This is my friend Boody. Like Stein, his real name is Haldan Michael Blecher, but he will always be Boody to me. I don’t think Boody wore anything else but sweat pants and full sweat suits until he was at least fourteen years old. He would sweat alot during the summer and my mom would try and get him to change into lighter clothes because he looked uncomfortable, but he always said that he was fine and that he liked sweat pants better than anything else out on the market. When we were in Fifth Grade, Boody had me come visit him at his mom’s family’s summer house near Copenhagen. His mom, Lone, is the bomb, by the way. I love that lady. I love the whole family. Especially Boody’s big sister Lilly. She’s always been a cutie, except she smelled pretty bad when she was into riding freight trains cross country. Lilly’s now in Natural Medicine School in Oregon, and I think she knows alot about cracking backs. Anyways, Lone is a Dane and his dad, George, is an American Jew, and I think they met shortly after Lone moved to New York from Denmark. Lovely people, both. If you wanted to type them, she’s an artist and a schoolteacher, and he’s a writer and a playwright. They speak a lot of languages, both of them are translators I guess too. They are divorced now, Lone’s got a new hubby we like alot, and I imagine she will soon spend a lot of time painting and working with charcoal once she retires at the end of this year. I don’t know exactly what George is up to, I imagine he works alot, and I KNOW he wears a black leather jacket every day. He’s always looked good in a black leather jacket. Back to this trip to Denmark. When I arrived in Scandanvia with my righteous overbite, shorts and socks, and an ill-fated rat-tail attempt at a badass haircut, Boody and Lone rocked my world. It was like one of those poignant summers in dramatic movies, except no one died or got hit by a train at the end of it, and I don’t think Boody and I went fishing at all during our tenure there together. Hollywood summers always involve barefoot fishing, and we were wearing shoes for the greater part of said summer. Boody and I stayed up late and went to Legoland and got lost in fields, almost never came home while it was still light out, watched his older cousins get drunk and fight with their parents and relatives about familial skeletons in closets, ate frikadellas and ham and cheese sandwiches from the waffle iron, drank this weird soda you make from a machine in the kitchen using seltzer water and Lillebro blackcurrent juice, and took a trip to see his grandparents at their seaside retirement home in Vejle, a very pretty little joint in Jutland where the beaches are all made of pebbles the size of a quarter and beautiful topless Valkyries with breasts bigger than watermelons (and for that matter bigger than me, at the time, don’t worry I’m dealing with the Napoleon Complex) play volleyball and soccer right next to you like it’s no big deal that you are a mere mortal staring into the antechamber of Valhalla in disbelief. Sometimes they would even ask us to get the ball if it rolled too far away from them. Can you believe that? All non-chalant-like, as if we lived in the same magical world as them, not in the pleasant grey mire between heaven and earth. Since I’ve been in California, Boody’s been up to a bunch of different things like spending this or that New Years with Chloe Sevigny. I guess they used to carpool together because she lived across the street from his old apartment and he’s one of the friends she made in elementary school that she’d like to keep forevs. Now he makes rap music and dates girls he meets on trains. I went to see him in New York two winters ago and he didn’t wear sweatpants once the whole time.