Copenhagen has been lovely these last couple of days, really sunny and warm. I have looked for any excuse to go to be out as often as possible, both to enjoy the weather and to compile photographic evidence I can later use to inflict a bit of pain to my friend Rafa via whatsapp. Actually, just yesterday I decided that Kongens Have would make for a better office space than the office itself so spent the day with Monika, laying in the grass, drinking water and thinking ideas for a brief we have sitting in our laps at the moment. It was hard work, though; I find half-naked blondes very distracting.
After the park, I went home and then met Kat for dinner at Bar Burrito, just before heading to Pumpehuset for the Street Lake Dive concert. Despite the brutal heat inside the venue and the old ladies in revealing shorts that were in the audience, the show was fantastic. The band is great, the bass player is super groovy and Rachael Price, the singer, is probably one of the sexiest musicians I’ve ever seen. She has an amazing voice, too. In fact, according to Wikipedia she received an honorable mention at the Montreux Jazz Festival‘s International Jazz Vocal Competition, back in 2003. Make sense, she really delivers the goods live. I didn’t bother to make any videos but just YouTube them and you’ll know what I’m talking about.
At some point during the show, she told a story about her and Mike Olson, the band’s guitar/trumpet player, who used to be neighbors. Apparently, they were re-watching “The X Files” and could feel the sexual tension between Mulder and Scully throughout the series to the point in which found herself desperately hoping the two agents finally made out. When talking about it with Mike, he presented her with a theory: Mulder and Scully had been shagging all along, only that Mulder would never show any traces of emotional attachment because he was too paranoid of extraterrestrial life and didn’t want no E.T. to find out about his romance. The story it’s much funnier when told by Racheael, of course, but the point is that Mike’s theory eventually inspired the song “Don’t Make Me Hold Your Hand”, which they performed along with a good bunch of songs from their latest record, “Bad Self Protraits”.
Kat and I left the venue shortly after 11pm, all sweaty, smelly and on the verge of dehydration. Pretty romantic.
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Will Farrell and Chad Smith in a mighty drum battle. Enough said.
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Got these shoes as a present this week and can’t think of a good reason to wear them. My boss told me he had a new pair of shoes that were a goodbye present for a friend but that he had left them behind, for some reason, and he was wondering if I was interested in having them instead. At this point, he had only showed me the box, which had Clarks printed on the outside, so I thought to myself: “sure, how bad can it be?” – I accepted the present and opened the box, only to find a pair of leopard print shoes, hairy fabric and all. Exactly the kind of shoe I would NEVER buy and that I have always dreaded and made fun of. Leopard print…give me a fucking break.
I still kept them, more out of respect than anything else. Now I have them at home, waiting for the day in which I either start doing drugs and lose my sense of self or start giving a shit about hipster trends and indulge into this kind of stylish nonsense. I could also wear them at Roskilde this year, which I guess is a nice, temporary middle point between chemical intoxication and fashionable extravagance. Yeah, that’s it.
Roskilde, I’m coming for you. Hear me roar!