Scandinalien

Den dramatiska lemuren

2008-09-16T09:42:00.001+02:00

Jag kan inte hjälpa det, jag skrattade så jag grät.

First aid Kit - the duktigaste teenagers ever!

2008-06-12T17:52:00.001+02:00

Sisters Klara and Johanna Söderberg, 15 and 17 years old.

A colleague with musical ambitions said "I hate them!", to be read as "I wouldn't come up with anything half that good and I am twice as old!".

Hanne Hukkelberg

2008-03-12T16:31:00.002+01:00

Mainly to test Last FMs embed video function - but it's kind of cute!

Bob

2007-10-15T22:50:00.001+02:00

Bob

Jag har precis fått min nya kamera. På vägen hem läste jag i en fototidning om hur man bäst fotograferar sina husdjur. Som tur är var Bob på besök över helgen. Vi var mitt inne i vår photo session då husse och matte kom och hämtade objektet, hann bara ta EN bild som inte var helt suddig.

Så här sitter jag här med min flådiga kamera och känner mig övergiven. Bob, kom tillbaka. Allt är förlåtet.

D U G O N G !

2007-09-11T12:50:00.000+02:00

Jag hade ingen aning om vad en "dugong" var då jag fick ett mejl i ämnet för några år sedan. Det visade sig vara frågan om sjökor - en art jag nästan trodde var någon slags mytologisk varelse, eller i alla fall en sedan länge utdöd art. Men de existerar i allra högsta grad. Eller förresten - det kanske är ett överdrivet sätt att uttrycka sig – det finns inte så väldigt många kvar.

USA tänker nu bygga ut sin militärbas utanför Okinawa i Japan, och sjökorna där ligger risigt till.

Så jag slår lite på trumman – DUGONG!

Skriv till Japans försvarsminister och be honom skydda sjökorna

Beige hemmapysslare

2007-09-07T13:52:00.000+02:00

Jobbar mycket på engelska, och snackar engelska hemma. Så nu pausar jag lite och bloggar på mitt eget språk. Som en rent språkvårdande övning.

Jag är så hjärtinnerligen trött på heminredningshysterin i vårt avlånga land. Jag tänker inte måla kaffefärger i hela lägenheten och skaffa vita blomkrukor och ett kök som ser ut som en obduktionssal.

Men vi flyttade ju nyligen och hamnade därför på IKEA en eftermiddag. Det är ofrånkomligt verkar det som. Ikea gör något märkligt med hela kroppen, jag blir liksom trög i huvudet och stirrar rakt fram och orkar inte lyfta armarna. Känner du igen det?

Så det var kanske inte så fiffigt att gå direkt till färgaffären efteråt. Även om vårt hem inte är speciellt koordinerat i övrigt vill jag inte ha kräksfärger på väggarna. Det ska ju vara mysigt ändå, fast som vi vill ha det och inte som heminredningsmagasinen dikterar.

Där stod vi, ikea-förvirrade, bland alla små lappar med färgprover. Tänkte att "det är väl inte så noga - det kan ju inte bli värre än det är" och "åt skogen med mesigt beige". Vi bad snälla farbrorn blanda ihop en nyans som såg lagom galet hemtrevlig ut, åkte hem och plockade fram roller och pensel. Vi började givetvis ana oråd direkt då vi öppnade burken. Kanske lite väl crazy. Men den blir väl annorlunda då den torkar? Det tog inte lång stund alls innan hela rummet var... äckellila. Torktiden hade ingen positiv effekt på nyansen alls; vi vaknade nästa morgon med ett litet skrik.

Så det blev en ny tur till färgaffären. Traumatiserade av vårt tidigare anarkistiska "vi-målar-som-Pippi-Långstrump-och-struntar-i-trenderna-färgval" hittade vi nån beige och civiliserad färg som hette "gräddkola". Vi köpte till och med en testburk den här gången. Den är farligt nära kaffenyanserna. Suck. Jag vill ju inte riktigt bliva stur.

Testing

2007-08-22T15:08:00.001+02:00

On the road - part II

2007-05-10T14:42:00.000+02:00

Photo: DN/Hannah Modigh

Today the biggest newspaper in Sweden published an article on people and their bicycles. My amigo Stefan's bike is definitely the most original one.

After having had 3 bicycles stolen in two years he decided to get one that nobody else would want. He bought an old ladies bicycle and decorated it with the skull of a moose to start with. Of course the skull got stolen eventually, but he found other ways to embellish his vehicle.

The theme now varies every year, currently it is "heavy metal" with hand cuffs and teletubbies.

And he is a nice guy. Honestly.

My favourite girl

2007-05-10T10:45:00.001+02:00

We went to see my sister and her little family in Belgium a couple of weeks ago. I so wish I had recorded the wonderful sound of Elisa's laughter! She seemed to have lots of energy left when I had collapsed on the lawn. Am I getting old?

It was impossible to get a sharp shot, since Elisa is constantly on the move.

Up like a sun and down like a pancake

2007-04-17T17:24:00.000+02:00

This post aims to explain the meaning of the Swedish proverb above.

Years ago a friend told me the story about the little calf. Overjoyed he ran out from the barn in the early spring, to walk on grass and see the sun for the first time in his short life. He jumped up and down, somersaulting high in the air.

That is how I felt Sunday on my first bike ride this spring. Uggli started once the battery was re-charged and I rode off with a silly smile on my face – the day was perfect for it – warm winds and sun. A guy at the petrol station had the same stupid grin on his face, and we were both so overly excited we shouted although we had turned the engines off and had a civilized conversation about the make and year of our wheelie toys.

That first bike ride is always the most dangerous one: filled with adrenaline and joy you set off on a fast moving machine you haven’t even seen for a few months. Slightly out practice and in all the excitement it can be difficult to measure speed, distance and determine how sharp the bends are.

It must have been pretty much the same for the little calf. He was so happy he behaved like a veritable circus calf, if there is such a thing. Unfortunately he had a bad landing, got stuck with his hoof and broke his leg so badly that the farmer had to put Little Happy Calf to death.

I am still here as you can see. I didn’t exactly have an accident. Could have, but didn’t. But the exhaust pipes look like metal spaghetti, and the bike is currently parked in somebody’s garden on a Stockholm island called Lilla Essingen. I messed up. It’s a long story - won’t bore you with ithe details.

As I took the train home, pretty annoyed, I came to think of the poor little calf. I only broke some metal after all.

Upp som en sol och ned som en pannkaka

[Regarding the picture that I *hrm* borrowed: I couldn't find one with a calf and a pancake.]

Drifting

2007-04-15T01:46:00.000+02:00

Amanda sent me this link, it made her think of a certain couple that finally ended up drifting together. I miss mr Sea Otter a lot. We might not be as "adorable" as these guys though...

An elephant in my window

2007-04-05T11:00:00.000+02:00

Working from home today, it's almost Easter and most people are on their way somewhere, to see parents or friends. I had great plans too, but time passed too quickly and all of a sudden Easter is here and I have no tickets booked to go anywhere! I might get on the train to see my father, and help him prepare his rowing boat for summer. Or perhaps Therese needs a hand painting her new beautiful flat. And it is definitely time to pull Uggli out of the garage... not to mention fix the chopper, my little yellow curse.

These are strange times - everybody seems to be moving, breaking up, marrying or having babies!

Welcome to hell!

2007-03-28T21:55:00.000+02:00

Just got back from Tellus, where I watched Little Miss Sunshine. I would link to Wikipedia, but don't go there - the whole story is posted.

This movie that made me laugh so hard I almost cried. Despite that always present American Family ingredient. But then again this is "a family on the verge of a breakdown".

I fell in love with Olive, just like her druggie pervert grandfather.

Oh, and another movie to see: Das Leben der Anderen.
It's bloody good.

Nos amis les humains

2007-03-27T12:22:00.000+02:00

test

2007-03-05T15:12:00.001+01:00

testing testing

5 revelations - ta-da-da-daaaa!

2007-02-12T21:52:00.000+01:00

I was tagged by Jen , so here we go - 5 things you might not know about me:

1) At the age of eighteen I tried to get accepted in at an art school, but just like Adolf Hitler I was rejected. After that I didn’t scribble down as much as a dot for several years, but that is as bad as it got in my case. The drawings I presented as evidence of my ability illustrate the accuracy of the jury’s decision.

2) My first language is a peculiar Swedish dialect spoken in Österbotten, Finland. My mother tongue is closer to 16th century Swedish than the language used in Sweden today. As soon as I set foot in Österbotten, or when speaking to my dear cousin Lilian who lives here in Stockholm, I swap. There are as many dialects as there are villages, sometimes you can even hear which end of the village someone is from! My mother and father, for example, are both from Österbotten and they do not speak the same language at all. Perhaps that explains their divorce.

3) I can’t put a worm on a fishhook anymore. Last summer I got all squeamish and handed over the fishing rod to someone more hardcore. I really don’t appreciate that sort of silly behaviour. As a little girl I had no problem with it, and happily gutted my catch too, until there was blood up to my elbows. It's a fact - I have turned into a city sissy.

4) I’ve gone out with my felt pen and improved billboards on town from time to time. Just me, myself and Iréne. When I had enough of the crap we are fed every-bloody-where, and there was a particularly stupid/sexist/lying ad campaign going on. Almost every wall is covered with commercial messages, but as soon as somebody wants to be creative, or just post a small flyer for a concert, all hell breaks loose. If you are a big stinking company with dodgy values however, you are free to post whatever bullshit you want, as big as you want, and we all get it in our faces whether we like it or not.

5) My first love was Errol Flynn. A piece of advice though: never watch movies with heroes you were in love with at the age of 7. It’s just never going to be the same.

Ida: consider yourself tagged!

Previous revealers:
I was tagged by Jen who was tagged by Brian who was tagged by Gillo who was tagged by Houtlust who was tagged by Jean Ju...

Ice-skating Sunday

2007-02-11T19:30:00.001+01:00

Lena and I
.

Went to the lake with Lena. My well organised amiga brought hot chocolate and we had a great time! There is just something about winter sports that make me feel like a little girl again, so the bird perspective suits the occasion.

Sally Mann at Kulturhuset

2007-02-04T19:45:00.000+01:00

Today Sephorah and I went to Kulturhuset to see Sally Mann’s photography . In the 90s christian conservatives in the US protested against her Immediate Family series, which they considered to be child pornography. That tells me more about christian American conservatives than Sally Mann’s photography. The Deep South series is also part of the exhibition - I like the dreamy atmosphere in her nature photography. Promise to go see if you happen to be near Stockholm.

Proper Education

2007-02-02T18:35:00.001+01:00

It's just good.

Still not a patient patient...

2007-01-27T01:59:00.001+01:00

Ice lantern
Originally uploaded by scandinalien.

I’ve turned my place into a messy shack, and can’t remember the last time I had a shower. Three days cooped up in my tiny flat, with a damn flu or cold or whatever it is, and life is starting to feel bleak. I know I know, there are people out there with real and scary diseases - people in pain. But that thought doesn’t make me any happier.

Outside people laugh and tumble around in the white snow, I can see them through my window. OK. To be honest the only ones tumbling wear colourful overalls and are about 1 meter high. You know: kids. But I would tumble if it wasn’t for the damn fever. Honestly!

So please please please let me feel better tomorrow so that I can go and have pancakes in Vinterviken with the other kids.

A few of hours later:
I had decided to light the ice lanterns I made on the balcony to cheer myself up a bit. All of a sudden I heard someone call my name – there was Lena and Maria! They came to visit, my brave girls (not afraid of germs) and saved me from a completely miserable night on my own.

Latrine Kings

2007-01-20T18:10:00.000+01:00

Am back in reality again after a few weeks in la-la-land. This week's highlight: toilet inauguration at Tellus. Our president Samir cut the ribbon while the Latrine Kings played a fanfare on acoustic guitar. Will try and get a picture for you, it brought tears to my eyes.

Prakresor.fi - reklamfilm

2007-01-16T18:00:00.001+01:00

This is only funny if you are a scandinalien I guess... and in that special late-afternoon-in the-office kind of mood! Which I am.

Sweden - Heaven or Hell

2007-01-15T14:16:00.000+01:00

http://youtube.com/watch?v=I8rTWHSmZ8w

This is what we are up to in good old Svitjod!

Back!

2006-12-20T18:40:00.000+01:00

Still jetlagged, not very good with that thing. X-mas is around the corner, and I didn't even have any glögg yet... will have to do something about that.

Currently at sea

2006-11-18T01:01:00.000+01:00

©Greenpeace/Alex Hofford

In English: http://weblog.greenpeace.org/oceandefenders/

På svenska: http://weblog.greenpeace.org/oceandefenders-se/

En Español: http://weblog.greenpeace.org/defensores/

(Others write in Spanish, thank god)

There is internet onboard!

Mad site

2006-10-18T11:04:00.000+02:00

Er... not sure what to say really... its sort of... mad!

On the road - 1

2006-09-04T17:23:00.000+02:00

After having spent a few hours on the motorbike, without even a short stop, I started to examine this passion for being on the road, rediscovered every year. It doesn’t really matter which road. Gravel or tarmac, close to home or far away - the road usually puts a silly smile on my face. Since I am so lazy with my blogging, I’ll write in small portions.

It started many years ago with half a deck of playing cards attached in angle against the spokes of my little bicycle. I used my mother’s clothes pegs and tried to fit on as many playing cards as possible, to maximise the sound effect. On this roaring machine I raced up and down the streets, crouched over the handle bar. The only thing that changed since is the vehicle – the silly happy feeling stays the same.

Then came the road movies, and all those romantic fantasies about running away like Bonnie & Clyde. Without the killings and the sad ending perhaps.

[I am not quite sure who picked out my clothes in those days, but it was definitely someone with an excellent taste in colours and fashion.]

How to make an entrance part II

2006-06-28T11:01:00.000+02:00

I move to a new place tomorrow (a LEGAL contract this time). Woke up in a war zone, and it felt like my head was no longer attached to my shoulders. Couldn't have breakfast since the cutlery was packed. But I was clever enough to leave the coffee on the kitchen table. I thought. It turned out to be my Patagonian stone collection, in a coffee can.

So when I arrive in the office (almost got hit by a truck on the way here) I nearly knock myself out opening the door, sort of kissing the handle very violently. With a lower lip like a sausage, I stagger in with tears in my eyes. Things can only get better.

Saturday night in Midsommarkransen

2006-06-05T18:22:00.000+02:00

How to make an entrance

2006-05-03T17:49:00.000+02:00

Or: how to go from "normal" to "Victor le nettoyeur" in 2 seconds.

The doors of the train opened, and I stumbled in. The contents of my bag were spread all over the floor. Crawling around on all four I could feel the looks, and noticed the silence. The expressions on their faces was indescribable. No really, I wouldn’t be able to describe this mix of surprise, disbelief and… fear?

At first I though "what - they never saw a clumsy woman before?!" but then I realised that my possessions could seem bit awkward, put together. Let me first assure you there is a perfectly acceptable explanation as to why each and every one of these items were in my bag that day:

- 1 wallet
- 1 laptop (so far so good)
- 1 curly wig
- 2 forks
- 1 pair of leather gloves
- 1 big bottle of battery acid

I wanted to stand up and explain but realised it would just make the situation worse. Instead I sat down in a corner, and started imagining the contents of their bags. Psychos.

Darko

2006-03-30T23:02:00.000+02:00

We walked through the old town, and this man asked for a cigarette. The colour of his skin and eyes told me he was a drinker, and for some reason I also got the feeling he was homeless. He had a friendly face. Just as he was about to take one from the package I held in front of him, his face changed and he said with a loud voice - I DON’T WANT A BLOODY CIGARRETTE! The three of us jolted, and I pulled my hand back. He winked – apparently it was meant to be a joke. We laughed (nervously), he took his cigarette and asked me which kind it was. When shown the package he went, again with the angry voice, - what sort of crap is that??. I started to feel irritated, until we realised he was joking again. - One has to keep a sense of humour, he said.

At first I wasn’t sure why it was so funny, but we were still laughing as we continued. The same way you laugh after having been scared shitless by one of those ghosts at the amusement park.

I thought about it afterwards. He played on our prejudices. Him being a street person, we expected strange and peculiar behaviour. So he did a little trick, and played the part of the crazy man for a few seconds.

Yesterday night, as I walked home, we ran into each other again and had a chat. It was my birthday and I had been out celebrating. He started going through his two plastic bags, with a frustrated expression on his face. Then he took two cigarettes, put them in the pocket of my coat and gave me a hug. He still wasn’t satisfied: - it’s your birthday, I want to give you something… I’ll buy you a cup of coffee! So we went to 7-eleven, the only place where you could get a coffee at that hour, apart from the bars. And going to a bar with this man could possibly be a bad idea.

It felt somewhat awkward to be offered coffee by someone who keeps his money in a paper cup, but the look on his face when I offered to pay shut me up. I don’t know for how long we sat there by the window, only for half an hour perhaps, but we had a great time. Turned out we have a lot in common. Darko has a treasure of good stories to tell and I am sucker for kind storytellers. I hope we run into each other again.

Confession 1

2006-03-16T16:42:00.000+01:00

After all I am no different from the other girlies:
I love Håkan too.
*blushing*

Fame

2006-02-19T13:53:00.000+01:00

http://www.vasabladet.fi/inrikes.asp?docID=14649#nyheter

Sitting here waiting for invitations to fancy gala openings with free champagne. Nothing so far.

News that are not so new anymore

2006-02-03T12:40:00.000+01:00

I didn't fall off the planet, but haven't been very active here lately, I start writing updates and never finish. Something always turns up. Anyhow, these are some of the things I've been up to lately.

I finally got to see my little niece Elisa. Perhaps we should rename her Mona Elisa: she has this little silent mysterious smile, which turns into a quiet laughter if you let her fly in your arms. She smells good too. And how can her skin be so soft?

They have a very relaxed lifestyle those little ones; they eat, sleep and force us to change their nappies now and then. That’s pretty much all they do. Still… I miss her already.

After my stay in Antwerpen I took the train to Paris. I used to live there, but haven’t been for 7 years! It was like coming home but at the same time it was strange, dreamlike somehow.

It took me a while to remember which line to get on in the metro from Gare du Nord, and those ticket machines are new. Marianne was waiting at Café Noir, a place near Rue du Mail where we used to live. It was all so familiar, as if it was yesterday and at the same time as if it all happened in another life, know what I mean?

The place hadn’t changed, we were even served by the same waitress. Marianne finished her thesis, and her “soutenance“ was to take place the next day.

I stayed at Steven’s lovely little studio near Porte d’Orléans. It has a big window overlooking the rooftops, and when I woke up it almost felt like flying through the blue sky. Marianne called before morning coffee: her mother and most of the food for the reception was stuck in Copenhagen airport, there was simply too much snow and ice to take off. We solved the food situation, but poor Karin couldn’t make it to Paris.

Saturday at la Sorbonne: 4 people in the jury, Marianne looking all nice and tidy (I had also made an effort in order not to embarrass her – no motorcycle boots, and a skirt of decent length). It took 3-4 hours - the jury members all took their time asking questions and discussing the contents of the very thick book with many difficult words in front of them. I had practiced evil faces and mean looks to give them in case they gave her too much of a hard time. Fortunately it never came to that.

The wait was maybe 15 minutes, but felt like an hour, as they jury discussed behind closed doors.

I was proud already before we got the result from the jury of course: it’s difficult, lengthy and lonely to write a thesis. Then add writing in a foreign language - actually 2 since it took some knowledge in Arabic also. Of course my girl got the highest degree, with all the fancy mentions, and from here on she can call herself “Doctor” – how cool is that!?

Then there was champagne and speeches at the reception, followed by a more unofficial party. We thoroughly celebrated the occasion.

The next couple of days I walked around the city, and spent quite a lot of time in cafes. I should have gotten in touch with more friends, but decided to go back sometime soon for that.

One night I went to see a fairly sentimental movie called Joyeux Noël. But I bet it was very emotional in 1914, when those soldiers decided to take a break from the war, bury their dead and play football together instead of blowing each other to pieces.

I was all alone in the cinema, as the movie had been running for a while and it was late. Afterwards I had a smoke with the old man who was closing up for the night, and we had a long philosophical talk about good and bad. It was one of those perfect moments, that just occur and you never see them coming.

Oh, and the other night we saw Me and You and Everyone we know. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that much in a cinema theatre - I wish I could write dialogue like Miranda July!

))<>((
Forever.

Old photographs

2006-01-13T19:47:00.000+01:00

Just got back from Helsinki, the latest stop on the all Nordic work-like-a-maniac tour. Luckily Sari showed mercy and let me sleep on her couch, so I didn’t have to spend the week under a desk in the office.

Her building is fantastic! Didn’t manage to get any good pictures: in the mornings it was dark and I was barely awake, and in the evenings it was also dark and I was barely awake. Except for one night when we had been to the bar lovingly (?) refered to as the "garbage bank", but I was in no shape to take pictures then either. Here’s a detail from the entrance. “Terve” means “hello” in Finnish.

I also got a detail from the wall, where some of the white paint had come off. A pity they painted over the decoration.

On the way home I passed by Odenlab to pick up some old pictures they developed for me. To be honest I was a bit nervous: there are about 30 rolls of film in my fridge, some of them several years old. I am not sure why that is so scary, it’s not that I’ve been taking pictures of corpses, hideous crimes or extravagant home porn. It’s just that… well you know!

So anyway, I opened the envelopes already in the shop, couldn’t wait until I got home. It was like receiving a gift. Phew! None of my other personalities had gone out and photographed slaughtered puppies or tortured old ladies. There were pictures from Iceland, smiling friends and quite a few completely perplexing ones - (rotating the pictures) is that a rug? Or a very fluffy bird perhaps? I was surprised to find some nudity, but nothing too upsetting.

So eventually I’ll have the other rolls developed. Wonder what is to be found on those…

Christmas in prison

2006-01-02T16:59:00.000+01:00

A friend of mine serves a one month sentence for a peaceful protest with the Plowshares movement against the JAS-factory. This is where Swedes make airplanes which are exported so that men, women and children in countries far away can be blown to pieces more efficiently.

On arrival in prison she handed in the details of everyone who might come and visit during her stay behind bars; full address and social security number.

One month in a Swedish prison might not sound that bad to you, I mean, some people spend years in there and get out in one piece, right? I never had to go to jail myself, but spent 26 hours locked up in a cell in Norway once. No drama, I was ok, but I learned that it isn't fun to have your freedom taken away.

A month must be a long time to spend without friends, family, your job or a bloody view for that matter (especially when all you did was to light a few candles on the wrong side of a fence).

I was meant to go visit Ulrika during Christmas, so I called the place and asked about visiting hours. Turns out I wasn't on the "guest list". Strange, but perhaps she forgot I promised to come, I thought to myself. Or perhaps you can only receive a certain number of people?

Today I got a snail mail from Ulrika: the bastards hadn't yet repliedwhether her guest list was ok! So while the other women probably had visits from their friends and family, she was all alone during the holidays. The good news is she gets out tomorrow.

Hope the responsible prison people choked on their fucking Christmas ham, bloody bastards.

Of course the most upsetting in all this is not the "no visits" or even the fact that Ulrika had to go to jail in the first place. That was just "icing on the cake" so to speak. Sweden's export of weapons is just so obviously hypocritical and stupid I find it hard to comment on.

Christmas is over! Happy New Year!

2005-12-30T13:57:00.000+01:00

It was actually the best Christmas I had in years, but you can never know that in advance, can you?

The year is coming to an end. At least somebody at some point decided that we would count time that way up here. Bizarre idea, really.

So did 2005 teach us anything? Let’s go back in time, one year back... *here you should imagine this blurry transition the use in the movies * Can’t get a clear picture… I hear something…

... Thump. Eeek. Slurp. Ouch. Yum. Argh. Mmmm…

Yep, there it was. 2005.

View from my desk in a very lonely office - it is snowing as if there was no tomorrow.

Copenhagen

2005-12-08T23:17:00.000+01:00

I need to leave this country before I develop a speech problem - every time I open my mouth they smile and/or echo what I say. Come on, these guys are Danish – they sound like Swedes with their mouth full of potato mash! Since there is so many of them and only one of me, I will have to wait for the right moment to get even.

There will be no nice touristy pictures of Nyhavn, den Lille Havfrue or Rundetorn. I leave the office only briefly or very late in the evening to have a meal and a beer. The other night we went to Hviids to taste their special glögg. It was very tasty and strong enough to make our faces glow.

And… I just have to share a picture of my niece. I am so proud of her, although I really had nothing to do with her coming to this world, apart from… well… perhaps I toughened her mother up by making her childhood difficult. Yeah, is there anything more boring than people raving about their babies!? I know, I know, but I just can’t help myself.

That hair on top of her head... looks familiar.

All work and no play

2005-11-30T16:25:00.000+01:00

(Ok. There’s been some "play" too… )

A summary of my physical appearance (since I don't want to talk about mental health):

- Walk: duck-like from horseback riding. What a strange idea.

- Eyes: insomnia inflated made my eyelids. The little you can see of the iris is sort of spinning around. Is that normal?

- Skin: pale. Am afraid to fall asleep in the underground and wake up in the morgue when somebody mistakes me for a dead person.

- Hair. Er...

Not saying this to get your sympathy, I just want you to recognise me if we run into each other somewhere between the office and my dungeon.

Don't move to Finland

2005-11-25T15:49:00.000+01:00

I don’t really mean that. It’s just the title of a cool tune by Deltahead.

Friday, it’s raining and got dark around two o’clock in the afternoon, believe it or not. Should just go home and hibernate under an old blanket, but I need to find a good place for a music fix.

Moved

2005-11-09T17:43:00.000+01:00

A couple of my heroes having a cigarette before we start carrying.

The actual moving went beautifully, thanks to the Tremendous Ten that came to my rescue, despite heavy hangovers. It only started to go wrong when they had left and I lost the only key to the van I had borrowed. But that’s another story.

The last week I’ve been in my own little universe, now and then interrupted by phone calls, coffee breaks and friends passing by to check the status of my sanity (and there was of course the smashing Halloween party, more on that later).

Since there was no time to go through all my stuff before the move, I do it now.

"Lagerbox" does not mean "box with beer in it".

The boxes should be opened carefully, you never know what is in there, they were packed in a big hurry. I have to decide what to keep and what to throw away. What was I really up to this last decade? There are striking patterns, possible to distinguish when you spread the evidence over the floor: letters, tickets, photographs, receipts and poems. It’s like a Swedish bag of assorted candy: sweet, sour, and salt. I taste them all, and it is a strange experience.

My new home does not get along with furniture. The house is a hundred years old and has all these weird angles and corners which are really nice until you try to place a big old coffer somewhere. No matter where I place that old thing it just looks wrong! Been dragging the furniture across the floor a number of times now. I even found myself looking at this interior decoration show on television, just to get a hint(there are a number of those shows, it’s the new porn). Apparently you need either lots of money or your own carpenter.

So do I

A) get rid of the furniture?

B) rob a bank?

C) flutter my eyelashes at the nearest carpenter?

From the pictures I took it seems we were constantly on a break, sitting on that ugly old couch somewhere...

Still around...

2005-10-26T14:19:00.000+02:00

... just very busy!

Useless?

2005-10-02T22:57:00.000+02:00

Tonight we saw Charlie and the Chocolate factory, and it made me so happy I got a lump in my throat! Tim Burton... is he married? Googling… ah, yes, apparently he is. To Helena Bonham Carter. So I guess I’ll just never marry then.

I had that same happy feeling many years ago in Paris, at a big Tinguely exhibit at Centre Pompidou. It’s still so clear in my head, all those strange objects moving, squeaking and thumping. Most of the objects do little more than that.

Mike Teavee complains about the fact that the fireworks and waterfalls in the chocolate factory are useless and not good for anything. Charlie replies something like “it is candy, it is not supposed to be useful”. I’ll keep that in mind the next time a more adult voice in my head dares ask why I put hours and hours on creating an outfit for a costume party.

Gammal kärlek rostar aldrig

2005-09-30T17:18:00.000+02:00

Some voices do magic. One of them belongs to Freddie Wadling.

He is always there in the periphery, ever since I feel in love as a teenager. I re-discover him now and then and have a new crush. This was one of those days.

And apparently he performs at Orionteatern soon. Need to get a ticket for that, if there are any left.

And I've managed to sleeeeeeep! I played doctor with the boys in the Grave. Their prescription: a beer and a licorice shot. Went home and slept like a baby.

Insomnia

2005-09-28T03:02:00.000+02:00

Sleep. What a beautiful word that is.

Tried to make myself tired by exaggerated physical exercise. Now every little movement is painful. Still. No. Sleep.

Insomnia must be what makes people climb high buildings and shoot people.

Insomnia. Sounds like the name of a beautiful creature. But it’s not. It is what will tip me over the edge and make me go bonkers.

So don’t speak to me with a high pitch voice. Don’t look at me with a funny expression on your face. Don’t vote for Moderaterna.

Even the birds have fancy homes...

2005-09-25T23:51:00.000+02:00

Seen from Västerbron

Found this today: a pretty fancy birds house. Wonder what sort of rent they have to pay. Maybe if I built a really big one...

Bad hair life

2005-09-20T13:00:00.000+02:00

My Cod, he is right... it does look like it was combed with a hand grenade. My little Canon reveals a whole new world, and I am not sure what to think of it. Ida will help me do something about it tonight, scissors it is, we are way beyond combs and brushes.

I signed up to bostad direkt, which means I get phonecalls and emails from people who want to sublet their flats. But who can afford that sort of rent?!? Seriously - I don't know anyone who could.

Heard on the news this morning (while I was contemplating over my hair situation) that the royal family from here on has to declare what they do with our tax money. Looking forward to the reading. Let's get rid of them.

In the forest

2005-09-18T18:32:00.000+02:00

Mushroom

I tried my new camera, a little Canon S70. I was supposed to pick mushrooms for dinner, but found the poisonous ones more interesting. And easier to spot!

House trained homo sapiens needs new home

2005-09-12T10:33:00.000+02:00

Got the news last night on arrival from Norway. Next to floods and melting glaciers it might not be a big problem, but October in Stockholm is not nice for camping. I have six weeks to solve the situation.

Should have stayed up in the Barents Sea.

Help please.

Happily hibernating

2005-08-28T21:16:00.000+02:00

Summer is coming to an end, it’s getting colder and I’ve done what are probably the last few rides on Uggli (well we’ll see, as long as there is no ice on the road...).

Last weekend we did Mälaren Runt, a bike run around Lake Mälaren. No less than 15 000 bikes! It was a beautiful day, and that sound makes the little hairs on my neck stand. Along the road people had picnics just to see us passing by. Jalle and Pia had taken out the blue old Ural with its sidecar; they got a lot of smiling and waving. Pia took some piccies since she had her hands free, until her camera died. You can almost see the silly happy smile on my face. I kept it all day. My passenger Marianne and I couldn’t help but make little sounds of happiness, Beavis and Butthead style. Apart from that unfortunate moment when I spat a big flying bastard bug right in Marianne’s face of course… so sorry about that sweetie, it’s like a reflex!

Yesterday I took my hung-over friend Lena out for a little ride. The first few curves were slightly wobbly since Lena was a bit worried and consequently suffered from rigor mortis. She got the hang of it after a while though, but the huge borrowed helmet kept bumping into the back of my head. It was like that parody of Darth Vader in Space balls.

Darth and I went to Wira bruk, a place where they used to make swords for the Swedish army. Once again a moment when I cursed the fact that I still don’t have a camera! Reminded me very much of Engelsbergs Bruk where I worked as a guide once. I love that smell of tar, earth and iron.

Summer is definitely over on Wednesday since I will once again travel north of the Arctic Circle.

Closet killer

2005-08-15T10:56:00.000+02:00

I decided to finally throw the ugly old closet out. It has been leaning over my bed the last couple of years. Realised I'd never get it down the stairs in one piece, heavy and unstable as it was, so I took out the screwdriver and started to "dismember" it.

The screws were of course stuck, and I started to lose my temper. Arrrrgh - it looked like the screws were on the winning side. You little fuckers ... it got personal and all of a sudden the closet symbolised everything that went wrong the last few years!

So I took out the hammer and pounded away in a state best described as frenzy, "Just die you piece of shit!".

When the whole thing finally fell apart I lifted my hands in the air, still holding the hammer, and performed a little dance. There were pieces of closet all over the bedroom. "Banzai perkele din jävla helvetes skitmöbel!!!" - the cry of victory came out as a mix of Swedish, Finnish and Japanese.

While I was at it, or rather in it, I threw out some more crap and the hammer was put to use several times during the afternoon. Just in case the crap would try to make its way back into my flat.

Am I going mad? Possibly. But it Feels. So. Good.

(And check this out, high speed photography.)

Portable music – what a brilliant idea!

2005-08-11T15:36:00.000+02:00

OK, I know this is not exactly news anymore, but there are so many things we are so used to having that we don’t reflect on them anymore.

Sitting here listening to a mix of excellent music Christian gave me a while ago (currently in New Zealand, lucky boy). I can listen to music whenever I want - how cool is that – there are heaps of bands and artists in a tiny machine that fits into your pocket, and if you don’t feel like listening to one particular song you just push a button and change!

A dear friend who passed away recently lived through the Second World War in Finland, although he was too young to be fighting. It was considered as inappropriate to organise dances when the young boys were struggling at the frontlines. But is there a time when distraction is more needed than during a war? Of course the soldiers on leave, coming home looking handsome in their uniforms, wanted to forget about it all for an evening. My friend told me that he as a boy was on duty looking out for the authorities, while the villagers danced.

Their music came from a harmonica and stomping feet - the equivalent of the ipod I guess! Men and women who could handle an instrument were much appreciated, and music was a treat that marked a special occasion.

Remember the thrill when you finally got that record, and played it over and over again?

Another personal favourite is the paperback. They are not expensive, you can put them in your pocket, bring them everywhere and if you like the book you just pass it on to a friend. The latter has had the result that my bookshelf only has the books I didn’t like so much.

Of course none of these things are essential for survival, but they make life a little better. There are other inventions that probably had a greater impact on our daily lives.
My grandmother (born in 1907) saw a lot of changes that made everyday chores easier; these are only a few of them:

Running water from a tap - carrying water is heavy.

Electricity

Washing machine - no more freezing your hands in the river.

Vacuum cleaner – my granny had one of the first models I believe, it looked like a pink UFO!

Indoor toilets - sitting in the outhouse at -30c is not a pleasant experience, I tried it.

Of course a large part of the world’s population still doesn’t have access to any of these things.

Elisa!

2005-08-04T10:09:00.000+02:00

Yesterday my sister gave birth to a little girl. They are both well and apparently the little one has her mothers eyes, that's all I know apart from the usual facts on weight etc. Unfortunately the live in another country, so I might not get to see them in a while.

I take my new job as aunt and godmother very seriously, and have checked out what sort of bicycle to get her (looks like a chopper with flames on the fake gas tank). I will also make a list of the most important movies and books we have to check out together, although she might not appreciate samourais and vampires until a few years from now. Perhaps start with something more child friendly.

Hey... just saw the first picture, she is beautiful! Doesn't look like those cloned ones at all.

Scandinauntie

Cloned babies?

2005-08-03T11:37:00.000+02:00

I wrote this long account of my recent adventures, but didn't have tome to finish it yet. Anyway, today is my first day at work after the holidays. There is a lot of mails to go through. A lot.

Many of my colleagues seem to have spent their summer having babies - I have recieved heaps of pictures with these brand new human beings. I downloaded them all... and I discovered something: it's the same baby on all the pictures! The same bald head, swollen eyelids and little growths sticking out (hands - feet?).

I am not sure what to make of this, any idea what's going on? Better get back to those mails.

2005-07-31T13:16:00.000+02:00

I am alive, and on my way home. Just checked my mails; it seems I've been a bad friend lately, sorry, just didn't have much time on the net. You'll understand.

To do or not to do before leaving

2005-06-30T18:44:00.000+02:00

Check the motorbike - yeah, as if I ever really did that check before leaving.
Laundry - didn’t I just do that, yesterday?
Pay bills - and where did I put them…
Clean flat - If I just take all that stuff lying on the floor and put it in the cupboard, that’s faster.
Get ticket - I’ll just go down to the harbour and see if they can squeeze me in.
Solve the music situation - isn’t there an old tape recorder in the house… or should I just bring the accordion?
Solve the camera situation - Done! I went to get my camera today, so eventually I will even be able to post piccies. As soon as I also have the charger…

At least I know what not to bring: my laptop.

Midsummer adventures

2005-06-29T12:47:00.000+02:00

After midsummer partying on Aspö, a couple of very long bike rides and some more partying with the Espy crowd I feel a bit queasy. Perhaps not so strange, the woman is not a teenager anymore!

Thursday morning I pulled Uggli out of the garage and headed southwards. There was lots of traffic - everybody was heading to their summerhouses for the weekend, but one of the advantages of riding a bike is that you can sneak in-between. The sun was shining from a clear blue sky, and I did the first 300 kilometres with a silly smile on my face. A few things to keep in mind:

Sunscreen is useful, especially if you wear an open helmet. I discovered Rudolph the red nose reindeer in the mirror somewhere near Kalmar. My muzzle will peel for the rest of my life.
All the rednecks live in Småland. They disguise their feeling of inferiority towards people living in the capital by making stupid jokes. Just smile along and ignore.
Lonely women on motorbikes are noticed. It’s a fact that can come back and haunt you when you least expect it, so try to behave.
When the words “I should get some petrol” appear on your inner screen, do not ignore. I got cocky and passed a slow old-timer on a very expensive bike. A few seconds later my engine went blooob- bloob - blob. I managed to make it look like I meant to get off the road right there and turned on the spare petrol. This leads us to the next lesson learned:
Don’t try to look cool or take unnecessary risks. Someone or something will punish you.
Some of the car people have their safety belts on too tight, which leads to lack of oxygen in the brain area. Don’t sneeze when they pass by, ‘cause they will only leave about 10 centimetres between yourself and eternity.
The drivers above also think that vehicles on two wheels move slower.
Don’t sing. There are heaps of bugs flying around - you’ll be like a whale sifting krill - keep mouth shut. At some point something big hit my shoulder, couldn’t make out if it was a small bird or a very large bumblebee. Wouldn’t want whatever-it-was in my throat.

The weekend on “Pelle’s island” was a marvellous mix of tradition and complete decadence. Pelle wanted us to get up and start preparing everything for the party, so at 8.30 in the morning we were woken up by very loud march music. With a good sense of self preservation he got out of the house and went for a morning swim just as he had put on the record.

We made a midsummer pole (“midsommarstång”), it was beautiful all covered in green and flowers with a flag at the top. We danced around it later (something I didn’t even enjoy when I was 5 but there was a lot of pressure). We had lots of good food and snaps and even managed to play some volleyball. Er… and there is nothing more I want to share in this forum.

On the way home I made a 2 hour stop in Västervik where Jonas and his bunch offered me lunch. A couple of hours and a freaky near death experience later I jumped into the tub to rinse off the insects before heading for the Esperanza. It was great to see the crew again, heaps of hugs and kisses. Monday we went to the Vasa museum, where I practiced my old guiding skills. After an hour I actually started to remember the exact number of guns and sculptures again.

Soon holidays, not sure where to go yet, but I guess Finland is the next stop.

I will now try to pull my stitches out, so keep your fingers crossed. Yes, I know it's stupid, but I am not setting foot in that hospital again (see below).

Going for a spin

2005-06-23T00:34:00.000+02:00

How did it get this late?! Decided to get an early start tomorrow. Going south to celebrate midsummer at Aspö. Uggli is filled with fresh new oil. I didn’t bother changing the oil filter since the screw was so worn out - it should be changed at the same time. Uggli is so different from the old chopper, I am all confused on where to find things on it (her… him?). Anders and Larry, two gentlemen from the grave, gave me a hand and some good advice.

I will force myself to get up early (not a morning person), look forward to feeling the morning sun on my face. Will make that long ride south a slow one so that I don’t miss out on any new and interesting detours.

The Scandinalien patient

2005-06-20T19:45:00.000+02:00

It’s been an interesting week of nudity, blood, drugs and humiliation: I spent time in a hospital for the first time ever. No worries, it turned out not to be any of the scary things it could have been, and in a few days I’ll be back to nearly normal. They just had to cut a few holes to make sure.

Perhaps you’ve been in surgery, and then this is nothing interesting, but for me it is a new and inspiring experience!

Day one:
They give me sedatives to start with and everything is groovy. I lie there and wait. And then I wait some more. The nurse turns up, slightly fluffy a the edges, and says “I am so sorry, but there is an emergency so we can’t operate on you today.“ She offers me to stay, but I decide to go home and sleep it off. When I wake up quite a few hours later there is something strange about the way the wind blows through the flat….I left the door towards the stairs open. Do I have to explain how grateful I am my neighbours didn’t walk in to find me in my birthday suit drugged on the couch? Or… maybe they did and I’ll never know!

The doctor calls and asks me to come back to the hospital the next day. Marianne comes home and cooks us a delicious meal. She takes advantage of my dizziness and beats the crap out of me at both cards and scrabbles before I fall asleep again.

Day two:
Early wakeup, off to the hospital again. More funky pills, same bed, same procedure and – not to be forgotten - the same clothes.

There are mainly two things that prevent people from doing a runner once they’ve seen all the scary stuff inside a hospital:

the drugs
the funny nightgown, attached with only one tiny string around your neck, but none to prevent your butt from showing.

And then they give you the robe. I actually prefer being caught bare butted than wearing that purple tent with tiny birds (flowers… flies?) on it. I also got the funny socks with no elastic that you stumble on and the blue plastic footwear. It is a humbling experience.

We wander off to where they’re going to check out my insides. There is a tube (the first of many as it turns out) going from my arm to a little plastic bag hanging on a sort of trolley I pull along with me. I am wearing the buttgown, the hideous robe, the funny socks AND the blue plastic bags. We step into a room with a table that reminds me of all those autopsies in detective movies. The staff of horror says hello and hands over the one thing to make the outfit perfect: a marvelous hat! I say “thankyou, do you have any more humorous items you want me to wear before we get this started?” I think they grin behind their masks, but who knows, I can’t see their faces.

Remember Cheswick (or was it Martini…) in “One flew over the cuckoo’s nest”, and his fascination when he pokes the eye of a fish out? I can understand that sort of interest, and I feel it as I stand there. If only I wasn’t the fish.

Another nurse injects a fluid into a faucet previously inserted on my hand and the room starts turning. Then comes a mask over my face, and I keep thinking “better keep my eyes open, better keep them open so that they don’t think I am asleep ‘cause I read this article about a man who awoke in the middle of……”

And then I wake up. I babble on about something that is very important and extremely clever (unfortunately I can’t remember it). They dump me and my bed on wheels in a big room with other people in wheelie beds, some babbling, some moaning and others half asleep. “A lady keeps calling for you” they say. I smile drunkenly “Dat muscht be Marianne…” I want to go back to sleep but there is a reeeaaaally annoying woman who just won’t leave me alone. I consider biting her hand as she reaches for my funny hat, but I let her take it off and at the same time pull away another tube across my face.

I notice more and more tubes on my carcass, as they wheel us around some more. Strange things seem to have happened while I was out. I still wear a bare-butt-gown, but it seems to be a new one. Uncanny. And what did they do to my throat? I sound like Tom Waits when I give the nurses my compliments for driving the bed safely and without hitting anything or anyone on the way.

I am back in the smaller room. Another girl is there surrounded by her family and I feel very little and lonely. But then Marianne and Eva arrive. I try to look my best (HAH!). I am so happy to see them.

Just when they’re about to leave again I ask the nurse for the little trolley. My arm is still attached to the plastic bag, but it now hangs on my bed so I can’t go anywhere. Now, here comes a Kodak moment for the family album. The nurse looks at me and goes “oh, you need to… ahum… ?”. My face forms a "?" - I might have to pee later! Now it’s her turn to look confused, “er, didn’t they tell you?” She points at something beside the bed. I look down. I lift my blanket, stop to think for a bit (still woozy)…. and look again. Jesus - what have they done!? Another tube… going from under the blanket to another little plastic bag… “look, I peed all that without even knowing!”

My dear friends laugh as hard as you dare in a hospital, while I lean over the side to verify that this actually really happened.

Later that night when I fail to sleep, it becomes my little entertainment to check the bag now and then.

[I didn't have a camera with me, so I drew you a picture.]

Birds

2005-06-06T18:23:00.000+02:00

This weekend I got dragged out of my dungeon to smell the flowers. I am not sure where we were exactly, but it was all good. And Jenny lives there, which was conventient since it rained a lot. Three girls in a little house somewhere in the spinach, I was glad I came along. Not that Marianne gave me much of a choice. We had a delicious risotto, good wine, long walks and a fireplace. Feels like yesterday the three of us sat and giggled in our tiny flats on Rue du Mail in Paris, but it's quite a few years ago by now. Jenny got married, and Marianne and I... ahum, well, we didn't get married. Apart from that we're pretty much the same.

Jenny has however turned into a complete bird freak: she brings huge binoculars for walks and her homepage is a list of bird species. And it doesn't end there: when she asked me to put on some music I found a CD with bird sounds - on top of the pile of CDs! We have decided not to try and stop this madness: she looks both happy and healthy. I really have to sort out the camera situation, so that I can post some piccies too.

Yesterday Marianne moved in. We fought over the couch, I won, she gets the bed. At this moment she's typing away at my kitchen table and I am supposed to work. Which is not going so well.

OK. Have to get some work done so that I can beat her at cards later. She threatens to take a picture of me wearing my glasses and post it on the internet. Which would have been fine, if it wasn't for the fact that I got them when I was 9! I almost regret letting her stay here.

I want to both eat the cake and keep it

2005-06-02T11:07:00.000+02:00

Hell - I want the whole bakery! We only live once; at least that’s what I believe. A stressful thought, don’t you agree? So off we go, on the highest gear, racing like a madwoman. Life is vibrant, everything happens fast, and a lot! But no engine can go on full speed all the time. After a while it slows down, and then - eeek - emptiness and lethargy! A slow and bumpy stretch of road where you’re left to think about your choices and the mess often referred to as "life"

After having gathered my few constantly arguing brain cells, what’s left of my heart, soul and other intestines, I try to sort it all out. That’s when I start deleting blog posts since years back and show other signs of irrationality.

Am I manic depressive? Maybe a wee bit then. Or perhaps I am only a typical child of the western society (why is it called "western" - it all depends on which direction you come from, no?).

This procedure is repeated once in a while, every second year or so. Every time I’ve been saved and eventually brought back to some state of normality because I have this golden treasure: friends.

If I could I’d write beautiful poetry about them all. But it would be banal and full of silly engine metaphors. So I won’t. I will just tell them how much I appreciate getting those calls and silly messages. And give heaps of hugs.

And probably still forget all your birthdays.

Torture on schedule

2005-05-24T18:35:00.000+02:00

As an office rat you need exercise. I also decided to quit smoking, and needed to add something new to my life. I tried kickboxing and it was love at first punch! Last weekend I took my first grade, the yellow belt. Its like scheduled torture on a volunteer basis, I’ve been in pain since the start. Sounds like a lot of fun, huh? At least I get light-headed more seldom during practice these days. I’ve also learned how to eat properly in order to last the whole session - no tiny salads for lunch.

Might sound silly, but I also like the fact that you fight barefoot. You can start out without an awful lot of equipment. Eventually you need to get protection for your head, teeth, feet and legs. And gloves of course, I still borrow mine from the club.

My coach Ulla Skrimsjö (see picture) is one of the most experienced kickboxers in the country. She won’t let you get away with being lazy but we laugh a lot in between the (sadistic) exercises.

We’ve also had the opportunity to practice with "superman", Ferdinand Mack, lately. He trained my coach, and it’s been very inspiring having him at Allstyle as a guest coach for a week. He’s a five time world champion and coaches the German kickboxing team.

Today’s painful spot: my stern. Well at least I seem to have some muscles in that area since they hurt so bad. And it will be so much worse tomorrow, yay!

[This post has no connection with the angry lines below, however I realise I am starting to look like a very aggressive woman...]

Anger made me do it!

2005-05-22T12:52:00.000+02:00

OK. Now I just have to post something.

Recently a peaceful protest outside a porn club in Stockholm went wrong, and it ended up with some people getting into a fight, some bruises, nothing serious. The whole thing made the headlines of course, and here we go, the dogs are loose.

The other evening a program soon to be broadcasted on Swedish television was announced like this:

The extreme feminists now hold Sweden in a firm grip…

Apparently some sick conspiracy theory will be presented.

- YOU BLOODY IDIOTS! Hundreds of years of oppression is now overshadowed by some male journalists who finally see their chance to "set things straight" and put these "man-hating feminists" in place! So... where are these extreme feminists to be found? I'd really like to know, honestly, since I've been a feminist since my teens, and on very few occasions did I come across any other feminists I would label as "extremists".

Far more upsetting than a few angry individuals outside a porn club is that there are so few that stand up and say “Hey - this is not ok! Women should have salaries on the same level as men doing the exact same job!” Yeah, this is still not the case in Sweden 2005. A woman doctor earns less than her male colleagues for example.

Women are still not listened to: in hospitals, in courts, in their working place, in their homes. The only reason for this being that we are born without a f***ng penis! I am lucky to be from a country where nobody with the law on their side can mutilate me, but there are means to limit our freedom also here in our western society. Often so sneaky and subtle you can't even protest against it.

If you put feminist glasses on for a day, and observe what is happening in your own close environment you might get surprised, whether you are a man or a woman. Soak it up; take it in, if you still believe in equal rights for all and have some sense of solidarity I promise that by the end of the day you’ll start feeling a bit "extreme" too! The thing is that we are so used to the way things are, that we don’t even see it anymore, it is all "normal" and "business as usual".

I can’t see life through the feminist glasses all the time, because there is so much shit going on that I’d spend my whole life in a constant rage. Perhaps I would end up picking up a baseball bat and pay some people a visit too.

Banzai perkele!
Väinö Linna

My first post

2003-07-07T22:57:00.000+02:00

I'll try and think of reasons for having a weblog:

1) My mother worries a bit because I'll be traveling alone far away from good old cold
Scandinavia. In the past I've not always been very good at keeping her updated
on my whereabouts...

2) There is not enough trash in cyber space

3) I have some
friends that might appreciate it

4) Hrm.... I'll get back to the subject.