I was out with some people today, mostly old friends, RPG/LARP-people.
Most leave somewhere around midnight and we’re three left, me, Thomas and Harald. We make this rule that only the guy with the hat can talk (it’s Harald’s hat) and this almost results in the poor guy’s hat being ripped apart by Thomas trying to get a word in between Harald’s monologue about the stanislavski method (or something, I wasn’t paying attention).
Anyway, as we’re about to leave, we sit down and armwrestle (not my idea) and I lose. Then we get up to leave and stop outside near the door and suddenly this turns into a discussion about lovelife.
It turns out that my friend Thomas, aged 33, has developed a crush on a 17-year old girl (she’ll be 18 in three weeks). I think this is very funny and he’s saying he’d hoped to meet her today. She sent him a message pointing out that she’s too young to do grown-up things. So we make him suggest to go out with her to drink hot cocoa and eat cinnamon-rolls. She answers that he should wear a clown-suit, it’s all tongue in cheek and very good response but at the end she writes “Good night, my friend”. He gets so stuck up on the “my friend”-thing thinking she had basically thrown him off by calling him a friend.
I’ve always made friends with people before I have sex with them. From that perspective he has nothing to fear. Why is it that some people think that friendship is a automatic barrier for sex? Anyway, from their conversation I think he has a fairly good chance, she obviously likes him.
Friday night. I’m out with a friend, recently dumped. We have a nice chat at a very nice wine-bar. Then we go to a pub, meet some friends and have a very silly conversation. Then we meet some more friends and have an even more silly conversation. First groups of friends move to a different pub and we follow. Recently dumped friend then hears song on stereo that reminds him of ex. Friend leaves. Me regroup. Find other friends. Get bored and feels excluded. Return to previous bar. Find previous silly girls. Gets tired. Leaves. Feels slightly lonely. Meets neighbour who flirted with me some time ago with recently acquired boyfriend. Boyfriend looks like dork. Evidently no justice in world, unless she is as shallow as he seems (quite possible).
Anyway, I’m on my way home, feeling blue and I meet a friend from the party I held about a month ago and I’m pleased to see her. We chat for some time, this lifts my mood, unfortunately some old fart comes by. On any other night I might be interested in toying with the idiot, but I’m in no mood for that. I try to tell him bluntly what to do:
Old Fart: Hello!
Me: Go away
Old Fart: The street is free for all
Me: I said: Go away
Me: You can’t make me leave.
Me: I will kick you.
Him: I can stay here as long as I want
Me: No you can’t
Him: Why not?
Me: Cause I will kick you.
Him: I can stay here as long as I want
Me+Her (in unison): GO AWAY!!!
Him: You can’t force me to leave
Me: Yes I can
Me: I will kick you
Him: You just try.
Me: I might
Him (said from a distance as he walks away): I’d hit you so hard
Me: Oh what a big mouth you have!
I used to be able to irritate a stone in ten seconds. Why does it suddenly take me about ten exchanges of dialogue to actually piss someone off? And what the hell makes some old fart think he can hit on an eighteen year old girl?!? She was pleased that I told him to piss off, although I must admit I did it first and foremost to irritate him.
I followed her to the bus and walked home alone without any more disturbances.
Today, I had a simple plan: To be trendy in Cafés.
I went to work, picked up some papers for a physics-competition I’m judging, and set off for Café Dromedar. Upon entering I heard they played Depeche Mode and two people I know was already there, doing work.
I drank two cups of coffee and had lunch, doing about a third of the work I have. Then I went to buy some clothes, ate another lunch and went to DLK. I sat down and had a double espresso, chatted with the baristas and had a lot of fun. In comes another friend, an ex-barista, we sat and chatted for a while and she suggested getting a large pot of coffee and drink it outside. Some alarm-bells went off in my head, but not strong enough to avoid the lure of a woman with coffee. I drank another two cups of coffee and this made me more or less coffee-drunk and really really silly.
I removed my belt and suggested to whip people with it, very casual and friendly, since no-one was interested, I whipped myself. Then I started chatting about Alphaville and proved to my surroundings that I knew the lyrics of several of their songs (by singing them loudly, of course). From this I learnt two things:
a) I have no sense of shame
b) I have an above average singing voice.
Afterwards I almost ruined a chess-game by chatting too much.
Last night I considered calling in sick today. I went to bed early, had an uneasy sleep (I always wake up from strange dreams I need to interpret) and managed to sleep until the alarm went. I got up and felt OK, so I went to work. On thursdays I have three classes of two hours each with two hours inbetween each class, so I decided to go home and rest between classes, I was sick after all. This worked like a charm. I didn’t feel like I had been dragged through hell and I was awake and actually a little charming and fun in class. Well, I had fun, not sure about the students…
Later on I went to see the surprise-film at the Bergen Filmklubb. They showed Hard Candy. The film is some sort of psychological thriller but it left me feeling a little indifferent. The film is about a 32 year old guy who picks up a 14 year old girl on the internet and she drugs him, tortures him and pretends to cut his balls off. If you’re interested in that kind of stuff (girls torturing older men), you’d better watch Audition instead. It’s much more creepy. It actually gets worse from repeat screening because you know what to expect (and you expect something baaad).
Whenever americans make a film that involves a difficult subject, there’s always the question of morality. What if the guy in the film was not a paedophile and what if the girl was old enough for him to fuck? Would the story be any different? I think it would be better because there would have been less “right” and “wrong”. In a sense I always get the feeling that they present you an already finished worldview, there’s nothing to reflect upon.
The japanese movie of course has no such moral qualms. Things happen because they do. There is no need for moral considerations or faux dilemmas for a woman to cut off a man’s foot. In fact, without reasons and explanations you’re left even more stumped, even more shocked because in the end none of your questions are answered. Even in bad japanese horror movies, there is apparently an element of Zen.
I’m still sick. I don’t feel much pity for myself, by that definition I’m not much of a man. I’m considering calling in sick tomorrow, mostly because my work-thursday start at 8 am and finishes at 6.30 pm. I’m not sure if I can go through with that, at least not without feeling like a dead cat afterwards. I can manage four hours of teaching while sick, but not seven plus an hour meeting.
I had my first attempt at a new gourmet meal yesterday, duck in orange sauce with grenaille de rosenwald potatos, mushrooms and aspargus. It was fantastic! I will transform the rest of the sauce into a basis for chicken soup today. Or rather, duck soup with chicken.
Right now, I’m going to sleep for an hour. Then make soup!
Today I went to a quiz. We won (it was a tie though) but that’s beside the point.
I was sitting by the window at Opera and I see a guy making large gestures in the street. I’m thinking he’s either performing street theatre or arguing with a friend. I open the window to hear what he says and it’s some mumbo-jumbo about Jesus being the saviour and such. I then lean over to see who he’s talking to and I notice three longhaired Metal people standing on the street corner (I think I have seen them before). Some religious people are extremely zealous and persistent. How do they do it?
Later on, on my way home, I’m walking behind a severly drunk woman. She’s veering so bad I’m considering supporting her to avoid having her run over by a car. Instead I pass her and she says something like “You’re a really great looking guy”. I just smile and continue. Apparently, it takes a lot of alcohol for people to acknowledge interest in others. That’s a pity.
Ever tried walking around town late at night with two short blondes?
I met two former students from my school while walking back home from Altona. We stand chatting for a while and before long some old fart comes along asking where he can find young girls to fuck. One of the girls tell him politely to walk off a pier (there are lots of girls in the sea, you see), he doesn’t get the point and continues to chat. Then it’s my turn to be the master diplomat and I tell him he has too look elsewhere. It takes me two attempts before he understands what I really mean (Sod off, you prick).
Their plan is to walk to a pub about a hundred meters away in my direction so we walk together. Fifty meters ahead we get stopped by a young man drinking a dubious-looking orange juice with a straw. He’s obviously drunk and his opening line is “Do you remember me?”. He attempts to get them to go to a different pub which is cheaper, continues with asking me if the girls are mine, my answer is that they are theirs (I don̈́’t own people) and if I’m hitting on them. He almost mananges to sway them but they are waiting for a third person to come to town and then he leaves. I leave them to wait for their friend.
I walk home looking at all the sad people who’s had too much to drink. Kudos to the woman dressed in a matching tight fitting red leather jacket and trousers. It takes guts to wear something like that.
Now tell me what makes men hit on any passing blonde, both drunken youths and paedophiles. Being male can be so depressing. I really wish to make an apology on behalf of my sex. Not that it would help in any way.