[The little notebook smells very much like Choward's Violet Mints, which I took with me to Sweden and kept in the same pocket.]

I saw a great ad for Red Bull, the energy drink, at the movie theater when Wlofie and I went to see "Knubbigt Regn" (sp? - far too lazy to go dig out the ticket stubs) ("Chubby Rain," the Swedish title for "Bowfinger").  A cartoon bird was flapping across the screen over a nerdy little cartoon man who was walking.  Well you can guess what the bird dropped on him.  He took out his handkerchief and wiped the excrement from his shoulder, then reached into his briefcase for a can of Red Bull.  He gulped this down, grew wings, and flew up above the bird, matching speed, and then dropped his pants, preparing to return the favor.  Oh it was funny.

There is a sign in the ferry terminal in Helsingnør that means "No beer carts allowed on the escalator."  I think this is hysterical.

My friend Pat in Norway tells me that the Bandito motorcycle gang up her way has decided to enter the world of legitimate business.  They have formed a collection agency.  I also find this funny.

12 Jan 00
One hotel clerk in Tivoli kept us waiting without so much as acknowledging our presence for something like half an hour.  Finally she got round to us only to inform us that yes indeed there were vacancies and a room would be four thousand six hundred kroner.  My jaw fell.  "Let us consider," I said, taking my hat in hand and leaving.  Wlofie had not heard her words, so when I quoted the figure out on the sidewalk (I was casting murderous glances through the glass doors) he nearly fell down.  See, a quite modest room in Manhattan would run roughly 1600 kroner, I think, and a cheap room most places in the US would cost between 400 and 800 kroner.  She wanted four thousand.  And change.  Ahem, no thanks.  Wish I remembered what hotel that was so I could warn you away.  Rather, let me recommend First Hotel, also in Tivoli.  The clerks were very friendly and helpful and the room was only 1100 kroner, yet really very comfortable, with ample amenities.  Mmmm, love that minibar.

I was trying to ask a woman in a regular sort of cafe if there were an Internet cafe there in Nørreport, a neighborhood in Copenhagen.  I think I actually asked her if she were an Internet cafe.  So much for my Danish.

On the plane trip back, there was one of those boring cultural programs on the screen, one that covers various arts, genres, and travel destinations and such.  I saw that my very sophisticated seeming neighbor was watching and listening intently as I read on in a book about adolescent male development.  My attention was gotten, however, at the appearance of the Beastie Boys, and I switched my headphones over to that channel.  I learned a lot about these guys, even such trivia as the fact that they only learned to play their instruments in time for the third album.  The whole thing was fascinating, with video excerpts added liberally.  I noticed my neighbor had taken her headphones off.  When the segment was over and the announcer moved to some travel piece, my cabinmate put her headphones back on, and I switched mine back to Aida on channel 7.

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