blog has moved to www.fracasnoir.com

Dear reader,

This blog has moved to www.fracasnoir.com

I hope to see you there!

Susanne Waldau-te Brake
www.fracasnoir.com

music & memories

Music has such an uplifting effect on your spirit. I just have to listen to music when I work, and especially when I write. What started off as a good sound block to our noisy office has become an absolute must to work life. In fact I suffer from abstinence if I ever forget my iPod, which happens from time to time, especially when Reinout brings me to work and I only discover my loss when I fire up the laptop. Fortunately today was a working-from-home-day and I’ve been going though old lounge classics from Cafe del Mar, Hed Kandi, Supper Club, Buddha Bar and (perhaps not so well know but I would warmly recommend) Erotic Lounge.
My absolute top 6 list (in fact 7) with the perfect settings:

1. Morcheba – Slow Down. This is porn at it’s absolute best and most seediest. This reminds me of some eventful nights I’ve had at La Vie en Proost in Amsterdam. Of course Reinout celebrated his stag night there too. But I have much better memories from that place than he could ever compete with! In any case it’s a place I would warmly recommend to the seasoned business man as well as for the girl that wants to experience something extra.

2. Adani & Wolf – Daylight featuring Ernest Ranglin. This is rain drizzling on the streets of Amsterdam, at 11 at night, just before the parties are starting

3. Doctor Rockit – Cafe de Flore. Parisian night. Do I need to say more?

4. Zero 7 – In the waiting line. Forever imprinted in my mind from Sex and the City together with Talvin Singh’s Traveller. Aren’t we all in search of our very own Mr Big?

5. Afterlife – Falling. I was listening to this whilst waiting for an appointment. It was a reunion of an ex boyfriend who I held dear. He smiled at me and once more I was lost.

6. Koop – Let’s Elope...Mambo club with a bit of upbeat lounge music, dancing away with my beau.

Enjoy...

talking dogs and excel sheets

My whole daily rythm is completely thrown into chaos. I don’t get in bed until late, and when I do I wake up several times during the night. I have strange dreams, such as last night I dreamt I was in an East European car of some sort driven by none other than our dog Buddy. In the dream he could talk and we were trying to escape some strange men in an infinitely faster car than the one we had. The whole dream was very surreal, reminding me of one of my fav music videos – Daft Punk’s Da Funk (Big City Nights). Does anyone recall that one?

Talking of strange dream one of the most surreal dreams I’ve ever had was when I was consolidating quarterly business metrics for my accounts I was in charge of. Towards the end of that week I had this horrible nightmare that I was stuck in an excel sheet and couldn’t get out. It was a bit like excel meets pacman. Perhaps an idea for a new game?



















Buddy the talking dog?

domestic battles, hormones and google

Hormones are flying all over the place. It’s like everyone in our household are battling their own wars. In fact we all are in our own unique ways. But it’s not the stress you need before Christmas. Not at all as a matter of fact. On a personal level, I’m going through some major changes, least of all physical. I feel exhausted, even the most mundane chores seems like mountains to climb. Do all women feel like this in their last stages of pregnancy? My friend Google must have the answer. I type in “pregnancy forgetfulness” which is my most apparent symptom. My husband knows it all too well, as I forgot to buy coffee the last time I did the grocery shopping. “Can’t you just remember the most basic thing I asked for?...for once?” he underlines.

Google comes back with 221000 results. This is encouraging. There are more women suffering from this. I read the top 5 and send another couple of links to Reinout just to demonstrate that I have a legitimate reason for blaming pregnancy (once more) as the culprit. He doesn’t respond. So I send him an email venting out my frustrations and dispair (it’s best to attack first, a tactic I know all too well but from the other side). He doesn’t respond to this either. Normally I let it go, but I can’t. I got to clarify myself, if not the next two weeks until maternity leave will be hell. Email number two gets a response. A good one. I even get an invite to come downstairs and watch a film with them. I’m not going to say no to an offer of truce. I go downstairs and we talk. We agree on me working less in the coming weeks, taking it easy and use the weekends to relax. It seems like a good tactic and in fact the only one that could work right now. So on that note, I will go and enjoy my bath, a cup of tea and my latest book that looks very promising “The girl with the Dragon Tattoo” by Stieg Larsson..

back to the 40's

I came across some pictures of the latest Louis Vuitton campaign with Madonna. It’s dark, edgy yet sophisticated. The closest I can come to think of is 1940’s Paris meets Cabaret. Just my kind of thing. I’m stuck in a time warp. I want to be transported to the smokey salons of Paris with sex and glamour in equal abundance. Those were the days when the world must have felt like a very unsafe place, and the remedy for fear was to let go of one’s inhibitions. There are in fact accounts of orgies playing out in those final hours in Berlin before the Russians entered the city. Scenes we cannot begin to comprehend. Perhaps it’s not so strange that sex and fashion will get a new more restrained make-over in the shadows of the credit crunch. It will be more strict and austere, which will play all the more with our senses and fantasies.

































A second photo shoot I came across is the one of Dita von Teese for Playboy. Dita mixes perfectly demure with dominance. She is the type of woman I would love to meet in a bar, over a whisky and a cigar. Glances would be exchanged followed by a casual comment over something rather trivial. It would open the evening for unexpected events....

hair inspiration

It’s been an incredibly uneventful day. Waking up at 11 (bliss), cheese cake for lunch (indulgence), shopping in town (exercise), in other words all the ingrediences for a perfect day. I’m following my no shopping directive pretty much, so only small bits and pieces like two alice bands from Monsoon Accessorize. They are great when your suffering from a bad hair day which I do all to often nowaday’s. To top off this uneventful day, I’ve been spending the past half an hour looking for inspirational hairdo's.

Here are my favourites...

the king and his subjects

It takes less that 2 minutes after I wake up, when I hear the word “please”. It only means one thing, I better get up really fast from bed or my beloved will drop a stink bomb worse that Saddam’s mustered gas (to quote Achmed the Dead Terrorist). It’s become a weekendly tradition by now. It means “woman, get me some coffee or else”. I oblige, not because I particular like to play the female servant, but rather to escape the smell. It has the tendency to linger for minutes. He knows it always work, because I run downstairs to fetch him a cappuccino. Two minutes later I’m back with a cappuccino, black coffee for me and some left overs of the ginger bread house. My beloved looks with contempt on the odd pieces of roof and chimney.

“I’m not going to eat that”
“Why not?” I ask in bewilderment.
“Some kid with dirty fingers have made that.”

He goes on to sip his coffee checking his google ranking. He looks pleased. In fact he looks like the king who is plotting a war against his enemies. One he is sure he will win. Because there is nothing like the element of surprise. Now I don’t want say this is what he is doing, but there is a striking resemblance.

Last summer, when we were in France, he took me to this beautiful medieval village, not far from Monaco. As we drove in through the gate, I told him I could live in a place like this - any day. He looked at me seriously and said,

“Sure, and when we do I shall become mayor. I will be the one that brought Internet to this god damn town”

That’s Reinout for you. Reinout for president?

maternal abilities

There are many ways you can be judged as a good versus bad mum. The standard of measure is often related to how much time and effort you put into your children’s development, school and wellfare. I think I do pretty well on those accounts. But if you want to be concidered an über mum, a little more is required. You are expected to bring your kids to various activities throughout the week, make fresh sandwiches every morning, arrange lavish parties, and last but not least put in a fair deal of effort into Christmas and birthday presents, preferably with a home made touch.

I shall never qualify for the über epithet. That gene must have skipped a generation with me. It became painfully evident when my daughter came home today with the nicest home-made ginger-bread house that her friend’s mother had made for a Sinter Klaas gift exchange. If this was not enough the ginger bread house held a neat little surprise inside of some colouring pens and a pet shop cat. I could never even dream up such a present. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it), Victoria managed to drop the house on her way back home, and thus it arrived smashed in pieces. We all succumbed to savouring on those delicicious walls and chimney with a great vengeance.

But if this was not enough, I came to realise that I was totally unprepared for Sinter Klaas. Even though I had in fact bought presents for Victoria they were not wrapped up. I must admit this had to do with the fact that I got them on sale in the local super market and on H&M. And those type of stores don’t come with gift wrapping services. That is the price you have to pay and yet I had knowingly waited until the last day, in fact the last hour to wrap it all up.

But as I thought the battle was lost and I was going to be revealled as the cheap mum who didn’t even take the time to wrap up a few presents for her daughter, there was a knock on the door. Victoria hurried to open and to her surprise there was a sack with presents. It wasn’t exactly loaded but then again, none of us have been on our best behaviour in the last year. But I suppose we were good enough to warrant a Bratz doll for Victoria and some spices for me. Sint obviously like to see me more in the kitchen next year, transforming myself to a real Dutch housewife. We’ll see about that!

So what is the moral of this story? Take your parental responsibilities or Sint might just have something special in store for you.

Happy Sinter Klaas!















a gift from Sinter Klaas



















flowers for my beloved

from half bad to good

Perhaps it was the sign from this morning, but my day turned out really good. For the first time in days I had a flow to work. As I’ve finalised a website brief I have now diverted my attention to its content. Perhaps not the most exciting work in the world, but with two weeks away to my maternity leave it offers a welcomed breath of respite. I also got some of the portrait pictures that I will use for a project of mine. Funny enough the ones I liked the most previously, I like the least now. Perhaps because my fine lines (which I normally don’t even see) are fully visible in the harsh light. *Sigh* I wish I could photoshop...

morning interlude

We’ve all heard of the signs of the Madonna in the window, and Jesus in the cheese cake. Well I didn’t have quite such a religious experience when I woke up this morning., but still rather unordinary to make some justice for a blog entry. As I was applying my make-up I notice an almost perfect yin-yang sign on the bathroom mirrow, made of a strand of hair. Although perhaps nothing too special, I’m rather fond of signs. You can interpret them in any way you want, to your own advantage and mostly they are always good. I was racking my brains for the meaning of this little morning interlude. Did it have anything to do with yesterday, balance in old life versus new life. Or perhaps the balance in our ever powerstruggling household. I called out for Reinout.

“Honey, there’s a yin-yang sign on our bathroom mirrow.”
2 minutes later he was in the bathroom inspecting it. At that point I could see it was about to peel off (hairs are equally delicate as balance), so I rushed for my camera to take a shot. As I came in the wildest commotion broke out. Reinout was on the toilet and with a warning finger he uttered a few threatening words.

“Honey, I’ll kill you if you post that picture of me on your blog”

Although I never had the intention of taking a toilet picture, I could not resist the temptation. Needless to say, it’s too juicy for this blog.




Is it a sign?

one can't escape the past

Around the time of Sinter Klaas (The Dutch Saint Nicholas which is celebrated on December 5), a certain mood descends on me. It’s not so straightforward to explain, but can be best described as a foreboding yet calm feeling. It’s connected to certain events in the past some four years ago. It’s a very long story, and I won’t delve into much details of it, but the essence of what unravelled to become a crime and a subsequent court case, I can tell.

Years ago, in a relationship with my ex, we had the unfortune to cross our paths with a man who was a solicitor, or so we were told. In fact he came recommended to my partner, for a rather trivial but what at the the time seemed like an important matter. For about a year he worked on the case of my partner, and frankly as it didn’t relate to me, I didn’t take much notice of it. There was only one time, out of the blue that I had the strongest of notions that something wasn’t right. It was about 6 months before it all came to light and we were sitting enjoying our lunch on the market square in Haarlem. I recall, having just had my lunch brought in, when I knew something was wrong. I told my partner not to have anything to do with this man, and go to another lawyer. I couldn’t say why, but it would bring us bad luck. We ended up having an argument, and I walked out of lunch and went home packing my bags.

Of course, I only came as far as the door, and the impact was lost, since my partner assured me all was well. Later that autumn, I started getting more suspicious. We had already sold our house and bought another. My partner’s lawyer had already told him the good news that he had settled the case, and a compensation was being worked out. But the money never came. I started getting fretfully nervous and I was checking everything I could on our solicitor. After several weeks of googling, and calling around to people that were involved in the case, the evidence pointed to everything being made up. There was no court case, there was no settlement, and worst of all money was missing. Money which we needed for the purchase of the new house.

If the last months had been like watching a train crash in slow motion, these where the final milliseconds of that impact. One argument succeeded another, and after gathering as much intelligence as well as opinions from trusted people around us, my partner eventually agreed to go to the police. There the next chock was in store. The solicitor was no solicitor after all but had operated as such for a long time, and several reports were filed against him. I believe our case became the decisive factor, and a year after it had all unravelled, it became a court case which we won. But the damage was already done at that point.

This time of the year, four years ago, I was stuck in a small apartment where we were living temporarily in wait of the exchange of the new house. The walls of the one bed room apartment literally felt like they were caving in on us. My daughter who was then only 6 years old, who should not have been subjected to this cruel treatment, could feel it all too well. That Sinter Klaas she received some gifts from my partner’s so-called lawyer. I was furious, but as we didn’t know what we knew only a week later, we courteously accepted them. That I had to explain I had threw them all away to my daughter a week later, was the least of my concerns.

The aftermath was not so insignificant either. We both lost our jobs, a great deal of savings, our house, and most of our friends. But it also taught me a great deal of human nature, acceptance, hope, despair, humility but most importantly never to give up.

So needless to say Sinter Klaas leaves a certain bitter taste to me. This Sinter Klaas is the first one though with my new family all of us gathered. Perhaps it will be the one were I learn to love Sinter Klaas again.

ctrl + alt + del

We live in a culture where everything is expected to be catered for us. Service should be optimized, fast food should be faster than FAST, pre-prepared food should look and taste as delicious as a home-cooked meal. We expect and demand the anti-cellulite creams to work (but do they ever!), the trains to be on time, and the credit card company to actually adhere to the limit of your credit card and not let you go overdrawn..how the hell do they expect you to pay back an extra 2K just before Christmas?

At the same time it’s become an absolute need for this infrastructure to cater for our busy lives, as the world around us is demanding more and more. For most of the times, we are helplessly dragged along this ever lasting carousel. We rarely sit down and challenge what society has become, and what it has turned us into. And even on the few occasions we do, we are ultimately powerless in this game.
Today I’m convinced everything and everybody is conspiring against me. It’s a feeling of being utter powerless to put down my foot and say NO.

- No, I can’t make the project on time
- No, I don’t even consider turning on the lights and the candles as very high on my priority list.
- Shopping for food? Do we really need it?

The list can go on endlessly. But the fact of the matter is that with Christmas imminent, I feel the urge more than ever to start a social revolution, where only the word NO exist. Michael Douglas character in Falling Down is in all of us, as we act upon decisions taken by others far above our heads.

With no clear line of thought, I could go on rambling for the next few pages. But it’s your luck that I am too tired to. If it was up to me I would be somewhere far away from all commercial input/output, all the failed promises, and the gullible believers in a better world. Can someone tell me, where is the Escape button?

an so there was none...

This morning I had a weird feeling that things were not going to work out the way it was planned. It started with that I was late for an appointment, as we had an appointment with our contractors to look at a blockage in the shower. Of course they were late, and so my morning didn’t start as planned. When I finally was on my way, I realised I needed money, so I quickly run to the cash dispenser. Almost got hit by a bus, but big as I am he saw me in time to hit the breaks. As I was approaching the cash dispenser, I thought it would be just typical i fit was out of order. Luckily it wasn’t but the feeling of something going loop sided kept bothering me.

Earlier in the morning, Reinout had been complaining not feeling well. There is a flu epidemic spreading like the plague, and even the best of us can’t escape it. When I came back from my appointment Reinout was feeling even worse, and it was clear that our Paris trip wasn’t going to fly. As the day progressed all hopes of a late drive vanished. If doom and gloom hadn’t already descended upon us, it did so when my 10 year old daughter Victoria came home. She quickly picked up the vibes, and although the tears and screams were for the most part left out, she had another response in store – silence. I’ve been told I am the master of it, and perhaps this is so. In fact I often find words redundant in certain situations, and secondly I prefer to retreat and ponder my options over going in full force attack. It’s a different style of arguing and what I have learned is that silence vs. attack can result in lengthy battles.

Victoria refused to talk to me as she was clearly demonstrating her unhappiness. This was going to be a battle on two fronts.

Several hours later I have managed to make peace with my daughter, with a bit of bribery. But sadly the trip to Paris seem to be looking like a rather bleak prospect.



















The closest I will get to it

picture perfect

Just came back from a meeting with the photographer of the photo session I had the other evening. I typically don’t like to get my pictures taken, but I was pleasantly surprised of the results. The pregnancy nude pictures looked beautiful and very artistic. I thought about why I felt so comfortable with the whole idea of posing nude. I couldn’t quite get it until my conversation with Marieke yesterday. She wisely pointed out that as pregnancy is the most natural thing there is, it makes as look at a pregnant body in a total different way. I suppose it de-sexualise for once the woman, who is so often portrayed in an objectified way in media today. Well it was an experience I’m happy to have, and a very nice memory for the future. The photos will be ready next week. We’ll have to see if I dare to publish one or two photos here...

the journey, not the destination

This afternoon I had a meeting in Amsterdam with Marieke Hegeman who is doing a research project on online games and seniors. It was a nice break to the day, as we met up in a cosy yet trendy cafe downtown. The conversation was informal and inspiring, and although I felt very tired on my arrival I left in high spirits.

As I was waiting for the tram, consuming the Amsterdam pulse whilst listening to some old school club music, I travelled back...same space, different time. These were streets I knew all so well. From the first impressions of Amsterdam some 14 years ago, on my first solo trip to some years later, living that life I had only dreamed of when I was younger. I’m not talking of a glamorous and pretentious life. On the contrary. It was the odd, the unusual, the life of a misfit. I always believed it’s the flaws that make us all the more beautiful. It’s the cracks in the facades, the peeling paint, the broken windows and the missing tiles that tells the story. A story of love, neglect, and despair. Of fortunes gained and then lost. It speaks of visions and intentions, only to be failed by providence and fate.

That was the life that attracted me to Amsterdam. Then I wanted to be consumed by the raw energy that the city transmitted. Beyond the picturesque streets, and lit up canals. My own travel through that life, always on border, like the voyeur that never participates, lasted some year and a half. And then as much as I had been seeking the strange and degenerated I longed for the normal and safe.

Do I miss it? No, not really. But there are times, when my mind drifts to those Amsterdam nights, its seedy clubs and unexpected encounters with strangers of hidden lives and intentions. They say it’s not the destination but the journey that matters. I’m grateful for the journey having found me.






Scenes of Amsterdam



Meeting with Marieke

Girls and their shoes

I got a lift to work this morning. I’m getting to the stage where I hate to move around, especially since I still refuse to give up my high heels. I can think of a million reasons for ditching them but the fact of the matter remains:

1) They elongate my legs, especially in times like these looking like a pair of tree trunks
2) All my jeans are too long to wear flats
3) I become an inch taller (I’m pretty short)
4) I don’t have any fashionable flats as Cecile has trashed them all to pieces

Shoes are like men. You can have sexy or comfortable, but you can’t have both. The sexy shoe is always hurtful, deceiving (they come in great wrapping) and unfaithful (ever lost your best pair?), just like the sexy man. That settles the case I suppose, I am not only a masochist when it comes to men, I’m a shoe masochist too. Marquise de Sade would have a field day stepping into my wardrobe...















Shoes du jour....vintage Karen Millen

Back at work!

Good night sleep, followed by a hot shower and a cup of tea never fails to do the trick. I’m up early, 7.45 as I’m going into the office today for the first time since my flu. Long sleep ins and breakfasts in bed are definitely over, at least for the next three weeks. Fortunately I have a mini-break to look forward to. Paris tomorrow evening! Can’t wait.

But today is another busy day, with a few meetings. One is with a girl who is doing a research project on Images for the future, and how to create games for a more elderly target group. Meeting her up in one of my favourite meeting places in Amsterdam – Cafe Herengracht.

Well got to go, more to follow later.

the scary beaver

I just came home from a photo shoot. Not something I do on a daily basis, I can assure you. The photo shoot was schedule for the evening, and before that I had an appointment with my hairdresser and make-up artist at Pierot (one of the absolute best in the Netherlands). The occasion for the photo shoot was a pregnancy shoot a la Demi Moore. I had been contemplating this for a long time. I’m pretty liberal when it comes to nudity, walking around the house naked as it was the most natural thing in the world (which in fact it is). But to stand butt naked in front of a stranger, a male stranger for that matter, is something else. Ah well. I put my concerns aside for the moment.

Just before I was to leave, I decided to have a quick shower, and to touch up some hairy parts that had been lacking attention for all too long. That’s one of small dilemmas of pregnancy. You can’t reach everywhere, especially down under. As it was in desperate need of a trim I made an attempt, which after a few minutes of battling appeared to have been successful. But I was in for a surprise. With only 15 minutes to go until my taxi arrived, I stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror. I was SHOCKED! Half of it was gone (almost) whilst the other half displayed an odd haircut. I quickly came to the conclusion I had three options: 1) Leave it as it is (and be on time), 2) try to fix the haircut (but that would take some precision work) or 3) shave it all off. I’m absolutely cool with a Brazilian, but it’s the kind of job that requires a good wax, not a quick and dirty shave. But given the first two options would look absolutely ridiculous I decided to go bald. As I was shaving the last bit of curly strands off my all too delicate private parts, I couldn’t help but wonder how my husband would react.

Hair and make-up was done in an hour and a half and it was time to jump in the taxi for the photo shoot. At this point my stomach was making somersaults just thinking of going nude. I had a back-up plan though with some clothes that would strategically cover the most intimate parts.

The photographer was really nice, and I quickly felt at ease. From looking at the many nude pictures hanging on the walls, this was just like any other job for him. Still I opted from some French knickers and a shirt from Reinout. So far so good. But the shirt made me look huge, so off it came, and I was standing there in my undies. But those, although nice, reflected a lot of light so I asked Jorn (the photographer) if I should take them off. He insisted. As I wasn’t exactly on familiar territory I asked him to direct me. Under no circumstances did I want to show my naked beaver! He came up with an ingenious solution of raising one leg slightly and thereby obscuring the sight. Phew I was relieved. When the photo shoot was finished he showed me the pictures, and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. I think it broke the last naked taboo I had. I'm so curious what the reaction will be tonight! I shall keep you posted...



Make up galore from Beauty is Life (I bought an eyeshadow
and lipgloss of course!)



At the hairdresser



Later at home, showing proudly off my 7 month belly

Finally!

Finally December. God I have been looking forward to this month. Not so much because of Christmas but it’s become a major milestone for this year. For 3 reasons:

1) It’s the month I go on maternity leave (my body is craving this)
2) It may be the last month before 3 becomes 4 (but it could also be February)
3) It’s Christmas after all (well in 3 weeks)

Instead of counting milk and shampoo bottles (I have this weird little habit of counting down the days to something I really long for by seeing the content of a bottle diminishing day by day), I now have a real scientific benchmark for my progress. I celebrate this with a cup of coffee and a slow wake-up in bed. The latter is needed as migraine has struck, probably as a result of blocked sinuses. This cold is still lingering, and in fact has broken out in full force. I take this as a good sign though and it should be a matter of days before it has cleared up.

Today is a relatively busy day, with a press release going out this morning for our latest Ex Machina product line PlayToTV. So I have to rush, but more stories and adventures later.

Ta-ta!