On music and the language barrier

Let it also be noted that Europeans LOVE "Kids" by MGMT, and as with the case of "Disturbia," they can't sing the words but across the western span of the continent, any time that song comes on in a club the room fills up with the ringing chant of "Doot doot doot doot doooo-dooo-doot doot dooooooooooo."  

And Spanish people love the Ting Tings. I guess French people do, too since they're in that French commercial. 

Club Revelations - File Under Not Important

Here is a list of songs that Spanish people love. They are the type of songs that, as they come on, as that first melody seeps out of the speakers, make the "crowd go wild", which is wild ten-fold because Spanish people are already out of their fucking minds.

Regardless, I thought this would be interesting/funny because all of these songs have a different (read: lesser) cultural relevance in the United States as compared to here and they include:

1. The White Stripes - 7 Nation Army

2. Jet - Cold Hard Bitch (I hate this one)

3. Rihanna - Disturbia*

4. Blur - Song 2

5. House of Pain - Jump

That's a good preliminary list. Now, I have to go to bed.

*It should be noted that Spanish people love love love Rihanna. They are obsessed. They can't really sing the songs but they sure as hell can go bam bam bi dom bom bom bi dom dom. And, by god, they will hum that shit all night.

prostitution = sex trafficking

Seconded only to the fact that marijuana is legal there, the Red Light District is one of the most famous things about Amsterdam and like every other tourist I had heard stories about it before visiting the city and strolling down its web of canals. I had heard that the prostitutes sat naked in windows and looked sad, and bored. This was half-true, as they were largely half-naked and displayed a wide spectrum of levels of enthusiasm.

A red lantern or neon beam there is as synonymous with its purpose as the Starbucks or McDonalds logo is a sign of civilization and a free bathroom. The blocks of windows framing women in bikinis and ridiculous corset get-ups—no doubt provided by the nearby fetish shops—was as astounding in its organization as the brick buildings at Auschwitz, specialized for separate ethnic groups and punishments to such a degree that it resembles a little town more than a concentration camp (until you see the barbed wire). They carry the same sense that they operate by their own deranged set of social codes. I was equally creeped out to see some prostitutes actually working it, opening the doors to entice customers, although they seldom acknowledged co-eds like my friends and me passing through.

“Excited prostitutes,” proclaimed my friend Matt as we passed two yelling and giggling across the alley to each other from their red-neon-framed windows. The next few windows had the curtains drawn. “Busy prostitutes.”

The most disturbing thing was remembering they were actually people. But the whole time you look at them you are reminded that they are real live people. So the entire experience, the from the minute you lay eyes on them until you are a block away and the sun dancing off a canal has washed the image from your mind, is uncomfortable and unsettling. I kept wondering and repeating, “I can’t believe people actually have sex with them.”

I am sympathetic with a woman who is already a prostitute trying to support herself, but I cannot support the notion that someone should be lured from their home into this lifestyle. I honestly do not believe that they are all just nymphomaniacs living out their dream jobs.

They don’t acknowledge college-age female and male tourists not just because we don’t look like potential customers, but possibly also because the girls often look our age but only circumstance (aside from the window pane) separates their lives from ours. Because acknowledging us reminds them they could be out walking around and gawking if not for the confines of their walled-in sex cages. Maybe only non-customers see them as people, without the preoccupying question of whether or not to buy them. Anyone can see that they are real. They move around and talk on their cell phones in the windows. Maybe only ‘non-customers’ go so far to imagine that they get hungry, eat or are troubled by eating disorders. That they have families or relatives somewhere. Perhaps certain clients comfort themselves with the idea that their patronage helps the prostitute eat and stay in touch with her family. But logic would tell us most occupy their thoughts with fucking them.

The brothels extend well past what is geographically considered the red light district where most of them cluster and can be found independently all over the city. Just because prostitution is legal doesn’t mean the women came there legally to be prostitutes. There are tons of articles on human trafficking and forced prostitution but I’m afraid to say Wikipedia explains it best apropos to Amsterdam:

“The Netherlands is a primary country of destination for victims of human trafficking. Many of these are led to believe by organized criminals that they are being offered work in hotels or restaurants or in child care and are forced into prostitution with the threat or actual use of violence. Estimates of the number of victims vary from 1000 to 7000 on a yearly basis.” “A study by the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 2000 estimated that there are a total of between 20,000 and 25,000 prostitutes in the Netherlands on a yearly basis. Approximately 32% are Dutch, 22% are Latin American, 19% are Eastern European, 13% are African (south of the Sahara), 6% come from other countries from the European Union (aside from the Netherlands), 5% come from Northern Africa and 3% are Asian. … An article in Le Monde in 1997 found that 80% of prostitutes in the Netherlands were foreigners and 70% had no immigration papers, suggesting that at least some were victims of sex trafficking, forced prostitution. [4][5]”

While the Dutch government has tried to regulate sex trafficking and (also according to wikipedia) encourages patrons to “report signs of coercion” such as bruises and “no ‘pleasure’ in the job,” its legalization there makes it a destination for traffickers. Where prostitution is legal, there is a demand for prostitutes and since it is illegal in most countries this presents a unique opportunity to make money. This federal preventative policy assumes that the prostitutes all like their jobs and just chose the line of work to satisfy their nymphomania, but that cannot be the case for everyone. In a place where so many things are legal that are illegal elsewhere, the black market does not yield to reverse psychology; crimes like human trafficking can occur more easily. (Although, where there could have been a huddle of men selling stolen watches there was instead a man selling bags full of stolen Easter candy, suggesting that nefarious transactions must look to new products for profitable markets). Additionally, nearly every working girl we saw looked foreign, particularly of Latin American and Asian descent, to the point that I wonder if the wiki statistics were up to date.