009 - Rogo: From the Road

Is it fair to judge a city by the attractiveness of its airport employees?

Can you ever remember being in a city like, oh let’s say, Amsterdam, and seeing a guy dancing to himself on the street, grinning ear to ear? Kind of like, soft-shoeing along the sidewalk, shuffling his feet, twirling around every so often… dance-walking, one might call it? Maybe he’s silently (or not so silently) singing along to whatever groove is coursing through his headphones? “He’s listening to music,” you think, “so, he’s not CRAZY… but maybe… he’s just… high?”

Can you picture that person?

That person was me today in a city called, oh let’s say, Amsterdam, about ninety minutes after ingesting a laced stroopwafel procured from a local “coffeeshop” WINK WINK. When in Rome!

AmsterDAAAAM DANIEL! Back at it again with the stunning canals!

I had bopped down to the Nether Ether Lands after a few days in Scotland visiting my sister and nephews. Eight years ago she moved from New York to St. Andrews — a small coastal town famous for its golf courses, gothic cathedral ruins, and world-class university where “William met Kate” — to be with her Scottish boyfriend whom she had met while studying abroad there 11 years prior. Boyfriend became Husband, and soon after nuptials they welcomed their first son, and another three years later. I attended the small backyard wedding in a rented kilt and sporran, to do this day one of my finer moments.

Scot Rogowskilt

From St. A I trained to the closest city with an international airport: fringey, Harry Pottery Edinburgh. Of course, it was pouring rain and near-freezing cold for my entire 24 hours there, but I made a meal out of the complimentary canapés in the Executive Lounge available exclusively for Hilton Honors Diamond Members (THAT ‘THUD’ YOU JUST HEARD IS THE SOUND OF A THOUSAND PANTIES DROPPING) and finished my Strip Tees post about that bonkers Jingle Ball bootleg.

I arrived in this Dam city Monday afternoon, checked into my second consecutive Hilton property (LADIES COVER YOUR EARS: I lose Diamond status in April, need to take advantage of these free breakfasts while I can), and walked over to meet my old college friend Matt who has been living in Amsterdam since accepting a professor position at the University of Leiden in 2021. Hilarious to think of us as fraternity brothers, but great is the truth and it prevails: we were members of our school’s sole “Jewish fraternity” AEPi.

Frat Bros (2006)

The concept of a Jewish fraternity may seem to be about as coherent as that of a Taliban boy band, but I rushed several houses, and ultimately I chose the Jew frat because I assumed the hazing would be the most manageable. I was right. The worst we ever got was one brisk November evening when they made us go outside without our coats on. The best part about pledging a Jewish fraternity: they don’t believe in Hell Week.

Matt and I reminisced over salmon katsu teishoku at a cozy izakaya in De Pijp (THE PIPE). Good hot food on a cold night. Amsterdam is a mouthwatering city, the kind of place that would, if I let it, drive me mad with its nonstop barrage of “bakkerijen,” “vishandels,” chip shops, roti shops, snack bars, and wafel kiosks. It already has had me questioning basic conventions, like “Why are there only three meals in a day?” and “Why must I ‘feel full’ after stuffing my face during each one?” It has even inspired me to invent a new word to describe the sensation of mournfully perambulating past another perfectly perched slice of appeltaart in a bakery window: crustfallen.

Forget the Red Light District… poffertjes are the last temptation.

The Last Temptation of CRUST

Yesterday I met some new colleagues downtown for dinner. With time to kill before our reservation, we collectively made a sober, deliberate decision to visit Gunther von Hagens’ BODY WORLDS — something I’ve forever referred to as “The Bodies Exhibit,” despite that not being the name of this original spectacle nor the more recent touring knock-off Bodies: The Exhibition). We had all been well aware of the existence of this exhibit for decades — I even devoted a ‘chunk’ of my early stand-up set to it — but none of us had ever… cared enough? found the courage? had a free hour in Amsterdam with absolutely no clue of what else to do?

I got her number ;)

Or maybe I had been subconsciously boycotting it for 20 years due to controversies surrounding the procurement of the ACTUAL HUMAN BODIES that have been sliced, diced, and splayed open to satisfy the grotesque curiosities of the masses? It has been alleged that the bodies on display are the unclaimed corpses of executed Chinese prisoners, skinned against their posthumous will, and not consensual cadavers donated by their formerly living inhabitants “for the training of physicians and the instruction of laypersons” — as the operators of these exhibits contend.

Upon viewing, my honest assessment is these MUST be Chinese prisoner bods, because… who in their right mind would wish for their remains to be so utterly humiliated in the afterlife? Imagine if that was your poor body posed as the sap in the middle of this poker game, frozen in suspended suspicion, stuck with that unshakable sick feeling that you’re being hustled, but proof nevertheless eludes you…

LOOK UNDER THE TABLE! The ace isn’t up their sleeves; they barely have arms!

Or imagine if this was your dearly departed grandpa — a lifelong National Geographic and Smithsonian Magazine subscriber who proudly made it known to the family in his final days that he had arranged for his body to be donated to “science” — now a plastinated, cross-sected, cheekily mounted Peeping Tom coming to full arousal:

“I LIKE TO WATCH!”

Not to mention, these bodies had clearly been “blonde-washed.” You’re not fooling anyone, Gunther. I know a skinless Chinese carcass made up to impersonate a California surfer chick when I see one.

They’re real, and they’re spectacular

But if the hallmark of a good museum is to challenge the senses, provoke visceral reaction, and spur new ways of thinking, then consider Body Worlds an all-time great. From one room to another, I experienced the full spectrum of feelings from wonder and delight to horror and disgust. Reaching the notorious fetus showcase where each step on the timeline of prenatal development, from zygote to newborn, is represented with an ACTUAL HUMAN FETUS, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia.

Ahhh, to be eight weeks into gestation again! Truly a time of innocence…

We were so young and dumb then…

Overall, I’d give it a 7 out of 10. I couldn’t locate a suggestion box, so I’ll leave my concluding thoughts here, and if any of you has a connect to Gunther, please pass them along:

• Personalize It - Take a page from the Holocaust Museum that gives each entrant an ID card of a real person affected by the Nazi occupation, and tell us about the lives these bodies lived. Put names to the flayed faces. Give us the backstories. I want to know who this vagina belonged to, and if she has a sister who’s single?

For sale in the gift shop as “The Ultimate Fleshlight”

• Celebrify It - A logical extension of personalization… let’s see some famous bodies! I’d pay extra for a glimpse of Mickey Mantle’s liver, or Anna Nicole Smith’s anything. Hell, if I could be assured my descendants would reap, in perpetuity, the royalty fees from a special exhibition of my embalmed ass, even I would consider donating my body when I die (but not a minute before!)

• Fright Nights - You already have a building brimming with the desecrated corpses of 200 Chinese prisoners, it’s surely haunted by their disgruntled spirits… why not lean all the way into the creep factor? Dim the lights, pipe in a spooky soundtrack, maybe rig up some electrodes to ‘reanimate’ the bodies and unleash musculoskeletal zombie hordes, and you’re sitting on a goldmine come Halloween time!

• Free Samples - What? I was hungry!

Today was spent perfecting my aforementioned dance-walk, and as I boogied along the Museumstraat to TV on the Radio’s “Golden Age” on repeat, a most profound realization took hold of me: there is no “correct way” to walk. Why are we all walking like that? Who decided that??? With the stiff upright torso and the arms swinging to and fro... BORRRRRING! Is it illegal to dance while walking? No? Then that’s precisely what I’ll be doing from now on, and I encourage you to join me.

Tell you what should be illegal though: TEXTING while walking! Good grief with these people!