My name is Robert Castner, and I Wanna Recruit You!

Hello fellow readers, I apologize for the delay, but I was hoping to have a few decently exciting things to talk about before I made this post. To start off, I have, from time to time, sulked about my experience here so far in Copenhagen because of a cash flow problem and lousy weather. As February has become March, the weather has improved and so has my mood, making my father believe I had SAD (seasonal affective disorder), which is basically minor depression about winter weather. Typically, winters never really bother me; I see them as a time of family togetherness and mild discomfort. While here, there had been no change in climate for weeks at a time, and I am out of my normal comfort zone. In essence, I think I agree with my father's assessment, because I was walking around the city yesterday, on a decent day, not gorgeous, but decent, and after this crazy drink I had called the "Keith Richards" (4 shots of espresso in a hot chocolate, I know what you are thinking, caffeine addiction), I noticed the beauty of the city really for the first time. I was inspired and cheerful, and I knew everything was gonna progress positively for the next 2 months. I couldn't be more grateful.


Last week was incredibly unsatisfying, due to my desire to lay low in order to save my money for my 3+ week travel break, where I am planning to travel to Germany, Czech Republic, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, and France (I know, quite the haul). The core of the interesting stuff happened over the weekend, starting with my awakening at 8:30 on Saturday morning. I thought it was two hours later than it was, and I frantically got out of bed to realize I had much more time before my lacrosse practice. However, I felt like an ice pick was being driven in to the left side of my back, which would seem like a bad omen for the day, but it wasn't. Practice went fine, and I ended up being healthy enough to join my very good friends out for a night on the town. Before we made it to our initial destination, I had miscommunication with them about the main entrance to Central Station and walked outside to be asked by two men if I wanted dope. (Side bar: When unshaven and with a hood up, do I really look like a druggie? Think about that, and possibly respond.) When I finally met up with them, we made our way to Ice Bar, which, consequently, is a bar made of ice. After paying an exorbitant entrance fee, the people at the front desk fit you with a thermal parka and gloves, and they let u enter. All the walls and the tables and the bar itself is crafted from ice blocks. We went up to the bartender to get our complimentary Absolut beverage (all except Tom, his was fruit punch), and we drank them out of ice blocks, which is spectacular.


After our round robin of picture-taking, we couldn't feel most of our extremities, so we left for a warmer, more intimate setting at Cafe Klimt. It was suggested by Fisty and Allison, and for good reason. With good music and affordable prices on beverages, it was an easy place to like. Once the first cocktails were downed and Tom went to catch his train, Kira, Allison, Fisty and me ordered 5 shots for each of us, and downed them within the next hour. A quick dash, or stumble, if you were the girls, led us to Burger King, where we were supposed to grab a quick bite before dancing, but it was getting late and night buses only run so often. We were supplied with a lovely drunk performance by Ms. Nightingale, who had some trouble understanding the cashier when paying for her food, and thought the emergency exit was the bathroom. (To be fair, she had a Long Island Iced Tea, some cocktails before, and the shots, and she's wafer thin, so she deserves a break) For some stupid reason, we let her stumble to the bus stop on her own and get home. Allison, Fisty, and I then went two doors down to McDonald's, Fisty and I began the road to heart disease with a few Big Macs a piece, and we went to the main bus stop. Now, I did not know where my bus, in this whole wide area, was gonna stop, and I missed the one that came at the same time as Fisty and Allison's. I bid them farewell, then located the right bus stop for me, only to wait half an hour and have to endure a long line in the cold, but I digress for the moment. After the forty or so minute ride, the bus got to my stop at Ishøj Train Station, but I could not get to the door fast enough before the bus driver closed it on me. I was asking why, but getting no response, prompting me to think that he didn't speak English. (Not everyone here does speak English, which makes situations like this difficult) So, I kept pressing the button for a stop, but nothing was happening. We continued on this main road behind the station away from my original stop. Eventually, the bus stopped at the next actual bus stop, but instead of opening the doors at the front of the bus where I was, he opened the doors at the middle of the bus, which I couldn't get back to quick enough before he closed them and continued. At this point, I'm cursing and getting upset, so he stops further down the road at a piss-poor excuse for a bus stop, and I almost literally leap out of the middle part before he speeds off, and I curse him until I finish the 30-40 minute trek back home. I returned at 4:30, which I later learned was the time that Kira, who left over an hour before me, got home. (She had an interesting journey back too, but I won't tell the details, this is my blog dammit!)

That brings me to Sunday, the day of my scrimmage for lacrosse. My back felt better with medication, and I headed off in the afternoon to get picked up at the train station by one of the older players. We arrived, and it was overcast and cold (typical), and I saw the other team, who had a lot more guys than we did. I went into the locker room to get my jersey and official Copenhagen Lacrosse shorts, and I put my pads on to get ready. We did line drills (and looked awful), then we hastily put together positions and explained the rules to the newer players. We only ran 11 deep, which if you know lacrosse, there are 10 people playing at a time. The other team had 17 I believe, so along with being inexperienced on the whole, we had few bodies. I play offense, and the guy covering me is like 6 inches taller than me and at least 70 lbs heavier. In essence, the game starts, and the ball is on the ground pretty much the whole time, so it wasn't very crisp. The good thing, there was a lot of hitting. Usually, I like the contact, but that day, I was out of shape and getting knocked around like a pinball. In the 2nd quarter, I'm getting beat to hell, and I keep losing the ball, prompting one of my teammates to lecture me about ball security, which, at the time, I'm working my ass off and didn't appreciate it. The 2nd half I play a lot better, but make myself less available and let the "stars" run the offense. We don't score throughout the whole game, but with no coaches, few bodies, and no game plan, it was a decent effort. They only scored six goals, which was an accomplishment from what I understand. My first game with grown men was not a great experience: I came out bruised, limping slightly, and dog tired. Afterwards, I took off my glove and noticed that a stick smack, the sticks are made of metal, left a bruise on my thumb that left it look like an over-ripe banana. I went home, and found another flaw with my host house, no bath to soak my wounds. I went to bed hurting.

With that Hallmark story complete, the beginning of the week was like any other, class and movies to watch. Luckily, the pain subsided, and I went back to the routine. This leads to the great day yesterday, where I managed to finally complete my hostel bookings for the travel break. Wednesdays are my day off, so I went into the city to explore and avoid my work. I also learned of no practice on Saturday, and the one we will have next week calls for warm weather and girls in bikinis, the staples of any lacrosse practice. Wednesday culminated with a free movie trip instituted by my film professor. (This was our version of a field study) We went to see Milk, a truly wonderful picture that earned Sean Penn his 2nd Oscar. (I never thought he should've won the 1st, but whatever) The great thing was the movie theatre, which was like a movie theatre in the United States with jacked-up refreshment prices, but the popcorn tubs were massive. Also, some of my classmates got glasses of beer, which reminded me of another Pulp Fiction reference like I left you with in an earlier blog post. (I LOVE that movie) John Travolta describes the subtle differences of America and Europe to Samuel L. Jackson and the first thing he talks about is the glass of beer. I never thought I would ever get to experience these subtle differences. In the theatre itself, there was assigned seating, like going to a ball game. The movie screen was behind a curtain which hung above a stage, like it was an actual play. The movie was great, so inspiring, and it capped an ultimately great day in Copenhagen.

I don't rightly know when my next post will be, because nothing much will be going on due to some recent money splurges. I will make sure I get at least one in before I leave for travel break, maybe do a piece on something I notice or tell more about DIS itself, seeing as how my work load is gonna ramp up for the next few weeks, with midterms and such. Now is time for the quote, which I heard at the end of Milk from Sean Penn, playing the role of Harvey Milk. In the course of recording his story of being the first openly gay public official in office on tape, he leads up to the conclusion with this powerful statement: "We cannot live on hope, but without hope, our lives are not worth living." I cannot tell you how true that really is, and if you think about it, you will realize that too.