He's back!

Our fuzzy house guest, Sammy (a.k.a. "Sammy Whammy", "The Samster", "Seattle Sammy", "Samma-lamma-bing-bong") is back for another stay. It's like he never left.

Not feelin' the (soccer) love.

Evidently, something big is goin' down.

There is currently an important soccer (i.e., "football") match playing out on Danish television. Denmark (wearing snappy little red and white kits; very sharp) is pitted against those dastardly Swedes (garish yellow and blue kits; very IKEA-ish). This much I know. And I also know that Denmark currently leads, 1-0. Erm, go Denmark. Kick that ball. Kick it...through the net 'n stuff. Alot. Yay.

Beyond these basic facts, I have no idea why they are playing or what the significance of this match is. Like most Americans, I hardly even know the rules of soccer.

But my neighbors several floors down clearly do. They are reacting audibly, and with much gusto, to each important in-game happening. Denmark's first goal elicited thunderous cheers and whoops of unfettered ecstasy that shook our entire building. Then, a moment ago, the satellite feed dropped out for a few seconds. The ensuing shrieks of horror and panicked screams of "TRUCK!"* (*not what they really said) were surely heard all the way to Berlin. These folks clearly dig their soccer. I hope they don't burn the joint down if Denmark loses.

Silly Europeans and their trivial pastimes. I'm off to play some World of Warcraft...    

Copenhagen surfing?

Check the link for some "dynamite" surfing action in Copenhagen (just underneath the bridge I cross on foot nearly every day).

Clearly fake, alas. But given the nearly ubiquitous Danish affection for all things explosive (see Exhibit A and B, respectively), this scenario isn't entirely implausible.  

Andrew Bird

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. 

Spring has, erm...yeah, that's right: SPRUNG!

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.

No more snow

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. 

The Lives of Others

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.

Shawarma love revisited

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.

Supersize me!

Robyn and I have become big fans of shawarma. We have a regular rotation of local shawarma joints we frequent when the craving hits. And just to keep things interesting, we rarely go to the same joint two times in a row. We're crazy like that.

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!