Friday, July 30, 2004

Dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio

I'm off. I don't really know when I'll have internet again, but I'll see you on the other side.

You get this as a goodbye. It's Debbie Harry and Karl Marx. Dressed as leprechauns.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

None of my groupies wanna dance

The weeping willow and his bird are in town and consequently everything has been turned upside down - I even saw some women wearing hats and not just your regular trucker cap, but proper hats like English ladies wear them at weddings and shit. They'd better be invited to some of the festivities, 'cause they looked very much out of place.
And amongst all of these royalist fanatics, I was struggling my way home from work and as a result of being confronted with all these silly, silly people, who obviously have nothing better to do on their holiday, my eyes now hurt from rolling. Ouch.
What are the darling couple here for, I hear you asking? Well, nothing important, really. They'll be waving at the people from their ship and from the town hall and then they'll go on to reveal the town's new acquisition, this nice little sculpture which costed around £100,000 and is called Butt im Griff. Apart from just being lame, that's also German for Flatfish in Hand and as you can see from the picture, the artist must have spent days to come up with the title.

Oh well, they'll be out tomorrow and so will I.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Libraries gave us power

Today was the day where 46,000 young Danes were told whether or not they were accepted on the education they had applied for. So, from the 1st of September, I'll be studying political science on the University of Copenhagen. Right now, I'm not too sure of my choice, but when am I ever? Anyway, since I have now surrendered to capitalism completely, it's probably the end of this:

(via Infoshop)

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Today is her birthday, she's smoking cigars...

Judging by the weather, I've been a very good girl, but then that could just be a weather god looking the other way or maybe Zeus is hungover and can't stand the sound of thunder right now. In any case, it's my birthday and I'm not at all ready to turn 22, but if I should only celebrate the birthdays I was ready for, I'd still be 19!

Kristian has jumped on the double-blogging bandwaggon (I don't really know if there is such a thing, but you get the picture) and started a blog about Ray Parlour. I don't really get it (I'm not sure I want to, either), but it's pretty funny all the same. Go here.

And I've been out taking some pictures of the town I live in, to say goodbye or something. Not all of them turned out nicely, but I quite like these three, even though the first one is quite tacky. I've never been inside the bar to which the sign belongs, but I've always thought that the sign looked scruffy in a really cool way. The last one is of the street where I grew up. Why we ever moved is beyond me.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Pawnshop ain't no place for a wedding ring

The Swedish vice-minister of nutrition (I think, although it's a strange title), Ulrica Messing, defends her right to download music (in Swedish and via Keld Bach) and at the same time a quickpoll made on Aftonbladet's site shows that roughly 95 percent of Swedes think that downloading music is perfectly fine.
Sensible ministers, decent coverage of music and a woman football commentator. That, and one of Politiken's TV critics once describing Swedish television as "the calm voice of reason" makes me think I should've moved the extra couple of kilometres. Just being able to watch Musikbyrån will do for now, though.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Regrets? I've had few...

Only 5 days until I'm moving to Copenhagen and I've just started packing. That's to say, some of my things has actually been in boxes for a while, but I've had to re-pack and tomorrow all the stuff I can spare (meaning no cd's, no clothes and no shoes) will be on its way.
Moving is pretty much all I can concentrate on right now even though I should be nervous about other things as well. I mean, there's always turning 22 and the whole getting older-thing and the day after that I get the letter that tells me what I'll be studying, which is scary, too. Oh well, one thing at a time.
But other than that, not much is going on. Tour de France is finally finished and after a summer of Euro 2004 and Wimbledon, all we have to get through now is the Olympics and then maybe we can have some decent f***ing telly again. Would be about time anyway.

And I like this. Who is the guy with the ice cream?

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Dostoyevsky's household tips

I'm getting a bit weary with the fact that all my friends have already moved on to Aarhus and Copenhagen, while I'm left alone in Shitsville. I know it's not for that much longer, but.... I feel like drinking heavily now. How else am I going to enjoy that my mother is out of town? And I'm not going to get drunk alone, it just ain't right.
So thank Cher for sock-knitting (I have no idea what it says on that site either, I can only knit in Danish), The West Wing and pistachios (I'm pretty sure they put heroin in those things, 'cause they're definitely addictive).
And did you know that artichokes make excellent TV dinners? 

Monday, July 19, 2004

Reasons to be spiteful

I might not be the prettiest girl on the block, but at least I don't see Axl Rose in the mirror when I get up in the morning. Thank f*** for that.
And am I the only one who sometimes (often) reads this logo as c***?
Someone is all grown up. Age gives you nothing, just more to shave, indeed.

Sunday, July 18, 2004

The good old days before the ghost town

Do you know that time of summer where absolutely nothing is going on and all the newspapers have to write about are sheep and grilling recipes? In Danish (and German) this time of year is called, directly translated, cucumber time. I tried looking it up and only thing the dictionary could come up with was “silly season” which is not really as funny as Sauregurkenzeit, I think.
Anyway, it’s not just professional writers who are lacking something exciting to write about, it’s going on here as well. I’ve spent the last week spending money on boring stuff like pots and plates (I’ve already got pans) and working. The money is nice, but that’s pretty much it. So pretty soon I’ll probably resort to writing about baking cakes. Or about sheep. Sheep are always funny.
I can’t decide whether or not this is a good idea. I think I’d prefer another re-run.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

She's not a work of art or anything

In the town I live in, there is a department of a hi-fi chain store called Hi-Fi Klubben (I never got the 'club' bit?). If you're Danish, you should know what this is, but if you're not, they're a store that deals quite decent stereos and TV's. Right now, they have a slogan that says "Fight bad sound!" How ironic, then, that they're using their £3000-speakers to play Anne Linnet.

Oh, and over at they've declared my birthday National Barbie-in-a-Blender Day! I think that is really, really rawking, here's hoping that it'll become a public holiday - I can't think of a better birthday present (well, there's always Bernard Black, but...).

Saturday, July 10, 2004

I'm high on life. And crystal meth.

It's finally official. I have a flat. My very first own flat (I'm still considering painting it pink and covering it in glitter, to get that My First Barbie-feel). As I'm starting studies in Copenhagen this September, it's been pretty hard pressing that I'd find a place to live. My father has been so amazingly gracious (and these aren't the right words, because I can't say properly how insanely grateful I am for him doing this for me) to buy a place I could rent off him and we've spent the last three months or so looking on different flats. And now he's bought one. A really, really nice 1st floor flat with a new kitchen and a bathtub. And I'm living there! On my own!
I'm moving on the first of August so now I have to start buying all the stuff I need, which is pretty confusing. I need so many things. Furniture and plates and lamps and baking tins and Jesus, I get dizzy just thinking about it.
Although I like living with my mother and my siblings, I'm looking forward to having my own place and at the same time... I don't know. Do any of you get this strange feeling when you see men crying? Not a feeling of it being a bad thing, but because you don't see it a lot, it's seems really serious when you do? That's very close to the feeling I have right now. The feeling that now would be a good time to scream and panic.

Friday, July 09, 2004

Nothing scarier than a clown

The last couple of days and half an hour ago, too, when I've been downtown, I've been met with what is quite possibly the saddest sight ever.
It's a guy, dressed in the most downtrodden clown's outfit in history. He's sitting limply on the pavement and blowing softly into a light blue melodica. In front of him, he has a hat for money and a little sign saying "Help me. Please." I want to break down in tears every time I see him.

Festival rain, always the same

As we all know, one of the best cures against the blues is shoeshopping. This is what I want to do right now, see? However, as you can't wear heels when you go with your husband to the tilting grounds, it's completely impossible to get a decent pair of shoes where I live. So I bought a handbag instead. It's a bit like eating Nutella with a spoon when what you really want is Marabou-chocolate, but it'll do. Anyway, I promised that I would write something less moody about the music at Roskilde when I, myself, got a bit less moody, so here goes.

Even though the camping site at Roskilde has both a music stage and a cinema, I didn't really use either in the 3½ day-gap between when I arrived and when the actual festival started. Monday, I saw something like 5 minutes of The Movement who looked really cool, but where mostly crap. Other than I spent my time drinking (as you do), visiting a friend's mother's house to shower, making chopper-sounds while firing waterguns at by-passers (the weather was nice that day) and screaming "Nooooo!" at one of my camp-mates who'd decided that it was perfectly fine to wear a kilt and no underwear while I was having breakfast.

Thursday was the day of the grand opening, but sadly without any bands I really wanted to see. I was there for a bit of Mnemic and can I just say that a Jutland-accent while you're growling your messages to "Roskild-eeeuurgh!" is hilariously funny?
Later on I went to see TV on the Radio who were not really that original, but I couldn't really put my finger on what they sounded like either. Drums a bit like Joy Division and a very soul-y vocal. Very nice, but something was missing, I think.

Friday kicked off after a trip to the showers, when I got the lead singer of Silver offered on a plate (well... close!). Sadly, the introduction I got wasn't "Hook up with this guy, he's in a glampunk-band and he's playing Arena at 14.00", that I didn't learn till later. No, what I got was "D'you want to get to know this guy? He's lonely and he's Norwegian." Hardly a bestseller so I declined.
I didn't see them either although they must have been better than The Hells who also played at 14.00 that day. Very monotonous, the girl was wearing an awful pair of boots and they were generally not as good as their single. Bowie had cancelled that day, at first because of something with his shoulder and then later the explanation was something with his heart. In any case, as Kristian said, he should have done some drugs and gone on with it. Sissy.
Pixies played his slot. Nice to see them, Kim Deal rocked and chain-smoked something like two packs of fags during the show, but it wouldn't have killed them to speak more than two words to the audience, now would it?
I missed The Hives, because I was freezing my arse off and had to go down my sleeping bag. Feeble, I know.

Saturday was the only day I actually managed to get properly drunk (it's not like I wasn't trying the other days, I was drinking before breakfast, putting Bailey's on my cornflakes and all!), maybe because we were drinking champagne. I kept saying to myself that I should probably go see some music, but I didn't really do anything about it before I got semi-sober and went to see Kings of Leon (boring!). In the space between those guys and Morrissey I sobered up some more, but when I was in line for a place in front of the stage I fainted like a complete... something! I was woozy for some time, had to go to the camp and thus landed at the outskirts of the tent during the Moz-show. But it was still fabulous.
Unfortunately, it went on into Love Shop's last show. I would really like to have seen more of that and probably would have if one of my friends hadn't taken us on the biggest detour in the world when leading the way to the stage.

Sunday was the day I saw the most music, starting with The Von Bondies who were a lot better than I expected, but still not much, mostly just because they just sounded like something you'd heard a gazillion times before. The best thing about the show was probably their Barbie-pink drumkit and Marcie Von Bondie's wedge heel-sandals, which, ever so by the way, was the sort of thing I was looking for today as well.
I thought The Franz were fab, but then Muse went on and it was apocalypse and confetti and it rawked! A lot better than when I saw them in 2000 in a tent that couldn't have held half of Matt Bellamy's ego now. Come, come Armageddon and I'm pretty sure Muse will be playing.
Last show of the festival was Scissor Sisters who should try to make music as good as their between-songs stories!

And then I went home and whined to all you lucky (and good good) people.

Oh, and my birthday is in 18 days and all I can think to put on my wishlist is cocktail glasses. Any ideas?

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


I’m pushing my Roskilde review a little while longer as I am still cranky.

I was watching telly earlier this evening (like every evening) and on was this show about Americans (obviously) who refuse to have sex until marriage. Now, usually I’m pretty much for whatever gets you going, but when it comes to not getting going at all, I’m a bit more sceptical. Especially since preaching of abstinence usually goes hand in hand with less sex education in schools and more teenage pregnancies and STD’s as a result.
Of course, it’s your own choice and all, I just think it’s freaky getting married to someone you haven’t seen in less than shorts and a T-shirt. “Before you buy the car, you take it for a test drive” as Samantha said.
Anyway, the guys in the show went on and on about how it was disrespectful to women to look at them “in a lustful way” and how it was wrong to have anything naked on your mind while you were masturbating because then women were only sexual objects to you and yadayadayada.
The woman host then went on to talk to a couple of fiancés who were both virgins (at 27). Well, actually; he was a virgin and she was a born-again virgin (or secondary virgin as she called it), an even dumber concept. They were discussing which kinds of sex they could have when they eventually got the rings and they both said that oral sex was wrong because it was “masturbating with a woman’s face” (because, as we all know, oral sex can only go one way, right?) and then went on to say that premarital sex was just “masturbating with a woman”. Now, it’s nice that they have such good intentions about not seeing women as sex objects only, but am I the only one who finds it a tad more disrespectful to see women as masturbation devices?
They’re moving in slightly the same lines as anti-porn activists here, I think (most likely, they are anti-porn, too). When these people talk their case, it’s usually something about how porn (and, above, sex in general) is oppressive to women and how women in the porn industry are being used and never in a million years could these women actually know what’s best for them.
I don’t know about you, but I find it pretty sad that after f*** knows how many years where women has been seen as being unable to take care of themselves and think for themselves, feminism comes along to change that and then just ends up looking at women in exactly the same way; as people that need saving and protecting, instead of being people who are perfectly able to save themselves. I know that not all feminists think like this, but I think it is the idea most people have of what feminism is about. Please do correct me if I’m wrong.
Anyway, go here for a less confused version of what I am trying to say. It’s focusing a bit too hard on the whole class thing, but it's still pretty good. Favourite quote is: “Feminists, past and present, may do well to remember that when Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Neil Kinnock and Tony Blair are on your side, you've got serious problems.”

Oh, and by the way, do you know when you’re discussing something with someone and it goes on for a while and then, even though they obviously still don’t think you’re right, the other person just ends up caving in just to make you shut the f*** up? I hate that. Completely takes out the joy of being right.

Monday, July 05, 2004

I just love watching grown men eating bananas

So, I'm back and I'm battered. I came home from Roskilde this afternoon and I can honestly say that I can't remember ever feeling this wrecked. There is not one part of my body that doesn't hurt, I've got bruises all over and if my nipples can just go back to semi-normal after being frozen into ice cubes for 8 days, I'll be in awe.
As you might know, it wasn't my first Roskilde. I was there for the first time in 1997 and then continuously until 2003 where I, to my great regret, took a break. However, I don't remember it being entirely as draining as this year.
Maybe it was the tons of mud, maybe it was the guy drunkenly crashing down on (not in) my tent and my head at 5 o'clock in the morning, maybe it was the guy running around at the fences thrusting a giant strap-on in other guys' faces going "Can you match this? Can you match this?! Huh? Huh? Huh?!".
Maybe it was me fainting in the queue for Morrissey, maybe it was the girl who pissed right next to my tent, maybe it was a cold and a sunburn at the same time.
Maybe it was clapping too hard at Muse's fantastic show, maybe it was the fact that I was pissing off pretty much everyone I know, maybe it was the beer or the Bailey's or the champagne. Or maybe, I'm just feeling old at twenty-one and never thought that day would come. In any case, I'm suffering from hardcore post-festival melancholy and the fact that I'm working tomorrow doesn't get me any farther from being on the edge of crying.
It was also quite a nice festival, especially music-wise, though, and when I pull myself together, maybe I can tell you exactly why.