Belated Thanksgiving story

Last Thursday, I dragged O's poor Dutch ass along to the potluck Thanksgiving dinner that the American Book Center puts on each year. We'd never gone before, I usually cook a not-so-little Thanksgiving dinner for the two of us, but this year I remembered early enough to sign up for it. The people there may not be my actual family, but you can pretend for one night.

On the way there, I ran into an American co-worker on the tram. We quickly worked out that we were headed to the same event and she offered O and I a place at the table with her, her Dutch boyfriend, and the other friends of hers that were going. Everyone was great, O wasn't the only Dutch one, and we were a happy little family for the night, even having a table on our own in a small side room. A bit anti-social, but we didn't care.

I say everyone we met was great, but there was one person in particular who stood out, an American guy from NY named Basil. He was so funny in a random, off-his-head kind of way, he had O and I in stitches most of the night, especially when he was going on rant after rant probably assisted by a sugar high after eating a whole plate of desserts. He was definitely a unique character, and I felt happy to have met him. They don't make 'em like that often. He happens to be the manager of a used book shop in Amsterdam, so if you feel like browsing some books and getting a good deal (the books are mostly English, but there are some Dutch) or trading in/selling books of your own, pop in his shop and at least keep him company awhile. (He said part of the reason he talks so much is that he spends his days surrounded by 20,000 books, and they aren't very good for conversation.) The shop's called Book Traffic, the address is Leliegracht 50, just up and around the corner from the Anne Frank House.