Amusing Ourselves to Death

     My present way to spend free time at home: the TV on while having interspersed conversations with my housemates; my lap top open beside me checking out factoids related to what I’m watching ( I usually have about 6 – 10 browsers open); Facebook and Skype open so messages and IM’s are coming through, and my cell, old faithful, bleeping out texts and calls at any given moment . Seriously, I’m not fully invested in any one thing I’m doing because there’s so many options at once. Now first things first, I do like constant access to information, but I do remember life being simpler. The present day subdivide of attention has me wondering whether present technologies are creating a new variant of attention deficient disorder?

    The reality is it’s getting harder to do solitary things when you’re never really by yourself. Growing up outside of the city without cable we had three channels. I talked to one person at a time in person or on the phone.  My attention was directed to the moment.  Now the possibility is always present to contact or be contacted by someone else that isn’t there. I blogged sometime ago about the change of hostels and the travel culture because of lap tops and Facebook, now that effect is even more prevalent. (link:  http://iwasjustthinkingsomething.blogspot.com/2011/05/changing-face-of-travel.html) For a brief recap,  I mentioned that travelers were choosing to communicate with people back home rather than engaging with other people right there in the hostel.  Outside of travel that phenomenon is happening more often when people get together socially. Ever notice how people react when a lap top is around? Usually at one time or another during an evening everyone will make their way to the laptop at least once, maybe more, to check messages. That's not even commenting on smart phones. People seem held away from in person connection by pseudo conversations with people not present.

    2011 definitely was a hall mark year in terms of information dissemination. This was the year when the internet and social media led to the overhaul of many repressive Middle Eastern governments. These were meteoric events and filled my heart with pride at the possibility of overcoming top -down repression.  Never has there been a time when more information was available at our finger tips. The world is opening up to us and changing because of this accessibility. However, the inquiring mind must at least wonder if the information available is becoming somewhat trite do to the sheer amount? If there are mountains of potential information to sift through then what is the barometer for uncovering whether that information is important? Instant information availability is becoming another entertainment commodity and is having the effect of defocusing our attention...  Ten years ago, I remember siphoning through the same 80 channels again and again when I was bored – like a never ending Sisyphean circle. Now sometimes I find myself siphoning down a Facebook news feed only to do it again minutes later, or checking web sites for content updates that haven’t arrived yet... the phenomena is similar to aimless channel surfing.

    We’ve stepped into the ultimate sound bite information age. Previously whole books were digested to expand ones view of reality now it’s so much more common to collect internet factoids. Information is gathered by checking something quick on Wikipedia, IMDB, or seeing how people’s lives are from their Facebook page. To steal one of cultural theorist Neal Postman’s catch phrases – “Are we amusing ourselves to Death”? When are you focused on doing any one thing when there are quick information fixes that could pull you away from that task? One sound bite of information is in battle against the next. Surely, I’m not alone when I feel that pull? I read fewer books now then I use to and sometimes even have trouble watching a full movie or program without checking something else in the middle. My attention feels subdivided between two to three trivial things and held at arm’s length from the moment. That is what I see as my new type of ADD; an inability to focus on any one strand of information when others are so immediately accessible. 

The Dreamer's Disease

      I just watched John Hughes “Sixteen candles” again the other day. Despite being a person who’s reputed to be just into serious, dramatic films, I’ve always had a soft spot for the 80’s teen comedies too. Who wouldn’t like the fairy tale notion that just by completely loving a person, probably who seems unattainable, they will love you right back? So what if in reality John Hughes movies probably offer a blue print for disaster. The fantasies still fun...

 

    Here’s a lightening quick plot run down for those that haven’t seen it.  Really cute, though not “hot”, girl next door type Samantha turns 16 and is in love with the most popular guy in school Jake. Despite all his friends being douche bags and Jake dating the hottest and most popular girl in school he secretly is a nice guy. The story unravels with lots of great politically incorrect humour (for those that have seen it, who doesn’t love Long Duck Dong? )  and of course, spoiler alert, Samantha’s prayers are answered. Jake loves her too... despite only realizing she existed that day after inadvertently seeing a note saying she wanted to lose her virginity to him.

  

   Okay, so time to just think about it all a bit. Why a blue print for disaster? Well this for starters. The western world is a marketplace for all commodities and what bigger commodity than love? Relationships, especially the bad ones, often are a bit like commodity exchanges. People promote themselves, play up their best attributes then try to sell to the highest bidder.  Sadly people can, and do..., abuse the purity of unhindered, naive love rather than celebrate it. Really, it’s not uncommon that a person who has just been broken up with might use someone who is absolutely doting on them to get their swagger back. It’s like emotional vampireism - drink up another person’s confidence and apply it towards what one “really” wants. This often works in a chain. Suck the confidence of someone below you to apply it to someone above you. While the person above does the same thing and there you have a cycle of people looking higher then looking lower, and repeating... If you go into that "game" unprepared, or John Hughes' deluded, you could end up pretty jaded. 

   There is irony at play when you think of the stars of John Hughes' films and even Hughes himself. Molly Ringwald, Judd Nelson, Anthony Michael Hall, Ally Sheedy... they all got branded as the “brat pack” then type cast and their careers all died unfair deaths. The same happened to John Hughes himself. After SO much 80’s success his style didn’t translate to the glibber 90’s and he became a recluse. In a way Hughes had to face reality and not the fantasies he had got rich selling. Still though, such great laughs and heart warming conclusions. Maybe some people got tarnished a little by the dreams he tried to sell, me included..., but they were fun dreams. And personally, I’ll never fault a dreamer.    

Flirting with Toronto

      There has to be something said for the feeling of being home. You know that sensation... understanding how things work, how people will react to you, and being one of the people that can actually claim to be from a place. The last ten years, I have made a life of being the foreign guy; being the guy that learns about a new place and molds myself to it. With that said there is a certain comfort in being back in Toronto. I know things. I know the faux pas and how to get a smile; I know what everything costs in the stores and in social relations; I know the people...  If I say Stephen Harper or Rob Ford is a twat everyone will know what I mean. We all have a shared narrative in common.

      I took my chances travel wise: I went for it, and then I went for it again, then again... I had to see what it was like away from where I’m from and I have. Now the time is for me to take the accumulated wealth of my travels and forge it into something tangible here. The more I think about it Toronto is an ideal base of operations. It’s BIG, but you can get around; it’s cosmopolitan, but not so much that you feel like a stranger in your own city; people are aloof, but hey if you have your own doses of sarcasm and self defacing ironic candour to peddle what else would you want; people are competitive, but they always are in big cities where cool stuff is happening. All in all Toronto has a lot more positives than negatives, with the most overwhelming positive being that I can actually stay. They aren’t going to kick me out in 12 months and there’s comfort in that.

    Does that mean my travel days are over? Not by a long shot, however the days of just having a backpack and being able to leave with 20 minutes prep time might be. People might see it as insane, but I had that flexibility for the last ten years. I got more in me then being defined by my one dominant moniker: “traveler”. The time has come, now that I like the place I am, that I’m going to nest a bit. Maybe I’ll even do what a few years ago I would have been blasphemous to the travelers’ pathos and buy an actual bed, a couch, and a few amenities – maybe a plant... why not, right?  

    Truth is I’m still not a Canadian with a capital C. My life style choices have made me a touch incognito in my own country. There have been nights out back here in Toronto where girls thought I was from Europe. Milk it right...??? Probably should, but I don’t lie to them, I just say that I’m an Alberta guy (though I wish I could lie about that... :P )  that has been around a lot and that a mixed accent is what happens when you REALLY travel a lot. They like it... and it’s just the truth. I guess, it allows me to be slightly foreign even though I know this place well, which is kind of cool in its way.

     I figure the greatest challenge of all is re-definition of oneself.  I won’t give up my lust for difference and the unknown. However, I need to apply its vigour towards a different medium now - building my life here. Having a holistic life of good friends, having a comfortable place international friends can stay when they visit, a job - or better yet a career - I like, and hopefully at some point a relationship are where my new challenges lie.  Adventure can be where you are, if you allow it.  I’ll go as far as my ingenuity will allow. The hope is that after being a dark horse for such a long time that I can finally grasp my "poetential" and be the phoenix that rises from the ashes. I will build a quality life for myself one brick at a time. 

Castle's in the Sky

    I’ve been in London an extra week. In a scuzzy library right now with no Wifi... waiting for my mate to finish work. I have a collection of bags with me; an amount of luggage that a friend pointed out with gleeful sarcasm: “was surprisingly little.” Honestly though, just like when I started travelling 11 years back, I hold what I need with me. Most of what I have is stored in my heart and my mind. So many experiences have accumulated; so much more than my little backpack could hope to hold.

  

    Many people say the reason they don’t travel is fear of the unknown. For me it was always the opposite. My greatest fear is the known – the routine. When other people see stability and comfort I see prison like bars staring back at me. I’m terrified of being subjugated to the same required daily action. The idea of relationships formed over time that could actually chain me into one single, expected way of presenting myself makes me tremble. I was never good with expectations or conforming myself. I've had an issue with committing myself to a definite plan, or person - maybe that's why at this point I still don't have a career and I'm single. Maybe it’s time I start seeing the best of the other side? I have to admit that the fool is the one that hold their ideas to tight to their chest without challenge. The ultimate sin for someone “claiming” to be open minded is making the abstract dogmatic and real. Even this present trip was in large part to get beyond something that happened in Edmonton. For as long as I can remember I have avoided the uncertainties in my life by itching my travel addiction.

    I have yet to meet a person that didn’t on occasion need to be jarred out of their own thinking. On this, the eve before I fly to Toronto, I'm holding a wrestling match with my own flock of golden geese... those limiting ideas that I’ve made real. Whereas before maybe I felt fear and an uncertainty of whether I could stand firm against the competition and the uncertainties of life – now I feel defiant. I had tricked myself out of trying by being contemptuous of those that strived for success. I pretended that not trying was evidence of a courageous, artistic spirit that turned its back on the capitalist mantra of competition instead of what it was - a buffoonish, self fulfilling prophecy of failure. I will not be held away from my own destiny based on the residue of thoughts that were non adaptive; thoughts that were built from the seedlings of personal neurosis. I will try, and if I fail, I will try again...

    I need to employ that Danish/Dutch honed openness I profess to have. I need to stretch myself and be open to different ways of life and know intrinsically that though I may accept stability in position, I still will not stop being open and seeking others like me. My friends are the ones that have allowed me to grow. They were the ones that nodded in approval when I was my best, most open self, and gently, but yet firmly enough, let me know I was descending into the murk of selfishness and ego. No amount of money, status, or power will ever come close to the love I feel for those people who have, and will, stand by me. All they ask in return is what I give easily - that I do the same for them.

    Previously, I felt that the only path to success in life was the singular one. A path that would open up like Moses parting the seas; a path not so much found but just followed without issue or obstruction. Maybe that’s what saw me hold on to my own biases so tightly. The detours and discomforts are where the growth takes place. I want to grow still, I want to learn....  Sometimes life and the expectations we put on it will trick us, those expectations become our own castles in the sky, they pervert what we see till everything is just a reflection of those perversions. Above that though, the pure spirit; the idealistic spirit; the resolute spirit will always stand its ground and push back. For those us willing to fight it, life will never hold us down it will make us stronger and more resilient... not to do such however is to cower away from the splendor of what could be. 

A Success Story

     Recently I was Facebook chatting with an Australian friend. He told me that in four years from now he could be making 400 grand a year as a business consultant, but he doesn’t care... he wants to give it up. Another friend from London was in the same position last year and also walked away from the lure of big money.  Some people would call them fools, they both admitted to me people have done just that, but personally I see something valiant in their position.  They want to live authentically for themselves.

      Really, success... WTF is it anyway?   I’ve met more than a few people who wanted to enjoy the status and the power often associated with having money. People often are envious to those with money and grant a shocking level of deference.The question each person needs to consider though is to what level are you willing to compete for that power?... as competition is more brutal and unscrupulous the higher ones ambition is. An interesting juxtaposition comes when people who thrive off that competition meet their opposite: open minded artists, travelers, and dreamers. All of sudden what they deem success doesn't apply, it’s no longer what one has but rather who one is; relationships are no longer hierarchical and based on power, but rather equalitarian and based on intellectual and emotional connection. The divergence of aim is often why these character types dislike one another. So what if from societal pressure you began one pursuit only to realize it was the other variant that you were more connected with?  That was the issue my friend was having...

     

    Other topics arose as well, we also discussed what we felt we should try to do in the future. Both of us had the same issue with making a definite decision for what to strive for in such a vast world of possibility.  When complete possibility is there, the dreamers’ mind can soar... Maybe it soars under the wings of pretence, but it soars none the less. In contrast, when a direction is chosen, as my friend had felt he had done, artistic impertinence rears its ugly head and stands affront to the plan questioning every aspect of it. In some cases this is the engine that drives an artist to never give up on their real dream... in others it destroys their life. If you prick holes in every plan, the possibility looms of doing nothing. Finding the balance between these two contending realities has been the most difficult balancing act of my own life.   

        
   When you are a questioner to things around you; you can’t just turn that quality off when it suits you. To some walking away from a golden ticket for your future is crazy, but the thing is if it isn't making you happy then what’s the use of that money anyway? Being true to who you are inside... is the only real vehicle to happiness. The biggest sham going is living a different internal life from what one presents outwardly. Schools seem to channel people to conform, at least in my school experience, even if it doesn't fit them inside and I think that leads to situations like my friend detailed. He felt, he had to pursue the money. I have to quantify this all if the competition is for you, and you have special skills for it that’s fine if it’s what you want. BUT – to my friends that walked away from the competition to be who they are... it’s a commendable thing, and though others would never be able to grasp it, I tip my hat to them. 

The Pursuit of it

     Watched a movie last week called “Blue Valentine” that really got me thinking. The story, in a nutshell, is – Ryan Gossling’s character Dean sees Michelle Williams character Cindy and immediately, by his own account, falls in love with her at first sight. He pursues her, the way a man REALLY in love would: relentlessly and genuinely. She is overwhelmed by his effort and falls for him. Fast forward 7 years later into their marriage, a daughter in tow, and the relationship is breaking down. An infamous scenario has ensued, at least from the male point of view, the guy is still desperately in love with the girl, like he always was... like he always will be, but she has fallen out of love with him. This, in a world where a million and one douche bags enjoy massive success praying on female insecurity, to me was a cinematic example of a modern day tragedy. The story is told in two alternating time frames; 7 years into the relationship and the beginning.  Please excuse a few minor spoilers.

     Now, I’m always trying to understand people better and my first impression after watching this film was that Cindy was a bitch who gave up on a good guy. Some more thinking and the help of reading some female reviews of the film have modified that view point.  Dean envisioned something inside of Cindy and used his attraction to mould her in his mind as the perfect woman. For those of us that have felt love before, it not only allows you to only see the best in the other person - it kind of forces you to.  Every joke is funny, every comment so witty, the other person’s appearance - which to others might be just alright - is breathtaking. That was Dean... consumed by his girl in that way most girls dream of being wanted.  A problem...?????... but how? Here’s how. By being consummately in love he lost track of who Cindy was... he held her as his ideal not a real, evolving person.  Invariable it  would be this factor that would drive her away.

   The character of Cindy from her first appearance has a detached ere. Something isn’t right in her family and because of that she’s able to disappear inside of herself and her dreams of a future away from her small Pennsylvania town existence. Dean’s love for her when they first meet was so explosive and true she can’t help but being taken aback. He’s putting himself out there for her in ways that her reserved nature could never imagine. She’s overwhelmed and succumbs to it – happily, willingly succumbs. Maybe in her eyes he could be the escape she covets. Maybe she thought that he would apply the energy he had for pursuing her towards their life together as well. Seven years later life has taken hold and what she cannot shake is the fact that for him loving her and their daughter is enough. He’s not interested in pursuing success and “life” – he has what he wants. She`s sees larger, wishes for more... wishes to strive. He hasn`t given the escape she longed for... She’s changed, grown jaded, and he has remained exactly the same.

    I couldn`t help but watch this film, the opposite to any of the romantic comedies, and feel effected. What bothered me was the thought not even love can sustain a relationship... if not that, what is it then?... just an exchange of services and expectations between two partners? More questions, if love holds one from seeing the way a person really is – then can it be a good barometer for entering marriage? If you’re love blinded will you wake up sometime later to ask yourself who the fuck is this person? Then again though, if there isn’t love then what would be the point? As usual so many questions not enough answers– it´s good to see a movie that is willing to look at the complexity of love and relationships rather than peddle Hollywood romantic drivel. For anyone that hasn’t seen this film I give it a strong recommendation. In the end for me, I’m skeptical of the concept of “love” – but maybe it’s my own neurosis that I still have to believe in it.

Graduation Day

“I’ve got a funny story from when I was young.”

   I was looking across the table at Erin, a girl that I had been out with a few times previously. She was looking so cute and earnest in her black plastic frame glasses. I was nervous. I definitely wanted to impress her. My game plan had been to play up my mature side, but who was I kidding. I could tell from her eager smile she wanted to see me play the fool one more time - like I do so well…  

  
    I gave her a serious look straight in her eyes as I began. “I don’t really remember this story completely. Great start to a story right? My mom has filled in many of the details. As for the rest, I’ll just exaggerate.” I winked at her and smiled.

   “I was about 4 years old, a precocious little guy really. I wanted to match anything my big brother did. If he had it - I wanted it. I even wanted to be the same age as him. My brother was seven so I use to tell everyone I was seven as well. I guess I looked up to the dude... either that or I wanted ALL the attention for myself.”
   
      I shrugged my shoulders and looked down meekly, grinning a little as I continued. “So… we were in the car on our way home. My brother was beaming. We had been at his graduation, his kindergarten graduation that is. And for his efforts, he was given one black cardboard hat. All the new grads had one. They all had special hats. And I didn’t! I could see that Erin was smiling.


“Must have been quite the hat!?” she said.


     “Oh you bet it was! It was like a crown to me. It was his pride and joy… Somehow I had believed that to wear it would surely make me an older boy. I wanted to be ready for finger painting and connect the dots like he was, I needed its power… The entire ride home, I pestered him asking again and again to let me wear it! He kept saying - no.”

     “To this day I hate to hear no when I really want something. So you can imagine how I was when I was four...? So anyway, after pleading to my mom unsuccessfully to make him let me wear it - I hatched a more devious plan!” I looked over at Erin her attention was now undivided.
   

   “When we got out of the car, I made my dirty move. I was quick like a cheetah as I snatched the hat off his head and sped around the corner of our house - my little legs moving like the road runners... “

Erin laughed: “You little scoundrel.”
   

   “Oh that isn’t the end just yet. I would be a liar if I said I actually remembered where I went…” I let my lips droop and looked down in my best innocent little boy look as I continued. “When I finally did come back with the hat my mom was angry. She told me to give it back IMMEDIATLY! I didn't complain at all, I just handed it back. There was one little surprise to be discovered though... ” 

“What is it, what happened next?” Erin asked. Her voice slightly pitched.
  

 I waited a second taking a lingering drink from my beer, then another.

“Come on Dave, what is it? What did you do?”

   Not really being able hide my growing grin my words came out. “Well let’s just say that the hat was tested to see how well it could resist water. I ran around the house with my brother’s pride and joy hat and took a wizz in it. Then I handed it back to him filled to the brim with four year old pee.”


“You did that…? “ she blurted out fighting off a laugh at the same time.


“Yep I did, but don’t worry it doesn’t mean I still wet the bed.” My face turned a little red as I realized - so much for looking mature.

A Mental Rubric

    Just had an interesting conversation with a very optimistic and spunky friend of mine on one of our weekly trips to the library to write and hangout. We talked at some length about memory and the mind, and in classically nerdy fashion, it has got me thinking more about the topic. I contend that the moment is reality and memories are but distortions of that reality. Going further memories are based as much on the person as the event that is being recalled. So with that as a position it would seem logical to focus just on the moment and going forward. Definitely directing mental power towards making the most of what is happening in the moment is of key importance, but...

     As intriguing as the moment is the conundrum is that pure observance of it is impossible. Even in a new environment, given just a little time..., the aesthetics, customs, and people will start to become amalgamated into easier classifications by our mind’s eye. The brilliant writer and thinker Aldous Huxley (of “Brave New World” fame) wrote about this effect in his essay: “The Doors of Perception”. His conclusion is that our brains act as reducers of reality. What he meant by this was that our brain reduces reality, and our perceptions and observances of it, to what we need for survival. These aren’t ancient times however and now most aspects of surviving are catered for through collective society leaving us with reserves of mental energy to apply as we see fit. Maybe that’s why so many people develop mental health issues in modern times – to much mental energy available for reflection and self analysis?

     Whether or not we try to control our thoughts and impressions there is still a vast amount that is beyond us. Individual reality schemas, forged over a life time, will infiltrate the moment regardless of even the most well trained mind’s conviction otherwise. For that reason, I’ve always found it interesting to play with that fact by revisiting the past in the mind’s eye as a means of recreating it fictionally. That’s the essence of an artist; embracing the subjectivity of reality and personalizing that reality in a stylistic way. I’m not talking about changing facts, I’m talking about letting out impressions of what happened – the behind the scenes thoughts that were occurring with real events. These thoughts being recreated breath fictionality and originality to moments that have happened. This is the style many new journalists (Tom Wolfe, Truman Capote) and quasi fiction writers (Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac) have been using for years. We all have the possibility of creating art by just being candid about ourselves and how we see things differently. Like I’ve said in a previous blog (http://iwasjustthinkingsomething.blogspot.com/2011/01/myth-of-perfection.html ) in some people reality refracts in such vivid and interesting ways. So why not have the vivid people portray these refractions in whatever way they can?... it can be through their clothes, the way they talk, or in classical artistic mediums like writing, music, or art. I feel that people have a need to try to express their own uniqueness and not to do such leads to anxiety. I guess all one can do is just try.  The only real judge that matters in terms of what is produced  is oneself anyway...

    

The Art of Poverty

     One of the amusing paradoxes of our times is the fact that when you are making money often you don’t have time to spend it. And when you have time, you don’t have money to spend... I guess that’s why “normal” people take little vacations and drop obscene amounts of money in that short window of time they have to do it. I’ve found from experience that there is something just a little mystical about being a bit impoverished. Not saying it’s an experience to strive for, if you strive for it – it’s easy enough to get, or want as it is hard, but...  Lots of great writers went through it: Jack Kerouac, George Orwell, and my personal hero: Henry Miller. They used the experience to drive their prose. What is it about getting to the end of one’s tether with money that so often is the impedes of art?

    Poverty and the serene aren’t mutually exclusive. Now I should establish that I can speak on this issue having been near rock bottom before during my travels a couple of times in the UK, Australia, and the Netherlands. Each of these times I found that life became so much more serene. Bear with me, you must be wondering what the fuck is this guy going on about...?  I’ll explain. When beyond a lark, ones means of securing food and shelter come into question those two issues eventually become the only issues. There’s a comfort in that. The secondary concerns, the concerns I would say often feel like the daily strangle hold, those such as: relationship issues, questions of self, that nagging question: what to do with my life..., all fade away. That is where the serenity comes into play – pure focus on meeting these goals is a focus unlike any other. There is no time to contemplate the deeper concerns; poverty is a reprieve from the questions of self.

Movie Review: "Conan the Barbarian"

“Conan the Barbarian” (1 out of 6 Stars)

   After only thirty years Robert E Howard’s “Conan the Barbarian” comes to us again. The original “Conan the Barbarian” starring a young Arnold Schwarzenegger was a far superior film that had an epic quality. This version is just a tedious revenge film minimal on story, character, and intrigue.

   In Cimmeria the Northern Lands of the mythical world of Hibernia Conan is born “literally” right on a battle field.  By ten years old Conan, already a junior killing machine, has his world turned upside down when war lord Khalar Zim comes to his village in search of a mysterious mask. This mask, for reasons left a little vague, will give Zim the ultimate power to rule Hibernia. Escaping, but seeing his father and his tribe slaughtered before him Conan swears vengeance. The rest of the film an older Conan, played by hulking Hawaiian Jason Momoa : chases Zim, fights Zim, chases Zim, fights in quick succession Zim’s chief lieutenants, chases Zim, then fights Zim again. Mix in Tamara (Rachel Nichols) - Conan’s love interest - a beautiful girl, whose blood is needed to complete Zim’s ritual with the mask, and you have the essential cliché components for a run of the mill, boorish summer release.

    My verdict is that you should skip this one. If you are interested in Sword and Sorcery check out Momoa’s other project HBO’s “Game of Thrones” instead. “Game of Thrones” has the epic feel that Conan wishes it could emulate combined with a more interesting, realistic fantasy world. If you still choose to see Conan despite my misgivings the only saving graces are “decent”, but over wrought action sequences and a nice aesthetic look for Hibernia.

    In earnest, I found myself wanting the last fight, which went on and on..., to just end so I could leave the theatre. Not a good sign for any film. Only check this out if mindless action is your thing. I can’t recommend this to fans of the Conan franchise either as this felt more like Hollywood’s Hibernia then anything Robert E Howard would have envisioned.

Maybe a Red Corvette

    Yesterday I achieved one of my life goals by seeing Prince perform live outdoors in Copenhagen. He was everything I knew he would be – a little singing, dancing purple dynamo... one part entertainer, another part little perfectionist general. Mid song, he would bark out orders to the sound engineer: “guitar down... more, please. “ Then pause... “I said guitar down – it isn’t happening yet. Guitar down, and raise the microphone.” A moment later he would be handing his guitar away and going to the drums to play for a bit, then the keyboard... The purple one was everywhere, a whirling dervish of mascara, high notes, and dry one liners. The majority of the show was an elaborate jam with his trademark funky grooves pouring over the crowd of flailing bodies. A Danish friend described the crowd right then as “hyggeligt” the unique Danish word for comfortable or cozy. It was...



“Nothing I love more than a warm summer night” says Prince as a real sexy mellow grove begins.”Uwwwwww... (in his trade mark high pitched voice) better not sing that. Someone’s going to end up pregnant.” The entire crowd burst out laughing. Another memorable one liner: “You’ve got to stand for something, or else you'll fall for everything.” All night he was playing to the crowd - in one moment hilarious and the next cool. He looked young too; if this guy is 50 either he has found the fountain of youth or got a little touch up surgery.  



Two hours plus of music hit its Crescendo with a rousing rendition of Purple Rain. With arms around my friends we sang every word. It seemed the show was over; an appropriate, if not a little cliché..., end had been reached. The stage went dark the curtain had fallen... but, NO it wasn’t done. The silence broke and that cheeky little voice was back on the microphone. “You didn't think we I leaving yet. Did ya? What y’all want to hear...? You can tell me. Uh, uh, uh... not all at once, I can’t make out 20,000 suggestions. I know it’s tough... we got so many hits!” People laugh but the funniest thing was that he wasn’t lying - he has to many hits to pick from. I was a little sad "Raspberry Beret" didn't have its time in the sun. Alas...



The last song of the night ended up being an extended version of “Kiss.” He let people from in front of the stage come up and dance. People came close to his backup singers. One girl even shared the microphone with one of them but no one had the nerve to try that with Prince. How could they...?, he still has undeniable star power, it seeps off him, and coming close enough to touch is just something that isn't done - it defies any international conception of good manners. The show tailed off with crackling fireworks as the band played on. I heard later Prince had arranged an after party so he could play even more. This man loves music, he lives and personifies it. His voice still hits the high notes with his trademark uhhhhhs and uwwwwws... He was, and still is, a true legend. This morning the sweet residue of a good night remained. “Maybe a Red Corvette, uwww, uwwww... this love is happening to fast.... 
 

The Vicious Circle

    I’m sure many people reading this are in a relationship, it may be a good one - maybe not. All the same, I feel like giving a few of my own thoughts about that most difficult of things – pairing up romantically. From what I’ve observed in other guys, girls and myself it’s certainly not an easy task. The main issue is the blame game... each gender blames the other for the pairing not working based on their previous experience. Now being male, I’ll look more so from the male point of view, but please be aware that I feel most of these concepts can be reversed to the female perspective too.

     An ugly aspect of attraction is how attention seems to have the effect of pushing things away while disinterest is a draw. Most people are interested in what they can’t have, not what they could... The allure is towards that person whom seems unattainable. Sadly with time a majority of people buy into this illusion and start creating artificial personas for themselves in their clothes and attitude. These facades might have some positive effects for that person in the short term, but in the long term it’s devastating as it hides their true selves away.

      It’s a myth that guys don’t have feelings and emotions... I’ve had thousands of conversations with guys over the years, of all types..., and there is lots of feeling there. Trust me. Pretty much every guy, I’ve ever met wants to end up with one girl not just fuck around and have meaningless sex forever. Of course if this was easy, everyone would be together happily and people wouldn’t be getting divorced.  With that said – lots of young guys are thrown off by our homogenized mass culture where the good guy is shown getting the girl. Being the chivalrous knight in white armour is cool on paper, but the results are lacking. Invariable this strategy back fires, it’s to heavy handed, it doesn’t comport to animal attraction and pushes away the girl.

      Where the real damage comes though is when a guy really likes one girl... The effect of doing the “right” things, entering a relationship, and that failing is incalculable. Sleepless nights and pointed personal questions aimed at one’s own character will be the result. This moment’s permanent effect differs, but a lot of guys will create a shield to prevent the same from occurring again. He will not let himself get attached in order to protect himself. Naturally this has the effect of driving the girl wild if she cares for him; a reaction that perversely devalues her in his eyes and makes him lose interest.

     Where the vicious circle comes into play is that a guy is hurt by a girl and becomes aloof and uncaring. In a justified response the girl becomes hurt too and reacts similarly by erecting her own shield... and what we now have is a really ugly, perpetuating cycle. People are coming up against the other person’s baggage, defences, and facades rather than the real person.  This cycle based mainly on power games and not getting hurt comes before people know each other on real terms.  Throw in the raw and incalculable power of sexual attraction, in both cases: when it’s there and when it’s not, and it’s easy to see just how wild this game is...  So why play right??? Simple: “You can’t win if you don’t play.” And with that said what choice do we have...?

One Hundred People, One Hundred Minds...

     I’m at a friends place near the beach in Copenhagen. As usual at a party a lap top is out and everyone is trying their hand at being a DJ. The group is really diverse so music choices are difficult...  To make matters worse there are a few music snobs in attendance. You know those types, their music - usually underground rock - is brilliant while everyone else’s more mainstream taste is rubbish. Eventually it got to the point that I didn’t even want to try to choose a song for fear of reprisal. The point I have here is just how different everyone really is. Music, like the taste of food, is totally subjective and is based on feelings they illicit for each individual person. A person’s taste in these areas can be expanded, but it’s nearly impossible to change. The best way to verbalise my ideas here is to steal the words of the wise DJ at the wedding I was at in Slovenia. When describing how hard it is to make everyone happy with wedding music he had the following to say. “One hundred people, One hundred minds”.

      The way a person sees reality is not learned, it’s inherent. I always loved the way Robert M Pirsig in his great book “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Mechanics” summed it all up.  “Everyone is either a Platonist or an Aristotelian. People who can't stand Aristotle's endless specificity of detail are natural lovers of Plato's soaring generalities. People who can't stand the eternal lofty idealism of Plato welcome the down-to-earth facts of Aristotle.” To help clarify this point, I want to bring up a great conversation I had with an old friend last week in Slovenia. Now first things first, the two of us see the world in totally different ways. He is a quintessential how to person; how do I do this, how do I build this, how does it work. He is hard wired in the moment - an Aristotelian. Me, on the other hand, can sit in a room and completely disappear into my mind. I’ll take the time, to think about things. In this way I am living in the past, present and future simultaneously... and making connections between the three at once. I’m theorizing, thinking, dreaming - a classical Platonist. My friend and I, both being open minded, actually see this massive difference as a strength to tap in each other. We both have agreed, we could use an injection of the others thinking style. Unfortunately, our maturity in this matter, does not always spill over to everyone.

     What I’m getting at here is that even if we’ll never be able to agree on tastes, or how the world is.... we still have to do our best to respect other points of view no matter how alien they might seem. Sitting in a room of people that think and act the same as you do is reassuring, but it hardly lets a person grow. Further, it’s the group pressure to act in ways one is not naturally that is one of the chief engines in many people’s unhappiness. If there was ever a reason, I took to all of these travels it was to see myself grow inside, to become more accepting, and become less sure of just how things are. Difference is what gives the world it’s colour, and really it is always what I'll be interested in.

A Slovenian Wedding

 Sitting here drinking cappuccino after cappuccino scrawling into my notebook about the wedding I've just attended. I'm in shambles after getting in at 8 am last night after a post wedding party in  Ljubljana's free town Metelkova.

   The location of the wedding was beyond idyllic. The sumptuous bounty of nature our senses feasted on was equal to anything Canada could offer. On the terrace a top of Lake Bled Castle you could peer down and see aqua blue, crystal clear water with swimmers and boats dotted across its length. Competing for attention from the lake the background showcased magnificent, expansive hills covered by thick forest. This is the spot where the beginnings of the newly weds lives was celebrated and in earnest it was as good a spot as could be imagined, words don't do it justice. 

   When I looked over the wedding pictures this afternoon one stood out. In the picture, I could see my mate peering into his brides eyes obviously sharing a moment together as they were showered with rice. Fifteen minutes previous during the non religious service the orator had given us some words of wisdom on life and love. Afterwards everyone, including the bride and groom, would snicker how cheesy these words were. These wisdoms were highlighted by expressions like “love is a dove flying on the wings of a ray of light”, and “love stands, strives, and perseveres no matter what.” Sure it does... and all this delivered without a hint of irony and a straight face. The cynic inside of me grinned while hearing this. These words might as well be bullets shooting holes through this concept called love with their pompousness. 

    One look at the picture I speak of went past such silly utterances, it doesn't need the paltry perversion of words, it's inherent and intuitive – these people are in love and even with divorced parents I believe they are going to make it. The connection in their gaze is inspiring. Maybe it's my romantic nature at work, but somehow I know they will.

A Natural Fit

    Out the other night at the Start Music Festival, the third weekend in a row that there was some kind of cultural event in Copenhagen. I was there with two of my closest friends in Denmark.  A couple of girls started chatting to us. One was from Texas.  After a few minutes of conversation the Texas girl asks me: “How are you hanging out with these guys?”

A little surprised I replied: “what do you mean?”

    “Well, I’ve been here for 18 months and it took me pretty much that long to get in with any Danish people. And I even speak the language too.”

    This isn’t the first time, I’ve heard about this kind of scenario. Sometimes even the Danes themselves will say that they are closed. My experiences have been the exact opposite however. I met a friend from three years back with whom I now live and he introduced me to loads of varied people who quickly became my friends too. I’d actually say being a foreigner has had the opposite effect than the girl I talked to implied – it seems to draw people to me. I’ve been asked so many times since arriving 3 months ago.  “Why did you choose to come to Denmark?” People are really interested in what would bring me here. They like my authentic answer that I had previously traveled a lot of Europe and visited Denmark three years ago and was drawn back because of the friendly people and the liberalism.

      In my opinion it was easier to make friends with the Danes than the Dutch. In Amsterdam, where I lived two years, it took a long time to break through with new people. I think the main reason is a blasé, guarded attitude towards Amsterdam’s tourists many of who deservedly have earned bad reputations for chasing vice. Also in the Netherlands, the individual friendship group is held a little tighter and is more restrictive. The Dutch will expand, but it takes time. The benefit of that is that once you are friends with someone you will be through the good and the bad. The Danes on the other hand have been really open. They want to talk, find more about me, and see what I’m about. It felt unbelievable good for my closest female friend to tell me I was one of her close friends after three weeks. Comparably in Canada often I find a pre-requisite for friendship is equal status. Further, it felt really hard to expand an already established friend network in Toronto beyond the friendly acquaintance level. Here, that expansion has happened quickly and naturally. In my experience it’s best to find a place that you fit rather than trying to fit yourself to a place.

The Blue Coffee Mug

      

    It was as if a magnetic force had emanated from the very world itself... a long crack started forming in my blue glass coffee mug. I’ve never seen a mug just disintegrate like this. It wasn’t just a mug - it was the mug she gave me. She knew my habit of using the same coffee cup every morning. So one day by herself at the mall she bought me another one -the same but in blue. I never told her properly, but to me it was an amazing gift. I just liked that she was thinking of me. And now that very blue mug was splintering right in my hands from merely putting regular temperature water in it. Something was happening, there was some incongruence in the world, as it couldn’t just be chance that the day it cracked was also the day of our last cyber argument...  the last time we communicated.

    

   A Danish friend recently told me– “some of my girlfriends think that you don’t like them.” A little surprised I answered her by saying – “don’t be crazy of course I do.”   To which she added – “some of them told me they kind of fancy you, but you don’t seem to fancy them they think.” It was interesting to hear this, because it brought forward something that I knew. Something, I’d been trying to forget. I’m a fool, but I still love her. She’s beautiful to me, and she will be forever... long after her youth fades. She gives the world a blasé persona as a defence to protect her best parts: the shy her, the sensitive her, the artistic her, the real her. I once knew the real her, though not anymore, and I know I could live a thousand lifetimes and never meet anyone like that again.

   
     This tale is one of personal growth as when feelings get that deep you will change from it. I can’t sit here like some perfect romantic when in reality I failed myself and her. Life brings answers but in its due time, not your own...  I was so relaxed about our growing relationship. I let her put herself forward to expand it, and when we were a continent away I relaxed in the comfort that there was someone out there that wanted me. I didn’t push to come back together when I could have. I wasn’t explicit in the here and now. I was comfortable that it would remain, it would always remain... it didn`t.  And now I have nothing again... except a deep well of regret. And now each time I feel low – I know that it will be her I think of and what I lost in that moment when the blue coffee mug cracked.

Film Review: Source Code

    “Source Code” combines Science fiction with a detective thriller as Jake Gyllenhall awakens to find himself in another man’s body, talking to a beautiful woman named Christine (Michelle Monaghan) that knows him - but he doesn’t know her, on a train that is going to explode in 8 minutes. He will have this experience again and again.

     Confused yet!? Well, you should be... but with 93 minutes of brisk film making director Keith Duncan – of “Moon” fame - puts himself to task of making sense of it all. The concept of repeating the same day, or moment, repeatedly is reminiscent of “Ground Hog Day” but this time it’s done as a thriller. Does this intriguing premise pan out? Yes, what we’re left with is a well paced film that may leave some scientific purest scratching their heads a little, but audiences entertained with good suspense and character development.

      A real world dimension gives the story more complexity when Army Captain Colter Stephens (Gylenhal) wakes up in his own body after dying the first time on the train. He is in some type of army bunker – trapped and confused why he is there. His only real world contact is Colleen Goodwin (Vera Farminga) who speaks to him via a monitor. She informs him that he has been chosen for a mission to uncover who placed the bomb on the train so the bomber can be apprehended in the present. This is possible because of something called the Source Code, a new technology that allows Colter to relive the last 8 minutes of another passenger from the ill fated train’s life. He will be sent back to those 8 minutes again and again. Suspended disbelieve may need to come into play as aspects of the theory of the Source Code are a little preposterous.  

     The real intrigue of the film is back on the train where everyone is a potential suspect. Repeating the same event means there are no consequences for Colter’s actions. To amusing effect he yells at, beats up, and even robs people in his efforts to find the bomber. Character development is evident as suspects are eliminated from suspicion – then appear again in Coulter’s next 8 minutes unknowing to how they were previously treated.  The only person he can trust is Catherine as his attraction to her grows each time he returns. The attraction between the leads gives the film heart as their chemistry is pliable and believable thanks in large part to Monaghan’s performance.  

    In the end we are left with a thriller that does provide genuine twists, entertains, and leaves the viewer thinking after the film is finished. Is this film a mind twisting epic at the level of “Memento” or “Twelve Monkeys” – no, but for intelligent summer fare, it more than fills the bill. Good performances and mounting tension make me recommend seeing it.   4 out of 6 Stars.

The Dilemma...

    Dilemma, dilemma... two places to be and only one me.  The legendary Roskilde Festival and my first travel friend’s wedding in Slovenia are on the same weekend in early July. Beyond cursing the luck of it all, what can I do? I want to be at both places at once.

     I heard of the Roskilde festival years ago back when I lived in the Netherlands. Over the years it has hosted some unbelievable line ups – featuring the likes of Prince, Kanye West, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Oasis, The Who, The Chemical Brothers, Radio Head, and the Beastie Boys.... to name just a few. Beyond the big acts Roskilde is a celebration of the Danish pathos. If you can believe it, the entire festival is done for charity. All the money goes to promoting culture and art in Denmark. Literally thousands of volunteers are needed in order to make Roskilde’s charitable aims possible. Inside the festival egalitarian life prevails... there’s no fights, guys pee next to girls and everyone gets along smashingly. That’s not even mentioning the annual nude race around the camp ground. To be fair, by everyone’s admission, this year’s line up is not quite up to par to past years with Iron Maiden, Kings of Leon, Arctic Monkeys, and M.I.A headlining. The truth is though my main draw to the festival is to be around the new friends I’ve made here in Copenhagen. I want to have our friendships cemented with the indelible memories that roughing it and party till we can’t party anymore can only bring. Those are the moments that are retold and define friendships.  I’ve been fortunate enough to have had more than one person tell me: “you have to be there, you have to be there with us.” And to be honest - that felt good.

      I met Adam 10 years ago in a hostel in Brighton. I walked in there so eager, so earnest, and so unschooled in the art of travel. This Kiwi guy was brash, confident, and had more than his fair share of swagger. He ended up becoming my first close travel friend and in many ways, being 2 years older than me, a bit of a mentor. He met his Slovenian bride to be Petra in that very same hostel, I met her then too. Their story has been epic having taking place over ten years. In the end love can never be dissuaded, if it’s real, as after meet ups, hook ups, other partners, and even years of silence they are now getting married. And not just getting married, but married in a spot so idyllic it could bring a tear to an angel's eye. In all my travels I can honestly say Lake Bled maybe one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.The church in the middle of the lake is as if out of a fairy tale, it’s the kind of place Cinderella would be getting married. Adam and Petra want me there. As Petra said to me – “you’d be the only person at the wedding that was there right from the beginning...” It is true, I saw the initial spark of what I could only assume would just be a hostel flash in the pan transcend into something definite and real – maybe even an eternal flame. A trip to Slovenia would bring my travels full circle. I’d be connecting these new experiences in Denmark to my beginning as a traveler with no less magnanimous of a backdrop than that of love and marriage. There's something slightly mystical about that...

    So there stands my Dilemma. Maybe it’s not quite to the level of the infamous dilemma a French student once brought to Jean Paul Sartre, but it is a dilemma no less. One course of action means denying the other. I’ve swayed back and forth, depending who I talk to, but this weekend once and for all I will bring out the mental scales and reach my decision.  

Tattoo’s on the Inside

     In my first travel’s ten years ago I use to scratch out theories of time, space, and psychology into my note books. My favourite movies play on these themes; the brilliance of how time travel theoretically couldn’t alter the past: “Twelve Monkeys”; how the creation and re-creation of self is based on memories often skewed and distorted to our own needs: “Memento”, and the bizarre, surrealistic interplay of memories in the dream state: “Mulholland Drive.” A little nerdy, yeah... but with that said, I’d like to talk today about one theory of time and the experience of time I have.   

    The first 17 years of my life seemed to happen a lot slower than the post ceding 16 years. As a young person everything was so real. All the firsts – my first steps, my first words, my first friend, my first kiss, my first taste of longing, my first heart break, my first time being drunk...  In each of these moments I didn’t have a blue print of how I was supposed to respond or feel. The feelings from those moments were uproarious and definite. With age there aren’t as many firsts; our brain makes it such as in adolescents synaptic connections- and the potential for newness -  are pruned to give more order and pattern to thinking, and even society tries to channel people towards more sedate, productive lives. Like it or not, pattern is thrust upon us.

    From my experience new events, or at least the events that generate strong feelings, are what gives time its sense of longevity. In periods of strife or joy time has the sensation of slowing down as the brain/mind learns and changes from the experience. These are the moments that are recounted in stories to friends and reflected upon privately, they stand as markers to life lived and because of that live deep and long in our consciousness. A person is totally present in those moments. In contrast routine life doesn’t create this memorable character that is why it slips out of memory so easily.

    Where the illusion of time passing faster occurs is when there aren’t that many visceral memories to reflect on. Years stuck in similar patterns of work, socializing, and thinking will become indistinguishable from periods of the same. I’ve had this experience with a few jobs I wasn’t interested in. Later I would scarcely remember specifics as my brain consolidated those memories into one grey, homogenized glob. Alternatively time spent challenging oneself, embracing newness, and risking new intense emotions will leave specific memory points. With memory points, that period lives on inside of you; without them there won’t be anything to grasp on to. One year goes by, then another...  Revisiting the idea of youth, my first 17 years seemed longer because there were so many more memory points in close succession to each other.        

      The solution to slowing down the experience of time is to allow oneself a child like wonder again.  The pursuit of firsts must continue even just meeting new people, seeing and learning new things and going to new places.  It’s trendy in some circles to be blasé and try to avoid emotion or risk – but fuck that! Routine should be avoided, despite the security of it, as much as possible. Safety is in conformity and pattern, but to look back at a life and barely even be able to identify new moments aside from misfortune is sad. Life is based around change and challenge. These are things that bring risk and fear but the pursuit of it leaves one’s life filled with genuine moments. Moments that will give length to one’s life as these memories cannot be amalgamated - they’re permanent like tattoos on the inside.

The Changing Face of Travel

    The other day I visited an Australian friend who was working at the reception at a hostel here in Copenhagen. We had a few cheeky beers and compared notes on the places we’d traveled, the Australian/ Canadian bond, and the experience of being expats. Where things got interesting however was when the talk turned to how we felt hostels have changed.  Our consensus was that new technologies have negatively altered how people interact. The major culprits being laptops and Facebook.

    Ten years ago no one would ever travel with a laptop. They were WAY to expensive and the threat of losing or having one stolen was far too risky.  Even 3 – 4 years ago they were still too expensive to risk. Now though the cost has come down so much that maybe even half, or more..., of the travelers have one. As a result travelers sit typing away to their friends and family in another part of the world rather than talk to somebody sitting at the next table in the hostel. What’s worse is that a norm has developed too; it’s generally seen as rude to interrupt someone using their laptop. They’re wired in and not to be disturbed kind of like in the old days of internet cafes.

   
     The debate about Facebook wages on. There’s no doubt, it’s a unique way to stay in touch with people. Having been a traveler in the early 2000’s I know that a person has to be a really good friend to maintain a regular emailing relationship.  Facebook bridges that gap by giving smatterings of information about your friend’s lives while still being personal unlike a group email. When you pair this with statuses you have the perfect medium for quick sound bites that show that you are paying attention. Where things get negative is Facebook’s addictive quality. Who hasn’t had the experience of continually refreshing their Facebook news feed despite no new posts?...  it’s like surfing channels when nothing’s on.

      In hostels now people are pathologically wired into Facebook and disconnected from the social world right there. Talking for a few minutes to your friends back home and putting up some pictures is cool, but stretching those few minutes to hours at the expense of meeting all the international people in the hostel? Seems like a bad trade off. Really, it makes me long to see people carrying a good book. At least the majority of people want to put a book down and chat and it’s not that rude to get them to do so. Travel is about challenging and redefining your own character and personality, not further honing your cyber persona. Ironically too a person’s Facebook intrigue is highest while they’re traveling so they receive more attention and are even more so drawn to it. The new generation of travelers need to quit chasing red status notifications, and the brief flicker of self esteem it brings, and start trying to make more lasting friends in the hostel. The rewards for that can be life long...

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

So hungover! I had two blogs half done. One about the change in hostel life in the last few years because of new technologies and the other about my own personal theory of time...  I’m going to save those for the next few days. Right now, it’s time to turn my sights to something more interesting – sex, hooking up, and a skank competition I just heard about this week.  

     This story can’t begin without a brief description of my closest mate here. Won’t use his name, but the guy is a lady’s man like I’ve never seen before. He’s getting girls, and LOTS of girls, the right way... by being open, having the look they love, and making them choose him. I’ve never, and I’ve been around a lot of guys who talk up how great they are with the ladies, seen someone pull so effortlessly. It’s both interesting and a little annoying, as I have to work so much harder... :P Really though his style is a nice contrast to the Irish and English aggressive style I saw when I lived in Australia. That style basically involved pushing a girl to her limits of saying no – with the hope that by being aggressive she won’t. This is generally an approach that works best with girls with low self esteem. And you wonder why woman often don’t trust men.  But then again... here in Copenhagen women are much more sexually liberated and that trust game can very well go the other way too.

    I had to laugh when the mate I just mentioned told me about a girl he had hooked up with talking about going through what she called – her skanky period. She told him how a friend and her had decided to try to find themselves... via, plenty of cock! They created a scoring system in order to determine who the biggest skank of the two is; a system that apparently works by a combination of the status of the guy they sleep with and the things he does to them.  So the laugh came when my friend noticed that she all of a sudden, after adding to her score with him, was listed a couple days later as being in a relationship. The two of us collectively scratched our heads. When he talked to her online later, it turned out she had been with the same guy for five years. They were just on a break the last few months. I wondered to myself, what he would think of how she used her break from him...? :P Makes me think of the famous PT Barnum quote: “There’s a sucker born every minute.” All the same, kind of have to admire her honesty not only to experiment that way, but talk so candidly about it. Most girls would lie about that till their death bed. So for some last comic relief last night partying with two black reggae guys, the first words out of their mouths when they heard about the competition: “Give her my number!”

A Detente of Separation

     Remembering a night in Edmonton, back in Canada, the guys I’ve known for years are wrestling each other on the floor. Who can dominate the other ones with cut downs and sheer physical strength - important things for guys in Edmonton. A few of us are together, this is rare, my friends wives allow them occasionally to watch sporting events with their old friends – tonight’s is UFC.  I don’t even like UFC, but I have to grab the opportunity to see my old friends. The setting is that you have guys down stairs watching guy’s things, talking about guy’s things, doing guy’s things while the girls sit up stairs doing girl’s things, talking about girl’s things. Thirty plus years of life and this is the advancement of the gender relations – an agreed detente of separation.

     

      I remember coming back from Europe five years ago and making the comment after three months back: why aren’t there more mixed guy/girl groups in Canada? I said this because I’d been living in Amsterdam for so long to me it was just the norm. Almost never did I go out with just the guys when I was there. Always there were girls with us – our friends. I remembered it bothered me to no end. I like having female friends. I like hanging with the guys, and talking our usual shit..., but I think mixed group conversations overall are more fun. Especially with open, say anything types... there’s a little battle of the sexes, but always in jest.

   

    In Denmark, things are in line with Amsterdam. Girls are cool here, there isn’t such a separation between the genders. When the gender divide is up and running both sexes will inherently stereotype and objectify the other sex.  I figure the central difference is that in Northern Europe each gender moves closer to each other in terms of the masculine and feminine. Guys are more feminine and girls are more masculine. Without such a stark divide of socially induced difference people are allowed to be more freely themselves as opposed to acting within the walls of gender expectation. There’s no need to or reason for considering a girl or boy via the litany of smoke screens that exist otherwise. What I mean by that is the whole idea of woman as sex objects and men as status objects. Both of those points of view devalue each gender, are the engine of insecurities for both parties, and ultimately lead to shallow, inherently incorrect, points of view about the opposite gender. Time they went out with the bathwater I say...

   

      It has been nice being here in Copenhagen and having extremely attractive girls just talk to me and actually ask me questions. At the end of the day it’s conversation not a contest of worthiness of being in the same level or class to talk to someone else. Further, with openness that way so much of the seediness, conniving, and objectification that women, often correctly, place on men dissipates away. The sexual tension is reduced as the elephant in the room is talked and laughed about freely. Screw this detente of separation, I always hated it anyway, let’s just have everyone come together, get along, and show their true selves freely and with fun. I want to have girls around at other times then when I’m trying to have sex with them. I like the company, I like the difference in view and position... it’s the way it’s suppose to be.  

The Copenhagen Puzzle

     The battle... in the past I always look back at these moments in hindsight through a romantic lense. I played up how the struggles were what made the victory of succeeding in a foreign country so sweet. This time around, in the name of interesting writing and authenticity, I want to be more honest about it and blog about the process as it’s happening. With that said being on the edge of a society is both intriguing and scary. The intrigue comes from going out socializing seeing the people and the culture. When you’re out and you’re identified by the locals as being more than a tourist people become fascinated by you.  A friend once called this effect - holding the traveler card. Already, so many times, I’ve been asked – “why would you come to Denmark?... we’re so small.” My answer is the freedom, the creativity I see in people, and the intrigue of the newness of everything. Locals like this answer it endures you to them. For me that “newness” is a kind of drug, it’s enthralling and exciting. Again on this trip there were times when I felt like I didn’t need much sleep or to eat as much as I would usually. My body was literally being fed on experience. Now where the fear factor comes into play is the question – can I actually make it? Everyone I have met here says getting a job without speaking Danish is extremely difficult.

    The natural comparison point is my arrival in Amsterdam seven years ago. Then, same as here, there was a learning curve that needed to be met.  Similar to Denmark Dutch people speak English, but they expect to speak Dutch in all service related exchanges in their own country. I struggled mightily at first in Amsterdam working a number of dishwashing jobs in the office buildings of ABN Ambro. Eventually it all worked out though when I got a sweet job as a creative copy writer for an Advertising company called: Media Republic. That opportunity came around through a combination of sheer luck and meeting Dutch people around the city who pointed me in the right directions.

      In Copenhagen I’ve met a lot of people and my social life even in a week is diverse and fun. Already, I have the opportunity to write for the local English weekly News paper; potentially a job this summer to work at the Roskilde festival, and the chance to help a bunch of young people re-establish a famous music venue and club called the Stengade. However, the real issues still remain -even if hidden under the guise of good times and fun – finding a permanent place to stay and finding a real job.  When I think about this fear sets in; the kind of fear that paralyses you and makes you want to sit and watch TV and waste time idly. The fear I’ve felt before when I’ve literally eclipsed all my recourses. That point hasn’t come yet, and won’t for a little while, however in the name of maturity – with my birthday a mere 8 days away – I want to avoid that if I can.  I’ll need to put some muscle to my hustle. As it has been in the past with other cities Copenhagen is like a puzzle with things to be learned. All I can do is start to see the picture as a whole as I continue to lay pieces down. Key though is I have to act even though everything hasn't yet been revealed...