The nationless drifter holds dual passports, one of which grants him government subsidies, and free tuition, the other which grants him the right to stay in a certain place for as long as he would like to. He uses local laws and takes advantage of EU policy. Nowhere is home for the proletariat drifter scum, as he lives on a part-time job and a subsidy.

He does legally hold two nationalities, and yet neither of them is in fact related to his current position on earth, or maybe just by a broad definition - “European.”

He makes attempts to learn the local language and fit in, presents himself as a local, or a “citizen of the world”, but hits the same brick wall - he does not fit exactly, but merely some of the time. He may hold two passports, but not want to have much with one nationality, and being very distant from the other.

His previous experiences in life, the language which he had acquired mean absolutely nothing in his current surroundings - a recently planted tree, significantly smaller than the rest in the forest. Will he ever bear fruits or repay society? That’s most certainly his plan, whether or not

Thanks to involuntary military service, a large Jewish orthodox sector, extreme weather, lack of respect for the environment and the beaurocracy’s helplessness facing these issues - I decided to take the plunge and be this proletariat drifter scum.

Luckily, I managed to get a hold of a German passport. Since Denmark is in the EU, I’m pretty much set. I am able to receive free tuition and even subsidy. Arrangements are being made, and the day slowly nears that I will come back, in 2009, or maybe even late 2008 and become a proletariat drifter scum.

To be honest, my life as a proletariat drifter scum can’t possibly be worse than my life as a local would have been in Israel. It’s just not going to work with me and Israel, we’re too different. Too different, and indeed, we must therefor break up, peacefully and quietly.

Socialism is definitely the way to go. Israel isn’t really my thing. The issue’s pretty much solved.

So that’s it, I’ll be living the next few years in Denmark, that’s for certain - most likely even the next few decades. And me, I couldn’t get any happier. I’m not alone as I am now, and knowing Danish (properly at least) would be even better.

May 2008, I finish IB. August 2008, I’m going to fight for my freedom in the battle against the involuntary military service in Israel. Then later in 2008, or even at late as 2009, back to Denmark.

So I won’t have the right to vote, like anybody cares. So long, Israel.

Tagged as: annoying, army, denmark, europe, future, israel, life, politics, school, socialism, society, university

I have a habit/hobby/obsession of rejecting fashion. If more than 50% of the population does it - there’s gotta be something wrong, right? The evils of society - sneakers, popular music, short hair, MySpace layouts, Windows, World of Warcraft, and of course to top it off with the ultimate manifestation of solidarity: Jeans.

Jeans are sickly widespread. By that I mean 80% of the population around you is probably wearing Jeans right now (unless you’re at the office most likely, but possibly even then.) Seriously, next time you’re sitting somewhere, just do a little count of how many people around you are not wearing Jeans. You’d be amazed.

And so, for possibly even two years (I can’t remember), I wore no jeans at all whatsoever. None. Interesting part is, nobody actually noticed until I told them. “So you don’t have any Jeans?” - “Nope.”

There is, however, a certain level of conformism I sort of owe to society. I could go about rejecting standards when they’re more common and such, but otherwise, no go. And I, being male, faced a certain problem when it came to Jeans alternatives.

There simply are almost no Jeans alternatives for men. Sure, you have corduroy, and that stuff they have all over the place, suit pants, surfer pants (you won’t see me wearing those), ordinary old-man pants and of course kilts. Kilts aren’t very widespread in northern Europe, so I figured I’m not going to wear any. Suit pants and ordinary old-man pants aren’t really my taste, and surfer pants are fucking disgusting. In other words, I’m kind of left with corduroy and that generic undefinable stuff they use.

I could cross over and start wearing skirts, of course, but as I said, there is a certain level of conformity I owe to society. So as much as I do want to wear skirts and make-up (honestly), I simply can’t. Not a good idea in job interviews, school environments and around your parents

Fine! You got me! I surrender, society! You know what, you got me. You win, majority. I’m willing to buy Jeans, and wear them with pride.

And so, on the 3rd of June I went to the nearest mall to get myself some Jeans, under three restrictions. They must not be blue-blue, faded blue is good enough, really dark blue, fine. Additionally, the waistline must be sane and shouldn’t cause any problems for a person actually walking in them. Then lastly, they must not cost over 300 Danish Kroner (~ US$53).

I, wearing black pants and a buttoned shirt, together with a fellow community member, Simon, who was wearing surfer pants and a glaring pink hoodie that could frighten small children made our way through the dungeon of stores at Field’s on an open Sunday.

It became very obvious how much of a misfit I actually was. Although I had three whole years to adjust to life in the urban jungle, Simon was way ahead of me in terms of cultural understanding and social behavior. Switching off the analytical mind of his in exchange for the more socially acceptable mask of politeness. The funny part is, he had only moved to the city two weeks earlier. Some people just have it in them.

At H&M, the IKEA of clothes, I couldn’t find anything even remotely reassembling what I was looking for. The Mini-Magasin store did in fact have an interesting pair, but for 900 Kroner (~ US$161), they were doomed to stay where they were for a very long time if it depended on me. Eventually, I lost track of where we were heading, and we had reached a section neither of us knew. In fact, I doubt it was even mapped. And to think Field’s looks like a simple place from the outside. Like two explorers, finding natives far away where no white man had gone before, we found ourselves surrounded by locals carrying bags embedded with various logos. “It’s hard to find clothes when your style is based on irony.” He said, but it’s even harder to find clothes when you have no idea where you are or where you might be heading.

“Where are we?” Neither of us knew. Eventually, a lucky turn in the path revealed the familiar sight of the stairs and Jack & Jones. At last, mapped territory.

I remember looking for non-Jeans pants in Jack & Jones that one time. Of course, to no avail. They simply did not have that item. It was like walking into a Chinese restaurant seeking to buy condoms. It is just not going to work out. And so, looking through the stacks of Jeans, I found myself a faded gray pair. The waistline made sense, and the size was good enough. For 200 Kroner (~ US$35), I could afford them. I put them on, looked okay, good enough.

So there you have it, society. I’m wearing Jeans. But, hey, at least I haven’t cut my hair yet, and yes, I still want to wear make-up. Maybe I’ll make a statement of going to prom wearing a dress. Although in order to do that and be excused, it might be better to at least act dangerously drunk, high, or temporarily insane.

Tagged as: annoying, fashion, hair, jeans, life, shoes, society

Yes I know, this is old news, getting organized did not make me happy. I thought it would, but I was wrong. Now I’m both unfit for society and at the same time creatively challenged. Creatively challenged, and I do mean that. There does seem to be a certain state of mind that “Adi is a creative person”, but really, I haven’t really created anything.

It’s also to do with not being able to sit down still. I should probably be taking ritalin, but apparently it was never prescribed to me for other reasons. Maybe to do with my Tourettes Syndrome, as my mom once said or otherwise. I do certainly believe that it should have been.

My attention span is very short even when it comes tasks I otherwise enjoy doing. Getting myself away from stimulants doesn’t seem to help much as I just get bored and start thinking all sorts of stuff.

It’s horrible. I come up with amazing hypotheses about human nature, the universe, etc. and yet they all boil down to just being plain dangerous. Dangerous thoughts.

When I sit down to write about those things however, I end up, again, losing concentration, disinterested, unmotivated or otherwise just at a general lack of things to say after some point.

Trying to sit down and force myself to write this post is in itself a challenge.

Last night I found myself wandering around town for about two hours. I was trying to make myself walking into gay bars, to no avail. If there’s nobody pushing me, it’s not going to be done, period. Even if I want it, need it, or otherwise - if there’s no person to directly tell me what to do - I just won’t be able to make myself do it.

I guess to some extent it was also for my own sake, going to gay bars (or trying for that matter) but the main idea was to try to complete my social anthropology paper, which requires me to do fieldwork.

Maybe it was a poor choice of subject, but I couldn’t think of anything else. I ended up choosing something which:

• I know I should have done
• Which I don’t do on a regular basis

or otherwise

• which I’ve never done
• and which I wish to do

The problem is, I walk up there, and the moment I see the door, I do a 180 and retrace my steps.

That’s when it occurred to me, that I really have a serious problem. An emotional block. A fear of crowded places. Something about them, and I wish I knew what it is, makes me feel subconsciously incompatible and neglected, and in turn I will resort to confining myself somewhere away from “real live people.”

I had a vague notion that I can’t walk into those places on my own and therefor tried to ask a friend for help. She accepted, and so we were supposed to meet with two others at Nørreport station, 20:00. Terribly early, even for me. But then again, they just wanted to check the place out. As long as I walk through the door, fine by me. I can make a few notes, write some paragraph and come up with something to fit the data like a good Pith-Helmet wearing anthropologist.

I practically ran to Nørreport, and surprisingly enough, arrived on time.

Funny thing is, the moment the little yellow LEDs around the door opening button, I received a message saying: “I’ll be late.”

Be late, I don’t mind.

Another person came at that point. He was actually on time. He told me, in these very words, “when [she] says she’ll be there at 8, she means she’ll be out of the house at 8.” And there’s your problem. While I’m rushing to get my things together, make sure I catch the bus on time and so on, she simply did not care.

That was not the time to get angry, not yet. The rest came, 20 minutes late, and we started walking towards “Dunkel.” On our way there, we saw Jailhouse and Masken. Unfortunately, Dunkel was closed.

Now, instead of being - excuse me for using this word in the same sentence with those irresponsible children - practical; they went back to Nørreport station to see “the others.” The others were of course more irresponsible teenagers with alcohol problems.

I couldn’t stand it any longer, and at Gammel Torv I simply made the decision to just go on my own and try to do some fieldwork somewhere.

And that’s how I ended up on the streets for two hours.

I eventually gave up and decided to just start walking aimlessly, ending up on Kultorvet, as that friend who originally wanted me to go out finally managed to get in contact with me. I took the plunge and laid the cards on the table - which I don’t do very often. I said that I have a problem, that if I don’t get pushed to do things I just won’t do them, and that I need help. Quite literally, I asked for help. To be perfectly honest, it doesn’t happen very often that I actually ask for help and not imply it or otherwise.

“Just come to the Austrian Bar.” She explained me how to get there, and I went.

Of course, they won’t let me get in, having only my diplomat ID and not much besides. Not much I was willing to show at any rate. I tried calling her, to no avail. 15 minutes later, she walks out voluntarily without me being reaching her phone (not because I wasn’t trying).

The next 30 minutes we spent switching between arbitrary modes, goals and targets:

• “Where’s Person X?”
• “Where should we go?” (my opinion was of course not taken into account)
• My pleas to have someone push me around
• Dealing with the bouncer over at Retro

The resolution about where to go after long sessions of argument was of course: No resolution.

This whole absolute failure in management, organization and fucking common sense made me think. I would have been doing just that had it not been for the fact that I now knew how to organize myself. I could no longer fit in the group because I simply could not stand the lack of authority and structure as well as the general mood of indecision.

I don’t actually belong with them, I figured. Will I ever go out again? I might as well, but probably not with these guys, and most certainly not with a group of more than 3 people including myself.

It’s not that much fun unless you drink. Problem is, I can drink at home and get 3 times more work done than by hanging out with these guys. I genuinely hate society.

Ridiculous how I managed to write this thing. Problem is I’m supposed to do about five other things at the moment.

I really like to have control over who I’m actually around. There are certain people I dislike, and simply don’t want around me. This definition somehow comes to include pretty much all of the people I know with the exception of suppose 3-5 people.

I need a holiday, I need the company of certain people (one in particular), I need to get away from those I don’t like.

I know I can’t lock myself up in some wrench down in Jylland with all the people I want to be around, and that’s exactly what bothers me. When it so happens that I ask for help, nothing happens. It’s all the same whether or not I take part in it. I’m not committing suicide just yet, I still have a book to write, whenever I get down to doing it, and there’s maybe one person out there whom I promised I won’t do just that, and I, unlike some people, do keep promises.

Tagged as: annoying, emotional, experiment, friends, life, party, productivity, society, sociology, story, waste-of-time