So as you all know, I’m in Denmark, which does everything differently. There is a very Danish way of grading students that bears absolutely no resemblance to the American (correct) system:

Suffice it to say I’m up there between 6 (necessary to make the past 6 months not a complete waste of time) and 13 (which would have made my ego immediately explode, taking out Metroannekset and most of Strøget). I know it’s not very “janteloven” of me to toot my own horn (which I cannot do, as I am too tall), but I’m not Danish. I’m never going to be Danish, and I’ll never be accepted as Danish, so phht. This is about how welcome the average foreigner feels in Denmark:

But my grade was definitely something to write home about. Use your imagination.

Finally, it wouldn’t be my blog without “in other news”…

In other news, a new underwear fashion trend is rocking Scandinavia. I saw a girl on the train back from Århus with a thong over bikinis. What is the purpose of double bagging the pink taco? Does the beaver box need extra protection? I am intrigued by the mystery of the two-ply silk snatchel; it must cover some dangerous poonany. Needless to say, I stayed away. My only regret was that my camera battery was dead.

Africa. It might sound crazy, but the theory is that when the temperature in Copenhagen breaks below 12 degrees centigrade, a nondescript ferry in the harbor is loaded with most of the hot girls in Copenhagen, and they are sent off to a remote island off the coast of Africa. After the spring thaw, when the temperature breaks above 12 degrees, a phonecall on a closed-circuit, encrypted network is placed to a camp where the girls have been sent to spend their days working out, starving themselves, and lying in the sun. This phone call is to inform the management to send the ferry back.

Then, all of the girls are loaded onto the ferry with their blue bikes and white skirts. By the time the summer ferry arrives, the temperature has reached ideal blue-bike-riding-in-white-skirt temperature. The ferry always arrives at midnight, after which the cargo is unloaded, and the girls go riding from the harbor on the bikes, so that all of the boys in Copenhagen wake up on a beautiful, Danish summer day to find hotties, in white skirts, on blue bikes, riding through the city. I never said it was a good theory.

In other news, Copenhagen now has a Ben and Jerrys! It’s a beautiful thing.

It’s a day to consider, if I had one wish from a Genie, could wish for anything, and then a friend runs up and asks the Genie, “Could I even wish for any free cone at Ben & Jerry’s!?”. You’d want to beat the fool silly, but then you’d have a free cone. What kind would it be? I’d go for Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. This year I can’t celebrate Free Cone Day. I’m in Denmark, which doesn’t have Ben & Jerry’s. I know! It’s unjust. It’s un-American. Oh, right. I see.

In other news… because I am spending some time in the EU, that gives me the right to register Luros.EU. My takeover of luros domains is almost complete, except for the crown jewel, Luros.com. If only I could get Easily.Net, the evil, numb-skulled ISP in Hong Kong to give it up. They say it has commercial value, and want $7,000 for it. Right.

Next week, I’m going to Barcelona. It’s about that time where I’m sick of the weather. Why does it have to snow so much? Actually, it has stopped snowing and is now sleeting. Sleet combines the worst aspects of snow and rain. It is fast like rain and cold like snow. It feels like it’s cutting your face, and then it melts and gets you SOAKED. Why is there no “hungover” on the list of moods?

Today, I had the pleasure of being woken up by a familiar kind of individual speaking a relatively unfamiliar language, despite my proficiency in said language. What I realized is that I am not as fluent in Danish through gas mask as I am when speaking to a Dane, who as fate would have it, is not a Danish fireman working a chemical fire. I awoke to see the lights of 5 fire trucks and sound of axes gently banging on my door, requesting my immediate presence there. In typical Danish modesty and understatement, the previously mentioned individuals in gas masks and fireproof jackets told me, “Yeah, there is a little fire on the 3rd floor. Are you alone? Put on this gas mask.” To which I replied, “Ok, yes. Umm…how?” Gas masks and I are strange bedfellows.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I must report that when I opened the door to greet my new friends, the Copenhagen Fire Department, their flashlights and gas masks were all that I could see. The rest was a thick, smoky fog. This explained the smoke coming in through the bottom of the door.

I also now know that in the case of a fire, everything you learned from that stupid bear is both worth knowing and at the same time absolutely worthless. You don’t actually feel the door and wonder to self, “Self, is this door hot?” Nor do you go and get towels and put them along the bottom of the door. Actually, what Smokey should say in those videos is, “Kids, if there is a fire, you should probably just freak the fuck out.” What do you remember in my situation? Your computer, iPod without headphones (don’t ask; I don’t know), wallet, phone and the first outfit you can find. One thing you do not grab if you are in my position is your set of keys to get you back in to the apartment. If there is a next time, I will forget the iPod but remember the keys. I don’t know what my thought pattern was, but I think it was something along the line of if the apartment is going to burn down, what is the sense in having keys to it?

As if my smoke-induced headache were not enough, now they are chopping up the 3rd floor apartment. Oh, how I love the sound of chainsaws in the morning.

Fisketorvet.

Today, I visited the old fish market, now one of Denmark’s largest shopping malls today to see München and learn a little bit about Denmark’s mall and shopping culture. I am also hunting thermals in a color other than black. I think they are in season, so it is legal to hunt light-colored thermals. I asked the clerk at Stadium (this is a Dane’s idea of a creative name for a sporting goods store) if they have any color other than black. He told me that they are nearly sold out of thermals. Because Danes are genetically predisposed to not help you if it is at all possible to be of absolutely no help, the clerk asked me what color I was looking for. I said, “I don’t know…white?” To which he responded that black is the only color they carry. So why ask!?

I learned that in Denmark, it is best to see short movies, lest you pay the “whole evening” surcharge. It does not matter that you enter the theater at 12:00 to see a 12:30 movie. If the movie lasts more than 2 hours, it is a “whole evening” film. Actaully, this makes sense. Here’s how I figure it. 3 hour movie begins at 12:30. You get out at around 4. Look outside. Is it daytime? No way. This is Denmark, after all. So, you have just spent “the whole evening” in the movie theater. Do not try to argue that 4PM is evening. Trust me, I’m the one on this island. 4PM is night time. Between 3:53 and 3:58 is evening. That’s twilight, you say? No, that is 3:47 until 3:52. And what about 4:17? That is the time that you have to put your lights on your bike. Don’t mess…I read WeekendAvisen. The fact that you had the audacity to stay through the whole movie means that it is only socially right and just that you pay another 20 DKK (USD3.50).

Before the movie, I decided to get lunch at the shawarma hut in the food court. The interesting thing about this experience was that they noticed I was not a native speaker of Danish, so decided to speak to me in English. The only problem with this is that my Danish was way better than their English.

Shawarma guy: What do you want for a dressing?

Me: No dressing.

Shawarma guy: Mayonaise?

Me: No mayonaise.

Shawarma guy: Catsup?

Me: No catsup.

Shawarma guy: Mayonaise?
Thank god for food courts. Actually, I’d like to take the shawarma hut proprietors to food court. My drink was small and my fries soggy.