The Blog Party

My lovely wife Rachel will soon be returning to the States and you may have the chance to meet her (and her boyfriend and my mistress, we’ve got an open marriage, European kind of thing going) at The Marquee on July 6th. But more info about that soon. Meanwhile, her final missive from abroad is below. You can another of Rachel’s Amsterdam Tales in the current issue of Nerve.com.

Dear Friends,

It’s been a while since my last letter, longer than I would have liked, sorry. But things have been crazy.

In case you haven’t heard already - I believe it was picked up by Reuters, but I haven’t looked for it yet, busybee as always - Uncle Klaas had died.

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As you may recall, my lovely wife Rachel is in Amsterdam, tending to her ailing Great Uncle Klaas. She was so eager to campaign and not let distance keep her from her spousal duties that she’s chosen to send missives from across the pond.

Dearest Friends,

The past few days here in Amsterdam have been a mixture of sorrowful and edifying. There are low points. It’s hard to be away from Andy and the campaign, especially if you’re somebody like me who likes to control everything–yes! I admit it! Enough already!

But I’m learning to go with the flow, takes things as they come. It’s easy here in Amsterdam, where the city streets are so calm and full of people whistling on bicycles laden with produce and tow-headed toddlers. How can we make New York more like this, short of bull-dozing the whole thing and digging again until we hit water? Municipal yellow bikes, and bike lockers! I think I heard somebody mention this in their mayoral platform! My husband, the genius!

After all, New York City was founded by the Dutch. It’s important to remember our roots, our history. Only then can we know where we’ve been, where we are, and where we’re going.

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As some of you know, my lovely wife Rachel is in Europe visiting sick relatives. While I wish she were here by my side, she has -and will continue - to send missives and words of support from across the pond. It is my pleasure to share them with you here.

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Dearest Andrew and fellow citizens of New York City,

Well, I’ve arrived here in Europe, and I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

Ladies, you know how it is, you get off the plane, sweats, hair a MESS, bleary-eyed, dehydrated with skin dry as the Gobi Desert–I even scratched the word “DRY” into my leg with my fingernails, like in the old Lubriderm ads (P.S: Thanks Lubriderm, for your support) –wanting nothing more than a hot bath and a nice cup of tea; you get off the plane and you’re positively swarmed by photographers, all wanting a quick word and a photo. Mortifying.

I understand the responsibility that comes with being a public figure, the obligation one has to ones constituency and to above all, one’s husband. I’m not one of those women who MOANS about her FAME. But deep down, I’m just a simple little Jewish girl from Omaha and there’s a part of me who just can’t believe anyone would want to take MY picture.

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