Monday, May 22, 2006

Who's to say...

As I sat in Sal’s Pizza snickering at a morbidly obese woman wash down a slice of Sicilian with a diet coke in the booth next to me, listening to Joe Morgan and Jon Miller call the Yankees-Mets game on the television behind me, and watching tattooed, spiky-haired employees in “got sauce?” t-shirts shuttle between the kitchen and the counter around me, I realized that I was likely the only one in the room who could locate Denmark on a map. Certainly, I was the only one who had lived there for four months. Did that make me feel better than everyone else? Yeah.

But there are no fat people to silently judge in Denmark; no Sunday Night Baseball presented by Taco Bell, no hackneyed t-shirt parodies, no Sal’s Pizza.

America, fuck yeah.

Sunday, May 21, 2006

Made a quick stop at the airport candy shop (the most essential shop in the airport) where I bought the ex-girlfriend the obligatory inappropriate novelty garment - a Candy G-String. I had my choice between the Candy G-String and the Candy Bra, but the bra is almost too believable. I can understand the evolution from Candy Necklace to Candy Bra – once you’ve got it around the neck, it’s not a big stretch to move it down around the breasts. It’s funny and functional, offering satisfying sucrose support. But Candy G-String? Do you know what goes on down there? That jungle environment is no place for the safe, dry storage of sweet candies, especially after a five-mile jog. Can you imagine? The wearer is looking at severe confection-infection, at best. At the very worst: confection-conception. Have you ever seen an ultrasound on a womb full of gummy bears? They don’t kick playfully and suck their thumbs like human babies; they claw and scratch at each other like the feral gummy beast spawn they are. Cesarean births are recommended.

Too bad they didn’t carry the Vibrating Candy Cock Ring. I’ve got a date coming up with Princess Lolly, and the bitch gets freaky.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

And that's the end of that chapter... (wipe hands in satisfaction)

For my last night in Denmark, I made sure to look ridiculous.

That's me posing with a girl who was born in 1990.

Yep, this last night had a little bit of everything - Black-Eyed Peas, air humping, high schoolers... everything. I started off at Sly's host family's house where his hot host sister and her hot host friends were throwing a hot host party. Rando Nation was raging, and the Grumney Grimace™ was in top form. After creeping out a crew of sweet sixteen year-olds, we took the party downtown for the DIS Concluding Shitshow where the supply of free champagne and cheap booze was matched only by the amount of times I asked random girls on the street to come back to my pad for a cuh-caine party (i.e. there was a lot of alcohol). The party was a good way to say goodbye to all my fabulous new facebook friends in one easy step, and I took the opportunity to, in no uncertain terms, confess my semester-long lusting for Sofie, the DIS receptionist. She was either amused, or very scared. The evening wrapped with a farewell tour of the old stomping grounds - L.A. Bar and The Happy Pig. The Pig was typical Pig - frigid women and a whole lotta standing around. But at L.A., a coincidental encounter served to put a cap on Copenhagen in the most John Cusack way imaginable. Who do I run into but Caroline from my Tale of Two Bars post way back in the beginning of the semester. I had met Caroline on my third night in the city at the very same bar, and now on my last night, I see her again. We chatted for a bit, caught up on the past four months. I wanted to know why she never returned my calls, and she said something about not being used to having a nice guy interested in her. Now that's a crocka shit and we all know it. She also mentioned her father passing away in the interim. Now that's... there's not much you can say to that. What followed was the awkward condolence to someone you don't know too well, someone you slept with one night four months ago. She looked good though, real sexy like the last time I saw her. As she left the bar, I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the small of her back peeking out under her shirt. Now that's shiksappeal.

I've got to be up in a couple of hours to pack up the rest of my things and move out. Flight's at 4 PM. Arrival in New York is 8:45 PM EST. I hope to finish updating my Eurotrip posts in the air so that the blog will be complete for publication when I get home. Vi ses.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Denmark's The Spot Wins Congratulatory Handshake in DIS Blog Contest!

Peace-Loving Asian Girl took home the top prize of 1,000 kroner for her "cultural insights and inspired writing style." My blog wasn't allowed to be included in the competition - something about it being too kickass and/or racist - but the head blog guy in the IT department gave me some words of encouragement and a shake of the ol' mitt. He said if it were up to him, I woulda been considered for the money, and Quebec would be granted sovereignty.

Granted, the Funlist might be a little too..."fun"... for the family-oriented DIS website. Hell, you think my parents know about this blog? That's what a fool believes. No, no, there's no way I would be writing about my experimentation with soft drugs and my drunken asscapades with slutty Danish women if I knew Ma and Pa were logging in from the old home place. That's why I've been keeping an entirely separate online journal, just for them! Here's an excerpt from last week, when I got high on PCP and rode a stolen bike into the harbor:

Today I had an ice cream. It was so yummy! Chocolate, vanilla, and sprinkles - just like Gramps used to get me. Tomorrow I'll be volunteering at an after-school program for palsied children who are learning to play soccer. Those little guys just love to run around! Alright, got to get back to studying for my exams. Hopefully I'll finish in time for the big Scrabble game with my hallmates. Winner gets an ice cream! I love Denmark!

And here's an excerpt from the day I kidnapped a homeless man and sold him to a foxy-boxing promoter for use as a punching bag:

I saw a family of ducks crossing the street just as I was getting out of class! The whole scene was just adorable, especially the little baby bringing up the rear. He could hardly keep up! Tomorrow I'll be volunteering at an after-school program for illiterate Somalian immigrants. I'm just happy to be using my newfound Danish fluency to help others.

You can view the rest of Scott's Study Abroad Computer Diary here.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Going through the mess of papers on my desk, I found this scribbled on a page of notes from Environmental History. One day, I'll work it out to its full potential.

I've tried carbon dating, but it's hard to really get to know the person through just their bones. Sure, I can take a stab at how old they were and estimate their height, and I can tell whether they were capable of bearing children. I can make an educated guess about the climate they lived in. I can determine what foods they ate, if they had parasites, whether they suffered any blunt trauma or vicious animal attack... but I'll never know their hopes, their dreams, their desires. And they never have a good pic.

Tonight, I succumbed to the neon lights. It's not what you're thinking - I didn't get a hooker. But I did fork over some serious kroner to satisfy another of man's carnal desires: lard. I caved to my crave for American fast food at around 2 in the AM after a good night of drinkin' and watchin' "fodbold." I knew I wanted a burger, but it couldn't be just any burger. If I was going to break my long standing "This Dude Eats Only Local Food" policy, I was going to do it with THE KING. Fuck McDonald's -- make it a Whopper my good man, er, woman, er...huh? Androgyny at the register aside, the burger was flippin' fantastic. We're talking, really really amazingly good. So good. It's the mayonnaise/ketchup combo I tell you, and the flame-grilled beef! And knowing that Denmark's fast food is the healthiest in the world added a smug sense of justification for my rare indulgence. Everyone's a winner, except my colon.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

So much to do in this, my last, week in Denmark. Clean my room, pack my bags, eat pastries, start smoking, see Hamlet's castle, study for exams, watch "Dude, Where's My Car" three more times, quit smoking, learn how to roller blade, celebrate my birthday, write a letter of apology to the fat Anna Nicole Smith for making fun of her in a wet dream about the skinny Anna Nicole Smith... so much to do!

That's a palindrome.

Monday, May 15, 2006

I fell asleep last night amid a cacaphony of American douchebaggery. A group of DIS students in the room directly above me were throwing a late night shindig with their windows open, broadcasting to all the world the unique brand of arrogance and idiocy that can only come from bein' borned and raised in the good ol' US of A. I was the more immediate audience for their dipshitty display, however, and I could make out most their inane conversation while my rage swelled from a gentle simmer to a roiling seethe. They were trading college stories, most of which started, "When I was playing beer pong" and included interjectory phrases like, "He was totally blackout" and, "I was fuckin' the shit out of her." After the great orators tired of their tall tales, they reverted to tossing empty beer and vodka bottles out the window onto the sidewalk. I think I also heard a bicycle stick its landing in the shrubs below, and there was truculant talk in favor of a mattress walking the plank. These kids were holdovers from the bonfire for sure (I recognized many of the same voices), and I was just waiting for someone to yell, "LET'S CRANK THE O.A.R.!" Thankfully, it didn't come to that, or I would have surely acted out one of the many fantasy revenge scenarios I was imagining as I tossed and turned in bed. In one, I stood outside throwing glass jars and bottles back through their window. In another, I marched upstairs in my boxers, pounded on the door and demanded quiet. That one wasn't so fantastic, so I changed "pounded on the door" to "busted down the door" and "demanded quiet" to "defenestrated the whole lot of 'em."

It's no wonder Americans aren't appreciated in Europe. I was reminded of my friend Dusty studying in Florence who overheard two American girls talking at the Duomo. They had just met in front the of the majestic cathedral and had not been there more than 10 seconds when one turned to the other and said, "Fuck this, let's get drunk." American douchebaggery at its finest.

But here's a feel-good story that offers a glimmer of hope for the future of America, and it's all about a Dominican! Pedro Alvarez was my shortstop/third baseman at Horace Mann during my two years on the Varsity baseball team. He's now playing ball at Vandy, and making a case for Freshman of the Year honors with ridiculous power numbers. Check out the NY Daily News article publshed the other day about him and his family, and think of that Barenaked Ladies song about a million dollars. Way to go Penguino.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Lego my Legoland

DIS organized a trip to Legoland, everyone's favorite Lego-themed entertainment center! Three hours on the bus there, three hours back, three hours to aimlessly wander an amusement park designed for children aged 3-11. We made our own fun.





What they don't tell you is how many brave men died in the arduous construction of Lego Lady Liberty.



Saturday, May 13, 2006

Found some archival footage on YouTube... of me! Jeff put this on a while ago and I forgot about it. Think of it as an instructional video for automotive incompetence.



And if you haven't read the story behind those crazy antics, then take a look at Amsterdaaaaaaaamn! Part 1 and Part 2. I consider it some of my best work at Denmark's The Spot. But you have to remember, my best is Tucker Max's worst. That guy can write!

Friday, May 12, 2006

I didn't think I would ever get used to this partying all night long, in parentheses, till the break of dawn. And I haven't. I got outta the bar and the sun was on its way up. What the fuck? You don't even realize how long you spend in these places. Time flies when you're watching other people have fun.

Here are some things I learned tonight:

After you make out with a girl, don't say, "That was pretty good." You've got to say something like, "You should open a booth at the state fair, that was unbelievable." Otherwise, you won't see her naked.

If you're going to ask a girl to dance, don't tell her, "These hips don't lie!" and point to your crotch. You won't be dancing with that girl.

And here's something that all girls everywhere should learn:

If you have a boyfriend, tell the guy before he devotes three hours of his night trying to get into your pants. And if you're introducing a friend who has a boyfriend, that information should be part of the introduction. "This is Janine. She has a boyfriend." Thank you, now I can move on. If you've got a boyfriend, there is no reason to be going out without him in the first place. It's not fun for anyone.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

With ten days left in Copenhagen, I've gone crazy.

Breaking Bicycles!
Yep, this one's busted alright. Busted like BROOKS KIESCHNICK! Ooooh snap!









Mullet!
I'm young, I'm sexy, and now, I'm mullet. Beverly from across the hall did the job last night, pro bono, and judging from the uncomfortable stares at the bar later that evening, the ladies love it. Let's be real here - I don't just pull it off, I pull it off with aplomb. If you look closely, you can see the aplomb perched on my left shoulder, and my dignity shooting itself in the face.





Hot Tilbuddy!
Jeff, James and I had to present our final paper in Global Business class the other day. Because the paper is titled, "Major League Baseball in Europe: How Does That Sound?" I thought it would be appropriate to disguise myself as a ballpark frank (yes, I brought the costume to Denmark with me). I tried to get James to dress as Michael Jordan so we could reenact the Ballpark Frank commercial during the presentation, but I couldn't find a decent can of blackface anywhere in the city. And I thought Copenhagen was famous for its minstrelsy!


Gun in my pants!
At the end of our Danish Politics and Society's field study to Copenhagen Police Headquarters, we got free samples... of dangerous weapons! I have a feeling that the police here don't actually use any of the cool shit they let us handle today, but they do like dressing up and showing off to student tours. Thanks to the Chief for answering all my important questions, like, "Who do you enjoy beating up more: dirty hippies or Muslims?" Answer: "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the tour."

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

When ya blow at high dough...

I saw the most beautiful woman in the world today, 128 of them. Yeah, that’s how it is around here. I know I’ve touched upon the beauties of Denmark before, but HOLY SHIT I can’t say it enough – these girls are smmmmmoking, and many of them also smoke! Cigarettes! (Hey wouldn’t “Smmmmmoking!” be a great catch phrase? Said really loudly and all drawn out like that?) It’s like an open-air Playboy Mansion over here in Copenhagen, the whole city. Everywhere you go, there are gorgeous women walking around, biking around, sitting next to you on the Metro, catching you shoplifting at 7 Eleven. But it’s better than the Mansion because there’s no 80 year-old clowndog stealing the show. Your only competition are the doofy Danish dudes who all look like body doubles for Sean Patrick Flannery in Powder and the Turkish and Arab guys who in a Danish society bereft of African-Americans have assumed the hip-hop identity and do their best to live the thug life. African-Americans, of course, are different from Africans who do make up a small part of the Copenhagen population, and that difference, of course, is best illustrated in a scene from the Peter O’Toole classic King Ralph when Ralph meets the Sovereign King Mulamboa of Zambezi and tries communicating in Ebonics. But the African king does not comprehend! Rent and laugh. (Two 90s movie references in one paragraph – impressed? By the way, SPF was 30 years old when he played high schooler Jeremy “Powder” Reed in the eponymous film. Some say that’s the magic of Hollywood, but I think it’s plain deceitful).

So back to the girls. They’re hot, right, I told you that. But their hotness can be a problem when the weather is nice like it is now, and the girls become so hot that talking to them becomes impossible. You see them walking towards you, and you want to try to pick ‘em up, try to start a conversation, but that doesn’t happen because you’re too busy muttering to yourself, “Gahdammit she’s so fuckin’ hot. Holy fuckin’ shit, are you serious? Fuuuuck.” It’s the kind of hot that makes you angry, and you just starting cursing to yourself in the face of their beauty, which is weird.

But while the Danish dames continued to frustrate me today, I found solace in the celebration of one of life’s significant milestones. Today, for the first time ever, I confirmed an openly gay kid as my friend on the Facebook. I went to high school with the guy, and he came out during college. Good for him, ya know? Now I’m not saying that I hadn't had a gay Facebook friend before today, I just hadn’t had one who goes around saying, "Hey check me out, I'm gay. Deal with it. Have you seen Capote? Fantastic." Scientifically, if you go by what the scientists tell us about one in every ten people being gay or lesbian and one in every five Jews not really having a lot of money, then I must have a bunch of other gay Facebook friends that I don’t even know about (not to mention all those poor Jews). But this kid who I confirmed today, there’s no denying it. It says it right there on his profile: “Interested in Men.” And that’s when I realized, isn’t that the best part about the Facebook? You get to see which kids from your high school turn out to be gay, and then you can collect on all those bets.

Monday, May 08, 2006

ALLE DANSKE PIGER:

Jeg har to uger tilbage i den dejlig København og jeg wil gerne slut min ferie med en BANG! Hvis du hår lyst til at bolle med en Amerikane, så er det din sidste chance!

Ring eller SMS: 30 57 99 17 eller kom og besøg på mit værsle B401. Jeg køber vinet og du skal bare tage dig selv.


I put these flyers up around the kollegium today. Translation:

ATTENTION DANISH WOMEN: I've got two weeks left in this wonderful city, and I want to go out with a BANG! If you want to make sweet love with Uncle Sam, this is your last chance! Call or text: 30 57 99 17, or stop by room B 401. I'll provide the wine, you provide the boobpanionship.

We'll see where this goes.

PUERTO RICAN WATCH - Day 104. It's been one hundred and four days since I've seen a Puerto Rican.

Thought I saw one yesterday.
Turned out to be an Arab wearing a doo rag.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

This is just ridiculous. I've spent the better part of these past two weeks crafting an original skaldic poem featuring a cast of characters inspired by Major League baseball players from the 70s and 80s. Obviously, I did it for school. About three months ago, I was a assigned a research paper for my Nordic Mythology class. I told the prof (Beardruff, for those in the know) that I couldn't write the reserach paper because I didn't know a damned thing about Nordic Mythology, but I would be willing to create a Nordic Mythology all my own. Amazingly, he agreed to my bold demands, and I set to writing. Now of course I didn't hand the paper in on time. In fact, the paper was due nearly two months ago - before spring break - and I have still yet to complete it in its entirety. But Part Two is finished, and I'm really happy with it, so I'm posting it here for your enjoyment. The only problem is, you probably won't enjoy it. If you're familiar with Hymir's Poem in the Poetic Edda, then you might get a kick out of the parody. If you're familiar with the careers of Kent Hrbek, Al Hrabosky, and/or Mark Fidrych, then you might find parts of it entertaining. And if you're the rare double fan of Viking literature and retro baseball, well, this Bud's for you, and I give you full permision to excerpt favorite stanzas in future away messages.


Hrbek’s Poem

1 Once, the fastidious gods feasted on lox and bagels,
they demanded entertainment of brutish display;
they sought a derby to determine the greatest swing,
they found that Odin’s son and Hrbek made a desirable
match.

2 The Twin Cities-dweller propped up, his cheery nature
turning to that of concern as he eyed Mjolnir,
Hlorridi grinned knowingly and looked into his eyes:
‘You are going to need Hillerich’s trunk to claim victory.’

3 The trashy talk did not find Hrbek well;
he began to consider the joke in a serious light;
he announced his intention to call the bluff and make path,
‘towards the great ash forest protected by the Relievers.’

4 Herbie dismissed the charity of his friends;
the gallant Gaetti offered his club,
the burly Brunansky hoisted his weighty stick in gift,
even the mighty Killebrew stepped forward from the famous
hall to extend his own silver slugger.

5 The defiant one said his farewells and marched east,
his fearlessness perceived as recklessness by the gods;
only upon nightfall did the great outdoorsman feel regret,
‘The fireballer stands guard and awaits my arrival.’

6 The lad was stirred from his sleep by a giant egret,
Fidrych, the brave Reliever who had lost favor with the
father of Fu;
he wished to enact revenge and found a partner in the eager
Herbie.

7 ‘Intrepid traveler, I will lead you to Hrabosky’s pen
where you can secure a branch from the great ash tree.
I wish to face the Mad Contrarian once again;
I will meet his fastball with a blazing speed pitch
of my own.’

8 The thick-armed playmate of Puckett held to The Bird
as his great wings flapped and flew the rest of the way.

9 Hirsute, sinister-handed Hrabosky
came late back from grooming the mound.
He went into his bull’s pen to gather stock for his supper;
nobody made a finer ox-tail soup.

10 ‘Greetings, Hrabosky, I have come to your pen to tell you
of a batsman in need of wood,
the root-stem of Bradsby’s better half is what he requires
to defeat Sif’s husband and earn respect from the Æsir.

11 See where he hides behind the manure pile;
I overheard his plans for cutting down great Hillerich
whilst you tended to your bulls.

12 Steam did the pile at the Reliever’s gaze,
and the terrible smell, an olfactory nightmare,
roused Herbie from his spot.

13 ‘You come to the Great Ash Forest
for my precious wood, but you are mistaken to believe
you can fell my trees without provoking my favor.
I say, follow me to the mound.’

14 Forward they went, and the mustachioed giant
turned his gaze on his brawny intruder.
His mind didn’t speak encouragingly to him, when he
saw
the one who had initiated the T-Rex Tag.

15 Fidrych walked behind Hrbek and Hrabosky,
until they reached the manicured mound
where the Mad Contrarian said no man could
hack at Hillerich if he could not lift the rosin bag.

16 With that, the brave, royal cardinal grabbed the
bag in a huff,
jerked it skywards and violently hurled it down at Herbie,
who dove wayside to escape
the suffocating powder cloud.

17 The oft-injured Hrbek stood and dusted himself,
approached the mound with newfound vigor;
the rosin bag he tried to lift but buckled under,
again he grabbed at it whole and failed after a struggle.

18 Until the friendly Bird told him
some birdly advice which he knew:
‘Cut the bag and bleed the rosin, the heavy element;
Hrabosky’s challenge is as flawed as his delivery.

19 The strong man, hunter of ducks, slit the bag and
spilled its contents;
the emptied purse high above his head
a show of cunning to enrage the Contrarian,
fuming red with the madness of a hundred Martins.

20 ‘My challenge you met with chicanery,
and my prized rosin you have rendered unworkable;
never again will it dry my sweaty palms
or inspire my entertaining mound rituals.

21 You must pay for your transgressions;
my fast ball will send you straight to Hel’s pit.’

22 The thickly bearded Reliever wound up to deliver his blow,
but the unorthodox Fidrych intervened before the release;
a wicked slider sent Hrabosky to the ground,
sprawled and shaken.

23 Hrbek worked quickly and wrapped his thick arms
around Hillerich’s sturdy base,
with bent knees he brought all his divine power to bear;
each tug steadily loosened the unyielding soil
until the whole of the great tree had been uprooted.

24 Hillerch in hand and his wonder bat secured,
Herbie had not gone far from the pen
when the burly batsman looked once behind him;
he saw the fiery southpaw approaching with flared nostril
admirably framed by bushy mustache.

25 He turned and swung the mighty ash, eager for slaying,
and contact was made on the sweet spot indeed;
the giant hurdled through the air until his bones met
with Ymir’s in a bloody mess on the mountain.

26 The satisfied Hrbek came to the assembly of the gods,
dragging behind him the Reliever’s sacred ash;
the father of Modi knew well from the stained wood
that Herbie had already begun the derby.

27 But before Thor could take any cuts of his own,
the impulsive gods had already grown weary
of the contest;
Hrbek was declared the winner,
and the gods returned to their Sudoku.

Danish women. Wow. It’s 5:38 in the AM. Sun is out, birds are chirping, I'm alone in my room. Why? Danish women, they're tough, man. I was at a party tonight, big student party with lots of Danish people. It was in a place called "The Stables," and it smelled like it. I biked there from Radhuspladsen with Brandon and Chelsea on the free Copenhagen city bikes. Pretty sweet deal: you put in 20 kroner and use the bike for as long as you like, then return it and get your 20 kroner back. We found three bikes; we were looking for four so Beverly could bike too, but she had to take the bus with Alan and Shaira who were never taught how to properly ride as kids. I think that's sad. But then again, they weren't the sweaty assholes for the first hour of the party, so I'd say tonight their faulty childhoods served them well.

Danish women. Unbelievable. Some guy at the bar started asking questions about America. He was impressed that I'm from New York - most of these Danes are. One guy was walking around with a Yankees hat. I asked him about it, and he said his girlfriend had gotten it for him when she was in New York. He could have bought it here though - there are Yankee hats for sale all over the place. Danes don't really know much if anything about baseball, but they know New York, and they want that interlocking NY. Except you don't see any Mets hats, and certainly no Brooklyn Dodgers or New York Baseball Giants. Guess that retro trend hasn't yet made it overseas. But it makes you wonder about the international appeal of the Yankees; if they hadn't won those World Series in the late 90s, would Danish people be wearing their hats today? If Mike Gallego were still at short, and Melido Perez and Scott Kamieniecki were still holding down the rotation, would the Yankee hat hold the same cachet?

Danish women. Gosh. I started chatting it up with a beautiful brunette who was about to buy a beer. I offered to buy it for her, and in a moment of un-Danishness, she accepted. Usually Danish women are too proud to accept that kind of charity, but she loved the fact that I was from New York, and she was quick to oblige my American inclinations. She was really into Sex and the City, and I told her I was on the show. I played that guy in that episode about the sex. I don't think she believed me, but she found my stories entertaining. She also liked the OC and said if she had the chance would fuck Seth Cohen. I told her that girls often compare me to Seth Cohen, but I have no idea what he's like really. Sounds Jewish, so we have that in common. Pretty soon after, she mentioned a boyfriend in that offhanded way these girls often do. I told her in America, we have a rule that if a guy buys a girl a drink, and then later finds out she has a boyfriend, he can take the drink back. Danish women, you can tell ‘em anything.

I started talking to her blonde friend. She also liked Sex and the City, and the OC, but she also liked Total Recall and Hercules in New York, and she was big into online gaming. She met an American guy playing Warcraft and flew to Texas to see him. They had somewhat of a relationship, but he was a big nerd, and she was seventeen. This girl was hot, in that Danish way that I have discovered really gets me going, really turns me on. Blonde with shortish hair, kind of choppy like it was cut by her sister, but she probably paid a lot of money for it in a trendy salon. She had a great pair too, man. Stacked, as they used to say. I’m a sucker for big tits any day of the week, and sometimes that’s all it takes. But there was something about this girl that really got it going for me. Maybe it was her grasp of English, which along with the bike riding always impresses me about these Danish women. They really know the language, even the idioms and colloquial expressions, stuff that I couldn’t imagine learning in a foreign tongue without living in the country for a good long while. She had only spent a few weeks total in America - most girls have never been - and she still understood the stupid little things I said and knew exactly when I was being overly complimentary to get in her pants. Being too American, she called it. It could have been that, but it could have just been the tits.

This girl had a boyfriend. They all do, or at least that’s what it seems like. But he was going to break up with her soon, she told me. He had lost the sparks, and she’s the kind of girl who just wants to be liked. Low self-esteem, go figure. She’s jealous of her brunette friend who always gets the attention. I thought they were both extremely hot, but she was right, I went after the brunette first. She looked friendlier, I guess it was. Regardless, I wanted this blonde pretty bad, especially after putting in the hours that I did. I wanted a little something, you know, for the effort. A kiss would have been nice, but that all fell apart after she got caught up in Danish drama with some other guys at the party. She liked him, he didn’t like her, she was upset about it, that kind of bullshit that I can’t stand. There I stood before her, an American – a freakin’ New York American – ready to show her the time of her life, ready to give her the good ol’ New York treatment. But she was too worried about what these doofy Danish dudes were up to. Bogus man, absolutely bogus. So I left with a handshake, pathetic. Told her I hope everything works out, but really, I hoped she’d wake up the next morning and feel miserable for not giving me a try.

Like all good stories, this one ends with a pastry. I biked back to Radhuspladsen, dropped off the bike, and hopped on a night bus to the metro station. It was still kind of dark when I entered the metro, but clearly dawn when I walked out and up to street level. Definitely light enough to play baseball, I knew that. There was an incredibly beautiful woman on the metro with me, with a not so attractive friend. I made an effort of small talk, I asked for one of her french fries. She had a great smile, really tall and those boots - I'm a huge sucker for those boots. The more leg they cover, the better. She was something else, really tall too, commanding. She gave me a fry, and that was the end of it. The two of them got out at my stop, and I passed the hot one again as she was fetching her bike. I told her thanks for the fry, and she smiled again, so beautiful, and said I was welcome. But she biked home alone, and I walked back to the kollegium alone. Well, I stopped at the bakery first for an oven fresh cinnamon roll. When I look back at my time in Denmark, the women will be remembered, but the pastries will be missed.

Danish women. Fuck it, I'm goin to bed.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Poured the perfect amount of milk in my cereal bowl today. Just enough to soak every last krispie, not too much that I had to dump even the smallest drop into the sink. I think it's the jackhammers.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Cinco de Mayonnaise!

Just another example of something funny and clever I thought I had come up with first but Google searching smugly proved otherwise.



Check out this "cinco" related shenanigan, brought to you by the good people named Tim and Eric at Tim and Eric. Now that's funny!

This morning, I woke up with a ferocious hangover to the jarring sounds of jackhammers at work. I thought the jackhammers were inside my head, figuratively pounding away at my frontal lobe (because that's what it felt like), but it turns out the jackhammers were outside, actually destroying pavement. I didn't know what that would mean for the rest of my day, until...

Just now, I urinated while simultaneously brushing my teeth. Penis in my left hand, toothbrush in my right.

So what have I learned? Jackhammers inspire us to do great things. I encourage all of you to find your own jackhammer, and don't be afraid to see where it takes you.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

"I had a rough night, and I hate the fuckin' Eagles, man!"

Thanks to Guy Clowndog for busting out Hotel California at the beach bonfire tonight, and a hearty congratulations to the 18 architect students who set a new world record for largest group awkward silence. You all worked very hard to become the uninspiring, run-of-the-mill, irritatingly average American citizens that you are today, and I could never have witnessed such intense moments of vapidity without you guys. Not everyone can so skillfully surrender to the mainstream and so steadfastly follow the manufactured leader. You had the good sense to realize those J. Crew shirts weren't going to buy themselves, and how you all memorized that popular Weezer song, I'll never know! But it sure is impressive, and it never gets old. Let me know when you're planning the next get together, and I'll definitely bring my guitar along. You bet I can learn Sublime!

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

BEVAR GRUPPEEKSAMEN!

That's what I heard 45,000 teenagers shouting as they demonstrated in a protest march to Radhuspladsen (Town Hall Square). Apparently, these kiddies are angry at their government for deciding to cancel group examinations at Danish universities, a peculiar practice whereby students work together on a group project for their final examination, but are graded individually based on the team effort. I can't tell you why these group exams were started in the first place, but they're over now, and the students couldn't be more pissed, or emo. I hadn't seen so many well-worn Chuck Taylors, Iron Maiden tees, and dudes wearing chicks' pants since the Death Cab for Hootie concert I attended in February (an indie rock tribute to Hootie and the Blowfish). It was good to see civil disobedience operating in a healthy democracy, but exams? 45,000 kids take off from school and fill the streets because somebody's talking about taking away their group exams? I mean, it's not like anyone published a cartoon of the exam saying, "STOP STOP, we have run out of pencils!" or a caricature of the exam with a bomb in its turban. I thought the Danes had gotten it down by now - you wait for the insensitive drawings, and then you protest. It's fucking simple. Now what are you gonna when the government steps it up, huh? When they announce that not only are the group exams off the table, but also the practice of group grading during group massage therapy, along with the between-class ice cream breaks and daily goody bags regardless of whose birthday it is, or if it's anyone's birthday at all... what do you do then? You're shit outta luck, that's what. SOL, as we say in the USA. United States of America. Yeah.

Monday, May 01, 2006

It's been a long weekend of Danish fun. After yesterday's big fudbold match, I celebrated the May Day (Arbejdernes Internationale Kampdag) by getting drunk with 60,000 Danes in the big park (Fælledparken) by the stadium (Parken). I'm slowly learning Danish (Dansk)! The atmosphere in the park was like a mini-Bonaroo. There were 6 stages and many other smaller music tents set up all over the place, lots of food and beer, and lots of crazy Danes running around. Couldn't understand any of the music, but I asked someone to translate a rap song for me, and she said it was a verbal attack on the European Union. I guess, if you can't rap about guns and hos, you better stick it to the politicos. It went something like, "Andele andele, mama, EU EU, uh-ohhhhhhhhh..."

The day in pictures...

Nelson gets it.


In Denmark, English sells.


This guy gets it.


Those Danes think they're so punk with their pink mohawks and spiked necklaces, but nothing says, "FUCK THE POLICE" like an outlandish chapeau.



Oh yeah, there was fire.