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Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Danish 101

I saw a tiny bit of Trippin' last night, but I turned it off when the word "fart" was uttered by Cameron Diaz. As a Libra, I have no appreciation for potty humor. It's both a blessing and a curse, I guess.

The part of the show I did see reminded me of how thrilling it is to travel. It has been a few years since I've been fortunate enough to travel abroad. The last time I received a stamp in my passport was when CT and I visited Grand Cayman about five years ago. Now that I've got a new job and am making more money, I hope I'll be able to take some cool trips in the next few years.

CT used to say that I live a charmed life. He was envious of all the places I've seen and the opportunities I have had to experience other cultures. I don't know, maybe I do live a charmed life, but the credit card debt and loans I've incurred in order to finance my life experiences do not feel so charming when they arrive each month.

Still, I wouldn't trade the memories for anything. Some of my best memories are of food, of course. I ate alligator in Kenya at a restaurant called Carnivore. Obviously, this happened before I became a vegetarian. I also remember getting kicked out of a restaurant in Paris, The Hippopotamus, because I ordered a salad, and they said I had to order meat. I remember having the most delicious honey ice cream in Paris, and I enjoyed a warm loaf of brown bread and honey with a generous family in Estonia.

The best breakfast I can remember was enjoyed while staying at a beautifully quaint hotel in Copenhagen, Denmark, I ate the most delicious breakfast of sweet yogurt and strong coffee and a couple danishes. Actually, I don't think people in Copenhagen call it a danish. That would be silly, like if we had a breakfast sandwich called a USA. Whatever they call it, it was scrumptious.

I speak a little Swedish and can also get by in French. But the Danish language is something I can barely understand when it is spoken. I could probably read a few words of it, since it's similar to Swedish, but it sounds so different from Swedish. As Swedish people say, Danes sound like they are speaking with a mouth full of potatoes. So, as I ate that delicious pastry with my friend Melanie, who sat across the table from me, I felt very protective of her. She couldn't understand a word of Danish.

After a few moments, a man approached our table and addressed my friend, "Klemson Weir?" he asked her. I smiled and said, "We don't speak Danish."

Melanie ignored me and said to him, "South Carolina." The man nodded and walked away. I was shocked that Melanie had kept her knowledge of the Danish language a secret from me. "How did you know what he said?" I asked her.

"He was talking about my sweatshirt. It says Clemson." I asked her what that meant. "It's a university, Todd. It's in South Carolina."

Realizing the Danish man had asked, "Clemson, where?", I blushed and dove into my pastry, but not before giving Melanie a word of warning. "We must never speak of this again." She ignored me and later told everyone we knew about my Jessica Simpson moment.

I guess this story just goes to show, you can take the boy out of America, but if he's blonde he'll still be an idiot.

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