Tuesday, May 23, 1989

Hallur wins the 3rd world war, European theatre

Hallur wouldn't get of the phone a few minutes ago - had to tell me that he won the 3rd world war, European theatre. He was Warsaw pact - that is better, because Warsaw pact has so much more of everything. He dropped a gas bomb on Bruxelles; NATO retaliated by sending a huge atom bomb - he lost something, he thinks it was called Moscow - blew away most of the screen - but then he got West Germans surrounded, 5 armies encircling their 2; couldn't kill them all, but he won anyway.

Tuesday, February 14, 1989

Mitchell does prime time TV in Copenhagen

Mitchell has appeared in the leading Danish left-intellectual rag, (Mis)Information, holding a Wonder-bread-like blackboard sponge, pensively, to great merriment of our students who have the picture on our bulletin board, with a variety of captions emanating from his mouth, comic-strip style. It is a reasonable article, from Mitchell's angle the best thing about it is that it is in danish, so he is safe from understanding it, and I ask you only 3 brief stupid questions, so I'm also clean.

Mitchell is now a heartthrob of many a wo in this ducky kingdom. They aired him and Polyakov in prime time, and they re-aired him alone today. It is actually almost sensitively done, considering the foreign worker treatment I got on Danish DR televison.

Well, Mitchell does have his detractors. MargArethe says that he has a strange way of blinking into camera, and that neither he nor Polyakov are her man types. But many a less critical Valkyrie is wet to her knees just at one of those blinks.

Other than that, there is much ballooning around. The Eye's woman is supposed to burst any day or hour now, and Ulla and Natural Radiance bounce around like Venus of Milendorf fertility amulets.

How long is this seriousness going to continue (and this includes Mitchell)? It's deadening, the joy is gone if every act is supposed to be laden with meaning. I'll go home and bounce few balls on the HP - it's trivial childlike game, but it is making me euphoric. All the patriarchal and fessorial responsibility
is dry and dusty as old wood.