Things are almost ready for the birthday party 🍻🎉

Þrjátíu ára

It’s 12:40 AM and I just turned 30. In about 13 hours I’ll hold a party for my friends, but currently I’m lying in my bed drinking a Royal Pilsner and listening to Comfort Eagle by Cake.

Life is good. I know some good people here in Aarhus, and even though I complain sometimes my job is actually pretty interesting and we get to work with some really nice clients. 

Here is to the next 30 years.

Listen/purchase: Vettlingatök by Æla

A friend of mine who is in the Icelandic punk band Æla (means Puke) is just about the release their latest album Vettlingatök. I lent my body for the album cover which hopefully you can see above.

Really looking forward to listen to the whole thing.

The final level in goat simulator. (at NorthSide)

Aarhus Pride is today 🌈 Not as big as the one in Reykjavík but pretty nice nonetheless.

On my way to work early to try and fix a broken bundleconfig so the LESS and JS files get automatically compiled and minified. Oh joy 🎉

Knaldemand bought a bicycle today from Knud’s Kiosk. Finally he can now terrorise the citizens of Aarhus by bike.

Bought a tree for the balcony. An olive tree.🌿

Went to @gislidua this week and had some new photos of me taken. I’m very happy with them.

Frictionless product design — Remains of the Day

Frictionless product design — Remains of the Day

Still playing with that process to remake the Gotham filter. Also, the clouds just look nice today.

Now you can get water in a carton instead of a plastic bottle. I would get rid of that plastic cap though. (at Føtex Food, M.P. BruunsGade 55, 8000)

The man with the IRL fetish rubs himself up against the exposed brick wall of a loft in order to feel something. At 5 PM he makes a show of “logging off,” heads out into into the world where he aims to cop a feel of the authentic. At the coffee shop, he looks over the spine of a print edition, cruising for communal table frotteurism. But there’s no sex in the cold brew room, just a pay-per-view affair with a barista who asks his name only to label his cup. He empties his wallet, chasing a form of intimacy only incidentally concerned with people or communication, rock hard for the trappings of the scene instead: the cozy light of an Edison bulb, a gonzo view of flatware arranged neatly on a farm table, the money shot of a poached egg blowing its load into a tanned mound of potatoes. At night, he strokes himself to a Kinfolk centerfold while his girlfriend whispers in his ear, “N E V E R T W E E T.”

Someone decided to take their lovely Chevrolet pickup for a Sunday ride.