I just want to share an image I saw once. If I ever do films, I want to put it in.
I late nineties I lived in a beautiful spot outside Copenhagen, named Lyngby. Good connections, beautiful parks and lakes, and ample shopping, and still a lot of old-Danish feel to it.
If you look here, under pizzerias, you'll see Big Mama's Pizza House listed. This is literally right next door to where I lived, so I came there often. But in honor of exact truth, Lyngby Pizzaria (next item listed) where I also came, is where today's story took place.
One nice summer afternoon I walked down there, and outside was parked a Nimbus Motorcycle. This is an old Danish bike which is a classic. I once sandblasted the frame of one, and guess what: the design is so simple that it's flat iron, not pipes. Wonderful machines.
So I admired it and went in to get my lunch. And inside was the owner, a lean, forty-ish man. He had a simple, old-style, black helmet on the table next to him. No visir, just a simple classic design. And he had his daughter, a beautiful eleven-ish girl with long, platinum-blonde hair. And she had the same kind of helmet next to her!
And of course after their meal these two understatedly gorgeous people got out, put on their respective black helmets and got onto the classic old black motorcycle, her in the sidecar.
That is style.
14 comments:
Okay, this is where I come in for the rest of the story. I rushed into a phone booth, pressed the secret button on my lightning-shaped ring, popped into my spandex costume, kicked into super-speed, and ran outside on foot to catch up with the man and the young girl. Then I managed to buy their classic motorcycle in exchange for an ultra-rare Ghost Rider exclusive autograph (he's a friend of mine), and brought it back home, where I took a photo of it. And this, my friends, is how I was able to post that photo on this blog.
Back to you for the final close-up, Eo! Don't forget the diamond-bright smile this time. Aaand... ACTION!
I used to have a Nimbus, model 2000. It was smashed to pieces in a terrible accident with a jinxed bludger.
Today, I ride a souped-up Firebolt, dress in black, live undercover after dropping out of school in my senior year, and plan to hunt down the Dark Lord for a predestined duel to the death that should end my years of angst one way or the other.
Very gothic.
And yet, I can't seem to find time in my life for sex. At nearly 17, go figure! I'll have to have a word or two with Joanne, this can't go on.
This shall end before this summer is over. I have a cinema career to think of!
I bet the dentures of the bishop's plaster bishop statuette clatter on this antique vehicle.
Or, as we say in Copenhagen, Bispens gipsbisps gipsgebis gisper.
And yet, I can't seem to find time in my life for sex.
Sad. I have the time just need a girlfriend......can anybody clone a Jessica Simpson for me?
Sex is highly overrated. Time is valuable. Spend it wisely.
I'll second that.
I always take my time during sex. :-)
A pleasure rushed is a pleasure wasted.
"Man kan ikke altid plukke frisk frugt med en brugt frugt plukker": you can't always pick fruit with a used fruit plucker.
ttl said...
Sex is highly overrated. Time is valuable. Spend it wisely.
To some it's highly overated. You don't miss it until it's gone. Time is valuable I agree. Strange you mention "Time." Last night I drempt I was transported back to the year 1969. Why 69 I don't know.
But everything was so easy and simple then. My hometown was altered to the difference of course, but I felt at peace with the world.
Ah.........these dreams.....
Terry said...
"Last night I dreamt I was transported back to the year 1969. Why 69 I don't know."
Simple! It's a freudian symbol.
"69, dude!" Surely, you get the picture? ;-)
Peace and free love, yo.
(And rød grød med fløde, red porrige with cream. Yummie!)
You're going all out with the Danish expressions. Wherefrom?
Actually rødgrød is stewed rhubarbs. It's nice with cream.
Rødgrød med fløde is a term used by Danes to tease foreigners. It has three soft Ds (like th, only at the end of a syllable) and two Øs, all of which are pretty unique to Danish, and others just can't say them.
I can sort of understand Swedish, which is supposed to be close to Danish. But if you ask me, it's not that close.
Here in Finland there's a saying that Danish is like speaking Swedish with a hot potato in one's mouth. So, if you spoke perfect Swedish but placed a hot potato in your mouth, out would come Danish. :-) Easy.
I am in consensus about the stewed rhubarbs with cream.
Simple! It's a freudian symbol.
"69, dude!" Surely, you get the picture? ;-)
i get it pascal. but there was no sex invovled. perhaps the free love thing around me but i was a virgin then like i'm now celibate living as a monk with only dreams left lol.
thanks for the comment my lebanese friend. you've been a good friend to me like eolake has. i appreciate the both of you.
thanks for letting me share my comments here eolake and the 9.95 per month domai subscription.
i totally enjoy that sir. you're both very understanding men and decent human beings.
TTL, yes, the Swedes have long said that about Danish. (My father told me. He was Danish, my mother was Swedish.)
It is true, Danish and Swedish are different enough that many of them speak English between them, it's easier. Maybe two in five words are totally different.
Eolake said...
"You're going all out with the Danish expressions. Wherefrom?"
You sure took your sweet time to become curious! I don't even speak Danish...
Well, in fact what's kind of odd is that I've waited until NOW to compile myself a collection of international tongue-twisters, with the help of Wikipedia.
Or hadn't you noticed these all sounded slightly special? ;-)
I've improved an old classic:
"Les chemises et les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont-elles sèches, extrasèches, archisèches, ultrasèches, supersèches?
Oui, les chemises et les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont sèches, extrasèches, archisèches, ultrasèches, supersèches."
That french Archduchess sure knows how to dry her laundry... :o)
But I know for a fact that a 3 year-old can pronounce it. I've got the proof right here at home.
Erm... that's not as cruel as it sounds!
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