Art as it should be

Originally uploaded by TSHolen

Yesterday I attended the most enjoyable art and design history lecture this far in my life (with the probable possibility that I will feel the same way at eighty-something). Well, this guy (Space Hijackers agent Bristly Pioneer apparently) came along to give a lecture about his anarchistic protest organisation called the Space Hijackers (S.H.). He was there representing something like an activist branch of performance art. Other big players are Joey Skaggs and Reverend Billy & The Church of Stop Shopping. Both also doing some hilarious stuff.

The general idea is to fuck around with the capitalists and the authority as much as possible without getting a serious offence for it. The best way to do this, as agent Bristly Pioneer (who've only been arrested once in the ten years he's been doing it) says, is to only do things that have such a great element of humour in them that Bobby will either look stupid trying to stop you, or (even cleverer) he will only join in on the action if he tries to stop.

One thing they usually do is that they go to bars dressed in proper cricket clothing, get mashed and start challenging businessmen to a cricket match. Capitalists against anarchists. Anyways, police turn up trying to think of a good idea of how to suggest that playing a cricket match in the middle of a street in London at 2 in the morning differs slightly from what they think is cool. The funny thing about it (and what I believe S.H. really is trying to produce from this situation), is that the £500-a-suit-clad businessmen is fighting alongside self pronounced anarchists against the police. Apparently some of them pointed up to enormous flats in skyscrapers above saying things like:
"I live/work up there, why (the fuck) shouldn't I be allowed to play a little cricket down here?"

Apparently they meet once a month to organise stuff like this. They check that no one's undercover cops (specifically coloured underwear), get pissed and come up with ideas. There's a big arms fair every second year in London that is rather unknown for people outside the industry. S.H. however, are very much aware of its existence. Once they figured that all that fascination about guns and weapons were compensations for their own personal (sexual) shortcomings, and bought a shitload of dildos (funded by some art benefit thingy), went on the DLR (public transport) where everyone going to the faire was, and tried selling them. Apparently, neither them nor the police thought this was a very right thing to do. The year before they got hold of a similar load of prosthesis' only to be able to go down and sell arms at an arms faire.

Before this year's faire they had a meeting and someone proposed they should get a tank. This was considered a laughing matter, that is, until sufficient amounts of alcohol were consumed. So they decided they'd do that. The idea was to sell it at the faire to whoever wanted it. They needed to raise £5000 to get hold of one, and did this by selling tshirts and having fundraiser parties. After some hard work they had the tank. So, what to do with it before the faire..? By this time, the police had gotten properly interested in what they were doing. So they had to hide the tank, in the middle of London. As easy as it may sound, they did have some trouble hiding the tank. The vehicle that brought the tank couldn't make the 'sharp' turn at the end, so they had to take it of. During this, I can imagine, rather stressing situation, two police officers just happens to stumble upon a load of people trying to get a tank of a trailer. Rather shocked they were. They froze the situation, and started taking pictures of themselves posing in front of the tank, making phone calls like:

"Eh, sir, we stumbled upon a tank"
"...."
"yes sir, a tank"
"..."
"In the middle of Hackney, sir"
...

They got away because all their papers were in order. Back in the days when agent Briskly Pioneer got his driving license, they weren't too specific about types of vehicles and all that stuff, meaning that he could actually drive the tank. Also they conveniently managed to insure it as a minibus (!). But after that they pretty much had police on them everywhere they went. They wanted to move the tank once and made phone calls to arrange it, and all of a sudden retroreflectors and neon yellow was everywhere in the middle of the night, making them conclude that their phones were being listened to. They had loads of fun with this, making phone calls about moving the tank just to have a laugh at the police rushing to the scene.

On the day of the fair they tried to get the tank out, only to be met by a wall of police. They performed a silly demonstrative check of the tank to decide whether it was eligible for travelling on public roads, just to stall time. When it became obvious that they weren't going to be able to get going from there, our friend agent Bristly Pioneer got up on top of the tank with a megaphone to address the crowd that had gathered:

"I'm sorry to say that we're not going to be able to get the tank to the faire. The police simply won't let us. I'm terrible sorry to disappoint everyone that came to see this.

However, the REAL tank is already on its way to the faire..."

He produced a picture of the second, secret tank closing in on the faire, while telling that they got a bicycle charity to give them loads of bicycles so that everyone that wanted to go down to the faire could grab one. The police, proudly having made a blockade of some sort, didn't have a chance to get moving that fast. And again phone calls were being made (hopefully not by the same people):

"Sir, there's another tank"
"..."
"Yes sir, but there was one more"
"..."
"Yes sir, this one was a decoy, the other just crossed the bridge..."
...

The tank arrived and was auctioned with bids starting on an Ipod. Mission accomplished.

I took the liberty to fill in some of the things I didn't remember properly, if someone else attending the lecture notices something I've got wrong, please let me know. I also just realised that a more complete and better version of the story is at the Space Hijackers home page. Anyways, my conclusion is that as far as ART goes, this is probably about the coolest thing you could to.

The following evening, we decided to go out. Matt, Sophie, Trude (actually made it this time), Dan and late but trusty Michelle and Claire, and yeah, I was there as well. We started out at Lloyds, ordering pitchers of liquid hell (vodka+mixers) which went down rather rapidly. Drinking games as usual. Afterwards followed a totally bitching night at the local night club Oceana, during which I spent more money on alcohol than I have at my whole stay prior to this. Apparently I managed to down 6 or 7 shots of teq and some awful (but cheap) jack and coke on top of the jugs from Lloyds. Didn't even get sick. Probably the dancing. Maniac-like dancing. Dan was the star.

Though day today, although all of us were proud and ready for lecture in the morning. Rather impressive in my opinion, actually a better turnout than normal (good job Dan!). Mental presence maybe not as strong as some of us had a tendency to doze of at times. 2'oclocko and time for my presentation (prepared the last 30 minutes before 2) and seeing as no one else of the presenters turned up (one almost believably ill and the other claiming to have fainted earlier in the morning. Wow, GOOD imagination!) my pictures were the topic for the whole hour. Vince told me to look at photographer Brian Griffin, who besides having a rather strikingly recognisable name, produces some whopping good pictures. Apparently he didn't get a job after he'd finished his MA in photography. After a while he just took a (rather unattractive) job as a staff photographer in some business magazine. Seeing as they had hired him and was paying him they very well had to use his pictures. He discovered he could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and they had to publish it. This ended with a photograph published in a business magazine winning loads of prizes. Pretty awesome.

Memorable quotes from today:
"...then maybe I can stick my stick in your thing...?"
(Frankie asking whether she could use my mac to present if she didn't get hers before she had to present. The stick in question is type: memory- )

"Hunter S. Thompson is a fucking genius! People watch the movie (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) and think it's funny. I've read the book and it's fucking scary! That guy talks about drugs that _I_ have never heard of in my life before, and I funded art school by dealing drugs at the university for fucks sake!"
(Vince after I brought up the topic of Hunter S. Thompson as a photographer)

Upon being asked what would be a fail on the art and design history essay, our tutor suggested:
"Well, if you shit on a piece of paper and hand it over to me..."

The funny thing about this (as Sophie pointed out) was that you could actually tell that about three seconds after he'd said that, he got the mental picture in his head and started making faces, as he realized what he'd just said. Good stuff !

I'm going to bed in two hours ago. Never seem to get that stuff right, it's simply too easy to stay up.

Jante meets megalomania

Non- / Chalance IV
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

I'm not entirely sure whether it is because I've grown up in a small town or if it is something that is particular about me. What I do know is that I am a city-addict. I love the metropolis. I am still wandering around big-eyed, taking in everything about the city, the architecture, the people - the stereotypes. This is the main theme of all my photography this far on the course, just interpreting the city. I believe I see it differently than people who have lived here all their lives. This last project I found this incredibly cool place called the Barbican, and I took loads of pictures there. I noticed that the Londoners were hurrying by seemingly ignorant of the beauty of the place. That inspired me to try and put something into the pictures that would stop this nonchalance. I went back to the same places and took similar pictures with a human figure in them. I wanted it to be an anonymous, iconic figure whose main purpose was to attract attention. I wanted to create a figure that would seem intimidating and puzzling. This was the idea behind my project, which I have now posted to flickr. It has received pretty much attention, so I guess that has to mean that they weren't that rubbish after all.

And about that, I tend to try to and be humble and not have delusions of grandeur. It just so happens that a good friend of mine (Karoline) lives next to a fella called Ian who studies photography at Brooks Institute in California (apparently that's the royal shit within photo education). We started talking, comparing courses (mine= artsy, his= professional), and I explained about my (stupid?) dream of moving to New York to try and make it as a photographer (C L I C H É !). And he (the American) said I ought to do it. And not only that, he couldn't possibly understand why I wouldn't. Americans are known to be a little cocky and arrogant and are always on about their american dream, while europeans are more humble and have less faith in themselves, those who in fact does have ambitions go to america to realize them. I hope I'm not offending anyone.. I'm coming to the point soon. Which of these are right? Talking to lovely Ian, who honestly couldn't understand why I wouldn't have enough faith in myself to try and go for it, I wasn't that sure anymore. We (Karo and me) had to try and explain about the european (scandinavian) culture, and I introduced terms such as 'delusions of grandeur' and the Jante Law. Upon reading the latter Ian reacted saying it was totally crazy. And I did really come to realize that it is. It's totally fucked up actually. The thing is that we've grown up in a society which still very much cherishes that law, even though everyone you ask will deny it. It's deeply imprinted into our culture. It's neither right nor wrong, it's just the way it is in Scandinavia. I'm not suggesting we change it, I'm pointing out that while a lot of you fellow europeans point at americans saying how bold and cocky they are, take a look at yourself (and maybe the distribution of power in the world) and reconsider what the fucking ideal is.

Anyway, back to my project again. I've been bitching quite a lot about the way the idea behind the pictures seem to be more important than the actual pictures. I came to realize that I was a little wrong about that. I think some of my frustration originated from something else; I'm in the first year of a bachelor in photography and everyone is at different levels of skill at this point. Some of us presented what we considered to be finished bodies of work. Others were just messing around trying different stuff. And while the products are difficult to evaluate and compare, I overlooked that it was indeed the progress we were being awarded for.

Yesterday I went through all the pictures of me on facebook. Some two hundred and somethy-something. And besides from giving a rather stunningly complete documentation of a lot of the best parties I've been to, they got me to realize that at 19 years of living I have indeed had a lot of fun already. What also strikes me is that it is the parties where someone carried a camera that you remember the best. I also tend to black out my memory completely when I drink, which is the reason why I was armed with a disposable almost every party throughout a year. Funny thing about this is that you only get the pictures back quite a while later, so some parts of the party would only be rediscovered maybe the next week. My cousin's husband (Paul) have the same memory problem and he said something pretty cool about it:
"When you don't remember anything from the parties you've been to, then you experience them twice. Once when you are there, and once more when people tell you what actually happened". I agree with that to a certain extent, but if no one's there to recap everything to you right away, then it feels kind of useless spending that much money for having a black hole in your consciousness. So I started bringing disposables loaded with slide film, b&w and loads of other stupid stuff, to document the parties. I have to admit that in between the vast ocean of shots of people posing/making faces with their drinks, there are some rather good stuff. In fact some photographers actually do this stuff for real. Seamus Nicholson for one and Jamie Stoker, who is a rather talented british photography student, currently in Brighton I believe. I just happened to come across his blog. Some good, inspiring stuff. In Alex Garland's 'The beach' the (notoriously super cool) main character talks about whether he wants to carry a camera around on his travels. The argument was that you only remember the actual moments in the pictures and nothing else. It's hardly a fair thing to bring up (comparing blacked out parties with international travels and all) but I'd say that I usually manage to connect the dots. I'm gonna start bringing cameras to parties again.

On a completely different note, I have decided that the best way to cross a road is to walk halfway over looking like you own the place, and when you realize the shitload of cars are coming faster than you thought: run like a crazy fella!

Non- / Chalance

Non- / Challance I
Originally uploaded by TSHolen

I presented my project today. A self initiated project we've had for four weeks now.
I focused at interesting places and shapes in London that most of Londoners walk by without even noticing. To emphasize this I placed an anonymous, iconic person in them, trying to make them more noticeable. I.e Nonchalance vs Chalance. 

Upon presenting my work I got the following feedback:

"I like it"

"I like it too"

and then Vince came and helped me loads:

"I think the mask should be black"

Thanks, I'm definitely going to be a much better photographer now. I would really love to have someone be completely honest with me. Rip them apart...

Apparently it's not really about the aesthetics. It's the idea. And it's not enough to have an idea for something aesthetic, the idea has to be based on something like: "The flowers represent how my mother got ill and died" or some other long-shot symbol of a deep feeling, and then if the actual pictures are shit, it doesn't really matter that much. 

In other news, I went to ASDA today, and I realized that the shelves with laundry washers smell more like candy than the actual candy shelves. So much for helping the blind guys. Anyways I went to pick up a package of flour. Obviously I grabbed the ASDA smart price thingy, 68p or something. A guy stopped me just as I grabbed for it, to ask me whether that flour was any good.

For one:

Do I LOOK like a guy that would know the differences between brand-name flour and ASDA smart price flour? (I really don't think I do. I look far too cool and stuff)

Secondly:

Is there REALLY any difference? (Again, I can't possibly imagine that)

The guy was in his mid forties I'd say, and to be fair, I'd suggest that the probability that his flour-experience by far outranged mine is rather large. Anyways, I mumbled something about not really minding and went away.

I haven't been able to write much the last couple of days, which is good seeing as that means that I actually have things to do. Tomorrow I'm gonna try to start my essay once more...

Going postal

As I hinted earlier I'm supposed to write on my essay today. It just so happens that I have not written a single word of it as of yet. I have not really read a single word of research for writing it either. Nevertheless I am writing this. It proves one time for all that it's not the act of writing that is repulsing, it all has to do with what you write about and even more important, what motivates you (or not) to write. This isn't really news, but you remember that smart-ass chick back at school who hated and subsequently failed all the essays she was given, claiming she didn't like to (or actually all together could not) write, while she wrote more text messages than the rest of the class added up as well as being a notorious starter of chain e-mails. While she was unable to write about the history of literature, she could easily think of a couple of hundred things that would happen to you if you do not send the email on to so and so many people. 

Anyway, I bought a russian viewfinder (with meter) for my precious hassie off of ebay. The cool thing about the british postal service is that they bring the packages to your door (that doesn't happen a lot in Norway), the not so cool thing about it is that if you're not there when they try to deliver it you have one week to hit the post office and pick it up. Seems fair enough. Except the post office is open from 7am to 2pm mon-fri and 7am to 1pm on Saturday. I can see how some people might find it troublesome to get there within those times, and if you don't make it..? Well it's all shipped off back to the sender (in my case: Russia). Not so much fun.

I had one thing to do this Saturday, that was getting the package. I was fully aware of the opening hours, but nevertheless I managed to only get out about half past twelve. I found the (rather out of the way) post office at 12.45 (having taken a 90p bus ride some enormous two stops - I was in a hurry!) and I knew it might be ambitious to think that I'd get the package within those 15 minutes. There was a queue. Fucking big one too. Out of the packed post office, out on the parking lot thingy and onto the actual road outside.

Ironically this made me get my hopes up. The mere fact that all those people still bothered to stand there had to mean either that:

the queue was moving fast

or

the nice postal service people would finish the people in the queue even after 1 o'clock.

No such luck. The queue moved fast enough, in fact just fast enough for me to get into the office at pretty exactly 1 o'clock. This was, however, also the time when the guys behind the tills basically just bailed. They turned around and left. I think it is fair to say that people did not particularly care for just this. In fact, one of the bitter old women in the crowd (probably picking up some rubbish mail order stuff that she never in her years alive would even have anywhere near her house, at least without christmas wrappings. And which she intended to give to her closest friends for christmas, while complaining loudly over the rubbish presents she'd get in return) started yelling at a rather generous-figured postal employee. Something along the lines of "If you got of your fat bottom and got behind the tills we would have all gotten our packages today!". As much as I admire her ability to address figures of authority in such a sweet, sensible way, I must admit I was doubtful of the effect it would have had to have another guy behind the tills. I would also suggest that maybe he had being doing something else, maybe even something important.

Then all hell broke lose (not really, maybe some of it though). A guy standing startlingly close to me started pounding his fist into the air shouting "WE WANT SERVICE!" repeatedly in the way they shout slogans in bad movies about strikes from the nineties. The only problem was that at first no one really joined in (I suspect because they were having the same associations as me) but after some three solitary shouts people chimed in, at which point I left. My efforts only brought me there 15 minutes before closing time, and as much as I'd like to join the fist-pounding and repeated shouting thing I had to appreciate that this just wasn't my battle. Best of luck to the others though. The whole situation really made me realize how good the expression 'Going postal' actually is. I was ignorant of the way the postal service really works. Next time I go there (tomorrow probably) I'll bring some spiked bats and a gas mask.

Maybe I'll try writing/reading something about Duchamp now (for my essay), or maybe I'll just skip the ambitiously optimistic pretending and realize that it will indeed not happen today. Whatsoever. 

Gathering Dust

These are my contribution to the Gathering Dust exhibition. Nothing fancy, just some shots i had completely forgotten about, like was the whole idea of the exhibition. 

It's raining badly today, I don't want to step outside the door. I have stuff to do for uni (an essay) but chances are that I'll rather spend more time  writing a proper post here.

"Forgotten portraits of remembered people" :

The Camera Nerd

I'm not really an art knower. I'm expected to be that now, apparently. There's something called modern art and something called contemporary art. I wouldn't know the difference (I'm probably supposed to know it, though), all I know is that normal rules don't apply. It doesn't have to look nice, in fact it doesn't have to be anything remotely art-like at all. Apparently the more spaced out, the better. 

I'm only saying this because we had an exhibition called "Gathering Dust" at Uni today. A good initiative; bring stuff that you've never shown before, - and it could be anything. One of the guys there actually decided to bring himself. I'm not speculating whether he's out a lot, but if I had to comment on that, I'd say that there's a good chance he does not have a whole mountain of friends to chose from. The guy was wearing a skin coloured bath hat, some Ali G-type glasses and a keyboard on his back (if you pressed the right button, allegedly it would detonate a nuclear bomb). In a rather convincing german accent he presented himself as a german techno artist called, appropriately, Techno Spoof (http:/uk.youtube.com/user/Technospoof71, - either he's 37 or there's at least 70 other techno spoofs. I can't decide which is more probable - or pathetic). He was his artwork. I will upload some pictures of him later.

 

The answer applicable for every stupid action in the world: 'It's art'. If it has indeed come to the point where this is art, I'd say we go and push all the buttons on this guys keyboard. Entertaining: yes. Art: no(!).

Well, today I have been in colour darkroom almost continuously from 10 am to 5 pm. A lot of people do not think of this, but there's a big difference between the prints you get from the photo store and the ones you print off of your printer at home. Where as your printer drips small drops of ink onto the paper, the photo store exposes light sensitive photographic paper. The viewable difference is mainly that you can se the lines where the printer have printed each line of information, and you can also make out the tiny drops. In addition, the colours greatly depend on the right light to be rendered correctly.

When you print colour pictures the old fashioned way you do approx. three prints to get the exposure right and three more to get the colours. All the printing is done in pitch black. I spent 5 hours to do three prints. And I only just managed. Think about that next time you pick up a couple of hundred prints from the local photo store!

What is a photograph though? Granted that you say you're holding a photograph in your hand. Are you then:

a: holding a print in your hand

b: holding a original (negative/positive) in your hand

?

And what about digital photographs? You can't really hold them, can you? You can hold the prints, yes. But the actual photograph?

If you say that the print is the photograph, then what happens when you have several prints from the same original. Do you then have several photographs or several prints of the same photograph?

Also consider this:

I: Is a photograph better the bigger it is? No? Pixels don't mean shit then..? When you're considering that 12 Mpix camera, ask yourself this: are you REALLY going to print in skyscraper-wall-poster-size? 

II: How do you really want your pictures to be viewed? Have you considered that maybe the lcd screen of your pc is not the best way to view your pictures? To quote my teacher, Vince, 'Prints are FUCKING cool!"

Cameras. Germany, USA, Russia and Japan. That's what counts. And Japan very much so.

Germany: Schneider Kreuznach, Carl Zeiss, Franke-Heidecke, Leitz.

USA: Kodak.

Russia: Kiev, Zorki, Zenit, Lomo.

Japan: Ricoh, Nikon, Canon, Panasonic, Sony, Pentax, Olympus, Samsung, Bronica, Mamiya, Yashica... the list really does go on.

If there ever was such a thing as a photographic war Japan would, with no great effort, blow everyone else out of the water. Big Time.

Sorry for the techie output, but as it happens I have worked in a photo store for four years and adapted an semi-insane obsession for old cameras and lenses as well as developed an unhealthy relationship to film. It's like candy to me, at least the good films. Anyways, I know the stuff, and I like to talk about it.

I am a camera nerd. But being a nerd is really only a bad thing when that is the only thing you are. I am a photographer too, I think.

Yes, I am alright. Thank you very fucking much!

About a month ago I bought a shit load of vouchers for E6 (slide) processing at this lab out in Guernsey. Of course about a week after I got the vouchers they announced that they were closing down the E6 processing december 1st. No doubt I was pretty happy about that..

This, however, is the reason why I went to London today for no other reason than to shoot four rolls of 120 (medium format) slide film. I'm not very good at exposing my medium format slides, so doing it in a rush is undoubtedly not a good idea. Anyways I went to Canary Wharf, which is this huge collection of skyscrapers and generally new and trendy architecture. Pretty ambitious stuff. Very photogenic. I knew on beforehand that the whole place is actually a private estate and that it is prohibited to photograph there at all (without a permit that is. Wonder what I'd have to go through to get one of those..?). I was photographing with my hasselblad. This camera is of the same size as a semi professional video camera (which I believe is the reason why a lot of people seem to think I am filming with it) or a small machine pistol... well at least it's not very unobtrusive.

When you do street photography you tend to learn some things about people. For one, if the theory that you can know when someone's watching you is true (I very much believe so), then I have a further theory that it is roughly ten times easier for people to feel that you are pointing a camera at them (if not twenty). It's actually almost fascinating the way they seemingly always turns your way that millisecond before the shot. When they do realize that you are pointing a camera at them they react in one of these ways:

1. They jump out of the way, saying that they are terribly sorry (as if I owned the very area they were standing in and had every right to throw them away from there). Often they do the jumping away in a rather clumsy way, which tempts me to actually take the picture anyway. I almost never do.

2. They look at you in a menacing way, kinda saying 'I'll kill you if you take that shot' (or something along the lines of that). I usually just take the shot really quickly and either walk fast in another direction or look distantly past them, making it clear that I was indeed photographing something far behind them (I do this ALOT when I get busted for trying to take someone's picture). It's cool because it also implies that they are rather self centered and arrogant if they argue that I was indeed taking a picture of them (sorry sir, you're not that good looking...).

3. Every now and then someone looks at you and then after some seconds of eye-contact (mine through the lens/viewfinder, but still) they actually go back to what they were doing. In a way saying: 'I'm actually okay with that...'. They may act slightly unnatural, but this is still by far the best response to get. It doesn't happen a lot though. It happened once with a shoemaker in Croatia (he did the posing thing, but a rather handsome one) and it happened today. Some guy were standing in some very handsome light, carrying a several bags of flowers he'd bought in some (I'd guess, rather expensive) flower shop. He saw me, I did the looking past him thing, but he caught my eye and I was slightly at loss of anything to do, and then he just turned back and went back to doing what he was doing before (I imagined looking for the woman to give the load of flowers to). Bless him!

The Croatian Shoemaker

Anyways, back to my 'big camera'-situation (oh don't do that 'perverse association' thing..!). One guy approached me today, saying 'You know they make digital cameras now!' while pointing at my hassie. Apparently, this is, from what I've read on forums and stuff (flickr group threads) a very common thing for people to say when you're carrying an old camera. I've never got one before. I usually get the 'Is that a real Hasselblad?!' continuing with: 'My dad/uncle/brother/mom/granddad was/is a photographer and he used to have/has one of those'. Funny thing is, often they comment on the hasselblad in a 'wow, have you actually got one of those'-sort of way, while completely ignoring my Leica which by all means is worth a lot more. I don't really mind, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I carry a rather expensive camera (expensive really only for being an analogue camera, dslrs usually cost more).

Second guy to notice my camera was one of the two rather large security guys (it seems I don't mix too well with security guys lately) who could indeed inform me that I was not allowed to take pictures in the building, or even on the whole of Canary Wharf area. Security reasons, they said. I'm sure terrorists carry around hasselblads and wear new era caps when they do their reconnaissance. Stupid stupid stupid... What is really the point in making loads of really cool and photogenic skyscrapers if no one is allowed to photograph them?

Anyways, I upped my scandinavian accent and informed them that I was really sorry and that I was unaware of the fact that it was prohibited to photograph in the area. I believe the fact that I moments earlier had been trying to open a door that was not being used (I accidentally missed the big poster stuck to it) did wonders to make my ignorant state more authentic.

Afterwards I went to an expensive burger place. One of the waitresses seemed fairly new in her job. She dropped a tray (an empty one, luckily) to the floor. And after the noise, startling nearly all of the people in the restaurant, had died out, she did the 'I didn't do anything wrong'-thing rather than apologize. Afterwards she decided to stop me mid-bite to ask if everything was alright. I said a simple, polite: yes, but thought otherwise (Yes, I am alright. Thank you very fucking much!). Good burger though...

Train home. And now I'm writing this while watching pictures on flickr. My girlfriends coming from paris soon. 'til next...