The big story here in Denmark is of course the environment conference in town. Until a few decades ago, Denmark was almost as important as Canada, with their massive land holdings that included Greenland and north of Norway.
As the story goes, one night in the 70's, an important minister was negotiating with Norway and signed a treaty selling a vast territory, for a small sum of money. The Danish official was apparently drunk out of his mind when he signed the document and now that territory is worth billions in oil and water reserves - perhaps the worst property deal in modern history. Denmark will be out of oil in 15 years and Norway is now the richest country in the world on a per capita basis and has enough oil to make a Saudi jealous. Lessons to be learned for this coming holiday season - if you're drunk, don't sign anything.
Hard to believe 2010 is only a few weeks away. This will be my last post until the new decade and want to say thanks to everyone that visits and posts. I'll be in Toronto Dec 24 - Jan 2 and hope to see you for a couple of cocktails.
As the first decade of the millennium toilet bowls to its conclusion, it's safe to say this hasn't been our best ten year meal deal. America had a particularly bad time of it - at one point, Ben Affleck and J. Lo were considered the best actors and top celebrity couple and George W. Bush was a popular president. Could they have picked any worse? No, really? If they chose a chiuaua as president and went tabloid crazy over a married pair of old man farts, they'd at least have expressed a sense of irony and might have done less damage to the countries reputation.
As we get a bit of distance from this decade, wouldn't be surprised if it makes the 80's seem like a sensible period of cultural and political history.
Just read John Daly has lost over 100 pounds and is apparently living a clean, normal life and making his way back into golf. He's "writing" a book and there's talk of a movie on his life. When asked, John suggested Matt Damon would be his choice of actor. No shit. If you've ever heard Daly talk, you know what a complete moron the guy is, but still, his transformation is notable.
If someone would have said twelve months ago that Daly would be where he is and Tiger would be where he is, I would have punched that someone in the kidneys to teach them a lesson not to say dumb things.
Perhaps it's too soon to suggest that people do actually change, but what is clearly a certainty is that our perception of people changes. And it changes often.
The Dutch recently celebrated their Christmas style day, "Sinterklaas Dag" or something like that... It involves Santa, a horse and a bunch of people in blackface pretending to be elves. That's right, blackface elves. They're short and they're in blackface and they're helping a fat guy in red. It's so perfect I want to cry. The elves' job is to help Santa onto the horse and do other laborious tasks, while looking freaky and short on sleep. No reindeer, no bag of gifts, just a bunch of weird, trippy shit and strong liquor. And there's a guy named Black Pete, but not really sure what he does. Maybe he controls the blackface situation.
Dutch racism is so completely blatant and in your face, it blows me away that nobody seems to have a problem with it. I know a black guy in Amsterdam and he probably has a party to celebrate just how fucking hilarious and wrong the concept is. Motherfucker just rolls with it. My Dad has the same idea, making Jew jokes left and right. So, who are these people we read about that object to Christmas Trees in schools and other displays of ethnicity and where the fuck do they come from? Why object when you can embrace the chaos?
Was watching a positive news story on Denmark the other day and felt a strange, "twank". Perhaps it was pride, but I doubt it. Later, I felt twisted inside - can you be nationalistic to more than one country? Obviously, I could give fuck all about Denmark, but there's something inside of us that wants to feel like our home is a special place. It's as bizarre as it is fundamental. You can have pride in your city, your school, your district, your province, your country... where does it end? Better yet, where does it begin?
Well, it's European handball playoff season over here. I think. Who can fucking tell? Women's handball is more popular than men's, at least on TV... Watching the German channel right now - they've got the cross country skiing thing with the guns like it's the most important event in the history of mankind. There's a Canadian woman somewhere. Oh look, she's in 112th place.
Are all sports... dumb? Probably. I can remember the look on artsy dudes faces walking by the ballpark - they weren't thinking baseball looked cool. I used to think, "fuck the artsy guys - they don't know shit". But, maybe the slick fuckwads had a point? When I think back to the games I played as an only child, throwing a tennis ball against the wall, making up some idiotic system where Canada would narrowly beat Russia in dramatic fashion, if I could throw the ball so it bounced in a puddle or in between two cracks - what's the difference between a dumbass game and a professional sport? What's the difference between a cult and a religion?
That said, I absolutely love the Leafs, no matter how crap they are. The NFL isn't bad either.
Bet you guys are sick of the Tiger Woods stuff in the news. It's a non-event over here. Saw one little thing about it. It's not that Tiger isn't huge here, these fucksticks just have a different idea about dealing with personal stuff in the media. I'm not suggesting it's wrong to care what's going on in Tiger's life, but somewhere along the way we've lost our perspective. Just because someone is on your TV all the time, doesn't make him your friend. His image may be in your living room, but he doesn't know who the fuck you are and you don't deserve to know shit he doesn't want you to. Lucky Tiger's a golfer - that sports fan base is probably the only one that could keep a sense of decency about the whole unfortunate incident.
Holy fucking shit am I looking forward to coming back to Toronto this Christmas. I don't think anyone, ever has been this excited about heading to Toronto. I'm getting anxious and it's three weeks and a day away. I'm looking forward to...
1) Male bonding 2) Ghandi butter chicken roti 3) Casual cocktails 4) Swatow sweet and sour chicken with rice 5) Family blah blah blah 6) Friendly gamesmanship with colleagues 7) California meatball sandwich 8) Trainspotting 9) Christmas punch injestilization 10) Bar drinking
Leaving the apartment this morning, my nostrils filled with pungent curry odors. The Indian neighbors below were hard at work in the kitchen. Who knew they ate curry for breakfast? Apparently it's not just a dinner thing.
Hesitating to call a handyman to fix the dishwasher. It's always so embarrassing when they show up - another man in the house to fix something I can't. I never know what to say, but always act as manly as possible, pretending to watch the procedure so I'll be able to do it my self next time (no chance). I'll offer the guy a beer and slap him on the back when it's fixed, maybe itch my crotch a few times to let him know I'm not the pussy I so obviously look like.
Why do all Southern USA sports last eight seconds? Bull riding, drag racing... These people have no attention span.
Danish TV sucks ass, but for some reason at 1am, the best eight shows on TV are shown simultaneously. Assholes.
One of the benefits of having a European address is the ability to spend a weekend in Paris. Less than a two hour flight, it was about five hours door to door, with no time change or jetlag bullshit to deal with. It was a rainy weekend and not high season for tourists, so it was possible to get decent deals and feel like a local. A ten Euro gift from my favorite Uncle spent itself on pastry and drink.
Through the rain, the lights shimmered all the same and Christmas adornments were in full spread. We fought for taxi's, walked a million miles and rode the Metro like locals and were the Hercules of fitting in. That said, no place like Paris has the ability to make you feel like an uncultured peasant in a fleeting look - so much so, I was feeling insulting glares where they weren't and went off my game in a few places - the drawbacks of being a paranoid half-jew.
But with setback comes a thickening of skin and rally. We found good form in early morning drinks and jazz. I got my hands dirty, tasting cheese and fingering old novels and poetry. The skies opened and the little wind there was packed it in. Paris, the unforgiving animal became Paris, the village. Buildings leaned towards us in greeting. As sure as frogs speak French, we hit full stride as it was time to go. But like all good things, the "city of lights" we left wanting more - more of its abuse and more well fought praise.
"In The Loop" looks like a potentially awesome movie. Unfortunately, I've seen half the thing on youtube just watching clips that are up and now I'm gonna have to wait six months to see the thing. So, do yourself a favor and don't watch the clip below, but do see, "In The Loop".
Thanks for all the birthday wishes and stuff and have a good weekend and I'll smell ya next week.
Holy fuck the people here are hard to crack. They're perfectly nice now that they know me, but the connection is entirely superficial and skin deep. There's an dog in our office, Scooter, and the fucking thing pulls this move where if I bend over to pet it, he walks away just as I'm about to get there. This happened twice, which is fully embarrassing, and I can't fucking believe a dog beat me that easily. He trotted off like Bambi.
We get a couple of German TV channels here and.. well.. I hate to generalize and stuff, but I think we need to attack Germany. Kind of a pre-emptive thing. Things are starting to brew over there and it's a matter of a decade or two, at most, before these fuckwads try and take over the world again. They can't help it. These are the most unsocial, unsympathetic people on the planet and they have a severe superiority complex.
Having gone almost two whole generations without trying to exterminate half the planet, Germany can barely contain their German feelings towards showing everybody how fucking awesome they are at killing shit and taking notes... They've got blue balls for world domination.
Did some acting in a corporate video yesterday - a favor to a friend. Played the part of a guy eating a burger and fries at his desk. The video was in Danish, but I had one line... "hi" - the international word for suck my tits.
I fucking nailed the line and didn't even need to read it from a teleprompter. But, I'm stuck thinking these Danes think I'm a fatass, cuz why else would they cast me as hamburger dude?
A website I write for has asked for a "top ten films of the decade list". Not a huge list fan (they're insulting) and I've got half a mind to write some bullshit error-filled, pile-up that puts Casa Blanca number three behind Shrek and any Mastercard Ad. But, let's stick with the program and play by the rules, for no reason beyond I'm too lazy and I like movies too fucking much...
My top three is pretty much locked at: 1. The Royal Tenebaums 2. Punch Drunk Love 3. Borat
I'll fucking kill you if you don't agree with at least one of those.
Then there's a bunch of contenders for the remaining spots: Kill Bill 2 O Brother Where Art Thou Adaptation 25th Hour Lost In Translation Elephant (trailer below) Sideways There Will Be Blood Black Hawk Down Man On Wire (documentary) No Country For Old Men Away From Her (Canada) Knocked Up Wedding Crashers Je rentre a la maison (I'm Going Home) (France) Pan's Labyrinth The Lives of Others The Squid And The Whale Ma femme est une actrice (My Wife Is An Actress) (France) Almost Famous
Visited Glasgow for the first time this weekend, a long-time wish considering I'm half Scottish. Was in an alley where my great, great, great grandfather John McGilvray lived in 1825. It's in an area called the Gorbel's and was apparently such a rough spot back then, it was nastier than India and, "no reasonable person would stable their horse there." Everyone warned me ahead of time that it was a tough town and to expect a bar fight or something violent to happen, but I found quite the opposite.
Never met friendlier people in my life - everyone is quick witted and an amateur comedian. They're also the shortest people in the world and it took considerable restraint not to pat them on the head and send 'em looking for charms. Ate haggis and drank scotch and beer like I was preparing for the Highland Games. Found myself in a group of people singing on the street, locked arm in arm - even though we were singing Wonderwall over and over, was still good times. Whenever we got lost, people would walk us to the place we were looking for, then continue on in their own direction. People were as down to earth as I've ever met and when I once thanked a guy for a good conversation, he politely told me we had never spoken, but that I seemed like a nice enough guy and I could chat with him if I wanted to.
Talk about a slow news day. There's fuck all going on. Let's see... Toblerone came out with a dark chocolate bar. Um... I dunno, the Mike Tyson thingy is a non-event. Danish classes stories have dried up - the Italian guy thinks everyone's gay, so now nobody says shit or laughs. There's a pig farmer in the class - not going to get on his bad side.
I asked him what kind of animals pigs are, "they friendly or interesting?". He said no.
Miss wearing a poppy this time of year - no such tradition here, where they'd rather forget letting the Nazi's occupy Denmark without so much as a complaint. Normandy is about an hour flight and I think it's safe to say we're a pretty lucky generation to not have to do what those young men had to - not exactly the way a young man should see France for the first time.
Had my own little moment of silence today at 11:11 and have to say that it would be a nice gesture for the locals to show a little respect and display a similar form of remembrance. The official story here is that Hitler didn't give them much choice and was in a piss poor mood when he moved the troops up here - Denmark borders on Germany and was considered a possible location for D-Day. Bunkers remain on the coasts all across the country, perhaps left in place for the next time or as their unique way of remembering what they didn't do - concrete poppies if you will.
Was flipping channels when I stumbled upon the European MTV music awards, live from Berlin. David Hasselhoff was on stage presenting an award and holy fucking shit was he smashed. There's nothing on youtube yet, but there will be and it's pure gold. Of course he used to be popular there, but Germans have caught onto the fact people think they're idiots for liking his music, so they hate him now. A little late Germany... Again.
It occurred to me this morning I have no idea how this country really works. I've got no feel for the underbelly of this place. Whenever something goes wrong, i just curse the whole damn country and shake my fist in anger. I need a version of the Canadian "Newfy", which according to the locals, are people from Arhus, a city a few islands over. Apparently, those dudes are the butt of all the Danish jokes, like: how do you get a one armed man from Arhus down from a flagpole? Wave at him.
Four months ago, I was helping a friend's girlfriend paint her apartment. It was just the three of us and we were at it pretty late. I suggested I'd make a run to get some coffee and the girlfriend asked if I'd walk about a kilometer further to get the kind of coffee she likes. When I realized she wasn't joking, I looked at my buddy and said that I'd be back soon - with the coffee that was from around the corner. When I returned, it was obvious he had straightened out his GF about the simple fact that when someone is donating his time painting your apartment, don't boss him around.
Sure enough, their relationship has become a disaster - and it's only in it's sixth or seventh month. That "little" coffee incident told the whole story. I've stopped hanging out with this guy, or at least reduced it to rare events every month or so. Essentially, friendship over. Hand in the friendship documents, cuz we're done here.
Got a phone call yesterday from this dude, asking me over for dinner to his house on Tuesday night to celebrate a Danish holiday tradition where they cook up duck and drink like it's their J-O-B. On the phone he asks me if I can bring a bottle of wine, when I hear in the background, from his girlfriend. "a nice bottle". He doesn't know I can hear it, so doesn't relay the message. At which point she repeats herself more assertively, "a nice bottle". I'm not saying shit, dying to know how the guy is going to respond to this. I'm the master of nice bottles, so the guy has to figure out how to play this, essentially choose between insulting me or his GF. His response? He tells her pointedly, "okay, relax... he (meaning me) doesn't need to be told that."
Can I describe why that exchange makes me so content? No. But, it was a little thing that made me think, for the first time in a while, this guy might not be so bad after all.
Larry Bort asked for a "worst name" contest, which I'd like to break into specific groups.
1) "Crank Handles" - Names that suggest your parents are unrealistic and potentially on crack: Lexus, Lawyer, Desheniqua... 2) "Metro Monikers" or "Jim Hancock's" - Names that trend towards leaving a young boy with multiple enemies: Maurice, Terrance, Liberace... 3) "Fucking Todd's" - Names of people that suck 100% of the time: Todd, Todd, Todd...
Was at a magazine launch Saturday night filled with a whole bunch of Copenhagen fashion victim types. Models with legs so thin you could stir your drink and enough metrosexuals to fill Enrique Iglesias' pool. Was hunkered down at one of the VIP tables stealing vodka from the oversized drink bowl when I met a young dude that couldn't understand why I live in Denmark. I get this a lot and typically fart around with my answer, but this time I was drunk enough to chat something resembling the truth. The guy, whose name was either Jonas or Christian, invited me to a "teenage alcohol party" and seeing that it was still dark outside, I accepted. We walked for a while, like a pack of Japanese shoppers to a house filled with kids half my age. I sat in the back with a few guys and talked about what a bitch the girlfriend of the guy whose house it was (the brother of my drinking buddy).
I went to go tell the guy about his ladies reputation, but got sidetracked because he looked and dressed exactly like Charlie Chaplin (remember he's a fashion victim). I changed course accordingly and insisted that for the rest of the night he remain silent. Every time he spoke, I shook my finger, explaining fashion is serious and if he's going to go for a certain look, he had to go all the way.
It's been a year or something in that neighborhood of imissthisguy and I'd like to start this post by saying thanks. I've got a shitload more out of this than I've put in. We've had people from all over the world stumble to this thing in one way or another, but much much more than anything else it's been a way to talk to the people that matter most in an informal, jocular laid back way - a meager but effective replication of life back in T.O.. Some technology isn't bad... Thanks for reading.
It's Halloween, of course, but you wouldn't know that here in Denmark - there's no such thing. I complained about this to a few guys at work and they took the bait, criticizing the holiday for being commercial, lame and for kids. I smiled the smile you get when you know you're going to put people in their goddamn place. I explained, sure Halloween is cool for kids, grabbing candy, decorating pumpkins, cooking pumpkin seeds - all that shit is neither here nor there. But then you stop trick or treating when you're about 12 and you think the whole thing is over. Maybe you hand out candies and feel like a grown up. I sure did, often wearing a blazer and smoking a pipe.
I continued to explain, the real Halloween - the Halloween these Danish douches don't know about, gets going when you're around 17. It's when the surreal, take mushrooms and freak yourself out parties get up to speed. Year after year, what party was better than Halloween for tripping the fuck out and and getting sur-fucking-real? Always, always, always the party fo the year. The thinking mans New Years Eve. In our 30's the mood changed from shrooms and joke costumes to gegootz, lingerie for the ladies and... joke costumes (think: Mr. Canoe Head).
There is a holiday in Denmark this weekend - they release the Christmas beer today and it's a pretty massive party across the country. I suppose an argument could be made that beer is the "candy" of Denmark. After all, children here are only allowed (by their parents) to eat candy on Friday and Saturday - the candy is called Haribo and it's disgusting (black licorice). I went to a grocery store to get some Christmas beer and when I checked out saw it came to 189 kroner for 6 bottles ($36 CDN). I asked if there was a mistake and twenty minutes later (and a HUGE line-up) the guy realized he had charged me for six, six-packs. Another ten minutes later, I was out of there with a full refund and the beer, again getting more out of it than I put in.
It's funny the little hierarchies and systems that develop in a small social environment like our Danish class. Yesterday, the Italian guy moved from sitting beside the guy from Nepal, to my direct left. Now the class has all white guys on one side and dark guys on the other, like we're a basketball team in the 1950's. The Italian guy was probably sick of sitting next to Nepal guy who is the most uniquely talented shit disturber I've ever met. He keeps on asking for Danish words to tell his wife he's cheating on her (she doesn't speak Danish).
I've advanced from level 1A Danish to level 1B, which is basically like making it from Kindergarten to grade 1. The teacher said I'm doing well... here are a few things I've learned: Jeg vil gerne have en ol - I would like to have a beer. Eva er altid pa toilet - Eva is always on the toilet.
I broke out in a solo fit of laughter during last nights Danish class. Everyone stared. The teacher asked me what my problem was and if I was feeling okay. I wasn't laughing that hard, so I replied the sentences we learn are appealing to my abstract sense of humour in a way I can't easily describe (see title of this post).
Thank God for the guy from Nepal, cuz he started laughing too. We looked at each other and lost it, slapping the table and making general asses of ourselves. This guy is the best - he's always smiling and every question he asks in class makes absolutely no Gaddamn sense. The teacher asks him to repeat himself again and again until I start to laugh and we can move on. I guess this time he felt like he was coming to my rescue.
We're the only ones that laugh (at all) and it's getting a little uncomfortable. If clowns shot out of my dick, the Iranian guy beside me wouldn't crack a smile. How can he not see the humour in this shit - if you want to say it's 5:35, in Danish, you say it's five minutes past thirty minutes before six.
Saw this clip on thedanzatap yesterday and consider it the highest form of cinema. Few 43 second films have expressed such a complete story with beginning, middle and end as this shinning example of rhetorical ballflubbery. We live in compelling times my friends.
So, the clocks changed here over the weekend - daylight savings time, or as the locals playfully refer to it, "6oqeirjnfgvipfaj nv;pnasdf;jlnivbad14alkfjsv;zc". Of course, I knew all about this time change because of the incredible stream of information available to me in English, which contradicts the fact I just realized the time changed, about 36 hours after it happened. I'll let you guess which is the truth. Things move slow here to begin with, often by the time I hear about it... old news. Did you guys know OJ's back in jail? Apparently Michael Jackson is planning a big tour next year - I'm going to buy some tickets. I predict a fast start for the Toronto Maple Leafs, if anyone wants to place a wager.
Was biking to work and stopped at a red when a crow landed on top of the stop light. Tried to grab my phone to take a picture of the pitch black bird spitting down on the world against a gray cloud canvas. But bike traffic is fierce here and as I shuffled out of the way, the bird felt me move close and flapped away. Like most evil things, posing for pictures aren't a part of their operation.
I turned my rusty two wheeler to the lakeside path and took in the scenery, moving a little slower than usual. A young girl walked arm in arm with her grandfather and stopped so he could say something significant. A string of children holding hands marched. A swan shook the water from its feathers, then it started to rain. I looked up to the sky and there, hovering a safe distance overhead, was the crow. "Hello Friday", I said and took a sharp left off the path and into the city maze.
Read today that the etymology of the word "golf" is the acronym, "Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden". Didn't believe it, so I looked it up and sure enough... not true. Had me there for a minute.
What else, what else... Read a script for an old boss of mine and she told me some of my advice was rhetorical. From now on, I'm telling people they're rhetorical. How fucking awesome of an insult is that?
I think we've pretty much given up. As little as thirty years ago, sensible people would take to the street to protest various obvious inequities in society and the world. These days, we don't bother. It's not that we're lazy - it's just that we realize there's nothing we can do and our energy is best spent elsewhere. Stopping to eat meat or drive a car or protesting to encourage policy on reduced carbon emissions isn't going to change jack shit. Our planet is completely fucked and standing on Yonge Street with a sign isn't going to change that. Like being on your 23rd vodka, we're past the point of no return.
Ummmmm..... Alice In Chains is coming out with a new album. Pretty interesting news considering the lead singer was found dead in his hotel room what, like six years ago? He was so fucked up on junk and dead for so long his carcass was literally deep fried - amazing how the band has been able to regroup after that. That's science for ya. Or maybe this is one of those Hollywood prequel things where this album will be the album before their first album?
Trying to write a kids TV show and have to think back to my younger years. Strangely, some of the more memorable moments involve being scared senseless of my Dad's booming "angry" voice. Playing a T-ball game in piss soaked pants was a highlight. My Dad was a good parent and I love him like crazy, but when I think back about how scared I was of the guy it doesn't make sense. The math doesn't work. As far as I was concerned, the guy was stronger than ten rabid gorilla's and meaner too.
I remember a class at McGill where the teacher explained how men and women think differently by drawing (on the chalkboard) a straight line to show mens linear thinking and a oval to describe women's circular thought patters. Ironically, the way the sexes think, when illustrated, looks somewhat like our genitalia. But, perhaps that's all about to change (the way we think, not our sex organs).
Isn't the straightforward nature of man communication the result of thousands of years of military and sports training? Evolution hasn't afforded us dudes too much time to talk while under attack or trying to move a ball down a field. We've learned to abbreviate and treasure an economy of language. But aren't women playing more sports than ever before? Aren't they in the military? How long before the illustration of the way men and women think are two straight lines? It's not going to happen anytime soon, but it may happen. Imagine.
Main difference between life in North America and here in the old world has to be the amount of time spent on the shitter. Back home, you get a nice bowl and a nice seat and soft toilet paper with drawings embroidered and reading material and central heating in the winter to make sure the seat doesn't create a shock to your anus region. My Dad could sit in there for hours, reading and composing new theories. He'd come out two days later looking refreshed and completely satisfied.
Here, the seat is less than half the width than normal, so you can barely sit, let alone relax on the thing. If you shift one gram of weight, you could drop right in. The paper is so rough, if you're not careful it will cut your hand. There's no such things as fans in toilets, so they make sure there's a healthy draft coming in through the uninsulated window. And of course, there's basically no water in the bowl. I'm typically in and out in just over the amount of time it takes to piss.
It's not such a bad thing. With all this free time on my hands, I've taken up leatherworking, learned to fly, trained chickens to dance and started a blog.
Nothing used to piss my Dad off more than when I'd watch wrestling. Three hours later he'd still be wondering aloud how he raised me to be a houligan. I was six.
Captain Lou Albano passed recently, well known as the manager with the most elastic bands in his face. Who were the other good managers? There was the music guy with the piano tie. And there was Ted Dibiasi, the million dollar man. Wonder how that million dollars is doing?
Lou's celebrity crossed beyond the upside down doors of the wrestling world, playing Cindy Laupers Dad in the "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" video. He was from the vaudville school of horseshit and could have easily been a circus barker or a senator... in other words, he was an original houligan.
Worked on a movie with Randy Quaid once and was not evenly remotely surprised to see he and his nut-job, former model wife Evi have been arrested for failure to pay a $10,000 hotel bill. This guy is trouble everywhere he goes and last year was the first Oscar nominee to ever get thrown out of the actors union for behavior unbecoming an actor. Think about that for a minute. And his wife might be worse.
He was relatively well behaved while in Canada, considering what he's proven capable of. Some highlights include, showing up to his five star hotel room, taking the gift basket, and checking himself into a more expensive five star hotel room. Another good one was when he showed up for rehearsal, two days before we started shooting and he insisted his character had an Australian accent. Funny thing is, he nailed the accent and it actually gave the character more depth and back story and it improved the film. I'm still trying to figure out how his hotel room bullshit made the movie better.
Was watching a show on Discovery and they did this experiment that shows how germs get spread around the house and shit like that. They made a big deal about sneezing and not rubbing your eyes and how to wash your hands and use hot water. By the end of it, my head was spinning. Germs are fucking everywhere and there's basically fuck all we can do about it. What kind of a balloon head thinks that if they're super careful, they won't get any germs?
Number one, they're invisible. You can't see 'em and they move in all kinds of ways all over the place. How the fuck are you going to avoid that? Number two, there are fucking billions of them. Blink and you just killed a million germs hanging out on your eyelids. Number three, and this is critical, germs are fucking idiots. They don't care if you kill them with powerful shit. All they'll do is get immune to that powerful shit and come back the next day all fresh and ready to do their thing.
Long story short, relax. And stop giving a crap about shit you can't do nothing about. Your welcome.
Below, an old favorite (that has nothing to do with germs)...
I was in language class the other night when a guy pulled a real kiss-ass maneuver. I thought to myself, "fucking browner" - a word that hadn't crossed my mind in at least a decade. "Browner", as in short for "brown noser", meaning that the guy, figuratively, sticks his nose in teachers asses. The word also implies this is something the teacher would enjoy having done, giving you two landed insults for just one, seven letter word. Good value if you ask me. Better than the four letter words. Sometimes, you have to spend letters to make gravy if you follow my train of thought here. Which you probably don't, you morons.
From this point, if there's an interesting tidbit I learn about the Danish language, I'm going to keep it to myself. Nobody cares. Obviously. By the way, they don't have a word for please here - what a rude bunch of fuckers. Ooops. Sorry.
I said I wasn't going to talk about language and I meant it. But, isn't language amazing? Being here, surrounded by these people that talk like they have live fish in their mouth, I feel repeatedly and majorly blessed to have grown up with English. In our language, we always have the perfect word to describe what we want. If we don't, we can make one up (majorly) and you'll get the idea. Here, they have a fraction of the words and have to use inflection to express varying degrees. Having a crap language looks frustrating - we should be thankful. What's worse, is that most people speak English here, so they know their language is shit. They have this guilty look when talking in their mother tongue which says, "I know this is fucking idiotic - don't look".
So there I was, biking to work, when I see a new store being built around the corner from the office. I gave it a good look, admiring the half-ass workmanship on the facade and the complete lack of safety procedures or factoring of pedestrian traffic. Then, out of the blue, like a lightning bolt of awesomeness, was the sign, "auben snart", which I have confirmed means, "open soon". Can you fucking believe they use the word, "snart"?!?!
That little word situation has a million uses. Watch. "God, my snart is iching like a motherfucker". Or, "If you don't give me back my ladle, I'm going to snart you so bad." Try, "We're late - let's get the snart outta here".
Went to my first football (soccer) game on Sunday. Asked for a ticket in the "rowdy" section and caught the live action between FCK (Kobenhavn Fotbal Club) and Esbjey. Sat next to a plumber from Poland that invited me to his house (I accepted, but didn't take down his details). You can smoke in the stadium, a privilege almost all took advantage of and most were enjoying drink of the golden variety.
The opposition goalie was given a red card less than a minute into the game and Santin (the guy who's name is on the team scarf I bought) potted a penalty shot and another to help the home squad to a 2-1 win. But, the real shit worth watching was in the stands. I'd say 80% of fans were male skinheads - not exactly the image you get when you think of Copenhagen - but they're around and they look fucking nasty. Before and after the game, the players applaud the fans by pointing their "claps" towards the stands - it's a "feel good", borderline popo moment that's a decent metaphor for the sport.
Had my first test in a while - how do you say disaster in Danish? Whoever designed this language needs to rethink the whole situation. I feel like I need to speak to the (Danish language) manager and get some kind of a refund or free meal.
In the language class I'm sitting near a British guy that just had ear surgery. He had all the bones replaced by some plastic stuff and he can't hear very well. The teacher thinks he's retarded. I heard his stomach make a very small noise, but he must of thought the whole class could hear it because he interrupted the lesson to apologize. People had no idea what he was talking about and when they pressed him about the apology, the guy refused to explain his mistake.
To give a brief idea of how odd Danish is, to write the English word, "you", requires only a capital "I" - in other words the opposite of the way we say it. But, that's not all, the way they say "I" sounds like our "E". Long story short, this shit is fucking with my head.
Thanks to Larry Bort for mailing in today's news item about the Turkish bees. Long story short, a truck with bees in it crashed and the bees stung the living shit out of the survivors and rescue workers. No video available.
Got stung by my first bee about a month ago. Another useless item off my list. I accidentally sat on the fucker, which it apparently wasn't a big fan of. Hurt less than I thought and the bump went away in just a few days. No big deal. How little things like bees can make humans freak out captures our species paradox beautifully. An elephant can take on a pack of tigers to protect it's young, but God forbid a mouse should cross its path.
Weird being in a classroom again (for Danish lessons). Some guy's cellphone kept ringing, driving the teacher nuts. One dude actually took a cellphone call... what a shit disturber. I shook my head in disgust and gave him the hairy eyeball.
Took about 2.5 hours before my first "in class" reprimand. I commented to the Australian dude on the left of me, "silent letters, sure, but these guys have silent words", when I heard a big "shhhhhhh" from the teacher. The guy who had taken the phone call looked at me and winked. Then, I remembered - for some, classrooms are just a place to jerk around. It all flooded back to me, long-lost feelings of anarchy and mischief. It felt good.
The Indian guy sitting on my right kept putting his bag of groceries in front of me, so I kicked the fucking thing over. During a break he started chatting to me and kept asking super personal questions which I deflected like Felix Potvin pre 1993. He was telling me he's been dating a girl for 14 years, since he was 12, and that they've only kissed once and it was just a peck. He comes from a traditional family and blah, blah, blah, the guy had a LOT of energy.
First intensive Danish lesson tonight. Four hours in a classroom, twice a week. Twelve hours of homework a week. Exams. I'm looking forward to this like having dinner with Mike Tyson on a coke binge. I'd just stopped having that nightmare where I haven't done my homework, or studied for the exam, or remembered where the exam hall is, or taken any notes all year.
So, why do it, right?
I'm getting sick and tired of not knowing what the fuck people are saying around me. And yes, I'm quite aware that there will be a time, should I learn the language, that I'll crave not having a clue what these bastards are mumbling on about. I might need to get in a time machine to the time before I spoke this marble-mouthed tongue.
French bistro and host of many sublime evenings, Gamelle, on College, has closed its doors. The food and service were inconsistent at best, but when this place was "on" few could hold a candle to it. The fois gras never missed, but the duck was fickle yet worth the risk. The sauces so dark, the wine so fragrant, the lighting was always low and the room seemed to twinkle like a far away star or a small fire in a glass of honey.
Jean-Francois played the French owner to perfection and gave a personal touch and warmth to a chamber that at capacity seated no more than forty. Some great meals there, but even finer times. With it's closing, we've lost a "hub" of the finer moments of our lives.
What a terrible day. Won't go into the details, but let's just say this is one of those...
How totally lost we get in the minutia of our lives sometimes that we forget to appreciate every Goddamn second we have on this planet and in this life. That's what must suck about prison - the time wasted, we have so little of it to begin with.
I know Seneca said, "life's long enough if you know what to do with it," but really? If we all lived 3000 years, I wouldn't complain. Think of all the stupid shit you could do.
Love the line in the song below, "please do not confront me with my failures, I have not forgotten them." So true. God, I love a good song. This world can be so... beautiful.
The other day I was buying something at a store and the young girl behind the counter said, "jiorovlvnweijolvfhn vjnjn kvjcnfkjvnknj sdafvlskjn" which I figured (slowly) meant, "thirty kroner". So, I said, out loud, "oh. Thirty. Right." I paid and walked away with my good in hand, only to hear her say loudly to me as I walked away, "NIEH (no), iorovlvnweijolvfhn vjnjn kvjcnfkjvnknj sdafvlskjn (thirty kroner)."
The point is, she was upset that I corrected her Danish for my English - the same way we would be if some French asshole visiting Toronto did the same thing in French. The lesson here, is that even people that live in the smallest, shittiest places have national pride. Think about it - even people in the Ukraine get all pumped up when it comes to their miserable little armpit of a country. Probably.
So next time, when you hear someone tell you that a particular place in the world is particularly proud of their heritage, tell them to shut the fuck up. Everywhere in the world is nationalistic. Fucking everywhere. Even the stupid bitch behind the cash in the middle of nowhere, Denmark.
Everybody's talking about this helicopter robbery in Sweden and how these guys basically stole a whole bunch of dough. So much, the authorities won't even say. Over here, you get the sense the mystery robbers are approaching hero status quite quickly. They love a good thief in these parts, which made me think... didn't we (North Americans) used to like thieves too? Didn't we used to place on a pedestal inventive thieves like Bonny and Clyde, or Al Capone or whoever the fuck it was that stole that truck with two million Twoonies in it (have they spent it yet?).
Why don't we anymore? When was the last time in North America a thief or a crook or a robber got some good press?
On the plane back to the other side of the pond, I was sitting beside a Mother and her 13 month old infant Ethan. The thing was in a crib in front of us and was trying to crawl out constantly so that it would fall and crack its head open and I would look like an asshole. After three hours of baby watching I fell asleep, exhausted. Long story short, I got a tourists view on how, YES, life does completely change when you have a child. It's a complete loss of freedom.
Now, if you're married with children, if you want to get back half of your free time, just get a divorce. You end up splitting the parenting duties and getting some actual fucking time to yourself. Is it that simple?
Why doesn't one of you Canadian dudes talk to the guy that makes Iceberg Vodka and set up a similar shop, selling at a slighting higher price point with a slightly nicer (high design) bottle? Could make a bunch a dough, east coast style.
Got a bit of a cold bug, so down for a few days. Being ill typically makes me either a zombie or hyper introspective - i'll let you guess which one this is.
Could you imagine if there actually was a God? What would that mean? Someone or something is watching me type this stupid blog? Some holy entity is reading imissthisguy.com... wow. Awesome. An old holy thing in the clouds just thought about commenting below.
If God actually existed, why would he/she/it send such confusing messages to the humans below? Why mess with our heads like this? If there's a God, he/she/it's not the friendly fucker we've made him out to be, cuz he's definitely screwing with us something fierce. He's got some assholes bowing on the ground in one specific direction, while he's got others wearing funny hats and some even dipping babies in water and doing strange hand gestures in the shape of a cross on their chest. If there's a God, I'd like to see he/she/it direct a movie, cuz it clearly has one fucked up sense of humor.
Looks like it's gonna be the last sunny weekend here for a while. The "six month cloud" thing is inching closer and everyone is treating the last bit of sun like it's made out of gold. I don't think anybody even went into work today, they just spread pork fat on their face, crawled down to the waterfront and funneled Tuborg until the sun went down.
Upon reflection, it was a pretty good trip back. Some obvious high and low-lights, but one of the softer moments was when I was having breakfast with my Dad at Bagel World on Wilson. I asked the 78 year old figurehead if he felt that marrying my Mom (a non-jew) was the reason his business in the Jewish community went south in his later years. Without hesitation, he said no - things don't work that way.
It was a nice moment between Father and son, even if that's exactly the way things work and even if he was lying through his teeth.
Was hanging out with some people I'd just met, when one big oafish looking guy named Scott asked me, "has anybody ever said you look like Jay Leno?" Ha. Really? Jay Leno? Heard that in high school when my chin was a mile long, but kinda figured those days were behind me. I looked at this fucker like I could kill him and spat, calling him by the wrong name on purpose (take that!), "thanks Stuart. Anyone ever say you look like Rick Moranis in Spaceballs?"
Was a great weekend for hotheads. Kanye West jumped on stage at the MTV awards and grabbed the mic out of some teenagers hand to say who he thought should have won the award. How much coke do you have to be on to give that much of a shit about an MTV award?
Just as Kanye was flipping his lid, the inappropriately named Serena Williams was threatening the life of an attention grabbing Asian line judge causing her to lose the match.
To top it off, as Kanye and Serena were making their apologies, Toronto's own Norman Levine stood up during the question and answer period of Toronto Short Program 3 and declared the entire thing, "shit" and "a piece of crap". Not the US Open or MTV Awards, but for a 78 year old to be so intolerant of horseshit gives us all hope that one day we might actually say what we're thinking.
So it's the ninth day of the ninth month of the ninth year of the millennium. A big deal for those of us with supernatural powers. Tonight I plan to make 20 vodka soda's magically disappear.
Sorry 'bout the dee-lay. Been hanging in the wild getting my drink on. In Toronto now and feel right at home with these muff diving sock wearing mustaches.
The guys at my office are trying to teach me a Danish word every day. Today the word is for "desk", which in Danish is "bord". Of course, they don't pronounce their "d's" here, so it really sounds like "bor". But, don't forget their "o" sound is sharper than ours (they have 9 vowels, all of which sound like our "o" sound), so it's more like "bar". In other words, I've been sitting at a bar all day (and I'm not even drunk).
Word has filtered in by way of Kenyan boy-messenger, Chinese junk and Pony Express that "Gary the Hangover" has gone missing from work for two days. He is unreachable and top secret, high-level orders have been given for him to be fired by a man named Serge, should he resurface.
If you recall in a recent post, Gary's hard drinking and terrible workday appearance coined the term "to be feeling Gary" as in "I'm feeling too Gary to get any work done" or "I'm feeling pretty Gary right now - I need to throw up."
With Gary's recent vanishing act, the mystery thickens. Where did Gary go? Is he in a saloon or a bar? What is he drinking as he contemplates his downward spiral? And, metaphorically and existentially speaking, does he know that he's feeling Gary?
I wish I went to Harvard. I wish I could fly. I wish I was in the Olympics. I wish I could be two places at once. I wish I could be 27 again. I wish I could float in outer space, specifically the Milky Way. I wish I didn't have to sleep. I wish I was on a train in 18th Century India. I wish I could vanquish my foes. I wish I was Dan Deacon for ten seconds.
When the Gods want to punish you, they answer your prayers.
Man do I hate Rock and Roll. Even the name pisses me the fuck off. Is there anything more lame than a guitar? Think we might be overusing the instrument a little? Just the thought of some American douchebag playing guitar on a beach for his sorority or whatever makes my skin breakout in fits of acne and bedsores.
I get that there are classic songs and I tap my toes to them sometimes, and grant there are some genius melodies in the genre. But, pound for pound, there's no greater pile-up of hack horsehit than the finger snapping ass farting rock genre. What really boils my cabbage is the way people at rock concerts all face in the same direction and worship the band. Music should be a soundtrack, not a sermon. It should blend. The only performance worth watching in some kind of awe is a classical recital or symphony - but would it hurt for those higher forms of art to loosen up a little too?
This isn't exactly a fashion page, but somebody has to say something about the direction of women's clothing. This Aladdin and the forty thieves look isn't working. Every woman I see is wearing these silk pants and gypsy shoes they know look like shit, but wear just because it's the new thing to do and the magazines say it's hot. I see the guilty look on your faces ladies - it's okay to go against the grain. You look like MC Hammer and even if the whole point is some kind of "anti-sexy" look, the thing is still a complete fail.
The more I think about sports, the more I hate every moment I've wasted watching them. Sports is the original reality TV, nothing more. Obviously. But, God it was good getting into a Leaf's game and holy fuck did the playoffs feel something awesome. I miss that shit.
Deep down, I've always known this, but am even more aware of it watching these Euro puffs play games. Did you know that after every game the home team applauds the audience for their cheering efforts? Often shirts are removed while the hands are clapped and it's basically one big, stadium wide, cock sucking session. The look of semi-retarded athletes applauding fully-retarded sports fans is too much.
Just read the average Japanese human watches 300 minutes of TV per day. Ka-nee-che-wa! That's a lot. The most in the world.
Considering the messed up shit they have on the tube, it's no wonder they're such tweaked out little fuckers. My question to you is, what came first... the tweaked out little fuckers or the messed up TV?
An unfortunately potent case of food poisoning has kept me from lecturing you idiots for the past few days. Before I continue with the syllabus, let's all enjoy a sage and personal analogy about my experience.
Remember the opening sequence to Bonanza? My guts felt like that map of the Ponderosa for about three days and there was something in my intestine which vaguely resembled Dan Blocker (with hat).
There's a guy that works in a friends office who's been drinking too much and missing work and generally being a drunk asswipe. The guy is two seconds from losing his job and when he does show up to work, is totally exhausted. To make matters worse, apparently the guys name is Gary. In honor of this guy that I'll never meet, I'd like to use his name, from this point forward, as an "ism".
Gary (Gar-y). Definition: To be feeling terrible in the morning and unfit to work. Used in a sentence: I'm feeling a little Gary this morning, maybe I will call in sick.
While there's nothing better than hanging out with buddies you've known forever and been through all types of serious shit with, there's still something small to be said for boozing it up with foreign dudes you barely know. They say completely offside shit and go from sober to smashed in five seconds, typically after a few hours at the bottle. It's like a switch that flips and is worth the price of a hundred vodka soda's to watch. The Euro drunks almost always break their glass when it's empty and walking around a bar in open shoes is basically suicide.
Went out Friday night with the locals and spent the rest of the weekend staring at the ceiling in my apartment. Was out till past five in the morning and was one of the first to leave. It's standard behavior here to cruise on beer until the sun comes up then scarf down a pizza. Finally got my ass in gear Sunday night to go to the local grocery store for popcorn. Of course, there's only one store open on Sunday with only one person on staff - by law everything has to be closed here on the sabbath. Was in line for about a half hour.
Not sure how I feel about this imposed day of rest, but the more I get accustomed to not being able to get things outside business hours, the more I like it. For example, if you want to look for apartments to rent (or buy) you need to look from Monday - Thursday, 9 - 2pm, because real estate agents here don't work weekends. Think about that for a minute and try not to laugh.
Got an industry function tonight. I'm going in cold here, not knowing too many people to hang with. I think I'll give 'em a number two - you know, the chug too much booze and act like a gangster routine. I figure the best way to make a name for yourself is at these parties, running at the mouth, pulling stunts. Maybe I'll blow a fireball.
I'm proud to report I can now safely tell the difference between a Swedish, Norwegian, Finnish or Danish accent. They all sound like drunk baboons with nickels in their mouths, but there is an actual difference, albeit a subtle one. In fact, Swedish starts to sound like French if you concentrate and Norwegian is almost singing. Danish is the toughest of the bunch and is the equivalent of the "French Canadian" farmer accent. They get a lot of slack for it up here, but don't seem to mind being the runts of the language litter. In fact, world wide, I challenge you to find an uglier, less comprehensible tongue.
Conversely, most people I meet here think I'm from Australia. They can tell I'm not British and there's something not American about me, so they go with Australian. Gotta admire their incredibly flawed logic. In the past I used to correct them, but I've learned, why bother?
Had a meeting this morning scheduled for 9am, 45 minutes north of Copenschmagen. Worried I'd get lost, arrived an hour early and finished the meeting before it was scheduled to start. I made it back to the office about the time I should have been mid-meeting. The guys at the office were in a meeting when I got back and when they saw me walk in, assumed something was fucked up. It's hard to explain, but this is a pretty good metaphor about how things around here never work smoothly, even when they're ahead of schedule.
Heading to the dentist tomorrow. Will be my first look at the local medical scene. It's just a routine cleaning but I'm expecting leeches and whiskey to play a major role. Hope they have head bandages in my hat size.
So they're sending Garth Drabinsky to jail for 7 years, of which he'll serve one. They say he would have been sentenced more heavily if he wasn't physically handicapped. Met the guy once and he's a pretty intimidating dude - he was on trial at the time and there was a serious dark cloud over his head.
Here in CPH they come down hard on white collar crime, even harder than in the US. Many are outraged with the laws here - apparently you go to jail longer for fraud than you do for rape. If that was the case in Canada, Garth D would be looking at a Madoff style sentence of 150 years and he sure as fuck wouldn't be out in 12 months.
There's a place around the corner from my office that served me the single worst meal of my life. It was a schwarma platter - chicken on rice. I asked for the kabobs but got the little shards of chicken and didn't realize it till I was at the office and had my red and white napkin tied around my neck and fork and knife sharpened and ready to cut those sweet kabobs. The meal had hunks of gross chicken fat and was generally disgusting and terrible. It wouldn't have bothered me so much, but the dish was about $16, which is expensive even for here. Talk about a rip off.
Now when I walk by the place I give the chef in the window the evil eye. I walk by often and distribute the bug eye, mean eye, cruk eye and recently the squint eye. The strange thing is, it's starting to work. The chef is actually getting upset - I think he's gonna jump me soon. They must really put curses on each other wherever the fuck this guy's from, because he's about to lose it.
When was the last time you saw Rick Moranis in a movie? Apparently the little guy was a big ass jerk and nobody wants to work with him anymore. Considering most comedians are more evil than rabid gorilla's, it's more likely that he's not working anymore because he's too busy counting his dough or he just isn't funny anymore. Which happens (see: Chevy Chase).
For the unfamiliar, Spalding Gray was a master of the rare art of soliloquy. His famous movies SWIMMING TO CAMBODIA and GRAY'S ANATOMY (trailer below) are marathons of storytelling and pretty much the artsiest things I've really truly loved in my life. A few years after getting into this guys work, 9/11 happened and the sensitive creature that he is, couldn't take the sadness and killed himself. Gray had always been obsessed with death, owning a home that bordered on a graveyard and writing about it often. A true artists soul, gone and missed.
Went fishing in the ocean last night avec a few beers and zero life jackets. The boat, she was nice and unstable. Got into land with almost no fuel just before a storm hit. I asked about the rules on drinking and boating and also about not wearing life jackets and got some pretty vague answers. Truth is, there's not a whole bunch of rules here. In fact, the only rule that is widely observed is there's absolutely no j-walking - strange if you consider that's the one rule consistently broken in North America. I live in opposite land.
The fundamental difference between people in T.O. and here is that in CPH, people grow up much, much faster. It's not strange to see a ten year old smoking and it's common for a 12 year old kid to drink and have a girlfriend. There's two cases in Denmark of 13 year old boys becoming Father's. What seems barbaric to Canadians, is actually government sanctioned. There's a new policy encouraging women to have children in their late teens and early twenties, so they won't have to miss so much work when they're in the workforce.
It seems superficial, but their expedited youth permeates most things and the strange result is an age obsessed culture. Psychologically, the people aren't fully formed - their quick advance ironically stunts emotional growth. They know how to look like they've got it under control, but these fuckers are a mess.
This week, Copenhagen is hosting the world Out Games. To those of you out of the "hoop", it's the same as the Olympics, but with gays. The marquee event is the 69 meter dash, in which 69 people compete to break the world record of 6.9 seconds. It's worth noting that in the gymnastics competition, the teams consist of the exact same individuals that participated in China last year. Which raises an interesting question - how does one actually qualify to be considered gay? What kind of proof are we talking about here?
The city is filled with competing athletes and their supporters. It's not uncommon to see men dressed in their team uniforms walking down the street. Saw two guys in Mexico sports outfits shopping. Funny.
Holy shit do I miss my old ride. Malecite green with tan leather interior = awesome. The buttons required a degree in hieroglyphics to sort out. Little windshield wipers on the headlamps. The ignition key in between the two front seats. The turbo that sounded like a jet engine. I don't miss the bi-weekly trips to the mechanic, but every time I see a similar Saab drive by me here (it was one of a kind - I've never seen one of the same coloring), which is often, I feel nostalgic as a Russian sailor.
If a car could be funny, that car was Sam Kinison - quirky, high pitched, loud, ironic, low to the ground. She was a pig from 0 - 120, but I've never driven a car that went from 120 - 140 like that. Like all good things, it had a sweet spot and took a while to fully understand.
