The Fourth, the Final, Leg:
Yesterday I woke up, got out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup. Anyway.
Went to the Copenhagen botanical gardens. It's counterintuitive, to have a botanical gardens in such an unapologetically Scandinavian climate, especially in mid-February. But I'm abroad to have my mind blown and sure enough everything was dead and it was the opposite of breathtaking. It gave me breath.
Found my coat, and grabbed my hat. Made the bus in seconds flat. Went to the Valentine's Day tea at the Kollegium, a lot of homemade pastries. Went out to dinner for Valentine's Day (with seven girls (hate bitches, love mine)), then went to the Absolut IceBar. No, this wasn't just some ordinary bar with a naming scheme somewhere right in the middle of the modernist and post-modernist movements, it was a bar made of ice. Everything. On the way in we spoke to some native Danes who at first said they weren't at the IceBar for the novelty of it and then admitted they didn't know what the word novelty meant and then admitted they were there for the novelty of it. It cost 150 kr. which is expensive, and it comes with a very large fur-lined coat you wear over your coat when you are in there, gloves, and one free drink out of their list of about 20 or so. The drinks looked delicious, made with juices I've only dreamt about, but at the bottom right in the corner was the only non-alcoholic offering: "Juices." I asked the bartender for a Lychee juice and he did some in-your-face bar trick by flipping the glass cup and missing it, but sort of saving it so the ice glass only chipped and did not shatter. And then actually serving it to me. That ol' trick.
I'm glad I did the IceBar thing, although I was let down, because the experience was one I'd like to have. I was let down because it was smaller than I thought, it was less of a bar than a brief hangout spot. You don't want to be there for too long, because it's cold. It's cold to the point that you would want to leave after a short period of time. We stayed about 45 minutes.
Walked around downtown, shot the shit, Somebody spoke and I went into a dream. Went back to the Kollegium where we played some cards and shot some more shit (a lot of shit shooting this night), and then a bunch of people dressed in fashionably raw clothes entered the room with some music and booze and said they were having a party but that we should continue to stay. They looked hip, and foreign. Turns out they were from assorted countries in Africa (Egypt, Somalia, et cetera, those types of countries), and ready to have a mind-numbing party time. Cut to an hour later. Jay-Z is still playing, but they are huddled around the table where Euchre is being played. I'm talking to a Somalian man who is dressed like he is about to host TRL on MTV Somalia, and then he turns to me and says, "Have you seen the Dude Where's My Car?" "The Dude Where's My Car, of course I've seen the Dude Where's My Car!" And then he tried to talk to me about Seann William Scott, but his excitement rendered him incomprehensible. Apparently he used the Wikipedia to look up all of the Seann William Scott moves he could and watched them all, including the American Pie ("all of them," although I don't know if that includes Band Camp, the Naked Mile, and Beta House), and the Mr. Woodcock.
The humor in the situation is that of two paths:
1) Foreigners who take themselves seriously being enthralled with the silliest caveat of American pop-culture.
2) Foreigners who take themselves seriously misusing the definite article.
After the party party we went up to Travis' room and shot more shit, which was hilarious.
So it was a good night, definitely better than my Dry Rust Experience, because the people I was with weren't nearly as drunk.
I feel good about My Dry Weekend, the things I learned and the things I didn't. And now I know how many holes it takes to fill Albert Hall. I'd love to turn you on.