Chicago, USA.

The swans.

Those people who show up at their high school reunions because they were ugly ducklings in high schools and now want to show their former non-friends how beautiful and successful they have become.

A high school reunion is like birdwatching. Really exciting if you're into standing around watching the flock. A bit of a letdown if you expect peacocks around every corner.

It is much better to be an eagle than a swan. Always proud and constantly soaring towards new horizons. A distinctive bird with a dedicated following. Endangered and precious.

Then there are the loons. A large group that ranges from slightly unbalanced individuals to fucking crazy fools. Those who pop anxiolytics like they are made with icing sugar. Religious nuts fall into this group. Big eyed lunatics who approach you and feel that they are your blood brother for life because you worked on a social studies project with them in the tenth grade.

I have no idea why the hell I am even contemplating the high school reunion.

"Wow. You turned out great! Good for you."

Oslo, Norway.

Computers are strange here in Oslo.

They have all these different keys on them. Like this one... ø.... or this one....æ

I want to spell unpronoucable things.

ÅøÆåæ€ .

Oh. That feels much better.

Norway is the most expensive place in the world.

I think that I paid $50 for a cheeseburger today.

I have no idea. I think that the extra ten dollars was worth the piece of cheese.

Everything is expensive here. Perhaps it's the 25% sales tax? Perhaps it's just a cruel Viking joke?

I want to sell crackers on the streets of Oslo. I would make $1000 an hour. Not CRACK. Crackers.

I think that if I start selling my blood here, I could become a millionaire by thirty. However, I might be cold. I'd buy a sweater, but I'd have to take out a mortgage and still sell more blood.

It would be an endless cycle.

London's calling.

London, UK.

I really shouldn't dance.

Some poor woman at the Zoo Bar now has a massive head injury.

Apparently, people in Britain don't dance by "waving their arms in the air, and waving them like they just don't care".

Also. Apparently people in Britain cannot dodge elbows.

This is neither here nor there.

All I know is that I ended up dancing in some woman's blood.

So. Leaving England.

In the airport. At some computer terminal.

There's a multi-faith prayer room here. I think that it would be really interesting to walk in and start praying to Satan. Show those nuns what's happening.

Norway sounds like a nice place to go in the winter.

London, UK.

The overnight flight to Heathrow.

The other half of the americentric/eurocentric world we live in.

We ignore the Orient. We ignore everything south of the equator.

We smile and laugh as we proverbially sip the champagne in the lounge.

London is not the biggest city on earth.

In theory, it is not any different than anywhere else.

But it is a jumping point to Scandinavia.

And that is where want to go.

So that is where we shall be.

We are Vikings in reverse.

Chicago, USA.

The American Idol theme music is engrained in my head.

Completely addicted to that idiotic slopfest.

I think that this is a prime example of the Pornification of America.

Teenagers doing kareoke while hawking Coke.

Only one step removed from teenagers doing each other while snorting Coke.

Simple ideas sell.

Chicago, USA.

I am amazed at how fast information travels.

No sooner than five seconds after "Crash" was named the surprise Best Picture winner, did the listing for that film on Wikipedia become updated with this information.

Wikipedia is fantastic. I love the way that anyone can update and edit the information. You end up with a virtual mirror of how online-mass-culture view world events and happenstance.

I have no idea why I watched the Oscars.

I saw absolutely none of the movies that were nominated.

I did not know any of the actors, nor do I care how they feel or what they wear.

It's like watching a bunch of strange faces dress up.

It's like attending somebody else's prom.

I think that giving someone an award for best actor is ridiculous.

Acting is just pretending.

I once knew someone who pretended to be an Actress. I guess that the action of pretending to be someone you clearly are not and believing it makes you a good actress, which in itself validates the original claim. Interesting.

Calling someone best actor is like saying best pretender. Best faker. Best phony.

I could pretend to win that award.

I think that my Gingivitis-fighting toothpaste is giving me Gingivitis.