I've been to "Landet", I've been to "Blond", I've been everywurr.

"Blond" was this Friday. Very calm, very OK. The DJ's were two girls. They played indie-ish music. One of them was very much like Cia Berg, the Swede who was in Whale, the Swedish musical band, and the other one was very much on calming drugs. They played Kraftwerk, Radiohead, Holly Golightly and other types of music. I met an ex-girlfriend who looked like she was 50 yearls old. How about that. Her mind seemed calmer than in the day I actually knew her promiscous self though. Anyway, Blond gave the proceedings of the night to a 13-year-old girl, who had been drugged and raped by four men. As usual, this was semi-allowed in Sweden. Why, you ask? Well, Swedish laws say it's OK if a girl's been a tad drunk. Or a male. The problem is, males aren't very opposite-sex-law-suit-crazy and aren't really getting raped, which means Swedish law-suites never are against women. To exaggerate, Swedish law-suites turn our this way: if a woman (who are the only ones who almost every time are the ones who file law-suites that have to do with sex) files a suite, she'll lose - or win something akin to 1000USD which, in my mind, is pretty much an insult for somebody who's been raped. To make a quite extreme and stark point, I believe that if every judge, jury and lawyer in this country were subjected to a violent rape, the money sentenced to the victims would increase at least ten-fold.

Tonight, Frederic, Anka, Mämu, Felix and I went to Landet. Despite in our waiting 20 minutes to enter, this was during their premiere-night, and, despite their washing-machine breaking down and their drink-makers were very cunning, I must say they should have had their shit together. And they had. Get my drift? I'm saying that they were good. Three girls (whose names I can't come up with right now) had decorated the entire place, and their DJ was accompanied by some MC who was quite good whenever he could concentrate on something besides his Heineken and the girls swarming, the DJ was very good. He was dressed in a Paul Heaton-like track-suit, and f-ing heeded to what people asked for. I'm, of course, not saying a DJ should dance like a fucking sock-puppet to every fucking move from every fucking audience [which means: love to the DJ who first wore a "I'm not a fucking jukebox"-t-shirt], but he mixed a dancehall-track with a Dre-track ("The Next Episode") I almost went through the floor. While waiting for another drink from the quite inept bartenders (who constantly watched their small paper lists for what ingredients to use and how) I asked the DJ, please, I'd love another Dre track. And hell yes, he did it. Another ragga-Dre-mix, sweeet!

Frederic went on to "Lino", the place where I'm supposed to be now as I said I would, and I'm at home, with Mikaela, her watching "Sex And The City" for the 20th time in a couple of days (this not being an abberation of any kind) and I'm home. So I ditched Frederic, but that's solely as I felt I was going to become bad company soon; I was very tired and very anxious to go to bed, so here I go. Good-night, everybody! I'm very happy for not having turned drunk in a couple of nights in a row.