When it comes to interesting reading material, I think I know what my readers want: High-brow, low-grade smut. So in the interest of consumer service and blatant pandering to the lowest common denominator, here it is:

Freud referred to the "id" as the part of personality that experiences primitive, unrestrained urges. The id is essentially your internal guttersnipe (and you know you have one). However, if acted upon without discretion, such impulses often produce negative consequences. In the US in particular, those consequences are often legal ... and at times severe.

But the Dutch have decided to scuttle police involvement on the most common id-fueled vices, and thereby leave the consequences instead to nature and culture. So some matters that in the US might prompt a vice-squad feeding frenzy, in The Netherlands fail to even raise an eyebrow.

Saturday afternoon I took the obligatory walk through Amsterdam's Red Light District. That's what it's called; it's on all the maps. There are even municipal signs designating it so.

The women I saw were not so much "ladies of the evening" as they were ladies of the late afternoon. The Amsterdam tradition is that these sex workers can sit or stand scantily-and-suggestively clad in a window room measuring about 4-feet-square, just about as you might see a manikin in a Macy's window hawking the latest lingerie.

But this manikin has a heartbeat, and she ain't hawkin' underwear.

The rules are that passers-by are not allowed to photograph them, and they in turn cannot step onto the sidewalk to entice customers. Few of them were actually doing anything more than smiling. Their marketing strategy is, essentially, to enter their window-stall and become their own personal billboard. Honestly, it probably needs work.

Adding to the atmosphere was the Baroque carillon concert that emitted from the tower of the Oude Kerk, the large old parish church that sits at the edge of the present day Red Light District. The music from the church bells was quite good ... but considerably odd in context.

Also adding to the atmosphere was the sporadic aroma of marijuana, another of Amsterdam's legal vices.

Well, that's not entirely true. As I understand it, marijuana remains illegal in The Netherlands, but the enforcement of the laws prohibiting it has been suspended.

This means that people can freely get high on weed anywhere and any time. The "brown cafés" that sell the pot are located around the city and are regulated by the government. Thus the amount they can "legally" sell to an individual is limited.

Nonetheless, getting high is common in this city, both inside and outside of the Red Light District. Folks walk down the street or sit in a city park openly toking up. Because I wanted to avoid giving stoned college students the chance to knock on my door at 3 AM (you remember college, don't you?), I had to search diligently and pay a bit extra for a hotel where ALL smoking was entirely banned. While passing a souvenir shop, I even witnessed the shopkeeper smoking a joint behind the counter. (I can only hope Dutch physicians & nurses show greater on-the-job discretion.)

In truth, surveys indicate that most Amsterdammers do not partake of pot. Marijuana sales are instead considered a tourist trade. But the Dutch approach has certainly cleared their police logs, if not their air.

But another matter, too, adds a stink to offend the nose and elsewhere would attract the attention of the local constabulary. How, in contrast, have the Dutch handled the issue of wee?

Give a moment's thought to your bladder. When you're away from home, where do you go to relieve yourself? After all, nature's call can be quite abrupt and insistent.

While you hold that thought, so to speak, consider also the number of times you have entered an elevator or an alley only to be confronted by the foul stench of urine. Some inconsiderate wretch decided to whiz right there instead of searching out a proper restroom! Sure, it's against the law, but each wrinkle in your nose shows that the law has not worked. Wouldn't you like to find some way to eliminate this problem?

Well, the Dutch have solved it: Simply "go" in public. They have devised open-air urinals for men only. These minimalist facilities are found in city squares and street corners where men are likely to congregate. By concentrating the urine in one spot, they've prevented the pervasive scent. In other words, they've provided the human equivalent of a litterbox. (See the photos for two examples.)

Oddly, this accommodation for fellers leaves a lot of gals waddling with their legs crossed. What are they to do when nature beckons? Let a stream of yellow flow down their legs into their high-heels? I don't think so! Still, the Dutch have yet to reach a similar public accommodation for women's wee.

But who knows what else they may have up their sleeves (bad metaphor) to promote freedom from an over-full bladder? Women's bladder comfort (and footwear) can only wait so long for this next advance in social justice.

(LATER EDIT: The next day I found an enclosed public restroom on the corner 1 block south of Leidseplein. But instead of offering free relief, use of this comfort station cost 50¢.)