People think midsommers eve is all about frolicking around a may pole like a bunch of dew fairies, all spirit fingers and butterfly wings.
Yeah, no. It’s an outdoor mixed martial arts smackdown set to polka music. It is frankly lawless underneath that pole: people teaming up, holding hands and skipping over the weak. I almost got mowed down by a really machiavellian old lady in a peasant costume.
As the Scandinavian Club’s default organizer, my original intention was to have everybody meet up by this landmark in Battery Park:
That didn’t work out so well, but I did accomplish my goal of sending a photo of majestic bronze boob balls to my legions of Scandinavian Club members, thus locking down my reputation as an erudite patron of the arts.
Again this year, Laura amazed the crowd by turning out some beautiful flower crowns for herself and Amy. She needs to open up a kiosk.
Last year, before I finally gave up and Laura saved me, my crown consisted of a smallish clumped ball of manhandled greenery. I didn’t even try this year, having surrendered the dream of getting my craft on without endangering bystanders. It’s all good fun until someone gets their eye poked out with florist wire.
Leah, Awe, Natsai, Amy, Brett, Merc, Thomas and I did take more than one foray into the snakepit ringing the maypole. We cavorted like frogs, flute players, fiddlers, and foxes scampering on the ice while multi-tasking a string of antics such as rolling with a rolling pin, weeping like a soap opera star and what I took as getting into a fight with a monkey. The Swedish government really needs to crack down on festive bloodsports.
Zack and I discussed swimming, OCD-related topics, scootering (to scoot, to have scot), William as a middle name, #96, Pricilla Queen of the Desert, my tushey dominance, the conniving letter K, Norwegian URL opportunities and some other things there in the middle.
Tack så mycket to everyone who came. I had a blast.