Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Bury my heart at Wounded Knee

Oh, March 2009. Let it be shouted from the mountain tops - you did me no favors. My receding hairline is evidence of a chapter of very small scale disasters. Once again I grab for the quill to spew my venom into this atomic dud of a confession booth.

What's the reason for this outrage you ask. Like all other evils it was started by the combination of a few cold ones and that forbidden movement known as the river dance. Gallivanting around in the late hours I saw it fit to perform some non-rehearsed steps for some lady friends. That never leads to a good thing. My left knee or fucktard as I so cleverly have christened it gave into the immense pressure and proceeded to leave it's socket for greener pastures to the left of the knee area. As I felt gravity pull me down I gently pushed it back into place before spreading out on the asphalt begging for mercy AKA cursing my existence.

Being a jokester is a double edged sword. Too many times have I pulled off late night shenanigans for a quick laugh, too many times to be taken seriously when my body collapses for what seems like no reason. For a good five minutes I was known as the boy who cried knee. Blessed be the old girlfriend who finally took the helm and ushered me to the ER.

The fine staff in the emergency room gave me a bed to spread on as I called everyone in my phone list for sympathy and advice. As I was still pretty intoxicated I wasn't really grasping the damages yet. I was given crutches and a prescription for heavy painkillers. Pain is for pussies I thought. Que the morning after. I stood up and in awe witnessed that my leg looked like a mogwai that was fed after midnight. And man was it angry about that.

Click on the picture to view it in all it's glory

Behold. Beauty and the beast hath become one. If I was an Asian philosopher I would be known as Contusios (too much Wayne's World sorry).

The days passed. What seemed a colorful blur was the constant streaming of Attenborough's documentary The Life Of Mammals. Sometimes only animal imagery helps. I learned that the Duckbilled Platypus secretes milk through it's skin rather than having evolved teets. That information kept me sane under the heavy meds.

A week later the physiotherapy was on. A young lass told me I have three to six months to become a man again. She gave me old person exercises to regrow the muscles. My left leg had now shrunk to skeletal thickness, leaving it's healthy brother looking like a Carl Lewis thigh. Oh the obscure hotness.

Yesterday, three weeks after this I did an MR. It was a sci-fi odyssey, I was consumed by the loudest space age machine I've ever laid eyes on. It screamed at me for my bone breaking stunts as a last reminder to never do anything physically demanding ever again. As of today my leg has grown a wee bit, it is now that of an anorectic prostitute in severe need of shaving. Huzzah.

I will be sure to let the world (or the three readers of this blog) know of future progress. Toodels me loves!

Monday, February 16, 2009


Greetings you spam ridden horse jockeys! Time for an update dontchathink?

Let's face it. The Americans don't want me. My sweet ass visa ran out yet again and this globetrotter was returned to his place of origin - the fjord loaded mountain vale of Norway. Trying to adapt to waking up with permafrost on my face is making me feel as out of place as an abortion in the life of the OctoMom. But hey, some punishment is in order after coasting through a winter in California that passes for summer anywhere else. As for the last three months in the US - I totally nailed them! If by nailed you mean procrastinated away and by totally you mean knowingly. I've been repeatedly asked what I was really doing over there and I'm trying to compile a list of the more interesting happenings that took place. It's more or less the randomest selection money can buy, and you're getting it for free.

It starts:

1. Thanksaroini in Josharoony!

The obesity I deserved after this years Thanksgiving was obscene. What has become an annual excuse to binge with no remorse for an already corpulent US nation, has now become the favorite holiday for one very gastronomically satisfied Norwegian. This year’s smorgasbord took place in a shack on the dry, cacti-zitted face of Joshua Tree. In a rehabilitated shack with fire pits all around, me and 6 friends fought the cold of the desert night armed only with skimpy clothes and hypothetical layers of beer force fields.

As some of you may know, turkey - the fowl - has something in it called L-tryptophan which apparently causes sleepiness. Combined with wine that only causes rowdiness the night ended early. In my defense it is difficult to tell time in desert rat territory as the darkness is all-consuming and the stars come out to play like nothing I've ever seen. To give you a perspective of the night sky out there:

It was thistimes like a 1000 or something!!

2. Funkaholics Autonomous

We grovel at the feet of the groove gods. Every Tuesday. Accomplice Tommy Nine Tones and I - MC Gyver, that's M.C. play the dusty spoils of once a great genre. The night, know as Cheap Soul, still thrives even in my absence at La Cita, place of beer and Mexican Christmas lights. Go there and tear the roof of the mothersucka.

3. Illusions of grandeur

So, I got into Magic Castle which is teh awesome. My friend Daniel borrowed me his suit and a chance to be puzzled for a lifetime. I've always thought magic was reserved for those with beards shaped like lightning and serpent walking sticks. I was wrong. Something happens to you when you see a hundred dollar bill end up inside an unpealed lemon. When a man's suit changes color from black to red and he proceeds to steal a tie off of a magazine ad you are in a different world where logic does not apply, much like sex at 17. Dazzled by these underdog mind benders I will never refer to this side of the entertainment industry as corny ever again. It is in fact fibery and nutritious.

I guess one of the rules of the club is to never talk about it. But I happened upon one of the less magicy but none the less entertaining acts of the night on BFF Youtube. There ain't nothing wrong with showing a little - right!? Despite Letterman's meh attitude towards the guy (did he offend him in the dressing room or something??) he puts on a jovial show for the whole fam to enjoy! I give you The Spring Snake Symphony!

To think that this blurb was inspired by the fact that I got one new reader comment! THANK YOU STRANGER! Hopefully I'll remember more about these 3 months... I should really buy some OMEGA-3 and jumpstart this noggin. Till next time lovers!