Sunday things

Malmö sunday september 11th

• Four years ago there was a serious case of 'real estate' deflation across the waters and today I start my blog. Two seemingly unrelated events, but maybe not. All things have a tendency to intertwine and if you search hard enough, you can extract meaning out of the least and most insignificant things and events. So........
• After having passed the amphibiac stage (before re-acquiring lungs, for the first morning cigarette) I wedge myself into the shower for a thourough rinse, thinking that in a few hours I will remember exactly were I was and what I did four years ago. (I was in Copenhagen, in fact), but I can't remember what I did last Thursday for example. So I go onto:
• Sorting my books, I'm especially irritated with the fact that the complete Catalogue Raisonné on Francisco Goya has somehow ended up next to to the Swedish version of the Quran. I mean, what on earth do they have to do with eachother, or perhaps there was some divine intervention when some of my less popular acquaintances decided to mismatch my bibliocontents so disrespectfully? There are too many weird artbooks to go around and some malicious literature too to accompany the recent translation of the fundamentalist handbook. Heavy drinking sessions in combination to an overdose on intellectual content at my house tend to do to bugger people up, so be warned.
• Brunch at Mocca (on Friisgatan). Luckily, the tiny sliver of trendy jetsetters in Malmö have not discovered this place yet, so they tend to hang out across the street at SORL, which is an overpriced, semidesigned and underperforming establishment run by a seriously bitter ('daughter' who crept into daddy's pocket kind a girl). Mocca, however, has all the ingredients to make it a true success story. Great coffee (unquestionable), Great bakery (in the slowfood tradition) and above all an amazing cruising spot. Many of my best flirtations have begun humbly from the corner of Nenad's little establishement. A mix of the occational beautiful person (in hangover disguise) together with a portion of (horny) illegal immigrants and young parents, (who haven't yet figured out that they have no place left but surburbia), makes Mocca a vibrant and at the same time funky sort of place. The thing to ask for is the "specialare", it's not on the menu, but it's a pick and mix frenzy of the 'good for you' food and the 'not so good for you' too.
• A quick flash into Triangeln shoppingmall, for some retail-pornography. (meaning of course Kjell&Company and Claes Ohlsson) There's always some little do-dah that screams for my attention and wants nothing more than ending up assisting my computer, or some other entanglement of gadget-hell at my house. It's becoming a Sunday ritual nowadays, I can't stop it so I have bowed into it instead.
• Call at least 5 friends on different continents in the afternoon and evening to update myself on their in and out of love situations, the progress and/or rapid degeneration.
• Evening is spent blissfully over an illegal copy of a realityshow, yet to be published here in Sweden, or some braindead thriller.