Scan Magazine | Humour | Columns
IS IT JUST ME…
By Mette Lisby
… who has always pondered, curiously, what people are really like when they think nobody is watching? In recent years, I have actually found out. Let me explain: I live on a mountain top in one of Los Angeles’ most revered recreational parks. It’s a popular hiking trail, and because it’s in the middle of Los Angeles, it’s where Angelinos come to work on the demanding DIY projects our bodies have become in modern society. I’m right at the top, where the trail peaks – a natural spot for hikers to stop and marvel at the 360-degree view of the grand city and the mountains stretching to the ocean. There, on the peak, people will gaze in wonder, thinking they are all alone. They are not. I can see them from my balcony, but they never notice. The groups of houses scattered down the mountain sides are too indistinct in the grand scheme of nature for anybody to pay attention to, so people feel a solitude – a profound intimate moment between them and nature, God, or whatever spiritual dimension they believe in.
So, what do they do? Well, they marvel at the view and – increasingly over the last few years – themselves. The amount of selfies taken is astonishing, and the forced-relaxed, yet somehow inevitably smug look people adopt when they take pictures of themselves, is always amusing to me. After the mandatory photo shoot, most people feel an urge to get loud. A surprisingly large number of people start to sing, which is okay, but once there was a man who played the trumpet. He brought a freaking trumpet to the mountain top. When he played it, you immediately understood why he would prefer to play when he assumed he was alone: it sounded terrible. After approximately half an hour, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I yelled: “Stop it! Just stop!” Confused, the man looked around but didn’t see anybody, and clearly, for a moment, he thought he’d heard the voice of God. It was hilarious! Confused, he played a
Illumination Being Swedish, I enjoy dinner by candlelight. Just one candle will do, preferably of the taper variety, stuck into a nice candleholder and placed in the middle of the table. On a recent visit to Stockholm, I wandered down the cobbled streets of the old town, my heart soaring with appreciation as I peered into the restaurants crowding this lovely part of the city. Outside, the autumn light was fading, while inside, candles twinkled, softly illuminating couples at tables, having what I assumed to be the most romantic time of their lives. My husband doesn’t get it. “It’s too dark,” he’ll shout. “I can’t see what I’m eating!” In fact, lighting has been a recurring source of disagreement in our relationship. It took 11 years for him to accept that Big Light, i.e. the single, bright ceiling light, should only come on in emergencies: for example, when you’ve dropped a pin on the floor. Last night, after yet another lighting114 | Issue 130 | November 2019
few more notes and I yelled again. Disparaged, he put down the trumpet and went home. I’m sure he still wonders what happened that day, whether it really was the voice of God. Come to think of it – did anybody check whether someone lived in a house near that burning bush where Moses heard the voice of God? And whether Moses was singing or playing the trumpet, thinking he was alone?
Mette Lisby is Denmark’s leading female comedian. She invites you to laugh along with her monthly humour columns. Since her stand-up debut in 1992, Mette has hosted the Danish version of Have I Got News For You and Room 101.
By Maria Smedstad
products and camping equipment, before I snapped. The cupboard door was closed and we were back to compromise number 40,182 – candles one end of the table, table lamp the other. Too bright for me, too dark for him, but by this point the food was getting cold, so we got on with it. Sometimes, compromise really is necessary for the sake of multi-national domestic peace and a warm curry.
related argument, my husband thought he’d stumbled upon the perfect solution. Turning on the lamp inside the under-stairs cupboard, he left the door to it slightly ajar, so that light trickled out across the dining room table. I lasted about ten minutes, staring at the dangling lightbulb inside the cupboard and at the shelves, stacked with cleaning
Maria Smedstad moved to the UK from Sweden in 1994. She received a degree in Illustration in 2001, before settling in the capital as a freelance cartoonist, creating the autobiographical cartoon Em. Maria writes a column on the trials and tribulations of life as a Swede in the UK.