I wonder if any of my childhood friends are dead? I used to run with a pretty tweaked out bunch of fellers - the cream of the cream of the cream of the nerd crop. Some serious dolts of which I was without question the super-nerd. Wouldn't be surprised to find Nils Ozolins died twisting his ankle playing Nintendo tennis or James Berry got caught cheating in Atlantic City and was thrown out a hotel window. Of all the toolboxes I've known, someone's got to have bit the bucket.
Speaking of dying, I'm heading to a remote island in Denmark this Friday to do a documentary on Satanism. The 3.5 hour ferry to Anholt (google map it for a laugh) doesn't operate on the weekend, so we're stuck there until Monday. I'm fucking scared shitless.
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7 comments:
What kind of defensive measures do you have around the house? I would recommend taking something for personal safety, perhaps a machete or chainsaw.....serial killers seems to like those tools so if you have your own at least you are on equal footing.
Barnesy
I think the lack of sunshine and drinking buddies is getting to you....what's with the death pool?
Barnesy
Guessing the cell phone coverage there is a little on the not-so-much side. You should leave it at home to ensure maximum tranquility achievability-itude. You don't want your walk around this unique island to be dragged down by obsessive compulsive coverage checkingness.
Bring your 2 iron and a bunch of golf balls. The place looks perfect for spraying around random shots. Write the names of various dead-to-you dolts on the golf balls. Then think of them no more.
Forget the documentary - seek out each of the 160 people that live on this pimple in the wilderness and provide them with a visit Canada pamphlet.
Well put PPH
There's internet in our little house here on Anholt, but no phone coverage. People are friendly and not afraid to talk of the towns dark past. Nobody speaks a lick of English, which makes for a very isolating experience. Like most remote places, the pace is superduper slow. Was out shooting this morning at 6:30am, catching nice images of the sleepy town. Roosters here have an interesting Danish accent - "cock a doodle dlklnfjknlscj" they say. Played "throw the stick" with a dog for a while, convinced it was a pretty tough character until it's owner came to call it home, "here Bobo". Bobo? More like Lucifer.
Is it good that I read this fine blog for months and months religiously and then wake up after Christmas and totally forget about it? I love this blog. It not only gives me unique insight - it gives me a mental and emotional pipeline into our Danish friend Bobo (the one with the large-ass moustache). Then - for the month of January - I forget to check it. I think I am starting to enjoy the results of long-term throatsauce usage. Bottom line? Bort be back.
Bwah! You can't make that schtuff up. More throatsauce. And definitely more ass moustaches.
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