French Hotdogs

I have really gotten into some quirky things in DK. Like these: French Hotdogs. I love these little bastards. They are available at any gas station and almost everywhere else. But you can't buy them in the States. Too bad, suckas... you don't know what you're missin'!

Postcards from Aalborg

I thought that it might be a fun idea to showcase some of the pictures I have taken in Denmark. I love to write, but Photography has always been close to my heart as well. So here's a little section I like to call: Postcards...

This one is of the Irish House... a favorite drinking lodge of many people I know.


City At Night: MainStreet - The drunk drag. This is where you walk home after you have hit all the bars. I thought I would leave the shutter open for a long time and not use a flash. This gives the effect of a "watercolor" look. It's fun to experiment with these kinds of pictures, so I took a few.


These homes are off to the side of where you shop. I just think they are really cool looking. They look like giant play houses, very thin and packed right on top of each other as such.


Looking at this one, I remember that I'd taken some sepia shots with my camera as well. Those were fun. Here's one:


I think this next shot was interesting. Downtown Aalborg is quite picturesque; this is a somewhat recent development, done over the last few years. The sidewalk has a string of blue lights under Plexiglas. I took a number of pictures simply looking down at it, and then trying angles; I knew there was a good picture there somewhere, but I couldn't find it. Finally when I was walking home one night, I remember thinking that you have to earn the best pictures. And sometimes you have to do something odd to get them. So I set the camera on the ground, laying down on the sidewalk to see the best angle... and took the shot.

Video Killed the Internet Blog

Yeah yeah... I know. It's been a little while, hasn't it? Well, I've been working, man. I do have a living to make ya know.


I love to work, I am a bit of a work-a-holic at times, but that's okay. "Work hard; play hard." It's just the way of the Grondin.

AND with no further intro...

Here's another taste of Denmark...

Just a taste, bubs, that's all ya be gettin'...


Ja ja. Jeg forstår. Du behov til få something eller du vil kill mig. Ja ja. Så here du går:



So, here's what a REAL Irish Pub is like on the weekends:



And here's another taste:



Ordering A pizza in Denmark:



How to drink in Aalborg (or anywhere in Denmark for that matter)...



European Stairs. I hate these things. They are small and more like ladders than stairs. These are the stairs to my back way into the apartment, man. This leads out to the courtyard and such, where you go to stay out of the evil wind. but the thing is... the stairs are just ferocious as hell, man. Egads...



Everything is walking distance here, so it's not even that hard to wander to a friend's apartment and do this:
(A little guitar hero on the X-box... what?)



Far out, man. Far out. Another moment of Timmyland captured for the masses...

Here's a little vid of me in the Apartment, coming home. just your average everyday stuff I guess. Nothing too exciting, but this is the scene, bub.


Timmah.

Marie Warhol

My little Danish story. Why couldn't I just have found an American, like everyone else? I guess it wasn't meant to be as such. Those girls just never really panned out for me. I guess it wasn't in the cards. So what do you do?

Me myself?... well, if it's between staying an American citizen OR living here where I can hang out with Marie - I'm just that kind of romantic. I would have to think about it. and when i did.... I just might choose Marie. And the Irish Pub and Jante Law and a number of other things like not going broke over your health (go ahead and watch Sicko by Michael Moore, will ya? - Free health care in Denmark).

So this is what it takes, eh? This is what it takes to break the American spirit of Free Enterprise: a sweet smile, witty charm and eyes to die for; well... maybe that's the force that drives us all. It's a force set by God to govern the days of man. Something that keeps us occupied and harmless as we struggle to loose everything for the one goal:

And that goal is thick isn't it? As thick as an Oxford Dictionary. And we'd all throw it all away for it's glory. The sun rises and shines by it's worldly need and the addiction of it's pages.

And when I open My book, fearless and ready to take on the world... and ready to accomplish it all... there is something new in the pages: playful, witty and fun and full of Danish charm. And I realize that in the end, current position or not, I may choose to stay in a distant land for that one thing that drives us all:

Desire.

Lørdag/Søndag Wideo Bloggin

3PM on a Saturday. Aalborg, Denmark.

In the charming old market-city town of Aalborg, Saturday during the morning/early day, is the only time of the weekend in which you can shop. With these thoughts in mind, I got up a bit untimely, went shopping, and then undertook a video blogging venture. I really don't boast the proper digital-age gear to accomplish things like full-on videos, however, and so I quickly ran out of batteries and space. But at any rate it's an improvement on the crap I was shooting with my mobile handset.

Now I'll be the first to admit that you're not going to be blown away like the McRib is back in town here, these are just some premature moronic attempts to try video. While, at the same time, record some things for prosperity. ...And let's not forget stupidity.

Okay: I shot the first one as I lazily ambled down these little alleyways... it's somewhat uncanny how all of the houses are all positioned so close to each other. They are very narrow-looking and miniature and toy-like unique to anything that I've ever observed before. My sermon gets cut off in the video, but what I was trying to say is that the houses are anywhere from 2-300 years of age. This used to be the heart of Aalborg and since you didn't have cars (Danish lesson: they are called a “bil”) or trucks at the time of building, it really wouldn't have made sense to shovel all the show for too large of a pathway. I think it’s some very fascinating stuff. Or maybe I'm just dull; I don't know. I do think it looks neat to take a look into history and drift away in thought. So here is the first quick video…

This second video is at 5PM, when all the shops are already mostly closed. You can see that they are all locked up already for the day and there is a bell chiming rudely in the background, letting all know... that maybe... it's time to go home.



I spent a lot of time this weekend working and writing, so there is not much more, especially when you add in that I'm spending a lot of time trying to learn til Snakker Danske. So I'll just add these light moments and be done with it. Hopefully you'll get some amusement out of them; it was pretty much all I did for entertainment this weekend.

Ducks:



The Mermaid



Outside of my apartment (across the street)

The Coat Lady

Just hanging out with Marie... went out and frequented some local bars down on Jumfru Ane Gade street. I guess I've been living here long enough that I shouldn't be callling it Jumfru Ane Gade street... because "Gade" means "Street." It's pronounced "GaL-Luh" because the "D" is so silent that it almost sounds like an "L."

So, yeah yeah... just some good fun out in Aalborg City, yo. But after Amsterdam and going out, I was pretty excited to get back to work. I need the stability; makes me feel better and more productive. What a great way to end the extended weekend though; especially since I think I'm done traveling for a while. :-)

I'm just going to chill for a while and spend some time enhancing my Language skills out here. It's really driving me nuts that I can't speak Danish fluently - because I do like to talk. Of course, once I do, I will probalby be driving them nuts. :-(

Take Away Truffles

I woke up this morning believing that perhaps I was in jail. And upon further research, maybe I was; it wasn’t easy to tell the difference really. The room I was situated in had two twin beds, about half the size of a full-grown person lying next to each other like sardines packed in some small European can.

I tried to look around for my glasses, but then quickly remembered I’d managed to finish them off and break them good yesterday when we’d parked the car. I knew I had another pair, but it was currently sitting ready to go in a small shop in Tampa, some forty-five thousand miles away.

I could hear Rik cursing to himself in what must have been the bathroom. The damn room had such paper-thin walls that I could literally hear the water hitting the wall behind me. What a mess. The entire bathroom and room combined was about the size of a small van or maybe the cubicles at my job. In fact, it was so small, that only one person could get up and move at a time. Otherwise you pretty much had to stand on the bed.

While Rik continued to curse away in the closet-sized washroom, I contemplated my situation and surroundings. What on God’s Weird Earth had happened last night? And Good LORD, how much did it cost me? I knew the answers to either question were probably not good. Or… maybe they were. I still didn’t know for sure.

Ah. I could still smell last night’s adventures on me; it was nice. Lavender and roses and something else… new… foreign and different. I’d left Rik at a small Ziggy Stardust / David Bowie bar, complete with a loft and cellar and places to gamble away the last of your money on a Saturday night. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy to find again, because all it said outside was the word “Bar.” Which I must say, didn’t really make it stand out in this town – but I was fast and dedicated in search of the Great Amsterdam Adventure, and had no time to sit around and worry about crazy things like consequences.

Rik knew the score. I was off in seek of some female company, some red-light district window shopping as they like to call it in Amsterdam. I knew I probably wasn’t really going to go through with it, but I needed some time to just walk around slowly and just think about the weirdness around me.

The first alley to the left of the bar was off the main drag. It was so diminutive that it seemed almost unnatural to even be there. There was just enough room for two lines of people to pass and maybe a third in the middle. As I was walking, there were doors spaced every 3 feet or so made of a steel frame and a glass with curtains pulled all the way to the sides. Inside, with a glowing red light was a woman with giant chest sitting in a chair facing the street and looking down at her cell phone. As I passed by, she looked up and smiled; not sure what to do, I waved like a little kid at her. He smile got larger, and I laughed at the absurdity of the situation almost uncontrollably; but I passed on by.

All the windows and doors were pretty much the same, but the women inside were as diverse as cars in Europe. It was like a human Tivoli mix of ever creed nation and culture you could want a sample of in this dark spirited strange place. The girls in the widows on my left reminded me of a peep show window – they were just standing there dancing for the amusement of the crowd and waving to people in a sexy manner as they walked by. I walked up to one, laughing away and took a cigarette out and pretended to try and put it in her mouth, through the looking-glass. She smiled from ear to ear and tried to wave me in, and I was like… no, no no… shaking my head…..

By the time Al called, I was standing in front of one of the most beautiful women on the street. I’d noticed her at first because she seemed to turn a few people away and I found that to be quite interesting; especially considering her profession. She was very small, thin, with perfect figure and dark warm eyes. Her curves could have been a mold for the perfect woman, accentuated by a perfectly-fit bikini that looked more like orange paint than clothing. I saw her try to wave me in a few times, but I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do – I was pretty sure entering the room wasn't it. But for some reason, this place made it seem quite natural to do… something that you just do as part of the experience, so nothing seemed unusual, I just took in the experience as I answered the phone and laughed hysterically while trying to speak. There I was: talking to Al and telling him about the exact scene that I was experiencing. Heh: I guess you never know what you are going to get when you place a call to Tim Grondin.

When I got off the phone, I become aware that the girl was shining a flash light at me, trying to get my attention. It was almost as if she had the same little kid mentality of mine, which was great. I didn’t feel like an adult, I feel like a little kid, an innocent boy wanting to play in the pretty girl’s sandbox. It seemed somehow innocent and sweet for a moment, and while I drifted in these thoughts, she opened the door and said something to me. Something in a language I’d never heard before. So I walked up to talk to her, and she began speaking choppy English, trying to talk me into coming inside and empty my wallet for a lifetime of fantasy.

I thought it was weird, because usually the girls just sit there and dance and wait… or they actually look bored in there, parked on a sensual chair or standing and swaying in a sexual manner back and forth. All this as they waited for the next human scum to come walking up and pay for a sick little romp in the red room where she’ll pretend to moan as if this would generate even the slightest bit of pleasure. But this one was more playful than the others, so I obviously found her more interesting. Then her neighbor opened HER door and asked me to pay for her to come in…. and join….

Oh dear Lord.

No longer was temptation an ugly little joke to pawn off like some unwanted box; it was very REAL this time. I feel myself sinking into the scene, not unlike the way you feel right before you KNOW you need to fall asleep…

Rik was just getting out of the washroom, dressed and ready to go as I thought about what happened next… in that crazy red-lighted window leading into some dark surreal desires…

J What? You thought that I went inside? Maybe. Maybe not. Some stories have to stay in Amsterdam I suppose. Some things have to stay in Amsterdam.

You would think.

We got ready the best we could n that little room and grabbed our luggage; then we sauntered down the one-way looking aged staircase that was MUCH too small and much too small too steep. We headed downward… through the winding and torturous stairs to meet with the odd Turkish guy with the talking African Grey Parrot in the lobby of what would have otherwise, in other towns, been a seedy hotel.

We had definitely had our fill of the city and were both clearly ready to leave. Fast. I knew that we couldn’t mount an escape unless I’d gone ahead and got some money out, so I went to the Cash Exchange and handed over my credit card and demanded 200 Euros. There was a bit of commotion while I looked for my passport, which I’d thought that I’d lost, but it was there and the transaction was complete. I had 200 Euros, enough to last the whole trip home. I thought.

Trying to leave Amsterdam is not unlike trying to leave an insanely busy airport; there are windy roads and forks and things that make no sense in a circular structure. I wasn’t sure how we were going to pull it off without hitting one of these foolish pedestrians. For a moment, we had an epiphany – we thought What the Hell, let’s just follow some EuroCar bastard with a Denmark license all the way to Denmark. Why the hell not? The reasoning was sound. When we didn’t immediately find someone that fit the bill, we pressed on. (As Rik quickly pointed out: “The only flaw in the plan was a distinct lack in Denmark license plates. Well, other than our own. And we certainly didn’t know the way.)”

Our goal was to just drive straight for as long as we could until we got to something that made sense. It really didn’t occur to us that almost nothing would make sense.

Eventually we found the correct road out and we drove away; heads full of truffled ideas and strange tastes of what it was actually like to BE in Amsterdam. From there, it was no problem… an easy ride home… driving fast… moving along… all packed up. Including everything that I’d bought while out having fun.

OH FUCK.

It wasn’t until about 2 minutes into the German boarder that I heard Rik mention that we’d just passed Johnny Law. Or perhaps we should say “Henrick Law.” Mother of Hades! Customs agents???!!? Sweet Mother of Jesus!

They came up behind us rather quickly as Rik gave me the play by play… I couldn’t look. I remember thinking… oh fuck! Was Rik speeding??

When they passed us, I was just starting to feel relieved… when suddenly the lights on the top of the cop car changed into some German text and then slowly into some English text that read “Follow me…”

Dear God. We’d fallen into the trap. We were clearly doomed.

What happened next is the stuff of Tim Grondin doomed legends and twisted memories of things that probably never should happen. I guess you could say I was given some paperwork upon entry to Germany.

In the end, they took my 200 Euros and handed me some papers of which I couldn't understand. All for a dumb mistake: I drove too far with my groceries from one country to another which hates those plants. Isn't life weird? The ironic thing is this: If I had actually DONE what I bought; I wouldn’t have been fined. :-/

Guest Blog: The Intrepid Parakeet

Guest blogger: Rik Bienvenue

So here we are in Amsterdam late into the only full day we have here, and we wind up in this place that is call “Bar”. I am pretty sure you can figure out what this friendly establishment is all about. SUprisingly, there is only alcohol here. No drugs. Probably the first place we have been to that did not offer a bit of experience enhancement substances. The bartender is a quite attractive 37 year old Dutch blonde, who I later find out is living with a rather large gentlemen that serves as a bouncer at one of the local “Live Sex Show” venue’s.

Early in the trip I decided that I would avoid taking part in the use of any chemical entertainment, and I have never been a proponent of paying for feminine company, but ensured that Timmah was not inhibited in his pursuits. After Timmah departed to go Window Shopping, most of the patrons of “Bar” also left, and I was left sitting at the bar with said bartender. I wish I could remember her name!! I ordered a second JD & Coke and while the blonde went about missing my drink, I sought money to pay her.

Well, it appears that when I paid for the last round, I put my cash down on the bar, and Timmah decided that he should take care of it for me. So he promptly put it into his pocket. Nice guy!! Well, as you would expect the small change that I had in my pocket would not even cover an air filled bag of potato chips, so covering a JD and Coke was definitely out of the question, so I offer my credit card to her, and she says…..wait for it…..”Sorry, we only take cash” Damn. Well, by this time she and I had gained a friendly rapport and she had eavesdropped on Timmah and my conversations that he was only going shopping, and would be back shortly, and said that I could pay her when he got back. Nice. Sip, sigh, ogle….

Well, from what I weaned from our previous adventures and conversations with various people around the city, usually a window shopping purchase lasts for 15 minutes and costs around 50 Euro’s ($75.00). So theoretically, if our intrepid shopper were to take 30 minutes to make his selection, then I would expect him to be gone for around 45 minutes. (With a buffer) Well, as you would expect, Timmah lives in a different time line to the rest of the world, and showed up an hour and a half later. Things had livened up at “Bar” and conversation was becoming tough.

I was three drinks deep by then and was happy to see him cuz he had my cash and owed blondie at least 20 Euro’s. Well, whatever the hell happened, it appeared that Timmah had spent all of his cash AND mine and came back with a big grin and some bonus in the form of a ...performance, no, ...experience enhancing “Vitamin”. Needless to say, there was no cash to be had. I deposited Timmah with Blondie and wended my way to the nearest ATM which was located 10 minutes walk away in Dam Square. On my return, it appeared that Timmah had made a new friend in an obnoxious and drunk Dutch guy that had lost touch with personal space and hygiene practices, and had also decided that 3 more drinks were in order. I now had a large bar bill to contend with, so there ya go. Another 40 Euro’s burned. We departed “Bar” to wend our way back to the “Hotel Ben”.

Now Timmah did a pretty good job of describing the hotel, but he was, well lets say, not fully coherent either time we went there, so I will expound on our accommodation. The Hotel Ben was perhaps 25 feet wide, which should have given us an indication of what to expect. It is 6 stories tall and to minimize the space used to ascend or descend from floor to floor the stairs were built like those of Warwick Castle’s dungeon stairs in Warwickshire England. No two stairs were the same dimension, and they were steep enough to justify carrying a Climbing Axe. They also had conveniently placed sharp aluminum front edges installed.

Fortunately for me, Timmah had decided to carry a wheelie suitcase the size of a small Dutch car, and he kindly offered to put my small travel pack into it for transport. It took as 5 minutes and 2 rest stops to reach our room which was numbered 226, but was on the 6^th floor. Go figure, the owner was Turkish, did not speak English at all and obviously had not visited many hotels before opening the Hotel Ben, because the numbering scheme had no rhyme or reason with room 230 being on the 2^nd floor and 226 being on the 6^th floor.

We finally found our room, and on entering it Timmah exclaimed…”What is this, a jail cell?”. He was not far wrong with the feel of the room. Compact or space efficient are words that would be used in House Beautiful, or Modern Architecture. If you stood facing the wall that the door was on, and reached out your arms, many people would be able to touch both walls to the side, and some could even lay their hands palm flat. The two beds were built for either Chinese midgets or perhaps anemic Mexicans, and if you could roll over, there was no worry of falling out of the bed, because the other bed was less than 10 inches from the second one. This, it turns out was Timmah’s pacing line.

Well, as I explained earlier, Timmah partook of some mysterious “vitamins” when he went window shopping, and was just a bit wired and drunk. Actually, he was A LOT wired and drunk. My best comparison is to that of a Parakeet in a new cage. He bounced around that Jail Cell sized room for the next hour or so, singing dancing and talking. He also decided that unpacking was absolutely necessary, so he proceeded to unpack EVERYTHING we had in the room including laptop cases. He was so keen he unpacked and repacked, his suitcase, and laptop case twice, just be sure he did not miss anything. The next morning, he commented on how tidy his laptop case was. I understood his confusion, as tidy is not a word that anyone would naturally associate with our man Timmah. After all the singing, dancing packing and unpacking, an hour had passed, and it must have been around 3am, I decided that sleep was required. Pulling the covers over my head, and turning on my MP3 player, I drifted off to sleep with the parakeet happily doing his racquetball imitation in the background.

I woke up little while later and found the room quiet and still. Pulling the covers back, I look around the room….which did not take long, and noticed Timmah kneeling on his bed with his head against the wall. Strange. I thought. What was even stranger was the fact that he was snoring like a chain saw. And to top it off, his right hand was nowhere to be seen, but his right arm ended at the front waist line of his trousers. I thought to myself. Self, you don’t want to know. So I re-covered my head and went back to sleep. A little while later I woke up again, and there was Timmah similarly positioned, but the right hand had re-appeared hanging, and the left hand was missing. This time, Timmah’s left am ended at the back waistband of his trousers. Once again, self told me, DON’T ASK!!

Back to sleep I went. Somewhere during the early hours of the morning, Timmah found that kneeling on the bed was not an ideal sleeping position, and decided that kneeling on the floor between the beds and wedged into the 10 space between them was more comfortable. For those of you that know Timmah, you will appreciate that the 10 inch space between the beds is by no means sufficient to host our intrepid parakeet.

Back to sleep for me. When I woke up the final time, the sun was up and it was 11:30am. Timmah had finally decided that the bed was more comfortable for sleeping and was out cold. I went into the bathroom for a bit of relief and found that in order to sit on the bog, I had to wedge my left shoulder under the sink, which was frozen porcelain. Reading was not an option in this library.

On completion of the morning constitution, I entered the shower. Considering the rest of the hotel, I really expected the shower to be pretty useless, but the water flowed strongly and hot. TOO HOT. In trying to adjust the temperature, you could achieve scalding hot or Aalborg Fjord freezing with no in-between, and this was exacerbated by a leaky hot tap that singed your fingers no matter how gingerly you fiddled with it. Ok enough of the frozen/roasting. I step out of the shower and grab a towel. Actually it was two towels and they were pink, and they were crunchy, and they were about the size of two sheets of Bounty. Drying off was more like moving the water around until it was on the floor, which promptly froze. Finally semi dry, I got dressed and went out into the main cell and rattled the parakeets cage. Timmah is not a morning person. That’s all I got ta say bout that.

After much cajoling, our things gathered and packed, we decide that we have both had enough of Amsterdam. Leaving the room we find the Turk and his cohort in crime using the fire hose to clean the adjacent room. Once again, self told me not to ask. We fell down the treacherous stairs and retrieved our 10 Euro deposit for the key. Out to Dam square to get some more cash. Timmah hits the Bureau De Change once again!! 200 Euro’s heavier we go to the parking garage to retrieve the V50, and we are on the road once again. If you ever visit Amsterdam. Do not drive. Not only are the roads not made for cars, but Pedestrians rule! The entire time we were there we never wandered outside of a 6 block area. Car’s are not necessary in this city.

I had planned to continue the story from here, but on review of the above, I think a separate monologue is called for. Watch this space for the next installment of the Timmah Amsterdam Adventure, entitled “The Journey Home”.

Images, Amsterdam, Etc

Starring: RIK







And TIMMMY:





And.... I'll just post some pics for now. We'll write up some gibberish later....

A30 towards Amsterdam

Friday we went to Amsterdam. I was going to write all about it, but I'm still suffering from the trip. I actually did write up something on it while I was traveling, but much of it doesn't make sense to me, so I have to spend some time deciphering it. In the meantime, here's a taste:

1. What a wild ride
2. Egads, man
3. I got taxed in Germany. We are still sorting that one out. Does anyone speak German? Get a hold of me if you do, I want to make sure I'm not totally doomed here. So far they fined me 200 Euros for transporting items into Germany without permission. Or something close to that. Basically I left pretty fast in the morning and I forgot about a few things of which they didn't appreciate me taking to Germany.

More to come when I find my camera and some of my other things and when I find out whether or not I'm doomed.

Edit1: Found out that I'm probably not doomed at all. It was a 200 Euro fine and so that's it; paid in full to the customs agents. I guess that's the price you have to pay, eh?

Pictures on the way to Amsterdam. These are of Germany, as that's where we did the bulk of our driving on Friday.

Here's a couple of quick videos as well. Shot one of them while going through a tunnel and another on one of our pit stops in a German gas station. Shortly after, right when we got into Holland, we stopped for the night.

Beer Night

Tonight was the infamous profligate beer night out here in Aalborg; so I went out in the assembly of many of my company workforce. It was quite enjoyable. I mostly just chilled and had some good ol discourse and conversation; I took a few pictures, so I'll go ahead and share...

I had some artistic fun taking pictures of the sidewalk, which is pretty cool because it's these faded blue lights under plexiglass running and twisting along the way, which emulates a type of night waterway. It’s cut into the pavement and criss-crosses up and down the pathway like some kind of drunken night-light.

We then went around and took some shots while all nice and buzzed up. Just some good old American boys running up and down the alleyways in a foreign land.

I got some pictures of the bizarre elevator that takes you into the museum as well... I’ve got some of those depicted here as well.

And then, of course, like I've mentioned... as with any town... anywhere else on this planet, you somehow end up finishing the night up with some nasty-ass inedible greasy fast food. Ah yes, it looks like the good aspects of America are seeping into the rest of the world. Sort of like a stain left in one's undergarments I suppose. Well, that is, until the movie "Super-size me" gets out to them. :-( "You are going to have to stop this experiment... or you will die." Yes, and I should probably stop drinking – but I’m not going to. :-) Cheers...

Below the City and into the Grave

In the city square of Aalborg there is an oddly placed mole – a metal elevator, sheen like so many endlessly polished mall landscapes. Strangely enough, it doesn’t appear to go anywhere. Anywhere but down that is to say. Even though it seems like it shouldn’t be there, it is anyway, almost defiantly. The people can’t see the purple elephant for some reason. It’s like Willy Wonka flew his elevator on into city square.

The first time I saw the anomalous thing, I wasn’t sure where it went or what it did for that matter, but my personal instincts pushed me to believe that it was some sort of entrance for the handicap. Perhaps it’s rather normal for a European city. And of course, I was wrong; this was not a handicap entrance. Strangely enough, it’s got markings on it, asking for you to pay 20 Kroner. Rik and I proceed to pay and get right in the damned thing.

So let’s break here. Rik had called me last week to announce his arrival and let me know that I’d be taking on a roommate for the next week. He’s a mildly abrasive Hosting Technician type. He’s been with the company probably only a year or less than myself and is quite accustomed to the company and knows his way rather well. But he didn’t know Denmark; hadn’t traveled out this way yet, and so I was hired on suddenly for a new role. That of a guide, which certainly didn’t present a problem because at this point I needed a little helping of American conversation.

I’d woken up early to pick up Rik at the airport, but I did so in the usual Tim Grondin fashion… by waking up a little bit late, and then getting lucky that his plane just-so-happened to be late. Nice.

I got to the airport, we got to my place (with only a few minor scenic delays) and scurried off into the town for a fresh and cold taste of Danish culture.

And there we were… being lowered into the ground in this foreign trap of an elevator. Lowered… below the city above. Almost movie-like, the doors behind us opened up and so we turned around to see what to do next… I remember thinking: “What if these twisted freaks had somehow scammed us? What if this was some sick and rotten trap where you pay a simple 20 Kroner to get in… but to get out? HEH! Well there you go, bub – gonna cost ye ta leave, isn’t it?”

I was wrong… again. For the price of a stale cheeseburger we were lowered into a blissful and ancient museum. Strange enough, as I’d been partially informed, you can walk around Danish museums for either completely free or very cheap & 100% unguided. No one was down there. Just me, Rik & a pile of 800 year old bones.

I took some good pictures and moved right along, looking at what was the oldest artifacts that I’d probably ever seen in my limited lifetime. But it was nice. I was quite impressed.

Afterwards we went on along to the Irish Pub and got the drink on, later meeting up with a semi-reluctant Kenneth, who decided to take one for the team and come out against domestic advisability. And the night moved on… pretty much just some good old fun

Just another cold night on the other side of the world.

Casino Aalborg

Well, I found the local casino.

Sometimes a pictures does say it all:



Yeah, isn't that weird how the commas here are used instead of decimals? So any way you slice the apple pie, 0,00 IS in fact, equal to 0.00.

The Mundane II: DK Apartment

Recently a dear friend wanted to see more pictures of the apartment. A few others asked as well. I wasn’t sure why or how the hell I would even make something like that interesting. I mean, why on God’s Green (and lately Grey) Earth would someone want to see the couch: or the TV?

Dear God, I guess I actually fear boredom. I fear it to the cold and ugly rotten bone. Perhaps it’s my greatest fear of all. At the end of the day, it’s the one thing that I cannot live with for its association. I despise boredom. And I hate the mundane.

Then she reminded me in a subtle way, which is unlike her brash ways if you know her (and you don’t because she is deeply rooted in my past from a long ago era)… she reminded me that I’m rarely mundane. Perhaps this is true. It was explained that there might not be an explanation for my character, that I’m one of a kind. Well, I think this was meant in a good way, because she certainly can see through people, so I’m going to take it as a compliment. Shit, why not? Better than taking it as an insult; I’d rather be different; because I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter. :-)

But today, just pictures. I have nothing more to offer. Right on. Moving on. Carry on. Here are some boring pictures… of the apartment. I’m very happy that my company found nice a place. And that Eliane rented it out at such a short notice, eh? Far out…

We will do something more exciting at a later date; mark my word. :-)

Denmark ID

Well, here’s the deal: I’m not going to write so much today that eyes are inspired to bleed. Just going to keep it short and simple, right? Why not? Indeed.

So, the grocery store down the road wouldn’t let me rent videos, right? I didn't have a Denmark Social Security card. I thought that was a bit odd, since I haven't actually seen mine from the States since before we took over the whole Middle East using peace tactics like guns and tanks... but whatever. Anyway, the good news for me is that the Texaco Station by me is allowing me to rent movies…

...so today… I got my first ever Denmark ID. Far out.

So if in America they wear high heels during the racy scenes, does that mean that Wooden Shoes III isn’t a historical documentary? Egads!!!

Mah-ee Yen-Sin

Today’s headline: Conversation with coat lady yields encouraging results. Jeg tror.

I meant to post earlier, but finally got the occasion. I presume I should express gratitude to Tommy for getting expelled from the bar the other evening; this provided the necessary backdrop for good conversation with a member of the local populous. And I love all the people I’m meeting, through work and through play – keeps me sane and healthy. Although I can think of some people back in the US that I really miss; and y’all know who y’all are. (Hi.)

I’m starting to find reasons to want to stay out here in DK; making some friends and having fun – that’s what it’s all about, man. Far out.

Happy Fastelavn, the Anti-Cat Day!

Happy Fastelavn everyone! What? You don’t know what that is? Oh, man. Why, it’s none other than Denmark’s answer to Halloween. Which is interesting because Denmark’s OTHER answer to Halloween is …well: Halloween. Yes, so there are two days a year in which children can dress up and get candy.

[If you are a cat owner, (or simply squeamish) you might want to go ahead and skip this part…]
The Danish word for Carnival is "Fastelavn," and just like Halloween, this tradition comes from quite a mix of various traditions. Some say that the children are gathering candy for the Big Fastelavn feast. In some circles, the holiday includes beating the piss out of a cat to make sure you don’t have bad luck. Well, maybe something was lost in translation… I guess you play “slå katten af tønden” ("hit the cat out of the barrel"), which is somewhat similar to a piñata, except that there is a wooden barrel, which is full of candy and has the image of a cat on it. Not so bad, unless you were a cat owner in the medieval ages, when they used a REAL cat in a BARREL. I’m not kidding; it was a safeguard against evil I guess. By that aspect, doesn’t that mean killing a skunk will make you smell really nice?

Anyway the day is known mostly amongst adults, (and those Carla the Cook Worshipers like myself here in the Denmark offices) as the day to eat a popular baked good associated with the day – Fastelavnsbolle – which is a round sweet roll covered with icing and filled with cream. Parades are popular on this day as well, so you can view people walking around looking absurd like on Halloween. Awesome. But now I feel bad. Because I thought that the kid that I saw all dressed like a vampire going through the marketplace this Saturday, was… er… “Special.” My mistake.

_

Don’t Threaten ME with a Haircut

Lately a sect of people had been asking me to cut my hair, telling me that I look foolish. And I mostly think that’s absurd… because I DID cut my hair. I was all the way down to me chin, and I cut it and I dyezzzz… bah! Honestly, who cares, why am I talking about hair and where the hell did adventurous Timmy go? Right?

Well, and herein lies the rub. I was finally convinced to cut my hair. And it happened the only way that it ever happens – I was threatened with a good time. A certain “what if” was presented to me and I liked the idea.

See, people all over, no matter if they are too wussed-out to admit it are sensitive about their hair. Yeah, even dudes, although we never admit it. Trust me, I know… I’ve had to wait and deal with BS-dudes being Nancy-boys as they take 30 minutes to get ready for a sports bar. BUT, To me, it’s a statement: “Hey, dude… I’m not like the others, man. I’m different. And I think you should know this before you even approach me”. That’s a nice little weapon to have, and nothing more. And to loose that would probably make my life more difficult. Or maybe not? Again though, to finish the thought: I was offered an adventure. What if…. What if I was brave enough to just let someone do whatever the hell they want?

Yeah, I was in another of those all-too-common discussions with a friend out here about how I’m adventurous …and fearless …and blah-blah el-macho [Add another “I think I’m great at everything" line here] blah-blah…. When I was challenged…

If I’m so brave, then why wouldn’t I let someone do whatever the hell they wanted to my pelt? Why indeed? That’s pretty audacious, I guess. Just saunter right in and say: “Hey, do whatever looks the best,” right? Or not: “do whatever you want. Surprise me;” …Screw it. Lay the chips on the table, hold your cards to your chest and brace yourselves… because I’m in.

And so… I did it. And yeah… well, here it is… the new, Euro-Styled…. TIAMMMMMMAH:

::Old Skool Timmah::

::EUROTImmmAH::

The Mundane I: Crusin around on Søndag

I really like riding my bike around on Sundays. Well, okay... this Søndag if you will. So I guess I'm learning Danish by constantly referring to the language as such. To me the only way to learn is to use it as slang. So now I find myself calling Sunday: Søndag instead. Whatever works I guess, eh?

So today I just wanted to take it easy, work on Support while at the same time taking some pictures for my p33ps back home. Just to let everyone know what the day to day is like here. So it's like... well, the first thing you do is take forever to get ready if you don't wanna freeze your balz or boobz off. so you make sure you are teh bundled, yo. Big time. But once you are, even though you look like the Stay-Puff Marshmellow man, it's kinda nice to ride a bike. I feel like a jouster, getting ready for some sadistic battle. Which is appropriate when you see how some of these other bike riders act. Geez.

Anyway, the bike is a Mountain Trek, nothing too shabby actually. It's got your three major speeds and six for all of the majors. So we're talking 18 speeds; which works. espeically when it's like: I use four. So whatever. Anwyay, there are things of which are immediately differnet about bikes in Denmark. for one, you have to have two lights. There must be a white light in the front and there must be a red (rød) one in the back. I keep the white one on steady and the red one in the back on the blinking setting. My way is the best. Other ways are dumb.

When I first get outside of my apartment, I see the Bavinchi Bakery. This was the first thing that I experienced when I got here. It was great actually. The girls in there couldn't speak very good English and so it was quite a first experience. I loved it. I actually haven't been back there since, simply because I have learned the ropes better and would rather just hit the grocery. besides, let's be honest here, it's expensive as hell and I get paid at the end of the month. I really haven't been able to enjoy a lot of things because I'm waiting to get paid. The money that I got from expense reporting is just helping me get by. For instance, I still need a winter coat. Brrrrrr. This jacket doesn't do the trick.

I posted the picture which actually shows bus #11 above. That's my little ride to the city; and to work. That bus stop is a real trip. For one, the thing they don't bother to tell the tourists or visitors is that, if you are waiting inside the bus area with the bench - you know... because you don't want the wind to tear your fricken soul from your body, you WILL miss the bus. Yeah: they will keep right on moving. You actually have to be next to that little bitty sign. You can't see it in this picture because it's so small.

The coolest thing about where I live is that it appears to be in a nice area. i mean, there is like... no crime here... you feel safe at any hour of the night. So what I typically like to do on a daily basis is I like to hit the grocery... depicted here. I used to like to go to the Brugsen, but the Fakta is open much later and it's convenient. So I'm digging that place.

I also like to hit the tanning spa. It really reminds me of back home and I swear to you this; You really do need some sunshine. It's just good for you. Without it, you wither away in unhappiness. So I'm going to go ahead and end today's Boring Tim Sessions with a short video on the tanning spa.

It's not the best quality because the stupid camera isn't that good. But it's kinda funny to see what they have there, eh? Right on.




And then... I'll go ahead and leave you with my smoking area....



Have fun y'all... be careful... and don't... for any imaginable reason... ever.... do what I would do.