Tuesday Night – as it should be

Dinner at some weird but utterly nice Japanese restaurant with co-workers (and bosses) Jakob and Jennifer. Admit a few pints went down and then they surprised me with Tuesday-night birthday party.

Five guys with somewhat concurrent birthdays rented the entire 7th floor on Thompson Hotel, formerly known as a place for top executives to bring prostitutes someone said, where they offered a spectacular evening. Tons of friends, more drinks and loads of Swedish music (four out of the guys were owners & founders of [Swedish] production shop Your Majesty – but looked like rock stars everyone of them). Perfect set u for a spectacular evening.

Obviously I failed. First thing I noticed as I started talking to this guy was his really lousy breath. It stank. Hideous. He insisted on ordering my first drink and I thoughtlessly let him. Doubtlessly it was a coward ambush. A Spicy Margarita later and my breath smelled as bad as his. I hid in a corner and talked on-the-side with people for the rest of the evening, or obscurely and awkwardly covered my mouth when forced to face them, as if silently saying, “HA, that’s funny yeah it’s just my cheek that itches, keep talking go ahead. I’m a great listener.”

4th of July + Weekend + Las Vegas

A sentence to summarize my plans, ambitions and whereabouts for the impending holiday. Been planning this trip to Las Vegas since January (actually since we put feet on Swedish soil since last time). But then I wasn’t sure from where I would book the flight (destination was very much pre-determined) so I waited. And waited, and then, when the prices were high enough I thought about it for a while, just to make sure, and waited some more. It was ridiculous; the price skyrocketed during the few hours I contemplated. But I feel very proud over my mature decision though. Spending time in this American institute during a special holiday like this. Blessed might be the word actually. Proud and blessed.

I’ve been once and I didn’t want to leave when my flight left at 7am. My friends had to drag me back to our suite and packed the bag for me. It is still, by far, the worse flight I’ve ever been at. Believe me it had nothing to do with a terrible pilot (he's actually my #1 if someone would ever ask me to rank pilots I've flown with). Drunk out of my mind at absolutely gone mentally (no, no drugs) couldn’t count (didn’t know) which time zone we were in. Or why. Switched flight in New York (yieeiy, little did I know then) and I felt exactly like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas when I woke up. Or up? Up, down, left, down, turn, bottom, up again, time difference, find the next plane, I was anything but right. Best pilot ever though. When we were about to touch ground he blurred out connecting flight numbers for despaired passengers, gave us URL’s with maps over the terminals and lit the lights above the heads of those who were in most time need. I remember I couldn’t tell if my light was lit or if I was still dreaming. Unbearable. Ran around like a stung chicken in circles and even stood in those sloooow snake-look-alike-lines to ask for assistance. Got it and I was two gates and an entire hour away from mine.

“But where are you going with this story, Christian!?”

Dunno. Except it’s heaven on earth. Especially for a few, very few – not too many days. David is taking his virginity there now and I think he’s twice as excited as I. His FB-status functions as a personal ticker, slowly counting down the days. Oh, did I mention we’re staying at Wynn this time (last time, Bellagio – yes, very Vegas, thanks). In so many words; wynn/wynn.

Absolutely lost in Tokyo

Arrived an hour ago and it's nice that your fear of feeling absolutely lost is confirmed. Discovered a crazy toy store around the corner and from the window in my cubicle to room you can see the Tokyo Dome. I have obviously no idea what it is.
But it’s big and bright, colorful neon signs and flashing lights surround it and very hip Japanese arrive in numbers.
I think I will enjoy Tokyo after all.

Lovely hotel

On our flight over to Hong Kong I had some time to contemplate things.
Like when we first flew to Shanghai, it was about a month ago and we had a pit stop in Helsinki. Eager as you are moving to another country we were blessed with a 24h delay.
My aggravation cooled down to the same soft, unhurriedly pace of accommodation arrangements from the airport personnel.
Deceived by the buoyancy of a 17-year old getting laid for the first time, convinced that the best hotels are located between the airport and the city, as the bus turned in on the grey dumpster called parking lot.
Our room reminded me of a miniature dollhouse from the early 80’s, designed by the weird fantasy-mix of Jackson Pollack and Tokyo at nighttime.
The bed was still soft and warm and you could easily make out the silhouettes of the fat cats cruising in here before going to their real homes on it, paying by the hour.
I prayed our hotel in Hong Kong would have another architect.

Sweat like a stung pig

I could easily take a shower and get dryer after one of my runs.
I'm ridiculously soaking wet.
This, phenomena, is quite frustrating to be frank. The whole body just opens up all channels and releases all my bodily-sweaty-related liquids.
Flow, it roars, get out there; march.
It has a tendency to keep going for a while as well. This goes into my everyday planning.
Wake up, run, after-sweat and shower is the standard procedure before getting dressed.
One of them is more time-consuming than the others.
Going outside of the apartment, away from the cool frisk air is a risk. This also goes into ones daily planning.
Have everything ready before you leave and eliminate all reasons to get late, stressing about and just forget about forgetting anything.
But once you managed to walk the weary, unexpected path of hot exterior temperature wall slamming your body with a bat and the constant crowd of people to the office, the breezy air of the AC that greets you here is beyond compare.

Stairmaster

I’ve mentioned the air here and the consequences to us athletes. This has led me to our hotel's gym and their treadmill.
But.
The gym opens at 10 am.
Which is great for everyone who wants to workout before work.
Forced to aim for other options, I’ve turned right, so to speak.
I run in the stairs now.
To the top, elevator down* and all over again a few times. Up and down. Exactly as idiotic it sounds like.
But the most annoying thing is, after a while you get kinda dizzy after too many consequent-right-turns.
So I’ve developed a sharp tactic:
Gawk to your left running up. It decreases dizziness and helps you from keeping track on which floor you’re at. Persuade your brain you’re not the moron you feel like.
I’m starting to realize this is almost as focus-ensuing as running on a treadmill.

*Louise says it’s really bad for the knees to run downwards in stairs, I trust her.

Hotel / Service Apartment

We live in a service apartment.
Not a hotel.
The manager made this perfectly clear on the day we moved in.
I brought to his attention the lack of cups, glasses, plates, knifes n’ forks, pots, pans, towels etc. Everything you need when moving abroad into a rented, furnished apartment.
And he taught me the severe difference between accommodations with a grim smile and the words still clinching to my head.
Haha, noo, this is nooot a hooootel.