… and dance floor awkwardness.
It’s been three weeks since I came back to Beirut, and I wouldn’t lie if I said that I have partied every single day since I came back. I’ve been to pool parties, house parties, techno parties, psychedelic trance parties, minimal parties, r&b parties, hip-hop parties, gangster parties, dinner parties, etc. I’m 31 years old, and I have been to a lot of parties.
When we party in Norway we sit down and drink till we get completely shit faced. Then we go out. If we hadn’t done it like that we would have never ended up in a conversation with a stranger of the opposite sex. And I don’t know if it’s the climate that does it, but our joints seems to be locked into a system where they can only operate in calculated angular movements. That’s alright, if you are dancing to minimal electronic music where you can get away with jumping up and down, hitting the beat by accident every once in a ... [more]
I never quite know what to say whenever I’m asked “So, what do you do in Beirut?”.
More often then I like to, I end up saying stupid stuff like “Ehhh… I’m an artist running a blog to become famous, sort of, to save the world and all, you know, being an actor and all”, which leaves me feeling all stupid and shallow and stuff, when I most of all would have liked to come off as interesting and intelligent as possible (assuming that I am having a conversation with a girl).
“So, what kind of art do you make?” is the following question, and we have a conversation going. “Well, I kind of make digital art, and carpets and stuff, from Turkey and all, but now I am becoming famous, as some sort of a performance art project, I think. You know… after I walked across Lebanon and… like, the usual stuff, really.”In reality, whenever I am in Norway, I work my ass off... [more]
The Friday where everything seems to be happening: Police is shooting at protestors in the North of the country, while thick smoke erupts from a KFC shop that someone put on fire; The Pope is in town to say “Yo” to his followers; And our fellow countryman, Mr. Lindstrøm, is here to play some tunes at Sporting.
I just say: KFC –> FCK –> FuCK this Friday... [more]
Our washing machine broke down almost immediately after I moved into my apartment. I thought it was some kind of destiny, so I couldn’t be bothered to fix it. And it DID turn out to be destiny, somehow, though not for me…
First of all, I didn’t plan to share this apartment with Mr. Matias. That just happened as he, for some reason, all of a sudden needed a place to stay. And I already had a guest room, so, you know, Matias moved in.
Then he met this super cute and gorgeous girl that was in desperate need of using a washing machine. So he invited her (and all her dirty laundry) to come over to our house, basically to put her dirty knickers inside a machine that didn’t work. I never got the point of this, really, and I still have to figure out WHY this worked out. Because this little girl moved into our building, and when the night comes, Matias still disappears into her humble room – a YEAR after the washing machine incident! [more]
It’s been about ten days since I came back to Lebanon now, and I sort of think that I am slowly getting over the jet-lag. It’s hard to say though, considering the immense amounts of noise leading to lack of sleep for those who are not used to live on construction sites. Actually, there is a massive mountain-hacking machine tearing down an archeologically interesting hill on one side of my house, while my other neighbor decided that he wanted to replace his charming and traditional “Gemazeh” style house that used to make Beirut so famous for its beauty, with some modern-living super sheen shit that no one but investors are going to like.
But that was not what woke me up at eight o’clock this morning. What woke me up was the hammer drills that some smart ass construction workers tried to break into my apartment with. That’s at least what it sounded like, and I couldn’t be bothered to ask them what the fuck they were up to.