lost at the expo

was released early from first day, on-site 14-hour training, made it out alive in 9 instead. catherine and i became lost looking for the bus to japan. some say this mythical bus is located near argentina, others say south africa. doesn't matter, since i don't know where either is. once on bus, missed our stop, which happened to be the last stop on our side of the river, and were driven under the river to the other side of the city. sat and ate pocky on the bus as it made a loop back under the river. walked ages to the next bus, past north korea, maldives, and kazakhstan, watched some ethnic dancing in the street, finally came back to donghu over an hour after we set out for home. currently eating untasty melon, trying to move my body as little as possible in the process.

now in retrospect

when i look back on my youngness, i will think of driving miles and miles to spend too much money on something as ubiquitous as coffee or gelato, something as scarce as good coffee or good gelato; lounging every day on grungy sunken couches next to hipsters wearing too many layers; running stale yellow lights; meeting strangers off the internet; drinking so much caffeine that in class i am something hopping and alive, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed;

in the morning, you only get bad e-mails because all your friends are asleep and all the worker ants are working. this morning i saw many straight-laced straight-faced men walking on wilshire in suits walking to their works. the art in psychobabble has changed. instead of glitter-glue cartoons, now objectively ugly paintings of some incan (A Peruvian in Edinbugh) and angels and islands. i am studying russian, listening to swedish rap, reminding myself of danish equivalents. there was an attractive boy driving on my right this morning. when i looked at him, he looked away.

moral compass - not as useful as real compass

In order to make navigation impossible, the streets in Copenhagen change names every couple of hundred feet. Gobthabsvej becomes Rolighedsvej becomes Rosenørns Alle. Peter Bangs Vej becomes Smallegade becomes Gammel Kongevej. The names are obscurely printed on the sides of buildings instead of on signs, if not omitted altogether. 

I didn't realize I was lost until I biked past a Sanrio I had never seen before.