3 Curiosities Without Visual Documentation

1. At my local Møntvask (coin wash), you can lie in their sunbed while you're waiting for the machine to finish. That's right! Tanning salon + laundromat in one. My British friend, Ray, says that the Danes look orange in wintertime from tanning too much; Paul says artificial tanning causes cancer. I say: What else could you possibly do while you're waiting for your laundry?

2. Danes love gossip magazines. And Danish gossip magazines feed on scandals from Austria: right-wing politicians racing to their deaths; insane sex-offenders locking their incest prisoners in their basements for decades... Danes are more than well-informed about and ever so intrigued by those mountain folk down there. For me, this adds to the complexity of how to answer the question "Where are you from?"

3. So far, several Danes have insisted that I'm Swedish. Clearly, I don't sound Danish, but apparently, I can speak pretend-Danish well enough to come across as one of their tall, blond neighbors whom they can sort of understand even though we Swedes roll our Rs in a funny way (while Danish Rs and Ds are best pronounced with marbles in your mouth -- "infant talk," some would say). People have this imperialist image of me that I can't seem to shake: An invading German in Austria; a domineering American in England; and now an enunciating Swede in Denmark. Hey, I didn't name that rug "Helsingör," okay??

IKEA Bitch-Slaps the Danes

While helping some friends carry a living-room-full of furniture home from IKEA, I heard the most outrageous claim.

You know how each IKEA item has a funny name? Well, apparently, most products have Swedish names -- all higher-end products that is. Then there are some beds and wardrobes are named after Norwegian places; dining tables and chairs after Finnish ones. But -- and here the lament about Swedish imperialism -- the items graced with beloved Danish place names: Rugs and toilet seats!

Originally, I was just going to write a post simply relaying this funny story, because I thought it was funny coming from my Danish friend while browsing through the IKEA in Copenhagen. But then I googled it anyway, and apparently it's true, a joke exported throughout the world. It's even on Wikipedia! (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IKEA#Product_names)

And here my "proof," a rug named Helsingör (the Swedish spelling of Helsingør, Hamlets crib):

Arts & Politics: Design for Obama

At times of great significance, it is not unheard of to ask: "And what exactly am I doing to change the world...?"

This can be a painful question, I think, whether you find yourself working in an office, a monastery, a nursery, or a studio. In other words, when working in isolation, it's so easy to lose sight of how we are contributing to a greater peace, to this massive change that is underway. I mean, not to sound dramatic, but these ARE very special times -- I'd say it's safe to say that the world is completely rearranging itself, with or without our help.

Which is why I find websites like this one so inspiring: www.designforobama.org. I people being creative, and I creativity that speaks directly to our times. No matter what happens, we will always remember Obamania. It's already intensely historic. Living history, if you will. Professional and amateur designers are giving voice to this history in the making.

Look at these:



This is just a tiny selection.

Here's more, from 30reasons.org (where you can sign up to get a poster a day until the election):



Can't you picture such posters in a MoMA exhibition one day -- you know, when they're reflecting on our current times? How amazing, then, that this kind of art is available online when it happens. How immediate our creative response can be...

Okay, now, what I am going to do? Hmm. Blog and pray?

Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead

While we were sleeping, the most interesting thing happened. I was having all kinds of political nightmares already and woke up in a state of, let's say, bewilderment (for example, about my dream that I went to the Billa supermarket and they were selling human embryos in the form of chicken eggs for you to raise at home...). Anyway, all that to say that

Jörg Haider died last night in a car crash. The Austrian politician with that special umpfff, a reptile that has crawled through the Austrian consciousness for the past 25 years, the prodigal son of parents who were members of the Nazi party before Hitler even invaded, that "family man" who has groped young men in bars a few times to often to silence the gay-rumors... I feel a big sigh of relief coming on: God bless him. Let's move on now...

If you are out of the country, be glad, Because almost all Austrian heads of whatever are now speaking of Haider as a political hero. The collective crush on this charismatic patriot is suddenly revealed. The Austrian people are stunned, bewildered, and some talk of the "end of the world." The bloggers on derstandard.at call it the Austrian "Grabredenmentalität" (funeral-speech mentality), a time when all the "unnice" things you could say about someone get swept under the rug when they die. (This blog, in true fashion, has since been removed from the website, because of its "unpious" content. And this is a leftist newspaper we're talking about!) Suddenly, the morality of forced "piety" creates a vast silence that spreads its wings across the land...

...and comes alive with the sound of music!


[Just before the national elections a couple of weeks ago, I took this snap shot from Haider's election campaign. On the top left it says "Jörg Haider's List, the Original," on the bottom it reads "Rolling up sleeves and helping out. For your sake. Austria." And then someone wrote with a marker on the poster "Sprengt die Penise," which translates either as "Blasts the penises" or "Blast the penises." All depending on whether you like it as an erotic fantasy or a feminist rant.]

Name That Bike!

Today I smiled all the way down Jagtvej riding my brand new yellow bike. I am in love. It's got a back-pedal break, four gears, a front basket, a back rack, a broken mickey mouse bell, and a pink lock. Note how I took it to the supermarket and filled it with groceries?

There's really no need for me to say anything more about riding a bike in Denmark. It's all been said before. Instead, I am calling on you to participate in the following challenge:

NAME MY BIKE!

obviously, it has to be a special name for a very special bike. here are some pointers: its brand name is MBK, it was coincidentally the cheapest used bike I looked at, it's a bit small for me because it's a women's bike (no bar to crack my nuts on), it's yellow with a pink lock, and it doesn't speak English.

The winner of this contest gets to, well... name my bike!

When You're Lonely, Bake a Cake!

First of all: Can anyone guess what I paid for these items on top? (I went to three different stores for best product/price.) They are:

- 500g of non-organic Quark (look it up on wikipedia if you don't know what it is)
- 250ml of organic whipping cream
- 6 organic eggs
- non-organic vanilla extract
- non-organic lemon juice (I couldn't find any real lemons anywhere!)
- 600g organic cane sugar (actually the cheapest item here, at 10 kroner)
- a bag of Heksehyl licorice for good measure, synthetic (20 kroner)

Closest guess in any currency will get the first bite of the cake I made with these ingredients!

(cheese cake á la Andrés; delicious)

Curtains Optional; Candles Not

Last night, I took the liberty of photographing my neighbor's windows. We're talking around 11 pm. I want to prove that my not having any curtains for over a year at my last place in Philadelphia is not a preposterous notion in the north. Some people put a light covering on their bedroom window, as not to force the neighbors to watch them do it. How considerate of them!

Above, my view out front across the street. In the earlier evening hours there are always candles burning on the window sills (as they are on mine). It's like Christmas every day. I love it.

Below, the view out my bedroom window into the court yard. I have curtains there. I'm considerate.

And while we're looking into other people's flats, let's note that there is no clutter anywhere. Clutter and Denmark do not fit together. It just doesn't exist. Just orchids, nice lamps, candles, and TVs.

Toiletries

In a typical Copenhagen flat, you have a toilet with a tiny sink and a shower head installed above your head. You shower on the toilet. There's a shower curtain to protect the door. If you're lucky you will have remembered to remove the toilet paper before it's a soggy mess. God forbid you need to relieve yourself after your roommate has just taken a shower.

NOT SO in my Copenhagen flat! I do have the prototypical toilet, which you have to back yourself into in order to sit down. BUT I have the luxury of having a separate shower... right next to my bed. (Hopping out of bed and into the shower is now physically possible in one hop.) Which leaves me to keep my teeth cleaning utensils right next to the pile of dishes. There is really nothing better than being able to look out the window while brushing teeth. Even better than dancing in front of the mirror (which I otherwise do).

Now Welcoming: Blog Buddies

In the continuation of our personal journeys, my friend Paul and I have decided to jump-start a mini blogger community by inviting people we trust to make the commitment of contributing to our blog entries/discussions twice a month.

Thank you and Welcome, Blog Buddies! I look forward to hearing from you.

You are welcome to post comments, musings, critical diatribes, no matter who you are! If you become a Blog Buddy, I'll hold you to your commitment, and you'll see your world expand...

Interested in becoming a Blog Buddy? Just post a comment to this thread, or send me an e-mail.

Hearts,
DKcosmonaut

Farvel, Wien. Hello Kitty.

It is unclear where the signs are pointing. I'm just going to follow that one that reads "Next Stop, Copenhagen." Waving goodbye to those people over there and over here, soon to be munching on a carrot while gazing at the clouds that pretty consistently drupe over Baltic cities in winter time.

It's going to be fabulous, the age of DKcosmonaut in the place where he belongs, making hygge, riding bikes, dancing in dark streets, showering on the toilet. (No, thank god my shower is in the corner of the bedroom, NOT on the toilet, so the toilet remains for toilet activities only.)

Can't you just picture me baking cakes and inviting friends over for tea?

Farvel, Wien, for now.