The Finer Things: Danny’s Last Days in AmericaBy Danny Larsen • Apr 13th, 2012 • Category: Features, Latest
Recently I got back home from the states, which means I had a “Danny’s last days in the US” and here are some photos I took.
After spending most of my time up in K2′s season-shack in Glacier, WA it was a cultural shock getting back to civilization. Bars and people to go to bars with was all over the place, basically I felt like one of those golden ticket kids ready for a grown up version of Wonka’s magical world.
My team manager Pete is buddies with one of the Seattle Sounders ball kickers, so he called him up and got Bobby Meeks, Blue montgomery, Sean Tedore and me tickets for the soccer game.
An interesting fact is that no matter where you go in he world, soccer fans look like complete idiots.
Another interesting fact is that it’s close to impossible to go to any sports event sober, especially soccer games (to avoid confusion I call it soccer even though I’m Scandinavian and know that a game called football should probably be played with a ball and your feet).
Here they are, except for Tedore who was out to get more beer. If I happen to be in Seattle, chances are that either Tedore or I is out buying beers for either Tedore or me, most likely both.
Seattle Sounders won, so we drank some more to celebrate that we had cheered for the winning team, kinda like a pat on the back for picking the right side, pretty silly indeed.
Not 100% exactly sure how the rest of the evening went, I remember meeting Peter Line, being in some bars, becoming best friends with some bums, giving bums way too much money, giving the bar too much money and also becoming best friends with a taxi driver that I have forgotten the name off before passing out at Pete’s place.
The next morning I woke up from the laughter of Pete’s roommates, realizing that my hard, shaggy and lets not forget; dusty bed, was in fact the living room carpet where I had passed out on in a graceful face-dow drunken starfish pose.
No idea why this is refered to as breakfast of champs, I definitely don’t feel like a champ when my need for beer in the morning overshadows my need for actual nutrition. Ah, what the hell, breakfast of champs!
Tedore was nice enough to pick us up and drive us to a Mexican place for solid breakfast, this is a shitty photo of Tedore chewing and looking very puffy.
Pete looked a like heap of regretful memories, thank god for Bloody Marys.
And the mix off beer and bloody mary, whatever it’s called, I choose to call it Remedy.
Looks like I was happy with breakfast and signed with something that almost look like my signature.
Believe it or not, the sun was actually shining in Seattle so we decided to sit outside, going for that fantastic combo of sun-rays and mid day drinks. I even found a place that sold Snus right across the street from the bar, and we couldn’t have been happier.
We met a Swede, a Brit and some Nevada school teachers, that we kept as drinking company while the sun traveled across the sky. Take a quick look at Pete’s face, fuck sleepless in Seattle, sunburned and mid day drunk in Seattle.
According to the receipt, Allison thought we were awesome and my handwriting was starting to suffering. Thanks you: Allison
The view from Tedore’s apartment
Tedore has seen that view before, so he’s checking out Nicki Minaj videos instead. Look at that creepy smile.
K2′s Hunter Waldron must have joined us somewhere down the road, here with some fist dancing in a car.
And this looks like Tedore and Pete struggling with a kids seat in the back
This is just plain stupid, but yeah, fuck’em.
Completely given up on my signature and gone for the good ol’ spell-out-your-name.
I’m still not certain why I kept documenting my receipts, might have been the fact that I was struggling with my own signature for breakfast, but anyways, this is what it came too.
Failing at spelling out my own name and unable to figure out how much a dollar tip totals to.
I don’t remember much more, other than waking up once again on Pete’s living room floor feeling like a shit’s turd. I wrote down on my phone that Pete had said he wasn’t going home until we got kicked out, uncertain whether that happened or not.
Then I flew home, thank you America.