A couple of days ago I met up with Jesper. Yeah, the day after I was out with Staffan and Patrik, so there you go. We met up and went to Texas Longhorn, where I had ribs with a corn-cob, plus beer. Funny, that. I haven't eaten or drunk unhealthy stuff since...well, the day before, but before that, I can't remember when was the last turn, really. The food was good, and the ribs were full of some sort of barbeque-sauce, which the ribs in all probability, had been marinated in. They did, however, make food stick between my teeth, so in trying to solve that, I used tooth-picks and made little shards from those stick between my teeth instead. Nutters! I nearly went berzerk trying to find a way to claw those pieces of wood from my gums.
Eventually Jesper and I found a drug-store where I got my needs sated, and after that we headed to Lundbergs, a good bar, basically a hole in the wall right next to a restaurant called Fenix, on Götgatan. I snapped a few more pictures, one catching Jesper with his back to a horrid painting, and another one catching a glimpse of a drink I had, which mostly contained raspberries and a single blackberry.
We left the place for Malmen, a hotel where I've twice sang along to the tunes played by a live piano-player, but now the suckers have gotten rid of the piano! What a gyp. Instead, Jesper and I lounged to the soothing music of The Beatles, played with pan-pipes. We had a nice time, and the lounge-area was filled with people who all were from other cities than Stockholm, lovely enough. What wasn't very lovely, though, was this man who sat down with us, despite my "Please, no!" when he asked if he could join us. What a fucking bastard. He tried to cut in on our conversation several times, which I guess was difficult as most of what were talking about at that specific moment was the Wu-Tang Clan, as I recently bought RZA's "The Wu-Tang Manual", which actually isn't very hot except for the parts where parts of their lyrics are explained. Anyway, I quickly snapped a picture of the guy, which instantly turned him from acting very weird [did I mention that he talked to himself quite a few times?] to paranoid:
he: Wait. What are you going to do with that picture? me: Sell it to every magazine known to man. he: You can't do that. Erase that picture immediately. me: Well, that's up to me, and as you depleted my level of being nice to you as you sat down with us despite us not wanting you to, I'm not going to delete the picture. he: You can't do that, I'll sue you. Give me your name and I'll sue you.
Oh really. Interesting lad, though.
me: If taking pictures of people despite them not wanting so would be against the law, do you think Expressen and Aftonbladet [the biggest tabloids in Sweden] would exist at all? No, the picture stays where it is for the moment, which is perfectly legal. he: What, have you read law, is that what you're saying? Have you read the law?
By this time I'd come to terms with a rather scary feature: this man didn't show emotions in any way. Through all his talking he never showed any other face than the one in said picture of him. He spoke in a quite monotonous tone, and as he uttered all of his madness, I started thinking that Jesper and I would probably do better by going somewhere else. Jesper wasn't taking his shit though.
Jesper: Are you nuts? You don't have to have a law-degree to know that! Haha! me: There you have it. This man is, by the way, my lawyer. And he's Samoan. he: Well, are you going to erase it? me: What, the picture? he: Yes, you can't take it. me: But I already did, so no sweat.
In the corner of my eye I caught the shape of somebody moving towards us. I looked to the side, and an old man, appx. 70 years of age, approached us, wearing a black-and-white suit.
old man: Hello everybody, I'm from Texas, and I wonder if I can sit down with you. Jesper: For sure! me: For sure, but we're probably leaving soon, so you know. And by the way, your-- old: Ah, I have been in USA for a long time, and I have made so, so, so much money there in oil.
The old-timer sounded fairly drunk. I also recognised his accent, which rarely happens with me. Ask me to say something in a Scottish dialect and you'll get Finnish. Strewth.
me: You don't sound very American at all. Are you from Norway?
This turned the old man's drunken head. He immediately started telling me that he was in fact Norwegian, that he was piss-drunk, and wanted to go with us boys to Tip Top, which is probably the most well-known gay club in Stockholm. Hell no. Even if The Smiths had reunited and were set to play at that place, I'd think twice before going, and with psycho and drunkard (apart from Jesper, who was already slipping into a haze) - no fucking way. Jesper and I left, while the two persons left got acquainted. Oh, here's a picture of Jesper at Malmen.
While on the street I saw a man with a very peculiar hair-style. I asked him if I could take his picture, and he first said no, but after I explained that I thought his hair looked very cool he said yes. I took two pictures, this one and this one. Of course I sent him a couple of high-res digital copies yesterday.
We then went to Tidlös, a place where Jesper knew the proprietors, but the thing is, they'd sold the place and not told Jesper. On getting struck with this fact, Jesper nearly fell. Literally. He then asked three different waiters on whether they knew what had happened with the previous owners, but no such luck. The waitresses were all very young, but very service-minded, which is quite rare in Stockholm. The place has now turned into a joint straight outta "Scarface"; neon lights in pastel-colours are awash, as you can see a little of, if you get this picture of Jesper at Tidlös. Anyway, Jesper continued to drink beer while I drank water, but I should really just have stopped Jesper. He was drinking way past his limits, which is something he very seldom does. As we left the place I was struck that I could almost hear every third word from his mouth, which is quite extreme. I knew then we wouldn't venture to another place, but get this man a cab and chuck him home. This is Jesper, from just before I had to throw him in a cab.
Everything was safe and sound the day after. I started the day with a meeting, during which the only attendee once burped loudly. There you go.
I'm looking forward to "Mirrormask", the coming film crafted by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. If you've read the graphic novel "Sandman", you've definitely come across the work of these people before. Gaiman writes comics and graphic novels, and McKean is a very profiled artist who mainly draws covers for graphic novels. Here's an essay on Dave McKean, by Gaiman. All covers of the Sandman series are made by McKean, and I've even got a really good graphic novel, written by Gaiman and entirely drawn and painted by McKean, called "Signal To Noise
Now it's time to go have some of the delicious bread I bought outta Rivalbageriet, yesterday. Check it out here. Then it's time to get the old DJ-kit in order. Frederic and I are playing at Kafé 44:an, an old punk hangout, where Fred's former boyfriend, Finn, is celebrating his birthday. Too-raah!