The weather this morning was so perfect that I had no choice (after breakfast and a few chapters of reading in bed) but to put on the new, almost unworn running shoes that I bought after I decided not to enroll at the kung fu school on the next island and go for a jog to the giant, centuries-old timber loading crane at the end of Christianshavn in what can only be described as perfect jogging weather - brisk but dry and sunny, about 10 C, with air so clear that the buildings across the harbor could have been on the next block, although perhaps professional marathon runners prefer a bit of haze to the direct sun, but those people scare me so I haven't approached one to ask, and look at the old track-mounted cannons just past the crane at the end of the island, pointed north towards where seaborne invaders from the Atlantic without the wits to take a different route might come, and in fact there's so much low-slung littoral industrial plant on multi-kilometer jettys that open water is not actually visible anymore from from the cannons' hillock, and after the jog, which was short but enough to leave my legs leaden, I headed into town on the Metro on what I am pleased to report was a successful, albeit tardy, excursion to take advantage of Saturday's retail opportunities in my continuing - some might say, neverending - quest to assemble a quiet music server in my home; tardy because Thursday and Friday were holidays, during which (surprise!) almost everything is closed and I spent most of my time on client crises on two continents anyway.

Speaking of my home, I have to move out in July because my landlady wants it back. She gave me three months notice, as required by law, but was also kind enough to let me stay an extra 10 days until my vacation starts. So now I have to start apartment-hunting, which is not fun but on the bright side, I'll be able to get a new route to work and a new neighborhood to explore, and I can get away from the grubby hippie trash that swarm around Christiania.

Apropos of nothing but the fact that I'm dumping my accumulated notes into a belated blog entry, I want to tell you about my ordbog. A month ago I bought a big red cloth-bound book, "Danske ordbog," or Danish Dictionary, which despite the 500 crown price (USD 80) was a pleasing purchase because it featured full phonetic spellings of all the words and represented a recommittment to learning Danish despite my Danish teacher at the time and was a handsome tome which looked forward to referring to for many years. Only days later did I notice the spine of the book, which featured this symbology: "2 E-H". I had in fact purchased one sixth of a danske ordbog. After retrieving the receipt from the garbage, I was eventually able to return to the bookstore and exchange the book for "Dankse udtale" - just the phonetic spellings, but for all the words, and the new Neal Stephenson, in paperback but still heavy enough to represent an ergonomic challenge in the reading.