Monthly Archives: September 2013

September 30

Turns out that moving from one place to the other wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. I managed to pack my stuff on Saturday, did all the cleaning on Sunday morning and by 3pm that day, everything was ready and good to go. In the process, I got rid of a bunch of papers and clothes I had been keeping for no good reason so I put all the crap in bags and either trashed them or gave them to charity. Once I was done with that, there were 2 big suitcases, 4 backpacks, 1 medium-sized box full of bits and bobs, 1 small desk, a chair, a mattress and my bike, all in the back of a van driven by a nice Lithuanian guy called Hendrick, who charged me only 250kr for the job. Pretty good.

After a short ride, Hendrick and I were unloading stuff into my new abode: a really cool apartment in Frederiksberg, very close to the zoo. The place is actually a big house that has been converted into 3 flats; on the ground floor there’s me and Mark, a cool Danish dude who works as a photographer; on the middle floor lives Pau, a Danish architect (met him yesterday and seems to be a very nice guy); and the top floor is inhabited by Mariah and another girl, who I’m not totally sure of what they do. I had the chance to meet Mariah and her dog Mimi (tiny tiny dog) last night and they were both very friendly. It feels like one tight little community and I really like that, hopefully I will stay there for a while.

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On Friday I went to see “Through The Never”, Metallica’s 3D movie. As a concert document, the film is fantastic; it has been pretty well crafted, the shots are mind-blowing and fans will definitely enjoy it (people were cheering and clapping and singing along in the theatre) but the plot… oh dear, that script must have been written during the “Lulu” sessions. The side-narrative, that story of a fan roadie on a mission to get a bag for the band, not only is weak but it’s totally unnecessary, too. Or, as this Rotten Tomatoes reviewer put it:

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For me, that’s the problem about this movie; it’s neither a concert or a thriller, it’s just an expensive mashup that falls somewhat flat on its face. Still, fans all over the world seem to be enjoying it so it might be a success, after all.

On Saturday I went out to a poshy nightclub, something I don’t do very often. My friend Denis told me about this InterNations meetup so I decided to join him and see what it was all about. The evening started in a kind of fancy bar where it was a complete pain in the arse to order drinks, particularly cocktails. I tried a good one that had rum in it but the next time I couldn’t be bothered to wait for it to be prepared and just ordered a beer, which I ended up getting for free, by the way, just because the bartender didn’t have any change.

While I was waiting for my beer at the bar, I saw a girl who looked very familiar to me. I wasn’t sure if I knew her but there was something about her that caught my eye. I looked at her for a few seconds and she stared back. “Oh, maybe I do actually know her,” I thought to myself. She smiled and said: “Hey, you’ve been looking at me for a while so I thought I’d come to say hi.” – I explained I had been trying to figure out if we had met before because she looked familiar, to which she replied: “Yeah, I’m the girl that shows up in your dreams and makes you do crazy things” or something along those lines. She was somewhat drunk and clearly looking for trouble. She handed me her cocktail and said: “Hey, wait for me while I go to the restroom. Watch my drink and don’t put any drugs in it, ok? Or better still, why don’t you come up with me?” – Eh… no, thanks. I’ll wait for you here. She came back minutes later, thank me for watching her drink and we bid each other goodbye.

Shortly after, my friend Denis and I met a girl from the UK and her boyfriend, a guy from Turkey called Murat, and a girl from Estonia called Kaisa, whom I spend most of the evening with. We chatted for a couple of hours and then decided to go to this nightclub called ZEN, which was just way too much for me: lasers, smoke machine, confetti rain, and an army of really tall girls in mini skirts and high heels. There was also a guy with a saxo and a drummer, playing live over the tracks that 4 DJ’s were throwing at us. That bit was quite cool but I think having 4 DJ’s was a bit of a show off. Why would you pay 4 guys to do the job that one single dude can perfectly execute? It makes no sense at all to me. Maybe there was only one DJ mixing and the other three guys were just pretending, just to get some girls. Who knows.

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I left the bar at 3am and went straight to bed as soon as I got home. Woke up the next day, went for a coffee, came back home to finish packing and cleaning, and went back to Sort Kaffe og Vinyl to buy this record, which I got just because I liked the cover:

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I guess that now I either have to learn how to pole dance or get myself a stripper… not sure which one is going to be more difficult.

Anyway, I’m off to watch the final episode of Breaking Bad. I think I hadn’t experienced such excitement since The Shield and this final episode is one of those things I would like to postpone for a while, just because I know that the moment I finish it, everything will be over. But then again, in a hyper-connected world like the one we live in these days, sooner or later someone is going to spoil the whole thing for me on Twitter or Facebook or somewhere else so I better find out how this end, by myself…

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September 28

The house-hunting nightmare finally came to an end a couple of days ago so the pack-all-your-crap nightmare begins today.

I just realised I’ve moved 7 times in the last three years and a half, and I always end up packing up more stuff than the previous time. Not sure how that happens.

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September 23

I need to move out on Sunday and haven’t found a new place to live. I can’t seem to find time to write here either so I’m going to take a shortcut, go straight to the point and squeeze the last 3 days in a just a few sentences, just to catch up.

Friday: I felt like I was going to get sick but nothing really happened, which was good. Decided not to push my luck and stayed home.

Saturday: Hannah, Alice and I were supposed to go to see a Frida Kahlo exhibition but we changed plans last minute and decided to go to a flea market instead. On her way there, Hannah ran into a polish guy she had met through Couchsurfing, mentioned she was looking for a guitar and he kindly offered to lend her a guitar he had at home. Really nice. I had met this polish guy before (although I can’t remember his name), really cool dude, so we all went for a coffee and then headed to their place to pick up the guitar. However, Alice and I were a bit hungry so we detoured to grab a pizza and left Hannah to it.

In the evening, I met up with Therese, a lovely Norwegian girl I met last week. We went for a drink at Dyrehaven and had a great time. She’s the kind of people I enjoy to hang out with; she’s clever, don’t take herself too seriously and made me laugh a lot. She also found my jokes funny, which is quite remarkable because a) she wasn’t drinking any alcohol and b) my sense of humour usually falls a bit flat here in Scandinavia. We planned a bunch of stuff we want to do soon so we’ll see how that goes.

Sunday: meet up with Hannah, Alice, Marina (Hannah’s housemate), Sarah, and Henry to go to Tivoli Gardens, a place I had only been to once, back in May, to watch the Champions League final on a massive screen. The weather was a bit crap but still, it was pretty nice to walk around the gardens at night. I’ve been told that lightning designers from all over the world come to Tivoli to study the way it has been illuminated: a lighting scheme of 120,000 incandescent light bulbs with an specific low light intensity, carefully developed by one generation of light masters to create an ideal atmosphere for music, performance and gathering. It’s spectacular. The fireworks are pretty sweet, too; I was particularly impressed by how perfectly synchronized with the music they are.

I recorded a video but the quality is crap and doesn’t make it any justice to the real thing so I think I’d better keep it to myself.

Goodnight.

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September 19

Copenhagen is quite bipolar when it comes to its atmospheric preferences; one day there’s bright sun over clear blue skies, next minute it feels like the world’s water is coming down on you. Yesterday was one of those days. Before leaving the house, I looked out of the window and thought: “Yeah, it seems like it’s going to rain. Should I pack some extra clothes, just in case? Nah, is fine, my jacket would do. I’m just 10 minutes away, I’ll get there before the first drop falls.” – Confident in my calculations, I got on my bike and left. Forty-eight seconds later, a bloody thunderstorm broke overhead. I’m talking about hail and rain and lightning. You know, the kind of encouragement you need to get out of bed and cycle to work.

I tried to cycle as fast as I could but the thought of skidding on my bike quickly made me reconsider my approach to the situation. I also figured that the faster I moved, the harder the hail was going to hit my face so I slowed down and took it easy. Just when I was a couple of blocks away from the office, as I stopped at a traffic light, I thought to myself: “Actually, this jacket is pretty good. I’m not that wet.” – I hadn’t even finished that sentence in my head when a passing bus tidal waved me and four other cyclist who were also probably thinking that, all things considered, they were not that wet.

By the time I arrived to the office, my upper body was relatively dry but everything else was totally soaked. Soon I discovered I was not alone.

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Those are my team mates, working in their underwear while their trousers hung from the ceiling waiting to get dry. I actually packed an extra pair of trousers at the last minute so I didn’t have to strip in the office but I still, I spent the whole morning walking around barefoot and pointing a hair dryer at my shoes.

Then, I got a message on Facebook from one of the guys I had met on Sunday. He just wanted to let me know that I hadn’t managed to make them believe I was the super cool housemate they were looking for. Not that I tried, really. I just went there, had a quick chat and then left. I suppose I could have made an effort but after a few minutes they had explained me everything I needed to know, I didn’t have any questions, and neither of us seemed keen on pushing the conversation any further so that was that.

Fortunately, it wasn’t all that bad yesterday. In the evening, I met up with Hannah and Alice and went to Tjili Pop, a cozy bar that had an open mic session going on. I didn’t pay much attention to the guy who was playing when I got there but I think he was ok; regular guy with a guitar, probably singing about love and broken dreams. Then there was a girl with a keyboard, who would explain what each song was about before playing them, and that at some point kindly asked some guys at a table next to ours to please shut the fuck up while she performed. An unusual way to win fans over but hey, what would I know?

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Funnily enough, the same noisy guys that keyboard girl was pissed off at were the next ones to get on stage. Now, I don’t know any Danish so I couldn’t understand a single word they said (sometimes I don’t understand Danish for my own good) but I’m pretty sure their songs had the cheesiest lyrics ever. You could tell by the way the guy on the left passionately clenched his fists while singing. Once Hannah and became aware of the potential tackiness of the songs, we just couldn’t stop making silly jokes about it. During a guitar solo, I told her: “If this was a video clip, this is the moment in which we see this guy on the edge of a cliff, with the wind blowing in his face as he shreds his guitar” to which Hannah replied: “Yes, and there are storm clouds behind him, and it rains, but he doesn’t get wet because his pains is so strong that keeps the rain away” or something along those lines, I don’t know. It was terribly silly but very entertaining. Not happy with her contribution, Hannah decided to make the evening even funnier by spilling her beer in the most dramatic way possible,. I’m not even sure how it happened but she managed to cover herself in beer in a matter of seconds. Very impressive.

A couple of beers later, it was time for me to call it a night. Now I’m sitting here, a day after, typing this with a scarf around my neck, feeling how a stupid cold slowly builds up inside of me. Collateral damage from yesterday’s wetness, I suppose.

My eyes are closing. My nose is running. Time to feel sorry for myself…

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September 16

Yesterday I went to meet up with a couple of guys who are renting a room in an apartment in Nørrebro, the district I used to live in when I first arrived to Copenhagen. They have secured a 4-bedroom flat and are auditioning people that could eventually take over the last two rooms, which is why I met them yesterday: to try to convince them I was a cool guy they’ll enjoy having around at home. I’m not sure I managed to fool them but I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Then I met up with my friend Jocelynne, a girl who works as a dancer in a über posh lap dance club in town. She is good, good fun. I met her and her boyfriend a couple of weeks ago at a Couchsurfing meeting and last night we decided to catch up over drinks. We started at Charlie’s Scotts, a jazz bar that’s usually really lively but that yesterday, being a Sunday night, was completely dead. We had a couple of beers there and then went for a stroll around the desolated streets of central Copenhagen until we reached a place called Sam’s, a karaoke bar that’s also a Chinese takeaway restaurant. You get the picture.

By the time we arrived, there were 4 japanese guys taking turns to get on the stage and sing their hearts out in front of a roaring audience consisting of a bartender, a bouncer, Jocelynne and me. Pretty intimidating. The guy in charge of the microphone when we got there (pictured below) was singing “Father and Son”, a song I actually like (although I prefer Johnny Cash & Fiona Apple’s cover than Cat Stevens original interpretation). For a Sunday night amateur singer, he wasn’t bad at all; he seemed to be enjoying himself, followed karaoke etiquette and during the instrumental bits he did the Axl dance in slow motion, as if he had smoked way too much weed, thus delivering a very heartfelt performance.

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While we were at Sam’s, Jocelynne told me a few stories of people doing stupid things at some of the strip clubs she has worked at. Like the story of a guy who saw a New Orleans Police horse standing outside a club and thought it would be a good idea to jump on it and ride away, only to be caught 5 minutes later and accused of assaulting a police officer (he had hit the side of the horse to encourage it to run, and because the animal is actually considered a police officer too, whacking it represented an serious offence) or the guy who stormed out of a club and went to the police to report that a dancer had stolen his cocaine, which of course resulted in the guy being immediately arrested for admitting drug possession (what a fucking idiot!) She also told me about the night in which she and her mates bought ten lap dances from a 70-year old stripper at some club in America, just for the laugh. Despite the cracks all over her full-on make-up, the elderly woman apparently was very keen on kissing customers and happy to shake her rack if someone was willing to pay for it. Sounds pretty fucked up, I know, but in the end the senior dancer ended up making more than 200 bucks from a single table so I guess she was quite pleased with the result.

We left Sam’s and headed to another bar in which, according to Jocelynne, a man had been stabbed just a few days ago. There was no one in the bar and no traces of blood on the premises so we got inside and after one drink we realised it was 1am and probably time to call it a night, especially considering I had to work the next day. It was good fun to hang out and fascinating to hear all these stories so we agreed a logical course of action would be to make this our Sunday ritual: beers, cheap bars and crazy tales. What’s not to like?

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Today I officially started my new job at Advance. Everyone was ver welcoming and friendly, I’m already working on a nice brief and my team seems genuinely happy to have me on board, which really makes a difference. After work, I went to meet a couple of girls who were renting out a room but arrived a bit earlier so I went for a short walk around Nyhavn to kill time. As I was standing in front of the harbour, with the sun still shining on the clear blue sky, I realised this was one of those days in which I was really, really happy to be in Copenhagen. I’m not going to lie, I liked the feeling…

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September 15

Last night I discovered that an empty soda can on the road has the potential to knock you off your bike in a matter of seconds. Somehow, I managed to ride over it and the little bitch got stuck on my front wheel, made an awful noise and then stopped the wheel all of a sudden, which resulted in me flying over my bike and landing on the ground not sure of what the hell happened. It was nothing serious, really. Actually, it was a very minor incident if you compare it with my bike accident last year; it just took me a minute to take the can out of my wheel, put the handle bars back into place, and get on my bike again to cycle to this crazy party that was held at TietgenKollegiet, easily the most amazing student house I’ve ever seen.

My friend Vilde, a Norwegian girl I met through a friend’s girlfriend, told me she had plans to go to the Danish Oktoberfest so I went to her house, only to find her and another Norwegian girl called Marte, drinking champagne and dancing in the living room to various songs. We were later joined by Jennifer, a Swedish girl who brought with her an extra bottle of champagne, just in case. A couple of hours later, we were still in the house, discussing what was uglier: penises or vaginas. I, of course, defended vaginas with my life, not only because I’m straight but also because I truly believe female genitalia is way better-looking that its male counterpart. A smooth, puffy, self-contained vulva is simply nicer that some veiny sausage hanging from your waist. Period.

As we argued over such critical issues, our plans to go to Oktoberfest slowly faded away. Once the champagne was over, I bought some beers and just around midnight we headed to this student party, relatively close to where I live. There were probably 200 people in there, most of them well advance in their intoxication process. I went to the bar to get a drink and was told no cards were accepted, which was a major bummer as I didn’t have any cash on me and no ATM could be found around the dorm. I lost Jennifer and Marte, too. One second we were dancing and chatting, the next second they were gone. It must have happened when I turned around to ogle at some chicks dancing next to me. Oh well.

I stood there for a while, not knowing exactly what to do; everyone was way drunker than I was, I couldn’t buy any drinks, and I couldn’t be bothered to approach anyone. I had a strange feeling of inadequacy that ultimately urged me to leave. I’m not sure if it was the age difference, the lack of alcohol, or me simply being a peevish little fuck. Maybe I was a bit intimidated, I don’t know. I suppose I should have tried to enjoy myself a bit more last night but in the end I just went outside, unlocked my bike and just when I was about to take off, a Spanish girl tripped over my bike wheel and fell over, quite dramatically. I asked her if she was OK and she humorously nodded, unable to stop laughing. It was a funny incident. We chatted for a few minutes and then I finally left the party, riding through the empty streets of rainy Copenhagen, feeling awkward and dull.

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Today I was going through Brené Brown’s “The Gifts Of Imperfection” and came across this on page 80: “Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we’re too busy chasing down extraordinary moments. Other times, we’re so afraid of the dark that we don’t dare let ourselves enjoy the light.” – That last sentence made me think about my sudden escape from the party last night.

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There’s a flea market/neighbourhood party in my street, just in front of my building. I went to have a look and found a nice winter jacket for 100kr (a bargain!), which I think might come handy very soon. A few minutes ago, someone was playing The Beatles songs very loudly (a good thing) but now there is a girl with a guitar outside, entertaining the audience as they browse through second-hand stuff on a cloudy Sunday. I really like Copenhagen when I find myself in the middle of this kind of affairs.

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September 14

I’m in house-hunting hell. After only 2 months of moving in, my metrosexual housemate decided he didn’t want me in the apartment anymore (nothing personal, he said) so I was abruptly forced to find a new place to live just when hundreds of students are coming to town to start University. It’s always difficult to house-hunt in Copenhagen but doing it during these months is an absolute nightmare.

One of the main problems, apart from the tsunami of students looking for rooms, is that my social network in Denmark is almost non-existent. People tend to find out about housing opportunities through their friends and having less than 20 of them means my chances of finding something through my peers are pretty low. Some of them, however, are really trying to help out. Like my friend Nikolaj, who posted this on Facebook a couple of days ago:

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I found it funny, maybe because it reminded me of this. Apart from having friends posting silly stuff on Facebook to help me with my search, I’ve also been using some web services that are supposed to make things easier. Every now and then, it works, but in general it isn’t as effective as one would hope. Sometimes I see and room I like, check it and soon discover the people renting it out are only looking for a female tenant, something that really pisses me off (what’s up with that? girls could be as messy, problematic and obnoxious as guys, just look at Miley Cyrus); other times, the upfront payment demanded by the landlord is just way out of my reach, and most of the times, people simply doesn’t respond to my enquiries, which defeats the whole purpose of paying for the service in the first place.

I pay to get access to the contact details of the landlord and be able to get in touch, then sometimes there’s not even a phone number and the person renting out the place doesn’t reply the emails. What’s the bloody point, then? Oh, and don’t get me started with the people who offer rooms and posts pictures of the front door, the kitchen, the living room, the garden, the bathroom, the hallway that leads to the neighbour’s apartment, the view from the rooftop, the cat they own but NO PICTURE OF THE ROOM THEY’RE RENTING OUT.

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Anyway, my friend Marcelo has told me I could crash at his apartment if I haven’t found anything by the time I need to move out from my current place, which is very nice of him. Finding shelter under a bridge doesn’t sound like a good idea now that the days are getting darker and colder. It’s been a great summer, with plenty of sun and warmish days, but I suspect this winter is going to be a nasty fucker. Not looking forward to meet him at all…

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September 11

I had seen Soundgarden twice before the show on Monday (Hyde Park and Shepherds Bush Empire, 2012) but in both shows I was quite far from the stage so when I heard they were playing Copenhagen, I thought this could be a good opportunity to get a bit closer. The possibilities to do so got greatly improved once I lost my job a couple of weeks ago as that meant I had absolutely nothing to do during the day and could just go sit there really early and wait until the doors opened. Which is exactly what I did, sad as it sounds.

By the time I arrived, around 4pm, there were already about 12 people outside, including a Dutch lady in her 60’s and her daughter (granddaughter?), a guy from France and a bunch of Danes surrounded by bottles of beers, snacks and cheap junk food. I sat next to the Dutch lady and asked them if they had seen the band before and they said they had seen them a few times, including a recent show in Stockholm, which had been great and very loud. The French dude, a very quiet man, mentioned he had come to Copenhagen especially for the show and was planning to Amsterdam to see them today, too. I soon discovered I was surrounded by very dedicated fans, which is kind of cool.

Shortly after, a tall and thin girl with very pale skin, all dressed in black, arrived and joined the line. For about 10 minutes, she stood there, checking her phone without saying a word. She was wearing a really nice Soundgarden t-shirt, though, so I took that as an opportunity to start an exchange. WHAT A FUCKING MISTAKE. Turns out this girl, who’s name I didn’t even ask, was the biggest Guns N’ Roses fan I’ve ever met in my life and would go on and on and on telling me how great Axl was, how much she loved him and how amazing the new band sounded. You see, I don’t mind talking about music, I actually enjoy it, but this wasn’t a nice music fan to music fan conversation, this was a full-on unsolicited GNR evangelization.

For two and a half hours, I endured nonsense stuff like this:

“People complain because Axl makes them wait four, five, maybe six hours before the show and I just don’t get it. I mean, I went to see him once and I was lucky, I only waited for two hours, but in any case, I don’t think Axl wakes up in the morning and asks himself: “how can I shit on my fans, today?” – I think he gets onstage late because all his personal dramas, he’s a very complex character, you know? Too many things going on and people don’t understand it. I actually feel sorry for him.”

What? A millionaire self-centered twat makes you wait for 5 hours, gets paid a fortune for it, and YOU feel sorry for the guy? What the fuck are you talking about?! I mean, come on. I couldn’t help it and told her I thought Axl was a complete arsehole which, of course, sent her on a never-ending rant about how he was always misunderstood, about how the media always manipulated his words and about how much of a victim he actually was.  She went on to explain me that her friend Alex, who had met Axl several times, told her Axl was always a really nice and funny guy who was a pleasure to have around; a charming and thoughtful individual who never compromised his beliefs and has always been overwhelmed by his talent, or some bullshit along those lines. I don’t know, I couldn’t give a single fuck about it. At some point, I was so fed up by all her obsessive jabber that I stood up, took my bag and sat somewhere else while she was still rambling.

Shortly after the doors opened, we got our tickets validated and we all ran to the barrier in front of the stage. In the process, I lost the people I was with but managed to secure a place in the first row, between the spots where Kim and Chris usually stand on stage. Killer location, I tell you. I’m standing there, looking at the stage, thinking I now had to wait 2 hours for the support band to go on, and suddenly Miss “Axl, please fuck me in the arse” shows up next to me. I tried to stay silent, looking into the distance and avoiding any eye contact, which worked for about 10 minutes but then the inevitable happened: “The stage is quite small, don’t you think? GNR had a bigger stage when they played Denmark.” Bloody hell, I should have asked her if she actually had any guns with her, that would have put me out of my misery. She talked about Axl for another 20 minutes and then she dramatically changed the subject and told me she loved killer whales and that they were her favourite animals ever. I thought to myself: “Well, I don’t give a shit about that either but at least we’re not talking about Axl anymore.” She explained how much she loved killer whales and how much she hated aquariums because they put the whales in tiny pools and then their fins bend over and that was a sad thing to behold. At this point, she was on the verge of crying, I kid you not.

I stood there, telling her everything was going to be OK and that there was hope for killer whales. She looked me in the eyes and after a few seconds of silence, she said:  “You know, I discovered Michael Jackson through “Free Willy”. I loved Michael Jackson, I can’t believe he’s dead. He was the greatest musician on earth. I’m so angry at that doctor… I mean, why did he do that? I know Michael asked for it but come on, he’s a doctor! And did you know that he’s going to be released from jail next month, without even completing half of his sentence? It’s ridiculous. How can somebody get more time in jail for downloading music than for killing someone? It’s hearbreaking.” Now, she might have had a point on that last bit but fuck it, I was tired of it. Then, when I thought everything was over, she said: “Did I tell you that I got into GNR because of Michael Jackson? You know, because Slash played with him.” Give me a fucking break, already! That was it. I turned around, sat down and ignore her for the rest of the evening.

Mr. Kim Thyil

Mr. Kim Thyil

Two and a half hours later, after the supporting act (a band call Graveyard, which wasn’t that bad), Soundgarden finally hit the stage and every trace of GNR-induced annoyance disappeared in a second. I was hoping to get “Searching With My Good Eye Closed” as the opening track but they chose to start with “Flower”, which is not really one of my favourite tracks. However, in general, the setlist was fantastic: “Pretty Noose”, “Rhinosaur” (!!!), “Burden In My Hand”, “Blow The Upside World”, “Blind Dogs” (first time live in Europe) and “Beyond The Wheel”, which was mind-fucking-blowing. Just watch this:

Amazing, isn’t it? Those last chords kept ringing in my ears for 12 hours; I woke up the next day and I could still hear a minor beep in the background. It was also pretty cool to be so close to Kin Thayil and having a great view of Matt Cameron, who’s probably one of the most underrated drummers out there. It was real pleasure to see him beating the living crap out of those drums. The GNR loonie had asked me if I wanted to wait for the band outside the venue but by the end of the show, the last thing I wanted was to stand in the rain with an obsessive fan waiting for a band that might not even show up so once the show was over, I just took off and went to grab a bite at a Turkish place that is just around the corner from where I live.

The next morning I was looking for my wallet and couldn’t find it. I looked everywhere in my bedroom and there was no trace of it but then I remember I had put it in my bag, during the show, so I looked for the bag and couldn’t find it either. I mean, my room can be a little mess every now and then but not to the point in which a bright green bag can’t be found. After 10 minutes looking around like a maniac, it hit me: I must have left the bag at the kebab shop last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My ID, CPR card, debit cards, everything was there. I took my bike and rode there right away. The shop was closed but there was a guy inside, doing the cleaning, so I knocked on the glass door and asked him to open. He didn’t want to. I motioned him to come to the door, you know, pretending to be talking (even though I wasn’t producing a single sound) and using my hands to point at the door knob. He eventually agreed and I explained him I had left a bag there last night and was wondering if they had it. He hesitated for a bit, asked me what my name was and then asked me again what exactly was it that I was looking for. I explained him again and he looked blankly at me. Fuck me. I explained him the situation again, very slowly, and just when he was about to enquire again about the motive of my visit, I saw my green bag squeezed under some boxes in a table behind the counter (pretty good sight, I know).

I told him that was my bag so he asked my name and compared it to the one on my ID. It took him a couple of seconds to realize it was actually me the guy on the picture of my Venezuelan ID, which I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing. He gave me back my bag and asked me to check my wallet to make sure everything was there. It was all in there. I thank him and just when I was about to leave he tells me: “You know, when people find things like this, people buy presents. What are you going to get me?” What? Why should I buy him anything? He didn’t even find the fucking bag, he just happened to be there when I went to see if they had it. He continued: “Come on, buy me something. I just gave you your bag, that’s very important. What are you going to buy me?” I stood there, not really sure of what to do. Should I run away? Should I tell him to fuck off? What if he was a cleaner by day and a Turkish Mafia  drug lord by night? I didn’t want to find out so I just shrugged my shoulders and told him I didn’t have much money to spend on rewards. He replied: “You can buy me card. Phone card. Lyca card. There, in the shop. But only if you want to, ok? Now go.” He first tells me that only if I want to and then he tells me to go buy it, great. I crossed the street, got the fucking phone card and went back to the shop. “Thank you. Are you happy? I will only take the card if you’re happy.” Who cares if I’m happy or not, I already bought the goddamn card. Just take it and shut the fuck up.

I walked out of the shop, got on my bike, and rode away…

* * * * *

Today I took Hannah (a girl from Australia) and Alice (a girl from Sheffield) to Sort Kaffe Og Vinyl. I met Hannah a while ago through Couchsurfing and last night I met her friend Alice, who she brought along to the weekly meeting. I told them about this amazing coffeeshop near my place so we decided to meet up today for a coffee and they loved the place. We all agreed we should do this again.

After I parted ways with Hannah and Alice, I went to the Immigration Office and applied for my new work permit, which means I’m ready start working at Advance, an independent Danish agency best know for their work for LEGO, a client they have been working with since 1976. I’m really looking forward to get started.

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September 9

So, I’ve been offered a job this morning and Soundgarden is playing Copenhagen tonight. Booyah!

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September 8

Sunday morning, 9am. I’m at Sort Kaffe og Vinyl writing today’s entry on a Word document because there’s no wifi here. Not that it needs it, really; there’s plenty of good music, top notch coffee and great pastry to keep you entertained for a while so it’s alright. I’ve been here every day since I lost my job a week ago and I’ve discovered how much I love to pop by every morning, order a capuccino and a cinnamon roll, and sit inside to read a book for a couple of hours. Sometimes, if it’s really sunny, I rather sit outside and just enjoy the warmth and beauty of a crispy Summerish day. It’s perfect. When I’m in this place, I really don’t miss London at all, go figure.

Yesterday I woke up early, went for a coffee, came back home to pack some books and a couple of bananas, and then cycled to Amager Strandpark. The weather was relatively good so I thought it would be a nice idea to have a little beach day. Now, Danish beaches are nothing like the French Riviera but there is sand and sun and deep blue water to look at so for an hour or so, that’s usually enough for me. Pretty close to where I sat there was a couple: white guy, probably Danish, and a black girl I’m almost sure was Brazilian. The guy took off his shirt and trousers, got a short on, and laid in the sun, just like everyone else. The girl, however, took her shirt off to reveal a pair of big breasts that could barely be restrained by her bikini top, got her sunglasses on, pull out an iPad and spent twenty minutes taking pictures of herself in every single pose known to man: with sunglasses, without sunglasses, with the sea behind her, with the sky behind her, duckface, big smile, shy smile, looking at the horizon, pretending to be distracted, squeezing her boobs a little bit, laying on her partner’s tummy, face up and holding the iPad from above, squeezing her boobs just a little bit more, looking serious, looking excited, with a hat, and then, ten minutes later, she was finally done. With the upper side of her body, that is.

A series of pictures of her legs came shortly after: both legs fully extended on the sand, then some classic hot dog leg shots, legs crossed (she, of course, tried both combinations), then just the tippy toes, then showing a little bit of the bottom part of her bikini, then holding the iPad from the top of her head hoping to get a full body shot, I guess. She went on and on and on, setting the timer of the camera and then waiting for 10 seconds while her iPad beeped loudly to let her know when to exactly strike a killer pose. It was bewildering.

After 45 minutes or so, it started to get a bit windy so I decided to take off.  My friend Diyana had told me there was a wakeboarding competition going on in the canal so I decided to pop by and see what it was all about. Got there and well, I couldn’t see anything, it was packed. And whatever I could see on the screens was boring so I went to Burger King, grabbed a bite and then headed to Ørstedsparken instead, hoping to find some peaceful spot to read a book I’ve been trying to get into for a couple of months now: The Happiness Paradox by Ziyad Marar, which basically “challenges the conventional search for happiness, while suggesting a bolder way to live with one of the central paradoxes of our time.”

I cycled around the park and finally found a sunny spot I liked. I laid on the grass, got my book out and started reading but I couldn’t get past the third page, my head was somewhere else. A group of people nearby were practicing a coreography set to the melody of “Call Me Maybe,” which they were playing very loud and repeatedly, and that was certainly a distraction, but there was something else bothering me so in the end I just decided to pack my stuff and went back home. I spent the rest of the afternoon watching EELS interviews, episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and an assortment of short films until it was time to hit the sack, just around midnight.

It’s now 10am and my cup of coffee is long gone so I think I’m gonna head back home to post this and listen to “Blinking Lights and Other Revelations”. I finished “Things The Grandchildren Should Know” yesterday so I really fancy going through that particular record today, while the story behind it is fresh in my head. After a second read, I can still say it’s a wonderful, inspiring and terribly humbling book so do yourself a favour, gentle reader, and grab a copy today. You’re gonna love it if you give it a try.

[ Listened to: EELS – Blinking Lights and Other Revelations ]

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