Arrived in Copenhagen to discover that it's summer in Denmark!! Summer in Denmark is characterized by 15 foot snow drifts and -4º C temperatures. Too bad I left my snow pants in the fourth grade.

I have entered my 31st consecutive hour of aroused intense concentration. No rest for the weary, and no sleep on the airplane - or the Langoliers will getcha! That's what my pops always says. Pops never leads my astray, and he would certainly never lead me into the gnashing jaws of THE LANGOLIERS!

So I'm dog tired, which is pretty tired for a human. But I've compiled some thoughts I jotted down while traveling from New York to London to Wonderful Copenhagen (according to neon signs). Later, you will be able to relive my experiences through the magic of IMAX...


On the way to the airport, I actually saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac. Don Henley, your words ring as true day as ever before. Maybe even truer.

All the establishments at the JFK airpot have found it necessary to name themselves with clever puns in reference to flight, to remind the customer that he or she is indeed at an airport. The restaurant is called "Latitudes." The music store is called "Altitunes." And the maternity ward is called "Airborn."

Jeff and I have created Danish aliases for ourselves. Jeff is Man Eddie, for obvious reasons. Myself, I have chosen the lengthy yet distinguishing Hans Jewish Anderschlitz, which can be shortened to Hans or Andy if time is of the essence, and Jewface when appropriate.

They're actually playing that song from the British Airways commercial on my British Airways flight. My chocolate-covered strawberries should be any minute now...

Disappointed to discover that all the banging hot stewardesses I met as I boarded the plane are working the VIP seats, while all the banged up stewardesses are catering to our beverage-related needs here in the back. Who do we have working seat 46C - there's Grandma Poppins, Dykey MacDykebag (she's Scottish, I think), and a woman I've dubbed Jo Jo Khaki Pants who's got too much hair growing out from behind her ears for anyone's good.

BA starts us off with a light snack in the form of worcester sauce flavored breadsticks. Good intentions, poor execution.

Checking the inflight monitor, it's a bit chilly outside at -49º C. Good thing I brought this airplane with me.

Losing my mind, it's 1:30 AM EST and time for breakfast! The brand of muffin they served is called Muffin Town. Curious, I asked the male steward for the name of the mayor of Muffin Town. Wouldn't you know, it's Steve Malfitano! As I ate the muffin, I pretended I was the star quarterback on the Yogurtville High football team - Muffin Town's longtime rival. We had just won the big game after a fourth quarter comeback, and to celebrate, me and the guys rode into Muffin Town on our badass mopeds and fucked the place up. Serves 'em right for being Lemon Poppy pussies.

I'm bleeding from the ears!

Keen Observations on a London Layover:
- food "to go" called "takeaway"
- double-breasted suits abundant
- most black people actually Africans, like, from Africa

While waiting for our connecting flight, I've gotten a kick out of telling people that I've just flew in from America to see Timmy the Thames Whale.

Good afternoon! It's 6:15 AM EST, and we've touched down in Copenhagen. Terra firma never felt so frozen. I need a bed and a pastry. But I am happy to report that I have arrived safely with my payload of 500 trucker hats. See, I've hatched this plan to sell mesh-backed hats - popular in America during the 1970s and 1980s, and again in the early 2000s - to the Danes. I'm going to make these trucker hats the next big thing in this sleepy Scandanavian town! Hoorah!

The irony of my neon green fanny pack has been lost on everyone in Europe, myself included. I have found it rather conveniant in the airports, and I can't understand why it ever went out of style in the first place...


More to come when I'm not sleep-deprived.