B is for Bratwurst

I've always wanted to wake up and find a beautiful woman in the kitchen, making me breakfast wearing nothing but a cute pair of cotton hipster panties and maybe one of my t-shirts.

On day two in Germany, I awoke in Sandy's living room and saw her standing in the kitchen, buttering my bread and scrambling my eggs.  She had prepared a classic German breakfast for us to enjoy, complete with a brilliant selection or meat, cheese, fruit, eggs and of course rolls (Germans LOVE their rolls).  It was absolutely delicious and a brilliant change from my usual stale bagel and generic-brand cream cheese.  It was only the start of my first full day in Germany and I was already in love with German beer and German food.  After refueling, I showered up and we set out to conquer Leipzig in a day.

We walked through a beautiful park, past the Leipzig Zoo and into the city centre.  We took some snapshots along the way and Sandy proved to be the perfect tour guide, answering all of my questions and offering a lot of personal insight.  Sandy is from East Germany and was about 7 years old when The Wall came down so she remembers what life was like before the fall.  I was absolutely fascinated to hear a first hand account about such an important time in history and amazed to learn some of the realities of living in a socialist/communist state.  It is incredible to see how far Eastern Germany has progressed in such a short time.

While we were strolling through downtown I saw a man who looked very familiar.  "Sandy," I whispered, "Is that who I think it is?"  She confirmed that it absolutely was and I have to admit I got a little excited.  I don't get star-struck very often, but when I saw this big-time German celebrity hanging out in the street, I had to take a photo!

After walking around for a couple of hours my stomach started speaking to me.  Surprisingly, in German.  It was saying, "Nur deutsche Lebensmittel zufrieden stellen wird mir jetzt!" I had "the hunger"- and only authentic German cuisine could satisfy me.  We stopped at the nearest pretzel shop and I indulged my urges.  

I savoured my salty snack, then Sandy and I hopped on a scenic bus-tour of Leipzig.  We zig-zagged through the streets while our informative, and somewhat manic, tour guide described the historical significance of the buildings we passed in Germanglish (her unique cross between German and English).  At the halfway point, we pulled over and were allowed to dismount the steel horse so that we could get a better look at Völkerschlachtdenkmal (English: The Battle of the Nations Monument).  The monument stands 91m high, making it Europe's biggest, and commemorates one of Napoleon's most decisive defeats in 1813.  The Battle of the Nations was the biggest battle in Europe before World War I and had Germans fighting on both sides.  The statues that surround the top of the monument are meant to represent Germanic heroism, and the whole idea of the monument is that a nation should be united, rather than split into parts that are forced to fight against each other as they were in this battle.  Adolph Hitler twisted and exploited this meaning and gave several speeches from the monument when in Leipzig.

Standing on the same ground where Napoleon fought and Hitler spoke made this the most historically significant place I have ever been.  It's hard to describe the feeling that I had while standing on such infamous ground... it was without a doubt eerie, but it was mixed with a sense of relief.

The last stop on the tour was Thomaskirche, or, St. Thomas Church.  This beautiful church is where Johann Sebastian Bach worked as a cantor for over 25 years until his death.  He played the organ, instructed the choir, taught Latin and composed much of his work during his time in Leipzig.  Bach is honoured with a statue outside the church and his remains are buried beneath the altar.

After the tour, my tummy was making noises again but only half as loud as Sandy's (seriously, it's like she has a rabid dog in her stomach).  Clearly, we were both in need of some German street meat!!!  We found the nearest vendor and ordered up a couple of mouth-watering Bratwursts.  I took my first bite and was in flavour country.  I savoured every morsel of my delicious, piping-hot meat tube and thought to myself, "Germany, I think I might be falling in love with you."

Later on that evening, back at the apartment we decided that tonight was Sandy and Jozef night; some quality time, just the two of us.  Sandy prepared a famous East German gourmet meal called "Student Sauce" for dinner.  Sounds classy doesn't it?  Well, it is!  It's luxurious ingredients include tomato ketchup, cut-up hot dogs and onion... and it was DAMN good!!!  I washed down my Student Sauce with a few Ur Krostitzers (Mmmm beer) and Sandy pounded back a bottle of wine.  With a nice little buzz on we decided to go out for a few drinks.  We had a few at a place called Barcelona and then a few more at a theatre bar called Pilot, for good measure.  Eventually, we stumbled back to Sandy's home and raced up the spiraling staircase of doom.  Sandy claims to have won this athletic contest.  I don't remember the result so we'll just have to assume she cheated.

It was another perfect day in Germany... tomorrow, Berlin!

A is for Arschloch

The alphabet has been good to me:

I've been reading and writing for most of my life.  I've received nourishment from the alphabet in both cereal AND soup form.  One of my favourite television programs growing up, Sesame Street, was almost always brought to me by particular letters of the alphabet.  And on September 25th, 2003, thanks to the endless cosmic-wonder of the alphabet I met a beautiful, young Fräulein named Sandy.  It was Disney contract signing day and we were asked to sit alphabetically by surname.  Jozef KURACINA (that's me!) took a seat next to Sandy KÜHN.

I introduced myself and told her I was from Canada.  She did the same and informed me that she was from Germany.  We got along really well and it turned out that Sandy was housemates with a Canadian girl named Maureen Poon who quickly became one of my best friends in Florida.  Sandy and I had a pretty good friendship too and after our days in the Disney bubble were over we kept in close touch and always talked lightly about seeing each other again one day.  When I decided I was moving to Europe, Sandy was one of the first people I told and we both agreed that I would have to visit Germany right away.  On November 12th that day finally came!  I flew into Altenburg Airport and boarded a coach to Leipzig; the City of Sandy!  We reached our destination and as soon as the bus door opened I dove off the coach, skipping the time consuming use of stairs, flung my bag off to the side and flew into Sandy's arms.

We bought three tickets for the streetcar-- one for me, one for Sandy and one for Sandy's bike-- then headed to Sandy's home.  After climbing somewhere between two and three hundred stairs (spiral stairs!) we made it to the one-bedroom apartment, panting, sweating and feeling a little lightheaded from the altitude.  The apartment is AMAZING!  Wood flooring, white walls with a little bit of colour trim, enough plant-life to make the place feel homey but not jungle-y, and lots of space.  The bathroom has a standup shower with doors that slide together at the corner, which was something I'd never seen before, but that wasn't the most unique thing in Sandy's water closet:

Now, I've seen a few different flushers in my time.  There's the classic handle on the tank that I think we're all familiar with.  I've also seen metal levers, circular buttons on the top of the tank, circular buttons in the wall and automatic flushers.  Sandy has none of these.  Sandy has a box on the wall a couple of feet above the back of the toilet and to flush the toilet you tilt the box.  I must have stood there for a good two or three minutes the first time, trying to figure out how to make the yellow-tinged water go away.  Picture me,  feeling both hands along the wall, trying to find a secret tile that would send my pee down the pipes before realizing that what I thought was the best-placed ventilation fan I've ever seen was actually the flush mechanism.  I think this has been more than an appropriate amount of time to spend writing about flushing a toilet, so let's move on...

After getting a little settled and replenishing the fluids I lost coming up, we set back out for the city. (To a degree, it is much easier to descend hundreds of spiraling stairs but the dizzying effect still exists.) I immediately took a strong liking to the look and feel of Leipzig.  For one thing, there was SPACE-- something I have missed dearly during my time in the confining United Kingdom--  and just about everything looks like it has some history to it which makes even the ugly buildings seem kind of cool.  We wandered around town and in between taking photographs I bombarded Sandy with any question that popped into my head (something she was going to have to get use to).  When we approached our first major street crossing I met a man that would come to be a major part of my German experience... AMPELMÄNNCHEN!!!  He is the little green man that helped me cross the streets of Leipzig safely.  Now, before you start imagining that Germany uses leprechauns for crossing guards, here is a picture of Ampelmännchen:

I took an immediate liking to the little traffic light man and Sandy explained to me that he could only be found in East Germany.  After the Berlin Wall came down they talked about getting rid of Ampelmännchen and replacing him with the standard, boring, "it's-okay-to-walk" man.  But people had grown fond of their little, hatted hero and thanks to public support he still watches over the street-safety of Eastern Germany.

On our way back home we stopped at a little corner-market with doors that open and close the same way Sandy's shower does.  Sandy selected a bottle of "Weißwein" (white wine... you might have figured that out) and I drooled over the selection of "Bier" (beer... how have you made it to this point of the blog if you didn't figure that out?).  It was glorious!  So many delicious looking beers that I had never seen before, like Radeberger, Weltenburger, Ur-Krostitzer, Reudnitzer and many, many more with names that end in "-ger" or "-zer".  In Germany, you don't have to buy an entire case of just one brand;  there are thick plastic crates that you can fill with whatever you want!  I'm sure a lot of people just take a crate of their preferred brew, but I saw this as an opportunity to try many-a-German-beer, so I mix-and-matched my own variety pack.  Not only that, but each bottle is a half-litre!!!  Just as I thought I had rounded out my selection, one more bottle caught my eye.  The very last Altenburger on the shelf...

Yep... they've got naked chicks on their beer.  She would be mine, oh yes, she would be mine.

I paid for my wobbly-pops IN EUROS (that's legal European tender!) and we made our way home.  When we were back inside the entrance-hall of Sandy's building I stopped dead in my tracks, looked down at the crate of twelve half-litre bottles of beer in my hand, then up at the ominous corkscrewing set of steps before me.  Approximately twenty-six minutes and one pee-break later I was back in front of Sandy's apartment door wheezing more than an asthmatic chain-smoker with a chest cold.

We ordered pizza for dinner and decided to watch Beerfest while we ate.  Those of you who know me well will know that Beerfest is pretty much my favourite comedy of all-time.  Those of you who have seen Beerfest will know that it takes the PISS out of Germans.  Sandy had never heard of Beerfest but I have always wanted to watch this movie with someone from Germany so I was very, very excited when she agreed.  I wondered what a native German would think of the ridiculously exagerrated accents, the grossly inaccurate portrayal of modern German fashion and lifestyle, and the perpetuation of German stereotypes.  Canadians enjoy self-deprecating humor and are great at laughing at themselves but not everyone is (Americans, for example).  So, would Sandy find it funny or insulting?  Well, she LOVED it!!!  We were laughing until mozzerella came out our noses!  I tell ya, it doesn't get any better than having a beer and a slice while watching Beerfest with Sandy.

After dinner, some of Sandy's friends came over and the beer caps started to pop off more rapidly.  I introduced myself to each of them as they arrived by saying, "Ich bin Jozef.  Ich bin kein Americana.  Aus Kanada!" (I'm Jozef.  I'm not American.  I'm from Canada!)  They usually laughed in return and said something in German to Sandy.  When people are speaking another language it's a little harder to tell if they are laughing with you or at you, so I would smile along and take another swig of Steinenürlochmargerlitzer, or something like that, and sit back down.  Some of Sandy's friends were a little shy about their English-speaking skills so until the liquid confidence kicked in I had to sit quietly while they conversed in their native tongue at lightning speeds.  You might think that would be a little boring but I thought it was incredible!  I adore languages so it was a very stimulating environment for me.  I sat there and listened intently to conversations I couldn't interpret trying to catch the odd word that flew by.

A little later on I met one of Sandy's friends who is studying to be a French teacher.  I turned on my Français compétences and this time I got to be part of a conversation that no one else could understand.  We had a nice little chat in French and then I met Geli.  Geli was after my heart right from the beginning.  She is beautiful, exotic-looking and Germany's biggest Ben Harper fan.  Her and I talked excitedly about the man and the music for ages.  We swapped stories, talked about our favourite songs, and I told Geli about Ben's new band Relentless 7 and their debut album due in the spring.  Eventually, it was starting to get late and a few of us were a little more hammered than we intended to be so we called it a night.

It was an absolutely PERFECT first day in Germany and it ended with me passing out on the couch.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Who taught you those manners?

Canada really must be one of the friendliest countries in the world.  I haven't been to many other countries (yet) but in the handful that I've visited I'd say we Canadians are above and beyond the nicest.  I don't like to generalize because we've got our share of assholes in Canada and I've met some incredibly nice people abroad, but the cultural feel is definitely different.  And often, it just comes down to what I thought was common courtesy.

For example, I often smile and say "hello" or "how's it going?" to strangers.  In the park, on the street, in a café etc.  Over here, I RARELY get a response!  The person will look right at me and then choose not to say anything back!  It stuns me every time.  Another example happened the the other day; a young couple was walking by me and the guy sneezed, quite loudly.  I said, "bless you".  He looked at me, and then kept walking.  I stood there for a moment, a little shocked and then commented to my friends that I couldn't believe he didn't say thank you.  Then I looked down the street towards the couple and I shouted, "YOU SHOULD SAY THANKS!!!  I JUST GAVE YOU A BLESSING!"

But here's the best one:  Yesterday, I went out for drinks with a buddy from work and his friends.  It was a great night and I met a lot of friendly people.  Near the end of the night, we ended up at REFLEX: The 80's Bar for one last drink.  I walked up to the bar and ordered two pints of lager.  While I was waiting for the drinks to be pulled, a couple of nice looking young ladies approached the bar and stood next to me.  I made eye-contact with one, so I said, "Hi, how's it going?"  She replied by sarcastically mocking my Canadian accent and saying "Hi, how's it going?"  The bartender placed the tall glasses of beer in front of me and I handed him some money.  I looked back at the girls and said, "Wow, I'm sorry I bothered you."  Realizing that I really talk like this, the girl's friend asked me where I was from.  After I answered, "Canada", the girl who had just ridiculed me got all excited, touched my arm and asked (in her own Welsh accent), "Ohhh, what's Canada like?" 

I picked up a beer in each hand, looked back at the girls and said, "Polite."  

Then walked away.

A Hallowe'en Miracle!

I LOVE HALLOWE'EN!

Hallowe’en combines two of my favourite things in the whole world:  Dressing up in costume and the consumption of unnatural amounts of alcoholic beverages.

I usually start planning my getup around August.  That’s not an exaggeration.  Anyone can buy a Hallowe’en costume, but it takes time to carefully craft a clever garb.  Costumes that are pieced together with dedication are always the best ones.  Plus, it’s a lot more fun to create something.  I particularly like constructing not only the physical manifestation of a costume, but also the persona to go with it.  Think about all of the people who seem to have put a lot of thought and effort into their costumes, but then act like themselves.  They walk the same, they talk the same.  “There’s Mike dressed as Jack Sparrow,” or “Tom dressed as Batman.”  That’s all well and good, but I’d rather BE Jack Sparrow or Batman.

For the past couple of years I dressed as preexisting characters; Elton John and Edward Scissorhands.  One year I got to be an eccentric, oddly-dressed, makeup clad freakshow, and the other year I was the title character of a Tim Burton film (HA! I kid, I kid. Much love for Elton.) Putting the outfits together were great, but staying in character all night is the really fun part.   And doing so enabled me to win costume contests both years.

This year, the fate of my Hallowe’en celebrations seemed to be in more trouble than the residents of Elm Street.  Having recently moved to a new city in a new country, my funds were limited and my list of friends even more pathetic.  The only spark of hope I had at doing the Monster Mash this October 31st seemed to extinguish when I found out that Jamie and Sarah were going away for the entire weekend.  I decided it was time to accept the fact that there would be no Hallowe'en for Mojo in 2008.

The night before Hallowe'en I was at work and there were a couple of cute girls at one of the tables I was serving.  They asked me about my accent (a frequent question, but one I never get tired of answering... I'm very proud to tell people I'm from Canada, and dispel any assumptions that I might be American).  The girls reacted with a lot of excitement at the mention of my Canuckatude (trademark, Mojo 2008).  They began a series of questions that didn't stop until the blonde one abruptly changed the subject and said, "You have the nicest teeth I've ever seen."  It was kind of an odd, but very sweet compliment.  I bashfully thanked her and excused myself because I think I was turning a little red.

At the end of their meal Laura, the blonde, and Nicole, the brunette, mentioned they were going home to work on their costumes for the next night.  Absolutely gutted, I admitted my love for Hallowe'en was going to go unrequited this year.  Without hesitation, the young ladies invited me to join in their celebrations!  They left me their phone numbers and gave me hugs goodbye.  Like Dr. Frankenstein's monster, MY HALLOWE'EN DREAMS HAD BEEN BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE.  There was only one little problem; with less than 24 hours to party-time I didn't have a costume!

October 31st, 9:00pm.  I finished work and took a seat at the bar.  Within seconds, a fresh pint of Carling was placed before me, compliments of Gethin, the South African bartender.  I pulled out my cheap, plastic pay-as-go mobile and dialed Nicole's number (editor's note: I didn't actually dial her number, I scrolled through the phone's database and selected her name).  She answered the phone, but all I could hear was loud... very loud... music of the techno genre.  We were disconnected, I took a sip of my lager.  A few minutes later I received the following text, "COULDN HEAR U. WE.RE AV BANK STAUNDOU. BONE MEET US!"  I figured Nicole wasn't paying attention to her predictive texting, or was already a few vodka coolers deep.  I wrote back asking for clarification and finished off my first pint as I waited for the reply.

Pint #2 was gone and still no word from Nicole or Laura.  I looked down into the plastic bag at my feet that contained my costume and wondered if I'd ever get to wear it.  At about 11 o'clock the only thing that had changed was my blood/alcohol level.  I noticed a few of my co-workers were just finishing their shift and asked what they were doing tonight.  They all replied that they weren't sure whether they were going to go out or just head home.  I leaped off of my barstool, "LET'S GO OUT!!!!!!"

My enthusiasm won them over quickly and I locked myself in the staff toilet to apply my makeup.  Minutes later, I emerged...

... as a Mountie who has been trampled to death by his horse.  I, along with Jake the vampire, Alice the cat and Sarah the devilette headed up Wind Street.  I was the happiest man in Swansea!  We entered a bar and ordered a round a Jagerbombs.  And thus, a night of mayhem began...

Pint... Beetlejuice... Pint... The Grinch... Fuzzy Navel... Sexy cops... Pint... Large man in same costume as Sarah... Pint... Sexy pirates... Jagerbomb... Sexy construction workers... Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovitt... Traffic cone on my head... Kiddie ride outside of supermarket...

I LOVE HALLOWE'EN!

On this day...

On this day in 1969, Benjamin Chase Harper was born.

Ben Harper is my favourite musician.  His music has been the soundtrack of my life for many years.  His words have helped me enjoy the good times, get through the tough times and think more deeply about everything from religion to politics to love.

On September 29th, 2008 I saw Ben Harper and The Innocent Criminals in concert.  To be so close to someone whose music and words touch you so deeply is an incredible, emotional and euphoric experience.  It will go down as one of the best night of my life.

Happy Birthday Ben Harper!

Back to the Gower

When Doctor Emmett Brown's plutonium powered DeLorean DMC-12 reached 88 miles per hour it produced enough energy to activate the flux capacitor and travel through time.  

I don't have a flux capacitor.  

I certainly don't have any plutonium.

But on Sunday evening I went back in time in a blue Mazda 3, at about 35 miles per hour.

With Jamie at the wheel and his wife Sarah riding shotgun, I sat in the rear of the little Japanese hatchback as we veered through the narrow streets of Swansea, jamming to Bob Marley.  We hung a left on to an avenue with a Welsh name that had too many consonants and not enough vowels for me to even try to pronounce, but you can give it a go if you like;  "Cwymbwrla."  Yeah... I know.  There must be some RIDICULOUS high scores in a Welsh game of Scrabble.

The road continued to narrow, almost beyond reason.  We drove up a two-way street that was about as wide as one lane in North America.  Every time we passed an oncoming car we must have been only inches from taking off a side mirror.  Perhaps I should have felt a little tense due to these near collisions, but Mr. Marley's reassuring voice was telling me not to worry about a thing, because every little thing was gonna be alright.  And I believed him.  So, I sat back and enjoyed the view out the other side.

It didn't take me long to notice that things were looking a little different.  Everything looked older.  Not run-down, but as if from another era.  

"Jamie," I asked.  "Where are we?"

"We're in the Gower."

"Oh.  Lovely."

The "Gower" is how locals refer to the Gower Peninsula- a beautiful stretch of coast in the South of Wales.  So beautiful in fact, that it was one of the first places in the United Kingdom to be officially designated an "Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty".  Another nickname for the region could be "The Place That Time Forgot", because everything looks exactly as it must have 100 years ago.

Our destination was the village of Port Eynon.  At one time this little port town was booming with oyster fishing, crabbing and lobstering, but the community also has an infamous smuggling history.  At the far end of Port Eynon Bay is an old, derelict Salt House that was once used to extract salt from the sea water.  It is commonly thought that even the Salt House was set up as a cover to smuggle goods (think of it as the Welsh equivalent to an Italian restaurant in New York).

It was here that I turned into a ten year-old boy again.  The ruins were like a playground that I just had to climb.  And climb I did.  I ran ahead of Jamie and Sarah like an excited little kid runs ahead of his parents and started to mount the stone structure.  I climbed over walls and under walls.  Through a window and down a chimney.  My surrogate parents stayed below and took pictures.  I reached the highest part of the ruins and looked out across the bay, humbled by the beauty and vastness.  After a few minutes I looked behind me and realized that the Salt House was just the beginning.  Looking down at "mum and dad" I declared:

"I... have got... to climb that."

 

To Be Continued...

Playing with myself in the Swansea Vale Nature Reserve

There is a sign in my neighbourhood that reads "Swansea Vale Nature Reserve", and behind it, a path leading into the brush.  Every time I pass that sign I'm overcome with curiosity, much like Alice when she stumbled across her rabbit hole.  I want to know what's down that path, but I'm always on my way somewhere when I walk by.

I didn't have much to do today, so I grabbed my camera and headed for the trail, hoping to find my very own Wonderland.  There were no White Knights, no head-hunting Queens, and not a single walrus or carpenter... but I did have a pretty good time acting like a kid again.  

I returned home and put together the following video.

In Living Karma

In Living Karma

By Jozef L.K.

http://whereintheworldismojo.blogspot.com

Down the dimly lit stairway and into the crimson-red catacomb of Madame Jojo's, Coppers for Karma is about to take the stage.  

The night is young and the crowd at Madame Jojo's is still shuffling in.  People are buying their drinks, finding their seats and chatting with friends.  A few have made it down to the pit in front of the stage--  but a few is not enough for lead singer and guitarist Richard Soward:

"Come down here!" he says into the microphone, pointing to the floor below him.  "Come down here if you want to have your socks rocked off!"

A thunderous fury from Wojciech Hydzik's drums, Andy Hill's bass and Richard's guitar kick off the night.  The intro to Another Day Another Dollar attacks the crowd before transitioning into a swing-like groove that draws people down to the pit like the work of the Pied Piper.

Richard is the classic frontman.  Good looking.  Charming.  And most importantly; talented.  He jams on his sunburst guitar with precision and sings with a unique sound.  Full of emotion, full of life, and with his London accent always evident. 

Andy is dawning a Superman necktie and appears to have the ability to contort his body faster than a speeding ska beat and leap over tall amplifiers.  He is the most animated member of the group, entertaining the fans with his intricate bass-lines as well as his elastic facial expressions and spastic body movements.

Wojciech, the Polish Man-Mountain lives up to his moniker with not only his size but his steady-as-a-rock drumming.  Powerful and skilled, throughout the night he shows off his diversity on the skins.  The big man was the last piece to join the C4K puzzle and he truly completes the band.

Throughout the show, Coppers for Karma blend together elements of rock, funk, reggae, ska and even 1960's-style ballads (notably at the end of the song Flowershop) to create what has been referred to as "funk-a-billy".  Their lyrics are like a peephole that let the listener peer through and see the clever way the boys look at everyday life.  This allows their songs to be both poetic and relatable.

The band loves playing to the crowd which fills the night with memorable moments, such as opening the song Femme Fatale with a few bars from You Are My Sunshine.  Or Richard changing his voice and singing in a high falsetto to mimic a girl in Talk to Frank.  Or Andy, who constantly appears to be having wordless conversations with members of the audience strictly using his eyebrows.  It's obvious that they are truly enjoying every moment, as is everyone in crowd.

C4K closes the set with Is it Enough? and has the whole crowd belting out the final words.  With their arms in the air and their voices full of conviction the crowd chants, "Too much is not enough, too much is not, too much is not enough..." over and over.  When the song ends the fans proceed to demonstrate that they have not had enough of Coppers for Karma and they incessantly call for an encore.  The boys agree to play one more song on the condition that the crowd join arms and sway along to the music.  As Richard sings the words, "When talking I slip into a haze...", everyone-- the band, the crowd, the bartender, the sound guy-- is rocking back and forth in unison.  Everyone can feel the good Karma.

After the set, the boys come out and visit with the crowd before leading a mass of people back to their place for one of their legendary after-parties.  

Coppers for Karma is a true live band.  To get the real C4K experience you have to see them in person.  And it really is an experience--  from the very first note at the club to the very last drink at their flat.

Visit www.coppersforkarma.com

Foot Fetish

I made a very groundbreaking discovery today:  I don't hate soccer!

(For the rest of this post, 'soccer' will be referred to as 'football'... the actual name of the sport.)

I have tried to watch football on television before but I have trouble fully respecting a sport where falling down and pretending to be hurt is considered good strategy.  I also find it to be incredibly long and uneventful.  In terms of unbearable experiences watching a football match on TV would rank somewhere between paper-cutting the corners of my mouth and sticking a birthday cake sparkler up my urethra (while lit).

Canadian stand-up comedian Tim Steeves has a great bit in which he impersonates an English football commentator: "Desperation is setting in.  Only a glimmer of hope remains.  Down by a goal with only... 4 hours remaining." Ha ha ha..... oh, Tim.

Here in the United Kingdom, football is ALL over the telly.  I can't seem to escape it.  It stalks me with the inhuman determination of a 1980's slasher-movie killer.  Football is Michael Myers, I am Laurie Strode.  Football is Jason, I am an 18-year-old girl about to give up my virginity at summer camp.  Today, I'm going to have to face my fears because I've been invited to attend my first ever live football match.  Aled is taking me to Liberty Stadium to see the hometown Swansea City Swans take on the Wolfhampton Wanderers (Great Britain sure loves athletic alliteration, apparently).

The day begins just like a scene from one of those horror movies.  It's mid-afternoon but the sky is as dark as night.  It's raining hard and fast with drops the size of chocolate Kisses.  Winds are so strong the Hershey's candy-sized precipitation is not so much dropping on me as flying at me.  I'm outside the stadium.  I'm alone.  Aled is late (or dead, if football really is a killer).  I take cover in a doorway and watch dozens of Swans supporters scramble to find a refuge of their own.  Most are desperately trying to control their umbrellas but most umbrellas have been turned inside out by the violent gale.

Aled finally arrives.  "You're alive!!" I shout as I wrap my arms around him.  He finds this to be a rather unusual greeting (I don't blame him) and we awkwardly break the hug with a few manly pats on the back.  He hands me my season-ticket holder lanyard and we enter the stadium.  Liberty is an impressive bowl.  Today it is filled with 15,000 Swansea faithful wearing the black and white.  And 2,500 Wolfhampton fans in their own designated section.  That's right, North American sports fans; the away team sits in their own section, segregated from the home team... with massive police presence surrounding them.  Over 100 heddlu (that's Welsh for police) stand between the Swansea Jacks (that's slang for Swansea fans) and the Wolfhampton supporters (that's pretty straightforward).  This seems a little extreme to me, but it doesn't take long to see why it's necessary.  Despite the number of Swansea's finest on hand, these hooligans can't help but try to get at each other.  Several get ejected before the game even begins.  This is great!  If the game is as boring as I'm expecting, I can look to the hooligans for entertainment.

The starting lineups are introduced, followed by kickoff.  A quick turnover and the Swans are on the attack.  Charging into the offensive zone, a fancy passing play ends with Jordi Gomez firing a low shot right into the back of the netting.  GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!  25 seconds into the game!  About 10 minutes later the Wolves respond with a goal causing their section of the crowd to lose their damn minds and then spend the next 5 minutes shouting obscenities towards the Swansea fans as if they've just won the game.  I don't understand why they're being so arrogant.  In North America, 1-1 is a tie and I believe that's a pretty common definition in the sporting world.

I have to admit, it's a pretty exciting game.  Even in the unforgiving rain the players are demonstrating lots of skill and more grit than I was expecting.  There is some questionable officiating (which sadly, can be found in any sport) and some terrible overacting by players on the ground (which I still think is embarrassing), but all in all it's a good contest.  Best of all, Swans striker Jason Scotland nets two fantastic goals and leads Swansea to a 3-1 victory.  Yay!

Now, I'm not exactly ready for membership in the Jacks Army but maybe football isn't so bad after all.

Mojo: indie rock reporter

LIVE!

NUDE!

GIRLS!

I'm surrounded by an adult bookstore, a "Thai Massage" parlour that I'm almost certain specializes in more than just back rubs, scantily-clad women standing in doorways to places with names like "Twilight" and "Night Cap", and more neon signs than I've ever seen in my entire life.  I've been in Soho for about 11 seconds and I'm about to receive my first proposition.

"Yo mon, whatchu need?  I got it,"

"No, thanks I'm fine,"

"C'mon I gots it all, make you a gud deel,"

"Sorry, I'm working."

This isn't a lie just to get out of a drug deal with a toothless man.  I'm actually here to write a review for a band.  Soho isn't only a playground for illicit activity, it is also a haven for the arts.  For 200 years Soho was the center of the sex industry in London but in the 1980's a massive transformation began and although adult entertainment still thrives here, it is also home to many live music venues and theatres.  It's interesting how the two worlds coexist.  Just down the street from "Agent Provacateur" is The Apollo, where a stage version of the film Rain Man is about to premiere starring Josh Hartnett in the role of Charlie Babbit.

A woman is standing in front of the big Rain Man posters on the theatre walls.  She seems overcome with excitement and starts to ask every passerby if they can help her identify the handsome famous guy on the poster.  Clearly, she has failed to see the big, bold, blue letters spelling out J-O-S-H H-A-R-T-N-E-T-T at the top of the advertisement.  Apparently, everyone else has too, because no one is able to help her unmask the Hollywood heartthrob.  I tap her on the shoulder and suggest, "I believe that's Josh Hartnett,".  She is ecstatic!  She grabs my arms and starts jumping up and down screaming, "I knew it!  Ohhhhhh Josh Hartnett!", as if I were him and she was a 14 year old subscriber to Tiger Beat magazine.

****

I enter Madame Jojo's, the music hall where Coppers for Karma is performing tonight.  With me is an old friend named Nicholas Sandwich.  Nick and I were friends in high school but haven't seen each other in about 5 years.  He's been living in London for about a year now working as an architect.  Tomorrow, he is switching careers and becoming a bicycle messenger, but that's another story...

Madame Jojo's is a beauty.  It resembles an old burlesque house but has modern charm and character.  I take a seat with my 7-dollar bottle of Stella Artois and pull out my notepad.  Two young ladies approach the table for four Nick and I are seated at and ask if the other two seats are taken.  Nick offers them the chairs and they immediately take note of my note taking.  

"What are you writing?" asks the girl who, I later find out, is named Olga.

"I'm writing a review of the show tonight," I answer.

"Do you work for a magazine or something?"

"Actually, the band asked me to do it."  This is true, but I've made it sound like I'm a star reporter here at the request of the group.

"Really?  Can you introduce me to the band?!" Olga requests, excitedly.

"Yeah, absolutely," I say, although I've only met the bass player Andy, and just briefly before he took the stage.  She doesn't need to know that.

As promised by lead singer Richard when he first took the microphone, Coppers for Karma rocked our socks off.  They played some really cool Sublime-esque ska/funk music that kept the crowd bouncing all night.  I was really impressed by not only their musicianship, but also their showmanship; these guys know how to entertain.  Check them out at www.coppersforkarma.com

After the show, Richard and Andy, along with their drummer Wojciech, came out to visit with the crowd.  Since I am a man of my word, I introduced Olga to the boys and talked to some of the other fans about the band.  I had a really nice conversation with a girl from France who complimented me on my French speaking skills (although I think she may have just been being polite).  Just as I was checking the time to make sure I wouldn't miss the last train home, Andy threw his arm around my neck and said, "Mate, you're coming to the after party back at our flat, yeah?"  

****

It's 7am.  I haven't slept yet.  There are bodies everywhere.

It was a true rock n' roll party.  Beers, shots, drugs, nudity, livestock... Ok, so maybe I didn't actually see any farm animals, but I also didn't go into all the rooms.  

When Nick and I arrived at the party, there were people everywhere.  Drinks were being poured, joints were being rolled and Rich was just getting out the guitar.  They played a few of their own hits at the request of some female partygoers and also performed a lot of covers.  We had just seen these guys rock out in front of a sold out crowd, and now we were sitting in a circle in their living room as they performed acoustically with stunning harmonies.  It was like being at our own personal MTV Unplugged session.  On a few occasions Nick and I just looked at each other, amazed at where we had found ourselves tonight.  We sang and we talked, we talked and we sang.  I met people from Australia, America, Canada and all over the United Kingdom.  I doubled the amount of telephone numbers stored in my mobile phone in one night.  Since I've been in the UK I've been reconnecting with old friends from my year with Disney.  Tonight, I finally feel like I've made some new friends.

As morning drew near, there were only a handful of us still conscious.  Rich decided to improvise a song to commemorate the night.  An amazing, rock and roll night.

GB Radio

They say certain smells can take you back to another time in your life.  For example, you may walk by a bakery, smell fresh cinnamon rolls and immediately be reminded of your grandmother.  The same can obviously be said about music.  We often attach certain songs to a specific time, place, moment or person.  It seems that everywhere I go I hear the songs that remind me of Grand Bend.  This is just from today:

The Hollys- Bus Stop (Andy)

OneRepublic- Apologize (Greg)

Regina Spektor- Fidelity (Annie)

Sara Bareilles- Love Song (Heidi)

Jason Mraz- I'm Yours (Me?)

Daft Punk- One More Time (Greg, EVERYONE)

The soundtrack of my summer follows me everywhere.

I'm open for experiences!

I answered a couple of ads the other day.

The first ad was from a band that has recently been signed to a record label here in the UK and is about to embark on a UK university tour.  They are looking for someone to review their show this Wednesday for their press packet.  The gig is at the world famous Madame Jojo's in Soho.  I responded with some examples of my writing.  They said they liked my style, and Canadians in general, and offered me the job!

The second ad was from a band looking for a lead singer.  Now, I'm no Dean Martin but I can carry a tune okay.  This summer, I fulfilled a lifelong dream by performing on stage regularly at Jam Nite in Grand Bend, Ontario (thank you, Greg Gallello!).  Being up in front of a huge crowd that is singing and dancing along with you is an incredible rush.  The band seemed to feel very positively about my interest and we're going to take it from there.

I also made a request of my own.

I wrote to Brondesbury College for Boys.  Brondesbury College is an independent Muslim secondary school in London, England that was established by Yusuf Islam (formerly Cat Stevens).  I am an enormous fan of Yusuf Islam's music (both as Cat and Yusuf) and I'm also a huge admirer of his tireless efforts to bring peace and understanding to people of all faiths and to bridge gaps between people of the world.  I wrote to the school to request a tour and someone to speak to.  I've never visited a Muslim school and I think it would be a fantastic and enriching experience.  I hope they accept my request.

Do You Believe in Coincidences?

Today, I met a girl and I found out that she likes Chuck Klosterman and debating.  I have read two of Klosterman's books:

#1- Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, which I thoroughly enjoyed. 

#2- Killing Yourself to Live, the most self-indulgent vanity project I have ever read.  

So, it was clear what I had to do next:  I asked her if she would like to debate Chuck Klosterman.

It turned out, she had only read two of his books as well.  

#1- Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, which she thoroughly enjoyed.

#2- Chuck Klosterman IV, which she also loved.

Since we agreed on "Sex, Drugs..." and hadn't read the same second book, there wasn't much to debate.

Later on in the day I went for a walk down High Street.  Bought myself a smoothie (you know I love smoothies), and headed to a local bookstore (you know I love books!).  I fumbled around a clearance bin where everything was priced at 1 pound.  There was clearly nothing of literary value in the bin, which, I imagine, is why they cost a pound.  I moved on and browsed my favourite sections- travel, classics, languages.

On my current fixed budget I decided it wasn't the best time to indulge, but as I began to leave the store I passed the clearance bin once again and found myself slowing down.  I moved a couple of books around and uncovered one that really caught my eye.  There was a big picture of a beer on the cover- it was a book about home brewing.  But what was underneath was even more interesting; Chuck Klosterman IV.

I dug a one-pound coin out of my pocket.

Brighton and Back

Riding the train back from Brighton, I can hardly keep my eyes open.

I arrived in Brighton the day before at precisely 6:30pm.  Will greeted me at the turnstile.  At 6:35 we were in Grand Central, a pub, sipping back a couple of pints of fresh, cold joy.  At approximately 4am we stumbled our way to a diner, finishing off a 9.5 hour pub crawl with hashbrowns and toast.

I struggled to extend the futon at Will's brother's flat.  I was waging a battle against poor craftsmanship and inebriation.  Both worthy adversaries, however, in the end I was victorious and able to stretch out across the foam-filled mattress.  Will passed out in a big, round chair.

The next day began as a challenge.  I wanted to make the most of my time in Brighton, but as a consequence of the previous night's behaviour, I didn't even want to sit up straight.  Eventually, I managed to mobilize and made my way to the street.  My eyes burned at first contact with the sun's rays.  I felt like I had perhaps become part vampire overnight.

Will and I walked the streets of Brighton for about 4 hours.  We explored the incredible indie shops, the second-hand bookstores, the anarchist cafe, and the coolest smoothie making place I've found since being in the UK.  I fell in love with the unique qualities of Brighton and it's citizens.

The train ride home was punishment.  There were no seats available, so I found myself jammed into the standing area with the other unlucky passengers.  To my left was a young middle-eastern man listening to Lupe Fiasco through his headphones so loudly, I can't believe he didn't rupture an ear drum.  To my right, was something even more shocking:

A young woman was deeply involved in a conversation on her mobile phone.  A 40-something year-old man stood next to her and kept responding to what she was saying over the phone:  

"I think everything will be just fine, he just needs to use some common sense," she would say.

"I've always said that," the man would utter, to no one in particular.  "Common sense is a good thing to use."

"I'll be back in about an hour.  I'll give you a call and we'll go from there," she said.

"Good idea!" the man responded, the tone of his voice reeking of sarcasm.

The lady would make another point.

"Hmph," he would laugh.  "Shocking."

I was beside myself!  I couldn't tell if the guy was mentally ill, or just the biggest asshole in all of England.  For at least 20 minutes he made remarks under his breath directed towards the woman on the phone.  She ignored them all.  Then, in the strangest twist of all, we reached a stop and in the kindest, politest voice, with no trace of sarcasm, the man asked her, "Could you please press the open-door button, love."

I have a feeling this isn't the strangest encounter that I'll have aboard the trains of London.

The Day I Failed at Everything... almost.

I waited around all day for my train tickets to be delivered.  Finally, at about 3pm I called First Great Western to see what the deal was.

"Hi there.  I'm taking the train to Brighton tomorrow, and my tickets haven't arrived yet."

The woman on the phone was a complete disaster.  Through her broken English she asked if I could pick them up at the station before I catch the train.  That was perfectly acceptable.  Then she told me that a delivery driver had my tickets and I would have to wait around for a few more hours and then call back if they didn't arrive by 6.  This was far less acceptable because I had other things to do and had already waited around the house all day yesterday for these tickets.  Just before ending the call, she changed her mind again and said that the tickets were already delivered today and no one answered the door.

That's impossible.  Jamie and I have both been home all day.  I have been sitting on the couch that is literally right next to the front door since about 9am.  I checked the mail box again and confirmed that there was no, "While you were out," or "Missed delivery" notice card.  But then, crumbled down in the far corner of the box was a little white card with the time 9:01am scribbled on it.

Son of a bitch.

At least I was no longer under house arrest, so I headed into Staines to take care of my 'To Do' list.  I tried to get a bank account setup.  Not only do I not have the proper documents to open an account, but I have almost no way of obtaining them.

I proceeded to JobCentrePlus to apply for a National Insurance Number so that I can legally work in the UK.  I had been directed to JobCentrePlus by the visa issuing office.  They told me that JobCentrePlus was where to go to apply.  Only it's not.  I went all the way over there just so they could give me a phone number for another office that actually accepts the applications.

I walked several more kilometres to the Royal Mail general delivery office.  They closed at 2pm.

I decided to take a new route back to Lee's- always up for even the smallest adventure!  I got lost.  Normally, thats not a problem for me.  I quite like getting lost.  But I really had to piss and I'm not familiar with Britain's public urination laws.  I'd hate to be deported over pee.

I called Lee.

"Lee, I'm lost."

"Well, where are you?"

"I don't know Lee.  That's kind of the definition of 'lost'."

I hung up the phone.

Eventually, I found my way out of the woods (literally and metaphorically... I was lost in a forest for a while).  I reviewed all of the things I had been unsuccessful at today and had a big smile on my face.  It's kind of exciting when nothing goes right.

"But," I thought to myself.  "I'll be damned if I'm not going to succeed at something today!"

So, I bought some beer.

Oslo: City of Love- Chapter III

The next morning I was alone in the garden house when there was a light knock at the door.  Marie entered and sat next to me.  For a brief moment I panicked.  What if she didn't recall what happened last night?  What if she did recall everything and thought it was a mistake!  I took her hand and held my breath.  She grabbed it tighter and I exhaled with joy and relief.   Then I leaned in and kissed her gently.  

Lee, Marie and I spent the day at Vigeland Sculpture Park.  Home to 212 sculptures of bronze and granite by Gustav Vigeland (take that Trebek!).  All of them, naked.  In a case of life imitating art, Lee and I posed next to several of the statues to the delight of the other park visitors (we did, however, keep our clothes on).

  

It was a beautiful day.  It was perfect.  It was more than that; it was movie perfect.  You know how in movies when the two main characters finally realize they're in love, everything changes?  Clouds part, sun shines, birds sing etc.  Well, that shit happens in real life!  The skies had been grey since we arrived in Norway, but today, like some sort of heavenly acknowledgement of how we felt, the clouds separated and blue skies were above. The universe was happy for me.  Here I was, in a  park full of the greenest grasses, roses of every colour, hundreds of naked people (in statue form), and the most beautiful girl in the world.

Marie was looking at me differently today.  Actually, she was probably looking at me exactly the same as she always had, but I saw it differently.  She has the most amazing eyes, I've always thought so.  They are so unique.  If the colour of her eyes could be found in a box of Crayolas the label would say 'Marie'.  Blue-silver with little flecks of red and gold.  Today, I could feel her eyes.  Like lightning.  The perfect balance of beauty and power; and when she looks at me, I mean really looks at me, it's like being struck by lightning.  I feel so alive when she looks into my eyes.  Yes, I'm aware of how cheesy that sounds, but I'm serious!  If I ever suffer from cardiac arrest, rather than hooking me up to a defibrillator just lock me into a staring contest with Marie.

As the day progressed, I started to realize what was coming.  The inevitable.  The goodbye.  

That evening, Marie drove us to the bus stop.  It is incredibly difficult to say goodbye to someone you've waited 5 years for.  But fate brought us back together once.  I have to trust that fate will bring us back together again.  And if not, I can only look back on those three days with absolute happiness, because for a brief moment in time, the girl of my dreams became a reality.

And then I held her in my arms one last time.  After a long embrace I gave her a kiss on the cheek and we said goodbye.  Watching her drive off I could feel a piece of me leaving with her.

THE END

Oslo: City of Love- Chapter II

Our first stop was Marie's house.  To drop off our bags and check out our new digs for the next two nights.  Lee and I would be staying in the Garden House.  That's right, the Garden House! Her family has an additional house in their garden.  It's an adorable little red cottage that appears to be right out of a Norwegian fairy tale.  The door is only about four feet tall and locks with one of those big old-fashioned keys that looks like it's more suited to open a book of magic spells or the door to a secret world.

It doesn't take us long to get settled and then we're off to the city to meet Hildegard!  Hildegard is another Disney alumni like the rest of us, and she completes our foursome.  We meet her at a big fountain in Oslo's city center that reminds me of a peacock's feathers.  After a quick lunch we begin to take in the sights.  First stop is the Royal Palace; home of King Harald and Queen Sonja.  On our way there, we pass a marching band.  The girls can offer no explanation as to why there is a marching band parading through the streets today, so we can only assume that they have been assembled to welcome me and Lee to their country.  Humbly, I say 'thank you' as they pass, although this was quite unnecessary.  Up next is the Nobel Peace Center.  This is a big one for me; I love peace.  Then we spend time exploring Akershus Fortress, overlooking the fjords, and the brand new, stunning, Oslo Opera House.

The attractions of Oslo were fantastic, but my favourite moments of the day were the little conversations that I had with the girls as we traveled from place to place.  We often walked in pairs.  Hildegard and I would be in front with Lee and Marie a few yards behind.  Then, in an act of flawless choreography we would switch and I'd find myself next to Marie.

The girls prepared dinner for us that evening- a secret recipe of Marie's design.  This was definitely the highlight of the day.  A unique and delicious meal, shared by friends long separated, over great conversation.  This was also when Marie and I started to steal little moments of intimacy; a romantic glance here, a gentle touch there, a quick holding of hands here and there.  I couldn't believe it.  This is exactly how I had imagined it going in my head, countless times over the last few weeks.  But was it really happening?!  Was it possible that all of the years and all of the miles apart hadn't changed a thing?  Or was it a dream that I would soon be waking up from?

And then I woke up...  but I was still in Norway.  In the Garden House.  Yesterday was real!  And Marie was next door, inside the main house.  I joined her for breakfast and we planned Day 2.  This included a trip up to Holmenkollen Ski Jump, the pride of the 1952 Winter Olympic Games, followed by hot chocolate at a gorgeous log-cabin cafe overlooking all of Oslo, and a tour of the Viking Ship Museum.  It was another perfect day.

Lee and I decided to return the favour and cook for the ladies that night.  As we fumbled around the kitchen, Hildegard and Marie dipped into the wine.  Once Lee and I had things under culinary control I cracked open my first Tuborg of the night (it's a beer) and let the festivities begin.  Over dinner and drinks the four of us reminisced about our adventures in Florida.  We told embarrassing stories that involved people who weren't there to defend themselves.  Lee and Hildegard had a chocolate orgasm.

It was almost time to go out.  To a student bar at University of Oslo where Hildegard studies law.  A few more photographs, a few more shots of Boris Jelzin vodka (no, seriously), and we were off.  This was my first taste of Norwegian night life and I liked it it.  The bar was beautiful, the people were friendly, the dancing was odd.  We found a table and started ordering pints.  Now, I don't need to school anyone on the affects of alcohol, but just keep in mind that by this point some of us may have had our inhibitions lowered and our confidence increased.

Lee and I were dancing machines!!!  We had seen enough Euro-moves and decided to show these Norwegian fellas how things are done.  No one came near us, clearly intimidated by the noise and/or funk we were bringing.  I didn't want to embarrass these guys in their own country, so I took a bow and rejoined Marie at the table.  We started to talk about our feelings.  Likely, due to the same enhanced state that had caused me to believe I was the hybrid offspring of Usher and that old guy from the Six Flags commercials only minutes ago.  We spoke of the past, the present and the future.  And 5 years to the month later, we kissed.  

Oslo: City of Love- Chapter I

And then I held her in my arms one last time.  

After a long embrace I gave her a kiss on the cheek and we said goodbye.  Watching her drive off I could feel a piece of me leaving with her..............

Intense, eh?  I know!  It was an intense three days in Norway.  Yes, thats right, I was in Norway.  I guess I'd better back it up a little: 

I have traveled to Norway to see a girl.  The girl.  Marie.  Five years ago, in central Florida, we met.  It was my first orientation at Walt Disney World.  A large group of young adults from around the world had gathered in a conference room at Disney University.  Excitement was in all of our eyes (and maybe a little anxiety in some).  I didn't know anyone but I felt right at home.  Working for Disney was my dream, and this was the beginning of that dream.  I took a seat at a round table on one side of the room.  I introduced myself to the couple of people already seated and then scanned the rest of the room with my heart beating rapidly.  And then it stopped.  For a split second my heart stopped, because there she was.  On the far side of the room stood the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  I don't know what was brighter, her eyes or her smile (let's just say, had the power suddenly gone out we would have been just fine).  She was talking with a small group of people.  I imagined her saying something like, "Do you guys see that Canadian boy over there?  Isn't he cute?  I must have him!"  It was a reasonable assumption, only she didn't even know I existed yet.

The seminar began and the administrator started the agenda.  I listened intently, but all I wanted to do was burst out of my seat and shout, "Hi!  Young lady!  Yes, you!  I'm Jozef."  But I was patient, and when the first coffee break arrived she walked over to the side of the room and it was there that I met her.  I learned that her name is Marie and she is Norwegian.  I was so overwhelmed I can only hope that I pronounced my own name correctly.

And so, on the very first day I already had my very first Disney crush.  We became friends and hung out a few times within the first couple of weeks.  And one night, on the couch in her apartment, we kissed.  I'm sorry, that's not nearly enough excitement.... WE KISSED!!!  Now, I was 19 years old at the time, and my list of kissing partners was quite short (some might say embarrassing) but I had never, EVER felt a kiss like this.  I've never really been the guy who gets the girl, so I couldn't believe this was happening to me.  This really was a magical place where dreams come true!  Only, that was the peak of my romantic relationship with Marie.  One single kiss, never to be repeated.

Our friendship also hit some rocky ground and when I left Florida I wasn't sure if I would ever see her again.  We fell out of touch.  She was out of sight, but not out of mind.  Eventually, we regained contact through e-mail.  Then MSN.  Facebook and Skype to follow.  Over the years we started to chat more and more.  As the frequency of our conversations increased so did the intensity.  We shared confessions and apologies.  We spoke of the shared wish that we would one day see each other again.  Worlds apart, we were closer than ever.

A couple of months ago, as I was preparing to move to the United Kingdom at the end of the summer, Marie was preparing to move to Spain in the fall.  She insisted that I come visit her in Madrid.  I had to think about this carefully;  would I like to go visit the girl who I've been thinking about for five years in one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in the world?  Yes, yes I would.  I agreed and started casually looking at flights from London to Madrid.  While I was searching I came across an incredible deal from London to Oslo.  I sent Marie an instant message letting her know and asking if I could come and see her in September in Oslo or if I should just wait until November and meet her in Spain.  "OSLO!!!!  Come to Oslo!!!"  She was so excited to be the one to show me her country for the first time.  She's so cute when she gets excited.

September 10th, 2oo8.  I stepped off the plane and let out a deep exhale.  I can see my breath!  I'm in Norway!  Lee and I have to take a bus from the airport to Lysaker where Marie is picking us up.  The bus driver speaks over the P.A. system and announces the stops.  He says, "Lysaker 1:25".  1:25!!!  What does he mean, 1:25!?!  It's just past 10am!  We thought the bus ride was going to take about 2 hours or less, and now we're being told that we've just begun a 3-hour cross-country tour.  I text Marie to let her know it's still going to be a few hours before we meet again.  At about 11:45 the driver calls, "Lysaker" over the speaker.  WHAT!  Already?  But he said 1:25!  Oh no.  I told Marie 1:25!  Apparently, I've just had my first "lost in translation" moment.  When the driver said "One twenty-five," he must have meant the journey was going to take an hour and twenty-five minutes!  I'll have to call Marie and tell her the mistake I made.  I step off the bus and reach for my mobile phone.  Before I can grab it my eyes lock in to hers.  Marie is standing right in front of me!  Out of pure instinct I wrap my arms around her.  I'm shocked.  Absolutely shocked!  Lee has to retrieve my bag from under the coach because there is no way I'm letting go before that bus takes off.

The Stag

Wind Street.  As in, “The Long and Winding Road”, not as in, “Dust in the Wind”.  Wind Street is a marvelous stretch of road in Swansea that is almost nothing but pubs and clubs.  The night begins as Jamie and I walk into Bank Statement.  Formerly a bank (ahhhh, now you get it), this bar features 20-foot ceilings with beautiful molding, seemingly of the baroque period.  However it doesn’t take long for my eyes to be diverted from the molding to another subject of beauty:  Welsh girls!

We make our way over to where Jamie’s Best Man, Aled, is standing.  We grab a drink and chat it up with a few more of Jamie’s mates.  The guys are all standing next to a table with their jackets hanging on the edge.  I hop onto one of the barstools at the table and reach across towards the two gentlemen sitting opposite me.

“Hey guys, I’m Jozef,” I say.

They shake my hand, somewhat reluctantly and offer their names.

“Hmmm,” I think to myself, “I hope Jamie’s friends aren’t all like this.”

The rest of the guys grab their drinks and we decide to head over to a cozy, semi-circle shaped booth that just opened up.  We take a seat, I glance over to our former meeting spot and notice that the two guys I just met are still sitting there.  I lean over to Jamie’s friend Charlie and ask why they haven’t followed.

“They’re not with us,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, as the realization of my error sweeps over me.

“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” Charlie replies.

Well, that’s just perfect.  5 minutes in a bar in Swansea and already I’m hitting on other dudes. :)

By this point, Jamie is wearing a kilt.  But no ordinary kilt.  Underneath the fuzzy sporran (the man-purse that hangs in the front) is a big, foam cock.  I’ve never been to a stag before, but I’m already excited at the direction this night is taking and looking forward to the shenanigans that are sure to follow.  One of those shenanigans has come in the form of Neil:  Neil stands out a little from the rest of us.  He’s in his fifties, and the rest of us are in our twenties.  We have ten fingers, Neil has nine and a half.

The reason for Neil’s semi-appendage was never made known to me, but I was immediately informed of the traditional ritual of “Sucking the Stub”.  Like a right of passage, all men before me have placed the incomplete digit into their mouths and treated it like a pacifier.  I’m still on my first beer and quite unenthusiastic about the idea.  But I know that my 10th beer is only so far away, and so is Neil’s stub.

We change locations and I'm no longer in the upper-class setting of Bank Statement, but in the drum and bass pumping, lights flashing atmosphere of Idols.  Off in the corner, on a raised platform is an antique dentist chair.  Banners hang all around with the slogan, "Dare the Chair".  I never refuse a dare, but it's Jamie's night and we throw his cuddly ass up there.  A cute brunette with the flattest stomach I have ever seen is on duty and she settles Jamie in.  Some dude in an Idols uniform tilts the chair back and the girl starts pouring two bottles of liquor into Jamie's mouth.  They kick the chair up and start spinning my friend around and around.  Bringing the chair to a halt, the male employee pulls him back again and the shooter girl begins to bottle feed Jamie like a newborn.  Resume spinning!!!

Jamie staggers down the steps to a crowd of cheers!  I take my place to go up next, but the two staff members are examining the chair from all angles.  Soon, tools are retrieved and it's clear to everyone that not only did Jamie dare the chair, he beat the chair!

Enter Carrie; a young Welsh girl with a short bob of sun-blonde hair.  She draws me in with her eyes.  Most notably, because she is wearing a pair of novelty cats-eye glasses with pink feathers that say "Sex Bomb" across the front.  She digs my accent and I dig her everything.  We enjoy minutes of flirtatious laughter and gentle elbow touching when Jamie comes over to tell me we're moving on to the next pub.  As I'm torn away from my fair-haired femme fatale our eyes meet one last time and without words we say to each other that if it's meant to be, we'll see one another again some day.

The rest of the night is a drunken haze of beer, shots, Liam McPoyle, rain and curry.  A taxicab delivers us home and brings Jamie's last glorious night of singledom to a close.

And yes, I did suck the stub... salty.

Croeso i Abertawe

September 2, 2008

4:45pm

I step down from the train and on to the platform.  "Croeso i Abertawe," the sign reads: "Welcome to Swansea"!

4:51pm

"CHEERS!"  Jamie and I touch glasses and I take a big swig of my first Welsh beer.  Sitting across the table from my old mate is almost surreal.  We've talked about the day we would once again chat over a brew for so long.  But even as long as it has been, we haven't lost a step.  The pints and the stories start to flow.

I've come to Swansea to see Jamie and Sarah be married.  By about the third beer, the future Mrs. Morris joins us and the reminiscing continues.  We talk about the "good ol' days" in Florida and the good ones to come.  I can't stop smiling.  They say when you fall in love you just know.  Well, I've never been in love but I'd say it's equally true that when you know two people who are in love you can just tell.  Looking at these two from across the table I am so thrilled to be in the presence of true love.

After downing several more glasses, we head to their home and the real drinking begins.  Jamie retrieves two tall cans of Carling from the kitchen for us and a glass of wine for Sarah.  Every few minutes, it seems, Jamie is returning from the kitchen with two fresh cans.  It doesn't take long for the guitar to come out and a heartfelt rendition of "Stand by Me" is performed by the burly Welshman.

I feel very croeso in Abertawe.

The Day I Raced the World

31.08.2008

Lee and I slept in today. Had some cereal; Special K Oats & Honey (because they don't have Vector in the UK!!!!! Grrrrr...). Got organized and headed to the train station with Lee and his housemate Paul. My first time on the train! A beautiful blue and yellow train with comfortable crimson seats. Along the route into London we passed several interesting sights including MI:6 Headquarters (think James Bond). Every inch of the premises monitored by dozens of surveillance cameras. Is that a challenge?

We arrived at Waterloo Station and switched to a tube (subway). The tube was a little dirtier, hotter and more smelly than the train but still cleaner, cooler and less smelly than any LTC bus I've ever been on (you know what I'm talking about, London, Ontario friends). We exited at Leicester Square and resurfaced. We're here to meet Adam, the young man I shared a bedroom with while working at Walt Disney World. The young man who has an unhealthy obsession with Indiana Jones. The young man who peed in our closet.

It's been more than four years since I've seen the bloke. Adam chose the Odeon Cinema as the meeting place. As we waited for him outside, Lee noticed that we were standing on something quite appropos- a plaque of Walt Disney's signature! Hows that for a little Disney magic!? As we wait, my head keeps turning as I try to take in all the sights and sounds of Central London. I feel energized. Then, in the distance I see the statuesque 6'2" frame and confident stride that could only belong to one man. I couldn't help but shout, "MULLET!!" (his old nickname in Florida) and give my long lost roommate a hug.

Lee, Adam and I caught up over lunch and then headed back to the tubes. It's my first full day in the UK and I'm about to make a memory that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Nike+ has organized the first ever global race.

The Nike+
Human Race
10km

25 cities around the world. 1 million runners.

Proceeds going to LIVESTRONG, The World Wildlife Fund and The United Nations Refugee Fund ninemillion.org (thats the one I chose).

The London race starts and finishes at the world famous Wembley Stadium: Where Queen performed their famous concert in '86. Where Live Aid was held. Where champions play.

We arrive at the stadium and it's quite a sight. With all of the runners walking into Wembley wearing their Nike+ issued red race shirts it looks like an army of red ants returning to their mound. Lee and Paul head to the spectator area, Adam and I make our way down to the pitch. This is also Adam's first time to Wembley and you can see the pure joy on his face. Adam is a big footballer (thats soccer, for my friends back in North America) and to be standing where the likes of Wayne Rooney, Rio Ferdinand and David Beckham have all stood is a total honour for him.

Before the race begins, the arena gets fired up to live performances by Pendulum (incredible!) and Moby (incredibly awful!). British icon and Women's 10km world record holder Paula Radcliffe blows the air horn and we're off! With our iPods on, Adam and I look each other in the eye, exchange a final high-five and dash through the Wembley tunnel, out to the streets of London. I, to the motivational beat of "Rocky Fly Now" and Adam is bounding to "Ayo Technology" by 50 Cent and Justin Timberlake (Adam was always a little funny).

47 minutes and 29 seconds later I sprint back into Wembley and across the finish line to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen. A fitting way to finish the race, I think.

I will never forget The Day I Raced the World.

The Mile High Blog Club

The view from 35,000 feet:

I've never watched the sunrise from above the clouds before.  Patches of orange break through at the horizon.  The tangerine glow of the sky resembles what it looks like when there is a fire in the distance.  "Here comes the sun, do dee do do, here comes the sun, I say, it's alright." -George Harrison

When you're on the ground the clouds look like they are all on the same level.  From above I can see clouds above clouds, and more clouds above those.  And I can clearly see the different types of cloud; cumulus, nimbus, cirrus.  Don't ask me which is which.

Harry Potter movies are just as annoying and unentertaining without sound.  And what is Kenneth Branagh doing here?  Come on, Kenny, you're better than that!  And, when did Hermoine become such a stonecold fox?

We all have little thoughts of evil from time to time, don't we?  Right now I'm wondering what kind of items I could put in the gigantic open mouth of the woman sleeping next to me.  There isn't a lot at my disposal, but I'd like to put these complimentary earphones I'm not using in there... and then quickly go back to typing so that when she wakes up disoriented and asks how a pair of airline issued earphones got in her mouth I can look confused and say, "What?  I'm sorry I don't have time for games, I have a deadline."  And then ignore her for the rest of the flight. :)

Required elements of any flight:

Unsatisfying meal- CHECK (Do hospitals and airlines contract the same Culinary Arts School dropouts?)

Mandatory screaming baby- CHECK

Sexy Flight Attendant- CHECK x2!  (One is British, one is Scottish... nice work United Kingdom, off to a good start!)

It's completely daylight now.  Blue skies above the clouds.  My computer reads 2:53am!!!  So that's why we have timezones...

Terminally Blogging

The average Boeing 747-300 (the plane I am flying in) weighs about 350,000 pounds.  And it flies.  Damn, airplanes are cool.

Sitting here in the terminal, looking at all of the other random travelers, I start to wonder what their stories are:

There is a young man with an oversized manilla envelope and what appears to be small, inflatable tubes.  What are the tubes for?  Would the contents of the envelope explain why this scruffy dude is traveling with rubber?

An older gentleman is wearing a beige suit jacket and yellow dress shirt.  He looks like one of those oldschool guys that still wears a suit everyday.  He has probably had this particular suit for 30 years.  I like his style.  Note to self: when you get old, wear a suit everyday.  It's badass.

Ok... the woman sitting at 5 o'clock is wearing WAY too much perfume.  And wearing all denim.

Still got a couple of hours to go before I board.  As I wait for my transatlantic adventure to begin, I'll probably sit back and think about the summer past.  Incredible new friends, lifelong dreams achieved, sand in my shorts.  Now it's time for old friends, more dreams and less sand.

Duty Free just opened.  Gotta run.  See you in England!

Hellos and Goodbyes

Today, my family welcomed a new addition; my niece Calen Rose.  I'm an uncle!  Or, Crazy Uncle Joey, as I have already been dubbed.  I went to the hospital to see my sister and meet the little bundle of joy.

"Hello, little baby!" I whispered.  "I'm your uncle.  I'm going to buy you a bunch of crazy shit from ALL over the world!"

I held the little Miss until it was time to say goodbye.  And then I said goodbye to my sister.  And then my mother.  Not, "Goodbye!  I'll see you tomorrow."  Not even next week or next month.  I am moving to England, and who knows when I will see any of them again.

Hellos and goodbyes.

Slush Puppies, shocker, and zombie ducks.

Sometimes, you just gotta get out there and live.  My new friend Gigs and I did just that tonight.  We hit the mean streets of Londontown tonight with nothing but a few crusts of bread and a strong sense of mischief.

To begin, I had a couple of questions on my mind:  Where do ducks go at night?  And, if offered, would ducks enjoy a midnight snack?

We headed down to the river Thames with a small bag of Wonderbread crusts (100% whole wheat), looking for answers.  For a few minutes it appeared as though the water was lifeless, but then, out of the shadows.... they came.  ZOMBIE DUCKS!

With their eyes glowing green, the undead ducks feasted on our whole grains.  

After the feeding frenzy, Gigs was hit with a mad craving for a Slush Puppy.  We walked for what felt like days in search of a syrupy treat.  I grew weak and dehydrated in the blistering moonlight.  My spirit was broken and I pleaded with Gigs to go on without me.  She slapped me right across the face and assured me that we would get through this together.  Bless her spirit.  Just then, an oasis appeared to give me strength.  

I replenished my fluids and we continued down Richmond Street.  Finally, we found the little white dog wearing the little blue toque and we made our flavour selections.  Gigs went with strawberry/kiwi and I selected the TOTALLY made up "ice berry".  It was at this time that we were faced with one of the strangest propositions one could encounter while purchasing a low-end frozen treat.  The middle-eastern man behind the counter asked us if we would like a shocker for only 10 cents!  Needless to say, we accepted and Gigs will go down as the only girl to ever buy me a shocker.

We returned home with bellies full of slush and faces full of smiles.  I really like my new friend.

The Write Timing

Hello, Right Brain!  It's nice to use you again.......

I had a few goals for myself this summer:  

Run.  Read.  Write.  Raft.

Pretty simple, eh?  I wanted to get back in shape, read and write more, and build a raft.  And looking at that list written out for the first time, I just realized that all four of those things are incredible sources of relaxation for me.  Therapeutic, even.  And I use to do these things ALL the time, (okay, maybe not the raft building, that was a new one), but then 2008 came along and I guess I got lazy.  Unfocused.  

When I moved to Grand Bend for the summer, I saw the perfect opportunity to "see clearly" again.  With my priorities back in order, I dropped 10 lbs. and got my personal best 5km time down to 23:38, polished off several books and built the beautiful monstrosity known as The Daryl Hannah (more on her to follow).  However, I never really managed to pencil in any time to pick up a pencil (or pen.... or most likely to type.  Let's be honest here it's 2008, who writes with a pencil anymore?  I just liked the imagery of that sentence.)

From time to time in my life writing has played a significant role.  My writing always seems to pick up during major changes in my life.  This blog presents the opportunity for writing to be really important to me once again.  It's all about the write timing.