Sunday, January 31, 2010

Impulsive Buying. And drinking.

The other day when I went grocery shopping, I was walking up and down the aisles in search of an employee willing do to a price check for me. Eventually I came across a guy by the sodas, and thus happily held my pre-baked pizza crust into the air and asked: "Sir, do you know what the prize of this is?"
"No ma'm, I work for Coca-Cola", he answered and pointed towards his product of expertise sitting on the shelf.

And that's how it happened that I never got a price check but rather wound up dropping an 8-pack of little caned Cokes into my basket, even though it's something that I never, ever get, let alone drink.

But this Coke is different. It is, as mentioned, small. With 22 cl. I guess it's the canned version of the tiny glass-bottled Coke you tend to get at restaurants. And it's such a great size, a drinkable snack, a perfect amount, if you ask me. Not vulgar, but just right for quenching your thirst after a good jog.

So far, I haven't drunk one entire can, but I've shared a couple with Johan.
"Coke?", he'll ask.
"Yes, why not!", I hear my little frivolous self answering. "Give me half of it why don't ya!"

P.S. I've begun eating burgers too. But I will save that story for another blogpost...

Copyright, 1985, By B.L. Singboy

I wonder if you remember this at all, but back in the fall when Johan and I went roadtripping in Vermont, we visited this warehouse-sized indoor flea market that offered rows upon rows of mouth-watering antiques and curiosities.

Back then I bought the picture above of a smiling, naked, chubby baby boy, which I put aside and nearly forgot, but has now found its permanent spot on my mirror in the bedroom.

His smile puts you in such a good mood, no?

Heating Tricks

Hello from a freezing, positively freezing, EV apartment! Lord knows how it came about, but within the span of a week the temperature has dropped from 16 degrees Celsius on Monday to something like -10 today.

Yesterday, Johan and I did our best to close the gap in the windows to prevent the freezing air from seeping in to the bedroom, but alas, while it has helped, it has nowhere but done the trick. So this morning I stole Matteo's electric heater into the living room and baked a batch of apple-marcipan muffins. The latter gave me a perfectly good excuse to leave the door to the oven open afterwards in order to let the cinnamon-flavored heat take over the kitchen and beyond.

Saturday, January 30, 2010


What a catch!

Lucky, lucky me. I had a somewhat tough day work-wise yesterday, but as I walked through the front door, all the day's hardships disappeared in a heartbeat. Because at home, this is what awaited me: Chicken roasting in the oven amidst big chunks of lemon and fennel, white wine sauce was simmering on the stove and the entire house was spic and span, vacuum cleaned and dusted off. But all this I'm pretty much used to, to tell the truth. Actually, what really struck a cord in my lil' ol' breast was this: Johan had also defrosted the freezer.
Heavy sigh.
Like, who does that? No one I've ever lived with, let me tell you. Well except my mother perhaps;O)

And if that wasn't enough, he bought me a wine bottle with a pup on it:O)
Somebody pinch me!!!

Knocked Up by a Wiener

Allow me to begin this post with a disclaimer:
As some may remember, my mother didn't name her miniature dachshund after mother earth herself, but rather received her when she was a year or two of age, named and all. At the time, my mother and her husband couldn't quite figure if they were up to the task of having a dog full time, so when a kennel owner contacted them and asked them if they'd be willing to foster a dog for a while, they said yes. The dog would be staying with them, the deal went, expect every once in a while it would have to go to exhibition shows (for dogs, I mean), plus it had to mother one litter of puppies. After that, the dog would be theirs, unless of course, they found it wasn't their thing, at which point they could just return her.

I can see why it seemed like a good deal. A dog with no stings attached. Expect, of course, my mother and her husband and everyone else for that matter, were the ones that wound up attached. Like, majorly attached. She's so cute, you see.

While Gaya failed miserably at exhibiting herself at dog shows and was thereafter exempted from ever doing such things again (she peed or pooped in the arena, I can't remember which), Gaya is now going to take care of one last piece of kennel related business: She's going to be with child. Enter the ruthless puppy mill, if you will. She's going to get knocked up.

And the wiener that's going to make it all happen, is the one in the pictures above. A Finnish miniature dachshund going by the name of Mambo (who names these dogs?!! Seriously, who?!).

While the offspring will most likely be cute enough for grown up men to faint mid walk when they see her, it's also a bit sad, because it means Gaya will have to go away for a couple of months to live at the kennel again.

So what's the lesson we can deduct from all this messy business?:
Sometimes seemingly good deals can turn out really shitty.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Home Adorations

I'm going through some kind of renewed home appreciation stage. I'm usually very delighted with everything about my house but since I got back from Denmark, I've been a little extra thrilled with certain little details here and there. Unfortunately I've also been a little lazy of late in terms of actually taking pictures of it. The two above I just managed to shoot...from the couch, where I've been lounging, adoring everything around me. Aaahhhh.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


Perhaps it's the slightly German expressionistic style of my painting that does the trick, but the resemblance between him and me is nonetheless pretty striking right?

Dilettante Forensics

In lack of better things to do, I've decided to dedicate a few hours each day to finding out if Johan is indeed a serial killer.



When I bought this little wooden salt container, I was positive it was just the item I was missing in my kitchen. Time has taught me, however, that it's far too small to be useful for anything except decoration: It's able to contain so little you basically have to add new flakes every day. Plus, the product design isn't too brilliant balance-wise either. In fact, what you see in the pic above is something that happens pretty darn often. You place it on the table and just when you've turn your back at it, it topples over, emptying its messy insides all over the place.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Oh how I love the manner in which the algorithmic logic of search engines somehow ensures that you get so many options to choose from by simply typing in 'what to drink'. I meant to add 'with Thai food', but before I knew it there were so many far more interesting categories to choose from, my absolute fave being 'what to drink to pass a drug test'. Ha!

Anyhow, there seems to be some agreement in cyberspace that Riesling or some such sparkling, semi-sweet wine goes very well with Thai.

P.S. For those of you in the mood for scrutinizing the screen shot above, you may notice that there's quite a bit of links related to 'o.d'. As in overdosing. On drugs, I mean. If you're wondering why it's so and if I were indeed looking up how to pass a drug test, I can assure you it really wasn't the case. Rather, the fact is I tend to type so fast that not even my computer, least of all Google, can keep up with me. And so it happened that all that was registered when I first made an attempt to type in 'what to drink with Thai food' was 'od'. As in food.

Just to set the record straight and all.

Prime Suspect

I've now made myself through one entire season of Dexter, and as a result I now feel anxious at night about getting up to go to the bathroom, fearing that some serial killer may be waiting to attack me as I make my way in the dark.

Last night, as the final episode of season one came to an end, I felt compelled to make Johan swear that he has never been a serial killer nor have any intentions of ever becoming one. A simple promise, or so I thought, but for some disconcerting reason, I found that he had severe difficulties in making that commitment.

"Look me in the eye", I said, "and tell me you will never become a serial killer".
"I can't say that", was his first reply. "I feel weird saying that".

Eventually I made him say: "I will never become a......serrriaakkkkllerrrr", the last pivotal word being uttered in a close to incomprehensible manner.

Monday, January 25, 2010


I baked blueberry scones this morning, and it was so surprisingly quick and easy that I think I might be prone to doing just that from now on instead of fetching croissants at the bakery.


Sonny Angel

I find this little teletubian figure part cute, part alarming - I mean, what's with the headgear and the ambiguous genitals? It's my friend Anne who's been so nice to bring it back from Japan for me along with a bunch of other thrilling things. I don't know if the Japanese are utterly bizarre, or if it's just her that manages to locate the most bizarre of the bizarre. From her last trip I have a pair of worn women's panties and an assemble-it-yourself bondage figurine:O)

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Rock Stars

This is a super 8 mm music video Johan made with his friends Anker (a.k.a. 'Raven') and Bue (a.k.a. 'Tron'), members of the all time classy band Shotgun Lee.
Johan's rock star name is 'Blaze'- Sassy! - and there's another band member, Peter, whose artistic alias is 'Volcano'.

Anyhow, make sure to check out their unbeatable pizazzzzzzz....

Boys. Te-he.

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Things I Saw Yesterday

I was out and about most of the day yesterday, walking on my own two feet through most of Manhattan's neighborhoods.

Here's some of the unexpected stuff I saw:

Steve Jobs walking in Soho.

A lady beating up her mother (for real. Like we're not talking some neat little slap on the face, but a full-fledged beating up. I'm guessing they were respectively 30 and 60 years of age).

And the Today Show Studio. Like, from inside.

Friday, January 22, 2010

out of space.

Johan is on the art book slash coffee table book wagon.
Which is nice, not least because I'm often the end recipient of whatever he winds up getting on his escapades to Strand's .
But I'm running out of book space.
It's time to think outside the bookcase (wow, who knew I'd be so corny at this time in the morning, hehe).

Thursday, January 21, 2010

bananas. and reasons to love the internet.

Ough, I've had my second banana of the day and just put two and two together and realized that's what's causing the pinching, cramp-like, abdominal-pain I'm suffering this very moment.

I typed in "bananas" and "belly ache" in Google and found that it's quite a common problem, although no one really seems be able to explain the cause.

But there is a link between the two.
And I'm not alone in this.
Which will help to know next time I'm bent over in banana-induced pain.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

On 57 Hester St.

I've never done much shopping in Chinatown, feeling that the retail experiences offered there ain't much for me considering the fact that I have very little use for things like dried fish, cooked, salted duck eggs, or sterilized condoms, for that matter.

When it comes to fulfilling my need for soy sauces, sushi rice and funny Japanese cakes, I have thus gravitated towards my East Village Asian supermarkets instead, happy to pay a little extra in exchange for having my nutrition facts and list of ingredients in a language I can actually understand.

Some may find, however, this is not only the easy but also the boring way out in a city that has such interesting cultural enclaves to offer. And after making my trip down to Chinatown the other day and coming across the gigantic Asian supermarket Hong Kong Market on Hester Street, I have to say I now agree.

From now on, I will aspire to go grocery shopping in this most amazing place on a regular basis, not least because it's so darn cheap! Here's where 22 dollars and 23 cents got me:

1 bottle of rice vine vinegar, 1 bottle of oyster sauce, 1 bottle of sesame oil, 1 bottle of soy sauce, 2 cans of bamboo shoots, a big jar of red curry, 2 cans of coconut milk, 2 lbs bag of sushi rice, sushi sea weed, 5 limes, fresh coriander, lemon grass, ginger and spring onions.

Good deal, right?

Lit de Parade

In this utterly bizarre place that I live, one may come across the macabre viewing of a recently deceased elf...

...that is having its limbs cut off by none else than Bugs Bunny...

...while a stuffed rodent is dying a make believe death in a nearby mouse trap.

Good thing Al knows how to keep himself busy.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Candy Sharing Compatibility

I suppose there are numerous ways in which one may determine one's compatibility with other people. Convergence of interests, say, shared political beliefs, or a bizarre sense of humor.

Another way of determining compatibility that has perhaps been suffering a bit of slight, I will argue, is the extent to which one succeeds in sharing candy with someone without either party feeling discontentment.

Let's direct our focus to the so called "Matador Mix" - a bagged melange of candy, which, as far as I know, is marketed by candy manufacturer Haribo only to the Danes.

When it comes to this bag of candy - probably the widest sold bag of candy in Denmark - I think the majority of the Danes have a pretty articulated idea of which pieces of candy they'll go for first, second and third, plus, which ones they'd rather leave behind. As for the latter, it seems it's always the yellow wine gum that NO. ONE. IN. THEIR. RIGHT. MIND. WANTS.

Enter Johan and I. When it comes to this bag, I go primarily for the liquorice-y dragés, whereas he, with delight, will eat the coca cola flavored wine gums - a piece of candy I absolutely dislike. And so it continues, perfect compatibility until we're left with...well, you guessed it: Yellow wine gums.

But the story doesn't end there. What makes us even more compatible as candy sharing partners is the fact that we can agree on the fact that once there aren't any of the other pieces left, the yellow wine gum actually isn't half bad. In fact, it's really quite good when all the red and green ones can no longer steal it's thunder.


And here's what makes us even more perfect in this sugary regard: When it comes to Pingvin Mix - perhaps the second most sold bag of candy in Denmark - we're utterly perfect too.

"I'm sorry", I whined the other day at the airport when I still didn't know any better. "I accidentally ate all the good ones while I was on the phone with my mom", I said and pointed towards the half empty bag that only wine gums and caramel-flavored liquorice left in it.

"Are you kidding?" Johan replied. "All of these are my absolute favorites!"

Perfection x 2.

And finally, as for the strawberry-flavored marshmallow-y things above, I get them all to myself.

Perfection x 3.

P.S. If my maternal grandmother is reading this, you can bet yourself she's now worrying herself sick that all I eat during the day is candy, candy and candy. Men jag lovar mormor, jag äter en massa nyttigt ochså! Hur många grönsaker som helst!


No too long ago, in an episode of Six Feet Under, I noticed that the character David had bought an extra dozen of eggs.

"Why did you do that", his husband Keith asked.
"I forgot we had some", David answered.

Although I guess it's an honest mistake, I couldn't help myself wondering who does that?

Well, now I realize my household does. In fact, this morning we had about three dozen eggs packed into the fridge.

And hence Johan decided to cook an eggy breakfast. Of French toast, pancakes and boiled eggs - the latter something I absolutely loathe, and hence had to look forever for a makeshift egg cup because I didn't have one.

I also wowed to cook some sort of really heavy cake, a chocolate fondant or some such thing requiring a gazillion or so eggs. But I didn't. Instead I made little lemony-polenta muffins.

American Gothic

Is it just me, or does it seem like George and Ruth from Six Feet Under were modeled after Grant Wood's painting?

Monday, January 18, 2010

Naam Tok

After a cooking season defined by the Italian cuisine, I've now moved East. To Thailand to be exact. Apart from sex tourism and sexual reassignment surgery, that country has so much good to offer. Take, if you will, this very dish as a perfectly good example: Spicy Beef Thai Salad.

Yum, it turned out well, dressed, as it were, in lime juice, soy sauce, ginger, mint, coriander and a bunch of other savory and spicy things.

I allowed myself to be inspired by this recipe.

Later I found this, which seems a bit more appealing perhaps.

Valley Girls

When it comes to celebrities, I'm a total valley girl. I realized this last night as I was watching the Golden Globes, ooo'ing and ah'ing over this actor and the next, informing Johan which ones I like, which ones I don't, and who's married to whom.

Another thing that dawned on me is that I don't like Chloé Sevigny. Like really don't.

I guess I've just gone with the flow for all these years thinking she was all that, a New York 'it' girl, if you will, her style so bold and clever. Yada yada yada.

But really, she isn't all that. If anything, she is a total Valley girl. I mean, what's with the laugh?

There, I said it. From now on I guess I can give up all hope that I'll ever be admitted to her brother's fancy hang outs. But really, I think we can all agree it's their loss. Really.

Missing the Fishers

Acute readers of this blog may have noticed that I seem to go through periods during which all I think and write about pretty much seems to be related to the same things, people or 'happenings'. I suspect I've always been like this. Back in the day when I worked at Louisiana, the Museum of Modern Art in Denmark, it was a standing joke among my fellow students at the Department of Art History, that my world was pretty much defined by what took place within that relatively small and geographically isolated space: What postcards people bought, bits and pieces of conversations overheard in the galleries, what happened behind the scenes or at lunch.

What can I say, the quotidian never fails to amuse me. Or else it's just a question of not having better things to think and talk about.

Lately, I've adopted the habit of watching TV-series, something I haven't done for years and years. I've watched them on DVD, so as logic would have it, I've managed to go through several seasons within the span of only a couple of months.

Yesterday I watched the final episode of Six Feet Under, and instantly felt a void inside my little self as it came to and end.

It's not so strange when you think of it, though. With five seasons that each consist of 13 episodes, each episode lasting 45 minutes, I've actually spent close to 50 hours in the company of the Fishers. Heck, I've spent more time with this family than I've spent with my own of late.

And believe you me, it's left its mark. I'd estimate that 50 % of the conversations that I initiate these days are somehow related to Six Feet Under.

"You know Johan", I will say. "I've been thinking of what Ruth said last night, and I don't know if I agree".

Or: "I'm so upset with Rico right now, and I'll tell you why."

The good thing in these worst of times that are so defined by solitude and loss, is that Johan has been my DVD-companion through all this, and thus seems to be suffering some sort of withdrawal too.

I look at him, and I sense that void lurking behind his eyes as well.

We're in this together. That's comfort. Plus, we have Dexter lined up.

We reasoned it's a good idea to stick with people we know.


Look how pretty this packaging is! Johan went grocery shopping at Trader Joe's yesterday with the purpose of stocking up on basics for the new year, and these pretty pastel colored things is what he brought home.

I'm so happy that buying generic no longer has to feel like a boring downgrade:O)