Thursday, July 5, 2007

Zeitgeist of Camryn’s pop-life in Denmark



What I’m reading:
Critifiction by Raymond Federman………………. ..“Brilliant and sexy wordplay.”
The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon…………. “Quirky, emotional, stunning. Dakota Fanning reads him. So should you.”
VeloNews and Feltet.dk………….. “If only to cry at how f’ed up cycling’s become.”


(uh-oh)

What I’m watching:
Klovn w/ Kasper Christensen……….................. “Denmark’s Curb your Enthusiasm. Hysterical.”
Kindergarten Cop with Arnold Schwarzenegger…......................……………... “I miss my old boss.”
The Christening of Denmark’s newest princess………………….….... “Isabella Henrietta Ingraa-da Something Something. The baby has 5 names. Precious.”

What I’m eating:
Noget. That’s danish for nothing, baby………………. “Need to lose 10 kilos by yesterday. I think that’s maybe...5 pounds?”

What I’m eating when I'm eating carbs:
Frøsnappers & thebirkes…….. “Danish pastries, fluffy confections with a bottom layer that tastes like marzipan snowflakes on the tongue. Light and delicious.”

Who I’m rooting for:
For President…............................ Rudy Giuliani, Barack Obama or Nancy Reagan
For the Tour de France………………..Jens Voigt, Dave Zabriskie, Frank Schlëck, Carlos Sastre.



What I’m chewing:
Stimorol gum….. “Denmark’s original gum -- like vintage Chewells. The 1st bite gives a squirty surprise. Delightful.”

What I’m listening to:
Soko, Katie Melua, the new Wilco, the new India Arie, and Johnny Cash…. “Soko is a crazy/angry French ingénue. Make her the centerpiece of a CD-mix you send your parents, just to make sure they still worry about you.”

What I’m wearing:
Mary Jane flats, espadrilles, flowy feminine skirts (shocker), black and pink and turquoise. Yves Saint Laurent mascara (most lush-ious around). And LOTS of rainboots these days.

What the boys are wearing:
Euro-gay skinny jeans. Faux-hawks (like a mohawk, only cool), sweatshirts with skulls & crossbones, Converse, speedos at the beach.

Who I’m seeing:
My good friends from Roskilde—Liza & Emilie…. “We aced our group project.”
(Pictures below from the "end of finals" party I held at my flat last week).



Who I’m seeing, after hours:
You’d like to know.

What I’m smoking:
Marlboros……………. “Lights” these days


............................................................................................
An evil friend of mine plays a little game with me called “danish lesson” where he teaches me generally offensive words by having me use them in sentences as descriptions for myself. Resultantly, my counter-culture vocabulary has become top notch. “Hej. Jeg er en luksusluder” means, “Hi! I am a high-priced luxury hooker.” My “friend” thought it would be a handy icebreaker for use in job interviews or making friends on the bus.

He claimed generosoity for not teaching me the word “narcluder”. Unlike her high-priced cousin, that winner-of-a-gal is a “crackwhore.”

Welcome to Dark Danish Humor

It must be the six months of spirit-crushing darkness in Denmark’s winter that motivates danes to sprinkle their sassy with just enough black sarcasm to confuse the perplexed newcomer. It’s a side of Denmark I love, as I’ve been told I'm a tad bit sarcastic myself.

This same “friend” came up with a terrific practical joke I could play on my parents during my next visit home to the States… whereby I will pretend I’ve gone “European” and picked up a 2-pack-a-day habit. I brushed him off, saying they would be highly skeptical their naïve, triathlete, teetotaler daughter had crossed over to the dark side with smoking. In my youth, I wanted so badly to rebel against my parents, for 16 months I became a democrat (and a vegetarian, to complete the look). But that was as far as I could take the joke. As pissed as I hoped to make mom and dad – and my Rush Limbaugh-loving grandparents—they only snickered in the corner and challenged me to donate my early weekend mornings to helping campaign for Barbara Boxer, California’s beloved liberal Senator. My mom got the chance to rebel before I did when she lovingly took me aside during my UCLA years and said it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I tried mari-juana.

But they would draw the line at cigarettes. I think there are only 5 or 6 smokers left in California anyways, and they’re either in jail or headed home soon to Europe.

So my wicked friend and I hatched a plan where I could secretly burn cigarettes out the window of my old, Laura Ashley bedroom in my parent’s house. I would have to act irritable on occasion (not a stretch) and excuse myself frequently to use the bathroom. The trick would be in capturing an authentic smoker’s cough that I’m defensive about.

As appealing as it sounds to be a prankster for a day or two back home, I confess that I love my parents too much to attempt such a charade. I miss them a lot, and I’m so proud of them for raising me. A high-priced, smoking luksusluder. Just as long as I don’t become all liberal, we won’t have a problem.


2 comments:

Michael said...

Good to see a new post after your finals. When your parents read this, they know for sure that everything is fine with their daughter in Copenhagen! ;-)

XO

Alikona said...

I read this awhile back but failed to comment. Marlboro Lights? You ARE European! And yeah, I'd like to see Nancy Reagan win the elections, too. ;) Kona