Last night, Robyn and I went to see the American musician Andrew Bird.
He played at one of our favorite music venues in Copenhagen: Lille Vega. Bird's music is tough to categorize; he tends to roam freely over any number of different genres (e.g., folk, bluegrass, alt-country, New Orleans Jazz, looping instrumental drone, etc.)--very often throughout the course of a single song! Along with a distinctive vocal style, he's also renowned for his lyrical dexterity. It's not often one hears a song kick off with a ditty like "From proto-Sanskrit Minoans to porto-centric Lisboans" (that's from the track "Tenuousness"). Bird veers dangerously close to hyper-cerebral preciousness in spots, but his music is so rich and resonant--and he's such an unexpectedly charismatic performer in person; no emo brooding for him!--that it never really comes off as cloying or masturbatory. Dude's simply a musical genius. He can't help it. And, he's one hell of a whistler!
Someone already posted a clip from last night's show on YouTube. It's not my favorite song, but it gives a pretty good taste of the Bird Experience. Here's another clip (this one from a show in Orlando earlier this year) of him playing "Lull", one of my favorite tracks.
See him if you can. He's a rare talent.
So my last post (far too long ago) mourned the loss of snow. Well, the snow is now really gone. Today was an utterly gorgeous spring day! This is a great time of year to be in Copenhagen. Robyn and I spent most of the day wandering the city and enjoying the sight of Danes soaking up every last ray. More pictures here.
Alas, the snow is gone. For now, at least.
Copenhagen doesn't get as much snow as people tend to think. But a few recent snowfalls--along with an unseasonable run of brilliantly sunny days--made for an abundance of picturesque scenes out and about town. The snow even brought a touch of charm (but only a touch, mind you!) to the University of Copenhagen campus where I work--a thoroughly sleek and modern, but aesthetically sterile and, frankly dull, assemblage of drab hues and stark geometries that looks rather like a corporate campus instead of a university.
But for a short time last week, it was actually pretty.
Few things in life are more compelling than looking at someone else's travel photographs. That said, some family members have noted that we're behind in posting pics from a spate of recent trips. Quite so.
The past few months alone, we've done a fair bit of bouncing around. I've had conferences in Pittsburgh (not too many pictures there, alas, as I was sick the whole time), Heidelberg, London, Paris, and Lugano. Robyn and I both went back to the states for conferences, and we spent time in Carlsbad and New Brunswick. We then took a quick, non-work-related trip to Berlin.
Click the links to see pictures from each trip (if you dare, that is--or have absolutely nothing else to do). We have quite a bit more travel on the (relatively) near horizon, so there will be ample opportunity to repeat this exercise soon.
Regular readers of this blog know that I love shawarma. In fact, my last post talked about this love at some length. I could have said more. Believe me. 'cause I really love my shawarma, ya dig?
Sadly, there is a dark side to love in all its myriad forms. And shawarma love is no exception. A friend recently drew my attention to a disturbing shawarma-related article, which can be found here.
(Live hyperlinks in this blog seem to "die" when published via Facebook notes, so those reading from Facebook can do things the old-fashioned way and cut 'n paste this URL: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/7852168.stm)
The takeaway is this: "naked" shawarma--i.e., pre-mayonnaise, salad dressing, and all the other fixin's that make already-awesome shawarma even awesomer, not to mention the greasy fries needed to complete the meal--already contains nearly a day's worth of calories and two day's worth of salt and fat. Oh, and most of the time all sorts of unnamed "you don't wanna know about it" meats are unceremoniously crammed together into those sinewy slices of heaven that bring my life meaning and purpose. In other words, you're simultaneously munching on about five species with each bite.
Love hurts. Shawarma love, evidently, really really hurts.
One of our local joints, however, seems to consistently give us (or rather, me) trouble. I faithfully order the same thing every time from the same guy behind the counter: "One shawarma menu, please, and one extra shawarma sandwich" (of course, imagine I've just said this in kindergarten-level Danish). The former is the Danish equivalent of a McDonald's "extra value meal": shawarma, fries, and a coke. The latter is, quite obviously, just the sandwich itself. The friendly Turkish chap behind the counter nods solemnly with understanding every time and shuffles off to put together my order.
Alas, there seems to be a persistent hiccup in our communication process. We always get the first part of the order, just as requested. But half the time I come home, open the bag, and am greeted by some sort of obscenely engorged shawarma mutant sandwich big enough to feed an average Danish family of four for a week. I have no idea what this is or how I continue to order it.
Here's some photographic evidence:
What you can't see in this picture are the three pounds of meat and streams of red grease that will soon come shooting out of this mutant sandwich with the next bite.
I remain committed to solving this communication problem. If it means eating shawarma three times a week for the remainder of our stay in Denmark then, by Morgan Spurlock, I will do it!
So last night, Robyn and I were dining with friends. They live in a beautiful house in Charlottenlund, one of the "poshest" areas in greater Copenhagen. Their dining room has a large window which overlooks a spacious, meticulously-manicured backyard (a rareity in Copenhagen). It's truly a beautiful house and a beautiful piece of property. We always look forward to our visits with them.
In the middle of dinner, our rather boisterous conversation was suddenly interrupted by a series of abrupt flashes of white light. They were bright enough that we all noticed them and stopped, mid-sentence (or in my case, mid-quaff, with wine glass on my lips). After a few jokes about alien abduction, we concluded that some locals were simply finishing off leftover New Year's fireworks (recall that, as we've posted previously, the Danes love them their fireworks!).
Turns out we were wrong. The flashes of light were actually the result of a large meteor plummeting to earth! Video here.
Earthquakes, meteor attacks. What's next?
My money is on a plague of locusts.
Today is a special day!
My grandmother, Grandma Ginny turns 80 today! Happy Birthday! And, it is very fitting that I write this while in London, because thirteen and a half years ago my grandparents met me here in London and helped me move to Kingston Upon Hull for my year abroad. My grandmother’s face was the first face I saw as I entered the arrivals terminal after a sleepless night on the plane. We toured London for several days before loading up a rental car and my grandfather drove us up to Hull. He was very brave to drive – on the wrong side of the road – through the tiny little side streets of the English countryside. We even survived a flat tire! What a great adventure. I’ve had many great adventures with my grandparents… and met them all over the world…
So, Happy Birthday to the coolest and most well-traveled grandmother in the world! Can’t wait to see you back in London… or Copenhagen… or wherever we meet up next. We love you!
