August 30 – First Impressions

OK, first off, let me say:

1) I’ve never read anyone’s blog before, so I won’t be offended if anyone decides not to read mine (though I don’t know how you’d read this sentence in the first place if you aren’t reading the blog);

2) I hate the word “blog.” Absolutely despise it. It sounds like something that someone who’s been smoking a pack a day for thirty years might hork out of their lungs. So I’m not going to call this a blog. It’s an outflow of my genius onto the internet. An omgoi – a word which, astoundingly, I still think sounds less stupid than “blog.” For the record, I’m not going to actually call it an omgoi, either. Call it whatever you want, unless you’re exercising your rights as granted under proviso 1 and you aren’t reading it anyway, in which case you should spend your mental energy on more worthy tasks than naming whatever I’m writing;

3) As I understand it, a lot of people use this medium to write what they did during their days. Sure, I’m in Europe right now, but I’m also going to classes, so I think the bulk of my days will be mundane enough (especially for those of you also in school) as to not warrant a “then I did this, then I did something else, and I need to buy new socks” type of writing, so I’ll steer away from that as much as possible. Instead, I’ll say where I’ve been (a rather hairline distinction from "what I’ve done," I’ll admit) and share some thoughts, but won’t bore you with blow-by-blow accounts of making dinner or tidying up my room. I’ll try to keep it as interesting as possible because, let’s face it, you’re doing me a favor by reading what I write, I’m not doing you a favor by writing. As such, I’d like to keep it as entertaining for you as possible. I’ll also put up some photos here, but I’m also putting a lot more pictures up at http://www.flickr.com/photos/11691186@N05/. So, if you’d like to see all of the photos I take (or if you just want to see my photos without slogging through my inane, America-centric, borderline-xenophobic writing in the process) just go there.

August 30 – First Impressions

I think perhaps the first proper impression I did in my life was of Kramer from Seinfeld. Being lanky and having odd hair as a child, it was only a natural choice.

That was quite possibly the worst joke I’ve ever attempted (it’s a pun on "impression” in case you missed it), so I’ll end it there.

I’ve been in Copenhagen for a week now and spent most of my time walking around sightseeing and orienting myself in the city. If you’ve traveled abroad before, you probably know that it’s nice not to stick out as a tourist any more than necessary (that’s one of my goals here, so it’s nice to at least physically blend in well). A few times now, locals have come up to me and started speaking in Danish, so I think I’m doing relatively well. One thing that makes me feel bad, though, is that Danes all speak English – they speak it better than a lot of Americans, actually – and I don’t speak their language besides “thank you” and a few expletives. Why is it that expletives are so frequently among the first words you learn in a new language?

While I’m on the subject of language, grocery shopping is an adventure when you can’t understand any of the words on the food you’re buying.

The place I’m living is, to put it charitably, cozy. But I don’t particularly need a lot of space (I don’t have much stuff here, after all) and the location can’t be beat, so I’m happy. The Nyhavn (the "y," for some crazy reason, is pronounced “oo”) is the requisite picture of Copenhagen. I’m two-and-a-half blocks from that, for instance.

The residence has a total of forty people in it. Two of them are named “Pat” and, at one point, they introduced themselves to a local girl as “the two Pats.” She started laughing hysterically. Come to find out, “pat” is Danish for “boob.” They’ve given up that introduction gimmick.

Which brings me to the subject of cleavage (it’s like a six-degrees of separation challenge to segue seamlessly from a small apartment to mammaries). I know Europe is more liberal than the states and I have been to France and seen their advertising before, but I was still a bit surprised at the amount of topless statuary. Even The Little Mermaid is topless (the Danish statue, that is. Not, as I recall, the Disney version). Being me, I added some audio enhancement to the experience below:

Ah, Beavis and Butthead... will you ever cease to be funny?

I climbed Vor Frelsers Kirke the other day. The stairs spiral around the outside and don’t really reach the top so much as they just disappear into nothingness once there’s no further up you can go, like the escalator to nowhere in the Simpsons. There are amazing views of the city from the top of the spire. It was a clear day, so I could even see Sweden in the distance. But at the top some idiot had written his name. And the “187” reference makes me pretty certain it was an American. Shit.

Maybe someday the reputation Americans have abroad (thanks, in no small part, to idiots like Perez – and probably me for photographing the naughty bits of The Little Mermaid) won’t be so deserved. For now, though, I’ll continue to be happy whenever someone assumes I’m Danish.