PHLOGGING ABROAD #6: STARTED OFF AS A GUIDE, THEN BECAME A NARRATIVE

So you decided to travel to Italy? Well get ready, because you’re going to have the time of your life! However, before you go, there are a couple of things you need to know before you go to this country.

EVERY DRIVER WANTS TO MURDER YOU

Italy is a land of people who collectively respond “Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” to any and all stop signs. This is only aggravated by the fact that most large cities are full of tiny, narrow alley ways. You will constantly be watching your back as you walk down the streets out of fear that a Vespa is going to obliterate you. Speaking of Vespas, they are terrifying and very, very gay. People who ride Vespas do not give a shit. You will see them driving on sidewalks, medians, opposite of one way streets, pretty much anything that you would decry “Asshole” to, they do with blind passion. Don’t worry though, you are always considered the asshole.
No matter what, if a driver is acting like a total prick and is pushing 40mph on a 300ft stretch, you are always the asshole for getting in his way. You may be thinking, “I’ll obey standard traffic laws and I’ll be fine.”

You are wrong. You will be a victim.

It’s an oddity that “Italian traffic law” isn’t an analogy for cluster-fuck, because it’s nearly the perfect metaphor. There are no laws. It’s like a demolition derby, only on cobblestones instead of mud, and full of people who aren’t fond of America instead of people who think gays shouldn’t read in their local libraries.
The most important thing you need to know is that you should never cross a street unless you see a local person walking across it first. It’s the only way you will not risk your life. Don’t trust the walk signs either, they’re merely suggestions.

YOU GOT A WALLET? FUCK YOU.

Your wallet is worthless. It is just a toy containing your identity and a last resort Durex condom. Most places won’t accept debit/credit cards, so you’ll need to get Euros. Euros suck. The US dollar is Monopoly money in comparison. Do not bother with souvenir shops. Coming from a person who loves crap and still looks at the toy sections of targets and Wal-marts, that means something. The souvenirs are tacky, expensive, and lame. You’ll need the money for food and tickets anyway, and what little money you have left will either be stolen or you’ll be conned out of.

AUTHENTIC ITALIAN MEALS ARE HUGE, YOU WILL NEVER HAVE ONE

A real Italian meal is huge. It usually has some starter, a first dish, a second dish, and desert. It sounds amazing, and the food can be stellar, but you will never have a meal like this. Even at the shittiest, truck-stop diner equivalent Italian restaurant, a real Italian meal will cost you over 40 dollars. This means that when you do go to a restaurant you’ll have one kid’s sized platter. It’ll be delicious, but it won’t be filling.
Most people will want to get pizza in Italy. I’m going to tell you right off the bat that Italian Pizza isn’t amazing. It’s not bad, and it’ll actually feel like you’re eating a full meal, but it’s…off. The crust is really thin, so thin it only takes 5 minutes to finish cooking, there’s a lot of cheese, and they don’t bother chopping up toppings. You order a pizza with ham on it, expect to find 4 huge spiral cuts of ham on top of it.
The other thing most people want to try in Italy is gelato. You’d think that I’d have something against gelato considering how often I rant about nothing, but I don’t. Gelato is good, but it’s just ice cream. People will argue that it’s not the same thing, but gelato gives the same satisfaction that Ice Cream does. There isn’t a huge difference between the two. If someone came up to me and said, “I am going to either get rid of all of the gelato or all of the ice cream in the world and you must pick which one goes,” outside of questioning the person’s powers and/or conviction, I’d respond, “Fuck it, get rid of whichever one Jeremy Piven likes more.”

YOU GOT FEET? FUCK YOU.

You. Will. Walk. Everywhere.

You won’t have a choice. Taxis are too expensive and the train is not convenient enough for every site. Earlier I mentioned that the streets were made of cobblestone, and it will be the cause of all things painful for your feet. Since most of the streets are uneven, by day 2 you will start feeling pain, and by day 4 you will be in a constant state of looking like you have rickets.

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Hello, and welcome to the penultimate Phlogging Abroad! Over these past couple of entries I’ve talked a lot about Norway, but I have yet to mention what I’ve actually been DOING here. For the past couple of months I’ve been teaching 8th grade English at one of the local schools. This probably comes as a bit of a shock considering the amount of typos that occur in my writing (I don’t spell check, that’s for poor people) and my highly questionable interests/thought process/addiction to whale meat/swagger, but teaching is something I’m quite passionate about and love doing. In this blog, I’m going to talk about some of the differences between the Norwegian and U.S. schools, as well as some of the experiences I’ve had in the classroom. So sit back and prepare to be phlogged…that didn’t come out right.

The first day I arrived at the school I was pretty amped. First of all, I didn’t have to wear dress clothes, which I can’t stand. I know that makes me sound like a 5 year old, but dress clothes fucking blow. I never feel like I tuck in my shirt correctly, I always have to redo my tie four times, and I look like a fucking dork. It’s so much more satisfying to wake up, do my morning routine (consisting of a shower, breakfast, and shitting, not always in that order and occasionally multi-tasked), go to my closet, and think to myself “Do I wear my Illmatic T-shirt or the Black Lantern one?” Also, I had been listening to Wu-Tang Clan’s “Protect Your Neck,” which will get anybody pumped (interesting fact: when on a crowded bus and listening to Wu-Tang on an iPod, do not say your favorite lyric in a song out loud. People will think you’re a murderer.) Still, I was a little nervous. I knew it’d be a unique experience, but I honestly didn’t know what the students would be like. As soon as I walked into the building it became very clear, I was dealing with twelve year olds, and not just any 12-years-olds, 12-year-olds who aren’t allowed to wear shoes in class and wear wool socks on linoleum floors.

I was in the Thunderdome.
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Hello again. I’m sorry that I’ve taken this long to write my blog. Over the past two weeks I have been dealing with a sickness that has left me very tired and very confused over how it is possible I could shit so much and eat so little. Also, I was in Ireland for a week, which I’ll be talking about in the next blog. For now though, I would like to share some of the things that I love about this country. I was originally going to do a blog about the bars in Norway, but I felt that this would be a waste of time since all I would be doing was bitching about how expensive they are.

So Now I would like to present 5 things that I love about Norway.

1. The controversial nature of their meats.

I love meat in almost all it’s forms. I love chicken, beef, pork, veal, fish, lamb, deer, all of it. I didn’t think my carnivorous eyes could be opened up to new experiences, but oh, how wrong I was. Some of the meats I have had the pleasure of eating in this country have blown me away. For starters, I can purchase whale meat.

WHALE MEAT!

That shits illegal in most of the U.S., and for good reason, because it’s too delicious. It’s like someone took all the flavor of steak and took away the fat. It’s amazing. Also, I have never seen a bloodier form of raw meat in my life than whale meat. It practically feels like you’re killing it all over again when you open it up and see all the blood on your hands. My cutting board looks like a fucking crime scene when I’m done preparing it! It’s awesome!

Yet, the single best thing about whale meat isn’t the way it tastes, but how Norwegians hunt those swimming bitch mammals. The Norwegian style of hunting and killing whales is the most humane/hilarious way any animal has been killed:

They shoot it in the face with a harpoon grenade… let the awesomeness of that statement sink in. It’s like Duke Nukem impregnated the Die Hard franchise on a bed of “Shark Tale” DVDs; mind blowing. Yet, this begs the question, “How can a European country have devised the most American way of killing an animal for food?” (Side note: you can find videos of whales brains being blown out online, and if you play those videos backwards it looks like the whale is getting really really smart).

But whale meat isn’t the only awesome food I’ve had access to. Here is a transcript of a conversation that occurred while I was passing through a market in Røros, Norway.

Scene.
Walking down the path surrounded by assorted crap-filled booths with crap with my friend Dave.

Jimmy: This stuff is crap
Dave: Well… yeah, it’s pretty terrible
Jimmy: Who the fuck needs a snowcap with those stupid dangling poof balls?
Dave: Tools man, tools
Market Chef: Goat! would anyone like to try goat!
Jimmy: Meh
Market Chef: That’s right! baby goat!
Jimmy: I said, no-a-WWHHHAAATTT?
Market Chef: Would you like to try baby goat?
Jimmy: But it’s just a kid!

Silence.

Jimmy: Seriously, no one gets that? baby goat…kid…eh?
Market Chef: Would you like to try some?
Jimmy: You’re goddamn right i want to try some!

Market Chef hands me a piece of baby goat meat.

Market Chef: How is it?
Jimmy: Holy Hell, this is delicious, lady you’ve made a sale!
Market Chef: Yay!
Jimmy: Wait, this is baby goat right?
Market Chef: Yeah.
Jimmy: Not adult goat?
Market Chef: No.
Jimmy: Okay, good, just making sure.
Market Chef: We slaughter them when they are 5 months old.
Jimmy: Well isn’t that just a morbidly obese, illiterate, physically abused, HIV positive, teenage incest rape victim mother of two that lives off welfare…
Market Chef: Excuse me?
Jimmy: It’s…precious…

Silence

Jimmy: WHAT THE HELL, NORWEGIANS???
Market Chef: But yes, they are slaughtered at 5 months old.
Jimmy: Oh, I can definetly taste that lack of hormone in the meat…
Market Chef: We actually drown the baby goats in the mother’s blood to slaughter them.
Jimmy: Are…are you serious?
Market Chef: No, but wouldn’t that be awesome???
Jimmy: …
Market Chef: Sir?
Jimmy: …Will you marry me?
Market Chef: I beg your pardon?
Jimmy: How much?

This country has meats that even I won’t touch. Do you know what is a traditional Norwegian dish? a boiled fucking sheep’s head! the whole goddamn thing! They say you need to eat the eyes first before they become mushy, but I think they do it so it isn’t staring at you while you rip the flesh off it’s cheeks.

2. I don’t feel pale in this country.

Back in the states I am the whitest colored white person this side of…a really white place. However, in Norway, I am…give me a minute…average. Thanks to my mom’s stupid Irish genes I can’t tan very well (and thanks to my love of Television, Movies and most forms of media, I haven’t helped my case). The people in the country are either one of three things: insanely pale, pale, or orange. It is with great pride that in this country I fall into the category of pale, whereas in the states I’m considered “glow in the dark when put under a blacklight” white.

3. There isn’t a single fucking bug in this country! Not one!

I hate bugs. I’m not afraid of them, although I do freak out when one flies near my face, I hate them. If I see a bug in my house I make it my mission to kill it, and then overkill it until the son of a bitch stops twitching. I have lit more spiders on fire to make sure they are dead than any reasonable person should, which is zero. I’m aware of this ridiculous nature of my anger towards bugs, but fuck them, they’re icky.

While the natural frigid temperatures of this country have shrunk my genitals in unspeakable ways, it has also given me the fringe benefit of my having yet to encounter a single bug. It makes sense…they can’t go above ground, there are no flowers or other vegetation, and they have no means of keeping themselves warm. I know that it’s winter and there are naturally less bugs, but it isn’t like the States either, where you get those freak lady bugs that infest house during winter, or those moths that get all up in your buisness no matter what time of the year it is. This country is bug free, and I can sleep a little easier through the insanely cold nights because of this.

4. Northern Lights, BITCH!

I have seen the northern lights! FUCK YEAH! seriously, it’s in the top 5 coolest fucking things I’ve ever seen. It’s not as cool as the time i stood at the edge of a 150 foot cliff, but a little better than that time I saw a girl doing a walk-of -shame dressed as a milk-carton the day after halloween. It was like I dropped acid with Jesus while getting rimmed from Buddha and being fed grapes by Jackie Chan.

5. The audacity of pornographic magazines at 7-11.

What’s this? Why, hello European FHM. I’ve met your American cousin before. I’m terribly sorry if I’m being forthright, but your left nipple is exposed. Oh, you’re okay with this? Fabulous! What’s that? You want to introduce me to your friends? How lovely!
It’s very nice to meet you…girl on the cover of “Army Hussies.” I’d love to chat longer, but it appears that you are at a doctor’s office, as there seems to be a finger lodged in your ass.

I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name, “Gangbang” is it? I’m sorry dear, it’s very hard to understand you…would you remind removing those two gentelmen’s dicks from your mouth? Ah, but of course, If they aren’t in your mouth, where else would you put them? It seems your other orifices and hands appear to be occupied at the moment. No, you don’t need to stop…as the old saying goes: six-on-one is a gangbang, seven-on-one is…well… just awful really.

Don’t think I forgot you “Sixty going on Sixty Nine.” My oh my, what a delightful little pun. You know, I find it very encouraging to know that a person of your age (if you don’t mind me saying) can find and hold a steady job.

Oh, my…I didn’t know that you were invited to this party, “Horse Cock Swallower.” No, it’s quite alright, please stay, just do me the favor of not drinking anything directly from the container. I don’t want to be rude, but after all, there has been a horse’s cock in your mouth. I’m sure that’s not too sanitary.

I don’t believe we’ve met before, what was you’re name? “Balls” was it? I’ve heard of “Nuts” but that one was full of naked ladie–WHOA those are balls! Well it appears I have stumbled upon the gay-porn, and somehow it is the tamest of them–wait–I stand corrected, its centerfold is just a giant butthole. Gross.

This country has a lot of amazing things, but there are things from home that I miss as well. This includes Buffalo Wings, Billiards, Magic Hat #9, salted sidewalks, pretzels, Chipoltle, TV, buying in bulk, speaking quickly and being understood, normal traffic systems, book stores, sports that arent gay (i’m looking at you soccer!), and BBQ sauce. Until next time, let mirth prevail!

Next Time: Ireland – A land built on the kindness of alcoholics and a hatred of England.

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By Jimmy Mayers, Foreign Correspondent

Hello again! In today’s blog, I would like to talk about some of the experiences I’ve had dealing with one of the most daunting tasks of a foreigner: food shopping.

When I first realized how expensive Norway was after purchasing a soda at 7-11 (yes, they have 7-11, no, they don’t have Slurpees) for $4 U.S. dollars, it became clear I wouldn’t be eating out much. This didn’t bother me though. I enjoy cooking and I brought a bunch of recipes for things that I wanted to try to make.

What I didn’t know was that the process of purchasing food was completely different from what we do in America.

I miss Wal-mart. Sure, it’s an evil empire, but I can at least purchase everything from one store. In Norway there are four different grocery stores, and I’m going to explain their value in terms of how they rape your wallet:

There’s Bunnpris (who subtly rapes your wallet; at first it’s inviting and you become friends with it, then it doesn’t leave after the party and…oh god).

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Greetings loyal Phroth fans and the unlucky few that tried to search for fat girls getting raped on Google (look in our archives), and welcome to my first entry of Phlogging Abroad! My name is Jimmy Mayers, and during my final semester at Penn State I will be scribing everything from the important to the superfluous details of my time in Trondheim, Norway. It is nearing the end of my second week in this country and I was planning to write while on the plane, but it turns out that lack of sleep and nicotine turn what can be funny observations into complete malice towards everyone and everything. So let’s start by recapping my time at the airport.

God do I hate airports. I hate everything about them. I hate the fact that I have to take my shoes off, take my computer out of the bag, take everything out of my pockets, take off my coat and hoodie, go through security, and then trying to put everything back together in less than 15 seconds after it goes through the X-ray. I hate the fact that for every employee with a smile there are 15 who are total cocks. Seriously, most staff at airports are on par with the CATA bus drivers (except for the whistling bus driver, shine on you crazy diamond).

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