realized that there is an intriguing difference between the American sports leagues (i.e. Major League Baseball) and the Dutch sports leagues (i.e. the Voetbal Eredivisie).  In American Major League Baseball, a disproportionate number of teams (14 out of 30) have adopted red, white, and/or blue as their team colors.  But in the Dutch Soccer Eredivisie, however, only one team (out of 18) has adopted the national colors (orange) for its team colors.  Take a look at the official websites for Major League Baseball and the Eredivisie, if you don't believe me...

Isn't that odd?!?!  Does this say something about the sense of nationalism in these two cultures?  Or does it say something about the national interest in sports?  Or does it simply speak to the aesthetic charm of red-white-and-blue over orange, purely as colors?  Perhaps no one else would find this interesting or compelling in anyway -- but I thought it was fascinating... 

I was bicycling home from work, during the evening rush hour, when I came to the busy intersection of the Wibautstraat and the Oosterparkstraat.  People were pouring out of the Metro station, from the grocery store there at the corner -- and, of course, pulsing through the intersection on car, bus, motorcycle, scooter, bicycle, and on foot.

But there was one person who stood out in the midst of the crowded scene:  a gray-haired man, walking across the Wibautstraat's six lanes of traffic, wearing nothing but a navy-blue terry-cloth bathrobe and white sneakers.

The scene was interesting enough, in and of itself.  But I was especially interested to observe the reactions -- or actually, the lack thereof -- on the faces of the others on the scene.  The man himself was walking along very casually -- not at all self-conscious.  But oddly enough, no one else at the intersection seemed to notice anything unusual at all.  They were all just anxiously watching the traffic light, waiting for their cue to go home, or talking on their mobile phones, or staring blankly ahead.  I felt like I was the only one who noticed.

Such is life in Amsterdam.  The extraordinary is ordinary.  The unusual is usual.  And men in bathrobes-and-sneakers are, well, just men.

I've been reading a book by Doris Kearns Goodwin called "Team of Rivals:  The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln."  And I have to say that I've been freshly impressed by the character and personality of the 16th President of the United States of America.

Abraham Lincoln was a man who knew hardship.  He grew up in complete poverty, with an abusive father and a mother who died when he was just nine years old.  He was never afforded the advantages of formal education (he himself estimated that the entirety of his formal education -- all the way up until passing the Lawyers' Bar Examination in Illinois -- amounted to less than one year).  He had to learn everything he learned strictly by self-study, snatched from any time he could get away from hard physical labor:  splitting rails, piloting river boats, farming, whatever... He was the quintessential American Midwest Frontiersman.

And then, even when he started getting into practicing law and politics, he became something of a perennial loser.  People enjoyed his story-telling ability and sense of humor (these were some of most consistent compliments of Lincoln, throughout his lifetime), but they didn't vote for him very consistently.  He lost numerous local and state elections -- only succeeding in serving one term in the United States House of Representatives before being elected President.  And even when he was nominated to head the Republican campaign in 1860, he was generally considered to be only the 3rd- or 4th-best candidate among the Republicans (they say Lincoln managed to capture the nomination by being the second-favorite of everyone, with little to create objections among the voters, when the other factions stuck stubbornly to their favorite candidates).  He barely won the national election to the Presidency (because the South was united against his party's platform declaring that the spread of slavery into new territories must be stopped), and within months of being elected, roughly a third of the states seceeded from the Union (declaring themselves to be an independent country).  And all of this was before he got elected!

Truly, Abraham Lincoln was intimately acquainted with hardship and difficulty.

But one of the adjectives most frequently used to describe Lincoln in "Team of Rivals" is magnanimous.  Lincoln was gracious towards allies and antagonists alike.  He dealt well with disappointments, defeats, and divisive personalities.  He listened well, even when others were very caustic toward him.  He had a firm personal policy against writing letters in a state of anger.  He was a good and gracious loser.  He exhibited extraordinary humility, but he rarely allowed himself to be swayed from his firm convictions.

It was ironic -- though appropriate -- that Lincoln was President during the time of the American Civil War.

The whole country was being torn apart by opinionated, stubborn, prideful factions.  Not just the slave-holding states in the Deep South.  There were also the "Border States" (like Kentucky, Maryland, and Missouri) who allowed for slavery but didn't want to secede from the Union and slave-holding states who only reluctantly joined the secession out of solidarity for their Southern brethren.  And even among the "unified" Northern states -- even among the Republican party -- there were vast differences of opinion.  Between the former members of the Whig Party and the former members of the Democratic Party (who had been united into the Republican Party because of their opposition to slavery).  Between anti-immigration Americans (particularly set against Irish and German Catholics) and the immigrant populations themselves.  Between radical abolitionists (who saw the abolition of slavery as the main objective of the Civil War) and moderate Unionists (who didn't really care about slavery, particularly out of deference to the Border States, but who felt that the preservation of the Union was the most important goal of the war).  So as he prepared to take office in 1860-1861, Lincoln formed his cabinet from among representatives of all these various factions.  And then, throughout the rest of his Presidency, Lincoln spent his time maintaining the delicate balance in his coalition and leading the country through its perilous period of coming of age.

Lincoln was truly a fascinating person.  I think I'd like to be like Abraham Lincoln "when I grow up." Not necessarily becoming a President (or a politician of any kind) -- but someone fighting extremism, practicing grace and magnanimity, humbly following my convictions, and leading well.

I just found out that, as of yesterday, the location of the next Awaken conference has been changed to SPAIN!  That’s right – our friends in Spain found a conference center north of Madrid, a place in the mountains that is clean and new, with a meeting hall that is a bit smaller than last year’s, a price that is pretty reasonable, and in a country that we as a group have never visited.  Olé!!

With this new change in location comes a decision – this conference center is available both BEFORE and AFTER the New Year, and some help is needed to decide which time would be best.  I was asked by the leaders of GC-Europe to take a quick survey of Amsterdammers regarding the following question: 

So what do you think (and please, only answer if you've actually got a reasonable chance to be involved in the conference)?  I've tried to make a response as easy as possible for you, allowing for interaction with just one click of the mouse.  Thanks in advance for your help in figuring this out!

For the past sixteen months, I've been a part of a fabulous “fiction critique group” with a literary organization here in Amsterdam called WordsInHere.  We've learned a lot from each other along the way, and we continue to grow and develop both as persons and as writers.  Over the last couple of months, we've had to deal with some ethical issues within the group -- and as we worked through things, we realized that we didn't have anything in the way of official guidelines to help us work through the process.  We even tried doing some research on-line, to see how other similar writing groups might handle sticky situations like what we were experiencing...

In the end, though, we decided to write our own guidelines.  And since there seems to be such a relative paucity of information on the internet about guidelines for a writing group, I thought I'd go ahead and increase the "public knowledge" by posting what we came up with, for whatever it's worth (special credit goes to Chris Saxe, by the way, for his work in putting our group conversations down in written form).  So anyway, here are the guidelines that we've developed: 

*     *     *     *     *

The Mezrab Writers Group - Who we are

We are a group of serious writers - some of us published, some of us not published yet. The Mezrab Writers' Group provides us with:

1. A valuable forum for literary critique,
2. Encouragement to reach new heights with our work, and
3. A real "writer's community".

The Writer's Group serves many purposes, but the primary purpose is to be a critique circle: reading each other's literary work as writers and providing feedback about story, character and craft (as requested by the submitting writer). We are of diverse backgrounds - both culturally and literately - and receive inspiration for our work from outside the group, but we can inspire and motivate each other by providing helpful critique to our fellow writers.

How we treat each other's work

The primary requirement of a well-functioning writer's group is trust. In order for writers to feel safe circulating their intellectual property in the group, readers commit to returning all hard copies to the submitter and deleting any soft copies following critique. Plagiarism (the use or close imitation of the language and ideas of another author and representation of them as one's own original work) will not be tolerated. Anyone who is "inspired" by another writer's work in the Group should confer with that writer before undertaking an endeavor that could possibly be construed as plagiaristic. When in
doubt: ask.

How we treat each other

We are not only writers, but human beings. All communication (oral and written) amongst group members should be respectful. During critique sessions, criticism will be focused on the work, and not the individual. All writers in the critique circle must be given the opportunity to share their thoughts and criticism on the submitted work; as a diverse group of writers, critique might be focused on divergent aspects of the work, so it's important that the submitting writer has the opportunity to ingest and respond to all critique of their work.

Immigration is a war of attrition.  They try to wear you down, form by form, bureaucrat by bureaucrat, year by year.  If you can resist -- if you can stand firm -- throwing enough time, energy, and money at the situation, the immigrant's war of attrition can eventually be won.

But it's not easy.  And it's not fun.

We thought and hoped that we were getting closer to closing one chapter of our family's immigration adventures, though it now appears that it these hopes were in vain.  After five years of uninterrupted legal residence in the Netherlands, we should be qualified to receive unrestricted residence permits -- which would allow us to live and work in the Netherlands for as long as we'd like, without having to continually reapply and pay more fees for limited residence permits (which must be secured every year, or every three years -- presumably depending on the mood of the bureaucrat who happens to process your application).  But now, we're being told that we have not, in fact, maintained legal residence for the entirety of our 6+ years in the Netherlands -- that there was, apparently, a three month period in 2005 where our residence permit applications were being processed but not yet granted (even though we have proof that the applications were submitted on-time) -- and they're now proclaiming that we do not qualify for the unrestricted residence permits.

We're not giving up that easily.  We've got a immigration attorney helping us as well, so our prospects are not entirely hopeless.  And even if we eventually have to run up the white flag and simply apply for our next round of limited residence permits until the spring of 2010 (when we should once again qualify, according to the Dutch government's current interpretation of the laws and our circumstances) for the unlimited residence permits.

But until then, we have to continue our war of attrition.  Today, I set out determined to get passport photos of Cor (required for his application for residence), copies of birth certificates for the kids, and copies of our city registration records (uitreksels) before Cor's nap at 10:00.

I should have known better.

When I arrived at our neighborhood city hall (stadsdeelkantoor), I learned that the office of records -- where I would be able to get our city registration records -- would not open until 10:00, as their hours are from ten o'clock in the morning to seven o'clock in the evening.  And if that wasn't bad enough, I learned that I would have to bike across town, to the Department of Personal Information (Dienst Persoonsgegevens) on the Stadhouderskade to get the needed birth certificates (even though I've always previously been able to arrange for copies of these documents through our neighborhood city hall).  Their hours of operation are from 8:30 in the morning to 4:30 in the afternoon, but I wasn't prepared to ride the bicycle in the pouring rain for an additional 15 minutes there and 15 minutes back -- so I gave up that goal as well.  Fortunately, I was able to get the passport pictures without any significant problems (except that it costs €8 for these four tiny pictures!).  And when I finally succeed in getting together all of the information, I'll have to bring it way across town (about a 45-minute bike ride away) to the Immigration and Naturalization Department, whose hours of operation are limited to the morning hours (I think 8:30 to 11:30, or something like that).

So you see... it's a war of attrition.  This morning, as I blundered through the Dutch bureaucracy, I found myself humming the tune to an old 1980s song by Petra called "Beat the System."  I looked the song up on YouTube and found the following (supremely fabulous) video of the song for your enjoyment as well.  Here's to "facing the heat, daring to beat the system!"

Like father like son.  I loved the Encyclopedia Brown mystery book series as I was growing up, and now my son Elliot has become similarly fascinated with these stories by Donald J. Sobol.  He got four of the books at the beginning of last week, as a prize for completing his English reading workbook (a supplementary home study to his education in the Dutch schools) -- and by the end of the week, he had already read all four of the books at least once (and in a some cases, more than once).

And of course, as should probably be expected after such eager consumption of the stories, Elliot decided that he wanted to establish his own detective agency -- just like Encyclopedia Brown.

So he started by asking me why we don't have a garage.  Because Encyclopedia Brown runs his little detective agency out of his garage in Idaville.  Knowing where Elliot was going with this, I explained that most houses in Amsterdam don't have garages, but since we lived on the ground floor he could still advertise himself in our dining room's front window.  That possibility seemed to satisfy Elliot, so he made the next logical step, asking for a piece of paper which he would turn into the sign for his detective agency.  Encyclopedia Brown always had his sign hanging out for everyone to see, announcing:  "No case too small."  So Elliot had to have the same -- except his sign had some minor modifications.

Unfortunately, though, there have been no clients over the last five days or so.  Apparently, no one requires the services of "Elliot's Junior Brain Skills."  I've tried to tell him that it probably helped Encyclopedia Brown that his dad was the chief of police for Idaville -- while I'm only a pastor.  Elliot thought he might try to ask his friend Timo's mom, who works for the Amsterdam police -- to see if she needs any help with her tough, unsolved cases.  But in the meantime, "Elliot's Brain Skills" are going unused.

So if you've got any tough mysteries that need to be solved, well, you know where to find help.  I'm sure Elliot would be overjoyed to help -- provided you can manage the agency's going rate of "25 cents per day, plus expenses."

The common domesticated goose can be a surprsingly vicious beast...  But then again, so can a nine-year-old boy.  Riding my bicycle along the neighborhood canal this afternoon, I was witness to a confrontation between these forces of nature.

The boy was walking along the grassy lawn next to the canal with a challenge in his posture.  He wanted to terrorize the goose.  He wanted to make it honk and flap and flop-flop-flop away to the other side of the canal.  He wanted to prove his bravery and manliness to his younger brother who was watching from a safe distance.

But the goose was protecting its turf, waddling uneasily, spreading and folding its wings, looking around nervously.  As the boy stepped closer, the goose retreated a couple of steps.  But then, suddenly, the goose charged -- flapping its wings and sticking its goosey tongue between its partially-opened beak.  A low honking sound squeezed its way out with each shifting of its weight.  The goose became large and intimidating.

And the boy ran, covering his head with his arms.

The goose gave up the chase and returned to its territory, the victor, the vanquisher.  Then the boy called for the soccer ball that his younger brother had been holding -- so he could wheel around and fling it at the goose.  He missed, but the goose flopped down the bank of the canal a few meters further, and that seemed to be the end of the confrontation.

My only question is:  Who won the battle of the Goose and Boy?

This video has absolutely no redeeming value except for its (unintentional) humor.  Monster truck commercials like this are fairly common back where I come from -- sort of a genre of commercials unto its own -- and when I saw this on-line, I was amazed by how accurate the stereotypes of these commercials can be:  "Sunday!!!  Sunday!!!  Sunday!!!"... free can of Natural Light (super-cheap American beer) to the first 100 people... sponsored by Bass Pro Shops and Wal-mart...

It's classic stuff.

My favorite part, though, is to hear the names of the monster trucks in the rally.  One of the three definitely doesn't fit in.  Give it a look (it's only 30 seconds) and see what you think...