One American in Sweden

Coming Soon...

2010-07-06T06:20:00.000-07:00

Look for my new collaborative blog, Cadence.

Cadence

Farewell to the Land of the Midnight Sun

2010-06-06T00:58:00.000-07:00

Just so easy
When the whole world fits inside of your arms
Don't really need to pay attention to the alarm
Wake up slow...

My year of "making banana pancakes" comes to a close. This will be my last blog post as a Swedish resident.

It has been a good year. I have learned a lot. I have had many of preconceived notions challenged and many enforced. Sweden has been a good host and the Swedish people as well. So, I take with me a fond appreciation of the people and their culture. It has also made me question many aspects of American culture that I, many times, accept as just the way it is.

Thanks to those who read. I know many read because my views were foreign to them. I hope I have made some think, sometimes laugh and sometimes pull their hair out in aggravation. As events unfold in this crazy world we inhabit, always remember dominate, or be dominated—it’s that simple in this universe. Freedom requires serious defense and offense in order for it to exist in any form. Your mind is always the prize for anyone wishing to extinguish that flame of freedom.

Hey då...

Weather, Bag Barrettes and Nuns

2010-06-02T01:28:00.000-07:00

I went running this morning in shorts and a sleeveless Tshirt. That's always a step in the right direction. The unusual thing about it was that it was fifty eight degrees. My, how far we've fallen! Fifty eight degrees, in Phoenix, and it's generally hard to muster up the wherewithal to go out and brave the cold. Certainly, it's sweats and long sleeves. Maybe even a sweat jacket. Drop another five or ten degrees and we would typically be breaking out the gloves. But, it's a dry cold.

Summer is reaching Sweden. The bikes are back and the Swedes seem to come alive. The cafes and restaurants have all put the tables outside and the street vendors are back in earnest. Lilac bushes are in bloom. I had completely forgotten about them. I have not thought of them in years. I love seeing them. I remember picking the blooms from the trees as a child and seeing them again is definitely nice.

Also, the sanity challenged are back out. Walking home from school the other day the park wished us farewell with a homeless man passed out on the park bench in his own urine, with his penis still hanging out of his pants. This same park greeted us last May with a heroin addict just as he was injecting by a tombstone. My children have certainly gotten an education this past year. I do not think this is necessarily a bad thing, as this is the world we live in and one we have been insulated from in the especially antiseptic suburbs of Phoenix.

On to lighter topics. I am loading up on "bag barrettes". (See image in post) These things are genius! You use them to close, obviously, bags. Snacks, frozen food, whatever. I have never seen them in the states. We usually use those big clips that always break. These are like big plastic barrettes of varying sizes. Such a simple thing and one of those "why didn't I think of that" products.

I saw a nun on the tbana this morning. A real, old school nun. Granted she was about 80 but I wondered if Sweden was producing a new generation of Catholic nuns. So, I looked it up. It turned out Sweden has of the fastest growing Catholic Churches in Europe. Though Sweden is an agnostic country , by and large, they have an established Lutheran church. The Protestant principle of separation of church and state is not practiced in Sweden. Because of this, without special permission of the Swedish government, the Catholic Church can not own property in Sweden. A friend told me this once and I sort of disregarded it but here it was in black and white. Who knew?

Eurovision 2010

2010-05-30T01:02:00.000-07:00

I plugged into Eurovision last night to see what it was all about. The concept is similar to American Idol. The European countries plus Israel competing in a singing competition. It is a little more theatric than American Idol relying more on dancers and back up vocals whereas American Idol is more about individual talent. I am not a big American Idol watcher and like many people I usually only tune in when they do the initial shows that show the highly entertaining "try outs". Though I have gotten roped in a season or two I, hesitatingly, admit.

However, I found the concept pretty cool. Between acts they would show families from the countries in their apartment living rooms so it showed a little of how they lived. Sometimes they were dressed in traditional clothing (Ukraine) and sometimes they would show the different foods they were snacking on while watching Eurovision and rooting for their country. They would show the different flags and for a non-European all that is sort of fascinating.

The way it worked was that no country was allowed to vote for themselves and they had a sliding scale of points to give out. The largest block being 12 votes. It was funny to watch most of the former Yugoslavian countries vote for each other and the former Soviet satellites pretty much did the same. Old animosities seemed to live through the votes also. Israel gave the Germans exactly zero votes and the German singer was never very popular with the Russian voters despite the fact that she was the clear favorite.

Europe has become so much more Americanized since my last visit here. There was still a lot of that hokey Euro-ness but there was some good stuff. I was leaning heavily towards the acoustic John Mayerish sounding guy from Belgium when the German contestant came on and she was incredible. Light years above the the others, she easily blew the rest away. And she was so, so un-German, just watching her made you happy. Congratulations to 19 year old Lena, 2010 Eurovision winner.

Just Fondue...Nothing Else

2010-05-27T01:34:00.000-07:00

Many of the foreign to Sweden people I know complain about the Swedes. They complain about their reservation, their lack of service in stores and other various society wide traits. They complain they are too insular and that it takes an impossibly long time to forge friendships, real solid relationships, with them. As I have said, I find the Swedish people pleasant and open. So, I typically laugh and tell them, "You have done it all wrong, you must FIRST live among the Germans, then your perspective will change."

Though there are some aspects of Germany I liked better, I have found Sweden much more livable. But, often times I do find myself wondering, "maybe they weren't that bad, maybe it was you" or "maybe you just got a bad batch of them" or "maybe it was just that period in your life". Such was the case, this past week when on vacation with, mostly, Germans. By the end of the week, let me tell ya, it was all fresh in my mind and no, it wasn't me, wasn't a bad batch and not that period in my life. I don't wish to knock them all, I have met plenty of, OK, a few, really splendid Germans.

First off, the cutting in line. What the *$%# is that all about anyway? It wasn't even crowded on this island. There was no wait for anything. Yet, there they were, ungroomed hairy teeth mustaches, cutting, pushing and prodding to get first. I watched as a young girl struggled to get her suitcase up the ramp to the ferry and a 60 year old German guy nearly bowled her over to get past her on the ramp. The girl stopped and stamped her feet in dismay. We just watched, laughing and saying "classic!".

The cigarettes and putting cigarette butts out on beautiful places. Really? Here you are on this beautiful, unspoiled beach, so privileged to be there, and not only are you disgustingly puffing away but you are putting cigarette butt after cigarette butt out on the beach. Why the chain smoking anyway? What's a pack of those things cost in Germany? 27 euro?

The black socks and sandals. This MUST end. It must. My radar goes off when I see it and I immediately know rudeness of untold proportions is in the vicinity. Ditto with the lavender suit jackets with the mustard colored ties.

The bad, bad, grooming. Please get to the friseur and cut that Brillo pad on the top of your head.

The meanness and gruffness and the weird ability to be laughing and yoking it up among friends one minutes and to turn into Burger Mesiter Meister Burger with the public. My son was born in Germany and my delivery doctor did this transformation on me. During the labor he was this soothing and nurturing, perfect, man to have at the helm. The minute my son was born, it was like someone pushed a button and he turned into this automaton of bare bones efficiency.

I have a friend who has lived in Germany and he says "the Germans fear their neighbors more than they fear their government." I do not particularly want to fear either. I would greatly prefer if they both just left me alone. But that does explain why nearly everything we did while there was met with the phrase, "that is excessive by German standards". We had a TV that was excessive, our freezer was excessive, supposedly a dryer was unnecessary and just ruined clothes, don't operate power tools or any noise making device of Sundays, we had too much recycling. Unfortunately though, to them, the taxes weren't excessive because I could get behind that notion.

You are probably wondering what the title to this means. This was an invitation we received one time. This was exactly how it was presented to us. "We would like you to come over for fondue on Saturday night. There will just be fondue. Nothing else." Seriously? How could you refuse such a gesture? How do you even respond to that. "Yes. We will be there. One hour. No more."

American Girl...Whatcha Ya Wantin' in the Olive Man's World?

2010-05-24T01:46:00.000-07:00

I am hopelessly in love. With a place. And a people. And a culture.

I have spent the better part of ten days in an undisclosed location on the Adriatic Sea. Undisclosed because, though well known to European travelers, it is still so unspoiled and wondrous that I am hesitant to inform more of the world about it. So, like Dick Cheney's secret bunker in the days following September 11th, it will, for now, remain my undisclosed location. I am selfish like that.

We rented a small apartment in a family villa just a stone's throw from the sea. The owner, a family man and former radiologist, had his roots on this island for centuries. He had left briefly, for a few years, to chase the dream in a large Canadian city. For a few years he worked three jobs, saving every dime, to bring back to his home. At present, he has not even left the island to go into the mainland city for over a year. "Why would I?' he says as he communicates this to us in his broken English.

The financial crisis, dying Euro and political upheaval may as well be happening in Mars. The guests may stop coming but this lifestyle will continue much as it always has. It will survive the socialists, communists, globalists, fascists and their various puppets-as it always has. It is a region that is no stranger to strife. He points out a building on an island in the distance that once served as a prison to house his people by a bordering country.

One morning he took us on his boat to a tour of some of the neighboring islands. We stopped at a family restaurant. It was the summer home of a German immigrant family who had come to the area some decades ago. We were treated to the meal of a life time. Carafe after carafe of homemade wine, fresh vegetables from the property, fresh fish caught that morning and lots and lots of olive oil. All made on premises. From beginning to end, I think it lasted four hours.

The owner, Tonchi, came to our table to say hello to his good friend. I was later amazed to find out he was seventy years old. He could have easily passed for 45, even with his light German complexion and the constant sun of the region. Crystal clear blue eyes, matching the azure blue waters surrounding us, showed the peace of a man who had made all the correct moves.

After a day or two the abject freedom we were experiencing became apparent to me. We were riding in boats with, not only, no life preservers on -- there wasn't a life preserver to be had. No seat belts, no laundry lists of things I could not do on the beach. I was buying homemade wines and hand pressed olive oils. No FDA labels telling me the fat content and federally mandated this or that. Crosses adorned the beaches and no whiny and self loathing useful idiots to complain how offended they were by their presence.

I know all too well, many paradises have another side that is more akin to hell. I never once felt that omnipresent cloak of vulnerability you feel in so many of our vacation paradises. I never felt that if I strayed off the beaten path some perilous fate could await. (Ironically as I type this the news streams from the USA of a state of emergency has been declared in Jamaica). Children played innocent games of yesteryear in the city square. Grandmothers swept stoops and property owners tinkered diligently on their properties. Cash was king, deals were made with handshakes and bartering seemed to be a common method of trade.

Yes, this is the world where I belong.

Sunrise

2010-05-13T05:02:00.000-07:00

First off, I am not a pastry person. I can normally take or leave a pastry or a donut of any kind. Unnecessary calories I would rather use for things I enjoy more. Save the calories for lunch, I figure.

However, here in Sweden I have developed an affinity for the kanelbulle or cinnamon bun. The cinnamon roll is said to have been introduced by the Swedes and October 4th is the Official Kanelbulle Day in Sweden. The kanelbulle is to Sweden what a berliner is to Germany or the croissant is to France. A must try food for visitors.

Different variations are available. Cardemom and some delightfully sticky green stuff that I believe to be almond or mazarin are typically available. Small bakeries are dotted through out the city and a fresh kanelbulle is never hard to find.

I eat them daily, either fresh form the bakery or the frozen, in the red bag, Findus brand. So much better than those yucky, big, messy American cinnamon buns on the right. Yuck. Who eats those anyway?

An Uneven Trade

2010-05-03T01:14:00.001-07:00

A letter came home from the school the other day to warn of a man in a car trying to lure young kids into his car. It was in the more affluent suburb of Lidingö, an inner archipelago island northeast of Stockholm city. Such letters are not to uncommon in the United States. However, here in Sweden, we live in a sort of denial based illusion that it is still incredibly safe. That it is still this 1970's society of unlocked doors, Abba and unfledged blonde innocence.

Children are routinely out and about in the city alone. They ride public transportation, sometimes long distances, either alone or with their mates. They shop alone. They get off to school alone. Originally, I was a little jarred by the sight of a pack of smelly eight year olds making their way through the T-bana, lollipops in mouth and skateboards under their arms. But eventually, as they say, when in Rome do as the Romans. I found myself doing the same.

The Lidingö letter was a bit of an intrusion into my bubble of self delusion. I knew there was an underbelly. I can read enough Swedish to make out many of the articles in my local freebie paper that told the tale of a sex crime ring involving immigrant children in the Odenplan area. I had never witnessed anything unusual in that area and I quickly brushed it out of my mind.

It makes you question how a country loses it's innocence and the sadness that it does. Many Swedes look back to the 1970s as the golden days. It was a small homogeneous culture, newly wealthy and teeming with idealism of a still undemonstrated welfare state. They never locked doors, I am told. Crime was nearly non-existent and many of the social ills Sweden sees today were less prevalent. I do not know if all that is true but I have bought into it simply from desire to believe it was.

My own country lost it's innocence in the 1960s, following what many perceive as the blissful decade of the 1950's. Regardless whether you share that view, it was indeed a more innocent time. Values were more universal. I've also come to realize the level of siege we have grown to accept in the United States, even in the antiseptic suburban settings. Our kids don't know what it is to roam their neighborhoods, we clutch our wallets pumping gas, club our cars and, many of us don't carry lightly, if you catch my drift. Other, more urban, areas are straight out Mad Max. Once bustling and opportunity laden cities, like Detroit, have become habitats for feral humans.

Cynically, it is probably more the natural state of the human condition and that our two societies were anomalies in a brief span of time. I am more inclined to think the larger the government, the smaller the individual. Smaller individuals make smaller citizens and they build smaller and less desirable places to live. The only rightful role of government is to protect a man's rights, to protect him from violence. In this context, sane people should be looking around and seeing the state is an abysmal failure and asking themselves, "just what are we hanging on to here?"

Lada De, Lada Da

2010-05-01T01:30:00.000-07:00

I have found my next car. I noticed the coolest looking car while walking down Tulegatan yesterday. I have a penchant for old SUV type vehicles, Broncos and Landcruisers from the 70s and 80s or old Range Rovers especially. This instantly caught my eye. Hmmm, what make is this I wondered, as I had never seen anything like it. It's ruggedly simplicity was candy for my eyes.

As I was surveying it, I walked around back and read the letters. Lada. Being a Russian history buff, I instantly knew I was looking at the "People's Car". A staple in former Soviet bloc countries and Cuba and a known piece of shit the world over. Though countless men named Sasha are rumored to have kept them running for decades with not much other than a wrench and duct tape.

Lada is the trademark of AvtoVAZ, a Russian car manufacturer based in Togliatti, Samara Oblast. Although touted as the people's car only members of the nomenclature actually had the privilege of driving and owning luxuries such as autos of any sort. The Soviet Union was an elitist society, with cars and roads reserved for the elite. Though high ranking party members wouldn't have been caught dead in the Lada, they preferred the luxury vehicle Chaika. Not surprising as elitism is what Marxism breeds and is prevalent in Sweden, in my opinion. Though, the people here seem to submit to it willingly.

Never the less, I am on the hunt for a Lada when I get home. It's the least I can do to repay the climategate email leakers at Tomsk State University.

Time and Space

2010-04-30T01:32:00.000-07:00

so many times i've wondered where i've gone
and how i found my way back in
i look around awhile for something lost
maybe i'll find it in the end

I have not written for a long time. No real reason. I guess mostly not much to say and not much to complain about. Spring has sprung in Sweden and the days are once again long. The year is coming to a close and my return home is imminent. It has been a self indulgent year of introspection and discovery. A luxury. Almost guilt inducing if one readily accepts such emotions.

I am thinking of my two big storage units full of stuff. I do not really miss any of it. Well, my freedom enabling Acura. I have to struggle to remember half of it. I miss the Arizona desert and all it's beauty. However I do not feel so inclined to go back on the hamster wheel. Especially a hamster wheel governed by the dictates of the mob.

Thoughts of selling Texas Tacos to expats on the beaches of Belize invade my thoughts. Going back to a more globalist socialist by the hour America just does not appeal to me. I feel like a (counter) revolutionary in exile and like Lenin in Zurich accomplishing nearly as little. Conversely, Rand, Burke, Paine, Voltaire, Jefferson and Mises have been my guides.

Sometimes you have to be shaken from your comfort level chair. I miss some of the places and some of the faces. The houses, the appointments, the deadlines, the gossip, the Stepford Wives, the bullshit-I could do without it. It is an interesting place to be. Odd. It is funny how you never really change.

I think I'll start learning Spanish.

Farewell TV People

2010-04-03T00:17:00.001-07:00

The way these buildings are set up with large windows and fairly narrow roads makes for a sort of intimacy with one's neighbors. Kinda like the TV show Friends. Because our apartment is very large by Swedish standards it spans quite a few apartments on the other side. Through the year, we've gotten to know them all.

Admittedly their monikers aren't very creative. There is underwear guy, a middle aged man who routinely comes to the large window to look around outside. There are worker guys who inhabit the offices just left of us. We have breakfast people who have long, slumberly breakfasts at the picture window on the other side of their apartment. Finally, closest to my heart, we had TV people.

TV people had the largest big screen TV I had ever seen. It would make any American proud. It would greet me on those dark winter mornings when I was the first to wake and shower for the day. There was something comforting about it's presence, though I can not really identify why that is. If they were home, it was on.

We eventually got to the place where we'd notice if there was a break in the routine, which was basically eating and watching television on this mammoth screen. "TV people haven't been there all day". or 'Something's up, the TV hasn't been on the past two mornings". They were predictable. They were constant. They were normal. And then suddenly they were gone.

Yep. One day we looked over and noticed the behemoth fixture was removed from the wall. What followed was what appeared to be weeks of renovation. The renovation came to a close but the television never returned. They put up some stupid painting.

Then just as suddenly the apartment was barren. They were gone. Soon new inhabitants moved in. The new people don't have a name yet. They just seem so wrong and out of place.

First Time on Skis

2010-03-22T06:24:00.000-07:00

I do not think it is a secret that I am not a big winter enthusiast. That can be a hinderance in Scandinavia considering it has been winter now, or what I would consider winter, for about six months. That said, I took on the challenge of attempting to ski this past weekend.

Perhaps I was not what you would call a natural. I think I was a bit hampered by fear. Typically, I am not fearful of such things but after a near brush with death last year biking on a Colorado mountain, I was a little more cognizant of my own mortality. I had been mountain biking for a few days and growing more confident each day. Translation: doing stupider and stupider things without a helmet.

This culminated in me biking down a rocky mountain slope with my dog on a leash. The dog suddenly jumped in front of my tire and I invariably fell while going really, really fast and hit my head. Thankfully, at that time, I was pretty ignorant of head injuries and impending death. It wasn't until later when a celebrity of sorts fell and hit her head skiing that I realized how serious such things can be and also a friend of mine's mother, an ER nurse, clued me in on such injuries.

So now I am a bit skittish. Fear is your worst enemy when trying an adrenaline sport such as skiing. Fear also comes with age. That seems almost counterintuitive. It does, however, explain the five year olds buzzing past me and the fifteen year olds flipping down the mountains on their snow boards.

First off, if it involves packing a lot of gear, it's not for me. Skiing involves packing a lot of crap. Boots, skis, hats, gloves, snow pants, base layers, scarves, poles, helmets. Far more planning than I care to engage in. And the boots? Seriously? Torture devices if ever there were any. "Who does this" I kept asking myself.

The first day: We get up and put on all the stuff. There I was: prepared to go out on the slopes or a moon mission. It could have been either from my perspective. It was raining. After an early morning lesson by our Russian ski instructor, my daughter and I sat at a picnic table, in the drizzle, amusing ourselves by trying to come up with places we'd rather not have been. Other than in a hospital (which was an entirely possible outcome) or in a doctor's office receiving a fatal diagnosis, we were coming up short. A weekend getting water boarded at Guantanamo Bay outranked the present circumstances. At least it was warm at Gitmo and they were serving decent food.

Day two was better. The sun was out and it was a warm day. My daughter and son by this time were whizzing down the hills and by lunch time I had actually stopped falling. I never graduated past the easy slope but I overcame my fear and was actually somewhat addicted to going down the hill "one more time" by the end of the day.

Flying Ryan Air

2010-03-11T00:43:00.000-08:00

Flying to Rome was my first experience with Ryan Air. Ryan Air is typically the butt of jokes because of it's ala carte menu of services and no frills approach to flying. Anyone who had flown in the United States since the time when speculators drove oil prices up to nearly $150 a barrel, is well used to ala carte services from their airlines. You will pay to book luggage, pre-board, have a Coke and recently they've even added pay toilets (1 euro) for one hour or less flights. The good news is, however, the flights are cheap. Dirt cheap in some instances. I have heard of instances of 20sek fares. (approximately $2.50)

That said, I thought it was a great value. Four of us flew to Rome for about $600, which is actually pricey where Ryan airfare is considered. The plane was new. I've flown some transcontinental flights with Delta on planes that looked like they were being held together with dental floss and electric tape. The seats were cramped but no more so than any standard domestic class flight, really.

Additionally, it is about 90 miles outside of Stockholm in a little city called Nyköping. They make it easy to get there. Busses leave central station all day at regular intervals. I actually liked the opportunity to drive through the calm and scenic Swedish countryside. Something I rarely get the chance to do. Farms and gentle rolling slopes covered in snow dot the countryside.

Most of the complaints regarding Ryan air come from the fees. If a flight is advertised as 5sek, some get irate to see it turn to 150sek with fees for internet booking, luggage, etc. Again further proof that some people really do just expect something for nothing. I am firm believer that most times, you get what you pay for. Then it is up to you to weigh your priorities.

All things considered, it's still a great value for inexpensive travel. Even with the fees you are likely to pay double or triple with SAS or other large commercial airlines. For a quick long weekend trip and a short flight Ryan air does the job quite nicely.

Whatsa Matter, You Donta Lova Your Momma?

2010-03-02T00:32:00.001-08:00

That is the cry of the dejected street vendors in the squares of Rome. How can you not love it?

I have finally found the quintessential Europe that all Americans envision. I knew it had to exist. Stereotypes are never formed out of complete fabrication. That place, that little slice of heaven on the European continent, is Italy. I am hooked.

Only twice have I visited a place and felt such an envy. The first was Bangkok. The second Rome. A feeling of looking through the glass window into to an exclusive club where I could never gain membership. All this was their birthright. Oh, please let reincarnation be real and let me come back an Italian.

Long leisurely breakfasts on rooftop gardens leading to long leisurely dinners at outside sidewalk trattorias, fashionistas at every turn, sun, citrus and that intangible Italian spirit pervades every intoxicating breath of air. Instantly, their happiness is palpable and, like all moods, it is contagious.

Wisecracking and curious waiters are part of the ambiance. By the end of your time here, I guarantee you'll be saying things like "Mamma Mia" (yes, they really do say this) and "Prego". Instantly, you understand New York City and the obvious impact Italians have had on the NYC culture. The service is excellent in every capacity. Fashion smart sales clerks in three simple moves take the jacket you are trying on from drab to high chic. "How did she do that you ask yourself", as you tell her, "I'll take it, how could I not?"

Might I add: best.shoes.ever!?

Perfect moments are easy to come by in Italy. They are like busses, if you miss one, just wait, another will come in fifteen minutes. Close your eyes and imagine shop owners on lazy Sunday mornings cleaning their windows listening to some forlorn Italian opera telling the tale of unrequited love, open shuttered windows with Italian grandmothers banging clean rugs while conversing with a street side neighbor, meandering alleyways of cobblestone echoing Italian love songs or threesomes of portly, older Italian men in hats and with cane, sipping tiny black expressos while passing the time playing cards. It is all that and more.

Affordable too. Ofcourse, Italy has it's welfare state but like all of the more rebellious southern European countries, a good third of the country performs business through the "back door". It is estimated 25%-30% of the Italian economy is blackmarket. To a newly transformed anarcho-capitalist as myself, I say "Viva la Italy-bring it all down, man". The black market distorts things a bit and adds downward pressure to prices. Coming from Stockholm, it was a bargain hunters dream.

Noticeably reduced is that, "gotta get mine first" mindset I find so prevalent in collectivist societies. "Scusi" abounds. Yes, they really say excuse me when they brush up against you or inadvertently bump shoulders. What a novel concept. Doors are held open and heavy arms eased with willing assistance. Smiles and dancing eyes tell the tale of a life to be enjoyed, not endured.

Of course, the food. You'd really have to work hard to have a bad meal. Fresh handmade pastas, seafood, pizzas, carafes of red wines, gelatos to die for, lasagnes, my personal favorite-gnocchi's, and all affordable. None of this, Scandinavia, needing to take out a small loan for dinner for four.

This was also only Rome. I can only imagine it improves from here in the smaller more out of the way destinations.

Sometimes the Clothes Do Make the Man

2010-02-22T01:52:00.000-08:00

In the NUDE, all that is not beautiful is obscene.
Robert Bresson

Um, yeah, gotta agree with that one. There are definite stereotypes regarding the American comfort level with nudity and the European comfort level with nudity. If my gym locker room is the barometer of truth regarding that idea, the arrow is pointing way into the the truth side. I do not have a problem with nudity. It is just, as with everything else, I have strict parameters of people who should actually have the desire to walk around nude. It basically limits that pool of people to about two percent of the population.

In summary, people who shouldn't subject us to their nudity:

1. Anyone over 50

2. Anyone who does not routinely groom their pubic hair. (from my observations at the gym this pretty much leaves most European women out)

3. Anyone whose breasts are at the same level as their knees

4. Anyone who is just badly proportioned

Now, before I get the angry messages and emails, I am not saying anyone fitting the above criteria is less of a person. I am just saying, we need to know our limitations. It is healthy. And it's healthier for my burning eyes.

This morning at the gym was disturbing to say the least. I am pretty much used to turning around to have some woman's unshaved 1970s muff in my face as she reaches to get into her locker over me and the 15 person long line of naked women waiting to get into the showers barely causes me a pause anymore. I am growing. Just like you could count on that one country bumpkin from fly over they used to cast on the Real World every season to do. Today, though, it set me back. Set me way back; far, far, far back.

I am sitting on a step in the locker room eating my granola bar and listening to Von Mises as I do so many mornings, when she comes up. She says something to me in Swedish that I can only vaguely make out as needing to get into her locker that my bag is blocking. Then I make out something she says about a table and I assume she is saying something in reference to me eating on the stoop. Whatever, I think, and I go back to the world of the Lost 17 Years and the Japanese economic condition. Then she starts.

Madly she begins taking off her clothes. She takes out what appears to be a Tupperware kind of container with what looks to be water and a wash cloth. I am really trying hard not to watch but she is a mere three feet from me. Next thing I notice, she has one foot propped up on the bench and she begins dipping the washcloth into the water and washing her, having never seen a razor, crotch. In earnest. It's getting hard to finish the granola bar at this point because the area isn't exactly smelling like roses, if you catch my drift.

As I begin to pack up my stuff, she starts dressing. She gets dressed from the waste up. She's commando from the waste down. She begins assembling what I presume is her breakfast. She's bending and squatting and preparing it all in her little two feet of space. Is she airing out, I wonder? Why doesn't she just put on some frikking underwear, I think as she is squatting down, one knee at ten o'clock the other at about two? I am just thankful she was facing the lockers.

Out comes what appears to be an empty paper towel roll which she has inserted a piece of Tunnbröd, a sort of Swedish flatbread, a bit like a tortilla. Pretty ingenious I think, which led me into wondering if there was a market for some sort of portable plastic Tunnesbröd carrying product I could develop and sell. Then she takes out a, mostly empty, tube of something greyish, brownish and epoxy like. Just nasty. I do not know what it was. Food in a tube is just wrong on a lot of different levels.

Whatever it was, it could have been some cheap caviar product or a flavored cheese, she begins again frantically rolling it like an old toothpaste tube to get the remnants out of it onto her bread. Mind you, she's still wearing nothing from the waste down. And from my vantage, she really is not taking that into consideration.

At this point, as she was getting her rice milk out of the bag, I got up to leave. The show was over, for me anyway. The other girl in the area with a big Australian flag towel covering her body as she applied her mascara, looked through the mirror at me as we both rolled our eyes in a knowing kinship of shared understanding.

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, Movies and Flowers

2010-02-12T04:55:00.001-08:00

Since I spend a healthy portion of my writing railing on (and on and on and on) about how expensive everything is in Sweden, I figured I would rack my brain and give a few examples of things that are actually a good value here. It is true that things are commonly two times, but often three, four or more times, as costly than in the States but occasionally there is a rare something that is not.

Not to fear, we have our own set of economic illiterates in charge hoping to destroy our standard of living as well. They are doing a might good job of it too, I might add.

So, here we go:

Dried Spices: For whatever reason, you can buy just about any dried spice for about the equivalent of two dollars. It is, many times, twice that in the US.

Fresh Herbs: Ditto. And they come in little pots so I guess if you are the green thumbed kind of sort you can "grow" them. Having a black thumb, I have never actually had any success with this endeavor.

Fresh Flowers: You can buy a gorgeous, big bouquet of fresh flowers for the equivalent of ten dollars. Even less sometimes. I shudder to think what they would cost in the US. Generally, a half dead bouquet of varying degrees of not so pretty flowers from the grocery store will run you $10.

Movie Rentals: You can rent 3 new releases for about the equivalent of $12. I think they average around $5 a rental in the US.

Bear in mind, I am basing this on my rate of 7.9SEK to the dollar. The currencies are doing a bit of jostling at the moment in favor of the US dollar as the Euro heads into the abyss, hopefully not taking the Swedish Krona with it.

Fabulous and Poor

2010-02-06T10:32:00.001-08:00

Looking forward to a March ski trip to Klappen it dawned on me that none of us have any ski clothes. Faced with the idea of buying new ski clothes, that I'll likely use once or twice, at Swedish prices I was less enthused. Ironically, the quarterly newsletter I received from our relocation service had an ad for a second hand winter sports apparel shop.

I would have never found it left to my own devices. I had already asked the good folks at thelocal.se if they knew of any place and this store was not among the places they told me about. That was probably owing to the fact that it only recently opened for business in October. It is a little, really little, out of the way shop located on an off street in Kungsholmen. (Bergsgatan 18, tbana/Radhuset). In there you'll find everything you could need for skiing or snowboarding, quality stuff and only in good conditions, at relatively decent prices. For the price of one new pair of ski pants, I got three.

It is called Fabulous and Poor. You can visit their website at www.fabulousandpoor.com. Cash only, no debit or credit cards.

Jag lärde mig engelska från TV

2010-01-26T04:28:00.000-08:00

The Swedes speak excellent English. Occasionally you might run into someone who has a really limited ability but they are few and far between. I had always assumed they learned it in school. But that still left me wondering how they got so fluent.

The answer I always get is - television. Swedish TV, like most other foreign countries, is many times bought from the American market. However, what is different, unlike other countries, they do not overdub the voices in Swedish. They leave the original audio and have Swedish subtitles.

That, mixed with the English they do learn in their studies, makes them have incredible fluency with the language. Typically they can move in and out of languages with ease. Signs and advertisements are commonly in English to the point where there has been some talk at the legislative level of limiting the amount of English used in that capacity.

I have also learned a few things about the Swedish dialects. Some Swedes, when you speak with them, will do a sort of, unnerving at first, "sharp intake of air" (as it is described). Almost the noise you might make when you see someone get hurt or watch something unpleasant. Typically, it is a gesture of agreement. A strange sort of "yes, aha, I see".

Some Swedes tell me this is a red neck trait. Which is funny because many of the people I hear do it are not anywhere in the realm of red-neckdom. I have noticed, though, someone may not do it when you initially speak to them but as they grow more comfortable with you it will begin to assert itself into the conversation.

I have also noticed it is habit forming. Sometimes, I must admit, my kids and I imitate it and it takes us a while to stop.

Additionally, I have learned that the more desirable accent to have is what has been described to me as a more southernly accent. I should preface this by saying I find Swedish to be a nice sounding language for the most part. Except for this accent. It is a throaty, maybe Pee Wee Herman sounding...oh, I'd go so far as to say Julia Child's sounding kind of thing. It is really not attractive. I am told it is some remnant of Danish which travelled northward and into the Swedish language.

I am still learning Swedish, at a snails pace because the urgency is not there. When I lived in Bremen, you either asked for it in German or you did not get it. Sink or swim language training, more efficient than Rosetta Stone.

The Sun Always Shines on TV, When it's Working.

2010-01-14T05:11:00.000-08:00

My cable is out. It went out last Tuesday, the fourth. Initially, it was the internet and the TV but now it appears to only be the TV. Let me preface this by saying it was just a short time ago brought to my attention that the cable company recently went into private ownership and was previously a state run entity. With that knowledge, I went into this with low expectations. I was not disappointed.

First call to the cable company on Wednesday where I explained that my cable was out for both TV and the internet. I went through the obligatory restarting and re-plugging to no avail. The technician scheduled a maintenance call for sometime in the next few days.

I wait until Monday, I call back and ask if my maintenance call is still scheduled after receiving a vague email that they had tried to call me and, no worries, they could see everything was working fine. The guy on the phone could not find a technician scheduled for me. I guess because it had been cancelled by whomever emailed me to tell me, "no worries, everything is good".

This time the technician tells me he will schedule a time to come out and that they will call first to get my door codes. Why suddenly a time has to be scheduled, I have not a clue. Yet, another phantom phone call. The date they can come is not until the 22nd. That was ten days away. For real? I tried to explain it was unreasonable to wait what would amount to three weeks to have my stuff fixed. It fell on deaf ears. It was the way it was. Ten days.

I asked to speak to a supervisor. There was none, you had to email. I sent an email. Crickets. Ah, state run enterpises -- the gift that keeps giving. Sort of like Jason, you think it's been killed dead but the mentality lives on.

Miraculously, the internet is back up. The TV, not so much. I don't really watch TV so it's not much of a big deal other than the principle. Except those 6 hours of The Hills I caught on the local channels last Sunday. Ugh, that Spencer...he is so diabolical.

Deadly Swedish Roof Tops

2010-01-12T08:12:00.003-08:00

Seek and you shall find. Answers to your queries, that is. Icy Swedish rooftops could be deadly

Snowy Cultural Nuances

2010-01-08T06:16:00.000-08:00

Interesting that they do not shovel snow off the sidewalks in Stockholm when it snows. It has been snowing here for weeks I presume. It was snowing before I left for the states and the snow was still going strong upon my return. Sure, with lapses in between but the temperature has been below freezing the whole time which has allowed for the accumulation a of fair amount of snow. Not shoveling the sidewalks has left mini-icebergs of varying heights all over the sidewalks, some five or six inches high.

I guess the lack of ambulance chasers will leave the business owners a little more ambivalent about the idea of someone breaking their necks outside of their establishments but even and still, just shovel the 10 foot by 6 foot area outside of your store, already. I contrast that with my German neighbors whom I would routinely catch with buckets full of bleach water and scrub brushes scrubbing off their front steps. So, yeah, I couldn't picture them allowing ice, sand, snow and cigarettes accumulating at their stoops. Sometimes living in a litigious society has it's benefits.

Even stranger, I keep seeing people shoveling snow off the roof tops. I was walking along yesterday as an avalanche of powdery white snow came flying off the roof ahead of me. Later that day I saw the same scene coming from the roof of a different building. A middle aged Swedish dad had stopped with his two toddlers to witness the spectacle. I stopped and asked just why they were shoveling snow off the roof tops. I thought it unusual that they'd go to all the trouble to shove it from the roof tops as it accumulates on the streets below. His response was that it clogged the drain pipes. Further proof that you do indeed learn something new everyday.

Knowing a little more about the snowy weather than I would ever care to have to recollect, I do know salt is by far the best antidote for road or walkway slipperiness after a snowfall. The dirt thing, not so much. I gather it is some environmental concern why they do not use salt though I can not really say for sure. Why use what works seems to be the mantra of policy makers in modern times.

Although, the oddest thing I have seen relating to the snowy weather was walking into the entrance of the grocery store yesterday. It's a rather large store with a large brick face opening to an industrial sort of building. I believe it used to be an old train station. As I walked up the ramp to the entrance I noticed, strangely, no snow or ice but water and hot steam simmering up from the ground. I looked up to see boiling hot water streaming down from above the entrance way. I don't mean misters or some organized method of dispersing water I mean water haphazardly flying out of some sort of hose and lots of it.

I looked around thinking clearly something was wrong. A pipe had burst...something. I peeked in; the store appeared open. I carefully maneuvered my way in through the about seven inches of clear area through the hot shower coming from above. Pools of hot water lay in the walkway. About an hour later, I came out through the same small dry space, water still raging from above. I guess you just have to file this one under "shit you just can not make up". I will also file it under reasons why it's a good thing we'll never be as cultured and civilized as the Europeans. (;

In These Frozen and Silent Nights

2009-12-15T05:22:00.000-08:00

It has been snowing for days. Days and days and days. It lights up the city. That seems to be the canned response. I am not sure what that means but everyone says it. So, yeah, it lights up the, now cloaked in dark, city. In my humble and ever so ready to give unsolicited opinion, it's just an unneeded layer of complication.

Well, it would be. Except my day planner is deliciously free. Therefore, I don't really care. If I had places to go and people to see in a timely manner it would be more menacing. Though, really, I don't know who signs up for this. We do have planes now. And cargo ships. There is always FedEx.

Wearing all these clothes is in a word laborious. I went out today I had tights on, socks, jeans, turtle neck, puffy down coat, ridiculous looking boots I bought two years ago to go sleigh riding, scarf, gloves, hat I stole from one of my kids. Just moving was cumbersome. I looked like a cross between a bag lady and the Michelin Man.

I dream of my flip flops, all 40 pairs. I long to drive barefoot in the blow dryer hot heat of Arizona through the Taco Bell drive through. Oh yes, one baja gordita, por favor. Chicken or that grey stuff that passes for it anyway. Mucho gracias amigo. In Phoenix, it is shorts, tank top and flip flops. In the winter, jeans and flip flops. Ease of simplicity. Why make life harder than it has to be?

I walked down to the gym where I was covered in white by the time I got there. I had to remove all the gear to work out and then put it all back on. I am fixing to go put it all back on again to venture back out for, like, the fourth time today. For real? People do this and lots of them? Why? I guess if I were going to live to be 1000, I might entertain the notion.

Lucia Day

2009-12-11T10:47:00.000-08:00

Today marks the beginning of the Lucia weekend with culminates with Lucia Day on December 13th. In Sweden, the Lucia Day is celebrated in all parts of the country. It commemorates the life of Santa Lucia.

St. Lucia was born in Syracuse, Sicily around 283 and died in 303 AD. The myth is that her parents wanted her to marry a man against her will. She wanted to lead a more pious life, something along the lines of Mother Theresa. In protest against the marriage, she poked out her eyes, put them on a platter and gave them to the man. The legend is that her eyes were miraculously restored by God. I don't know if that part still holds. Perhaps, it was her carbon credits that restored her sight in the modern Swedish version.

It’s said that Saint Lucia blinded herself on the shortest, darkest day of the year, which is the Winter Solstice. Under the old Julian calendar, that day was December 13th. In Sweden, and other Scandinavian countries, Santa Lucia Day is seen as being the beginning of the Christmas season. It starts the countdown to Christmas-twelve days.

The tradition on this day is for the oldest girl in the family to dress in a white robe with a red sash and wear a crown of candles and lingonberry leaves (lingonberries are small red berries popular in Sweden). The other girls dress in white with silver crowns. The boys wear pointed white hats and carry candles. They’re called stjärngossar (star boys). Some kids dress up as tomtar, similar to gnomes. Traditionally, the procession will walk through the dark room and form a semi-circle with Lucia in the middle. They sing songs with a message of Lucia as a source of light and Christmas. The Lucia procession is often followed glug (mulled wine) , saffron buns and pepperkakor (gingerbread cookies, which I have eaten no less than 275,000 of) The city streets are adorned with small one's with wreaths of candles on their heads and young girls with tinsel in their hair as evidence that they have been part of a Lucia procession.

Observing the end to the shortening of the days is a very old tradition and has it's roots in pagan rituals. As do many Christmas time traditions, well predating Christianity. It is really a beautiful and simple tradition, albeit a little creepy. I am glad to have been able to partake of it for this one Christmas season.

Pod Person Shows Up in Oslo

2009-12-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

Claims to be Barack Obama and gives, for the first time, a damn good speech rooted in reality. And whoever this guy is, he actually seems to like us. I think we will keep him. Oslo, if you have the real Obama , please by all means, keep him. We'll take this guy.

Gloomiest November on Record

2009-12-02T03:46:00.000-08:00

Well, one of them anyway according to the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute (SMHI). Sunlight was limited to 35 minutes a day for the entire month, giving Stockholm only 17.5 hours of sunlight for the entire month. Considerably lower than the than the average for the month at 54 hours.

Nobody seems to like it. When you go anywhere, it seems to be all people want to discuss. People are noticeably more cranky. Horns are beeping much more, fuses seem shorter and characteristically mellow Swedes are bit more on edge. I saw a runner out yesterday at about 4 pm with a headlight on his head. Chalk one up for the innovative. Flights to Thailand are astronomical and I do think the Swedes have single handedly driven up the prices.

Some Swedes use light therapy to try to ward off SAD, others use the bottle. Supposedly, as a whole Swedes consume copious amounts of alcohol during these bleaker months. Which would seem counterintuitive to me. Drunk and in the dark would only lead to be hung over and dark. Or in my case, doing stupid things you only remember half of and dark.

Living in Phoenix, I had forgotten what winter, in general, does to the skin tones of those around you. You typically do not notice that everyone has a vampire like bluish tinge to their skin until you return from vacation in a warm climate. You tend to get off the plane in your new South Florida tan and look around like you have walked into a scene of Night of the Living Dead.

My kids who normally have healthy tanned glows to their olive skin tone have taken on a greenish, greyish hue and I am sure I am sporting the translucently sallow tone I long ago left behind with New York winters. My son's blonde hair has turned an ashey brown. Thanks to the Twilight movies, looking dead is fashionable.

Unfashionable though is Vitamin D deficiency. Somehow, I manage to pick the year to go sunless when Vitamin D is the cure all health regimen. I couldn't have picked the oat bran craze year or the year for Alpha Lipoic Acid. I timed that one wrong it seems. Still and all, the dark does not really bother me. It is already cold, what does it matter if it's dark too?

One Smelly Cannoli in the Gym

2009-11-27T02:22:00.000-08:00

I am in the gym, doing my thing. The gym is small. These are old buildings so they have been converted into many things that they were never intended for. The gym has several rooms that kind of meander around in a jig saw puzzle kind of way. There is a particular section that is probably the size of a large bedroom that people use to stretch, do sit-ups, etc.

I head into this room to finish up my work out. I grab one of the giant exercise balls to do some crunches. There is a kid in there. I have seen him in the gym before. I have mildy amused myself thinking that 15 years ago I would thought him possibly worthy of working into my web, at least for a week or two. Not really being into the whole cougar thing, the thoughts quickly leave my mind and my brain moves back to the au courant place of the populist anger filtering out of my iPod.

As I enter into the small room, he is acting unusual. Nervous, maybe. Whatever, I think to myself. I chalk it up to the stereotypical Swedish, almost to the point of neurosis, reservation. Even stranger, he abruptly leaves.

Then it hits me. The stench. A green fog of putrid odor ordered up from some hell-like depths of his bowels. Gee, thanks for the parting gift, I think. Not so cute anymore, more smelly.

Now I am alone in the stretching area. In comes unsuspecting stretcher number three. And it hits me. Oh. My. God. He thinks I did that. That I am responsible for that, what is now just a lingering chartreuse mist, permeating the air. I wanted to explain, "No really, it wasn't me, it was the blonde kid. You saw him, right? He was in here, not two minutes ago, I swear." But, being somewhat neurotically reserved at times myself, I lived with the incrimination of the cannoli.

This was a few days ago but today I saw the kid again. Of course, now when I see him, I think of the cannoli. Probably it's all the other unsuspecting stretcher can think when he sees me next too.

American Taliban

2009-11-25T01:51:00.000-08:00

But isn't it a wonderful world Carolina
Look at the birds in the sky
Jehovah made this whole joint for you, Carolina
and isn't it so wonderful to be alive

It all started so innocently. An American acquaintance on mine, fed up with ordering $5 cups of hot cocoa and then getting it handed back to her three quarters full, looked to the rest of the women at the table and said "Someone explain this to me". To which this answer was only an accepting shrug and a "Welcome to Europe".

Now, I didn't start this. Honest. But somehow the conversation got geared towards WHY? and the for WHAT reasons? and the ARE you all CRAZIES? with a little of LIFE doesn't have to be like this! thrown in for good measure. Honestly, I politely sat through it and didn't say too terribly much. What I did say was weighted. I long ago stopped trying to convert the lemmings. Banging my head against the wall would be a more fruitful endeavor.

As it was, I didn't have to do much but observe. What makes this especially interesting is my friend, who is not bashful or short on opinion, is a Mormon, a follower of the Church of Latter Day Saints. To be quite honest, in my view, Mormonism is really out there. However, I know quite a many LDS folks and truly they are made of some of the best stuff there is. Also, as a side note, you rarely meet a poor Mormon. And that makes me like them all the more.

The answer slowly unfolded like a five day old burrito and it held quite a stench. The Europeans, representing four different countries, at the table told us, that because America is such a religious society, we look to God for answers and because Europe is so secular they choose to look to the government. All four of them agreed. There we had it, America is but one religious leader away from being a big, giant Taliban with nukes.

And we are insular? I don't even think I can blame on insularity. Misinformed? Creating delusions that fit your world view that has been shaped by a lifetime of controlled media? True, America is more religious than Europe. Or maybe I should say America is more Christian than Europe. That vacuum is currently being filled.

To hear these people talk, a good 90 percent of us spend our weekends down at the Baptist hall practicing speaking in tongues while waiting for the rapture.

I am not religious at all. Just could never get there. I do not fear people who are. In fact, many of the people I call my friends are and always have been. They never preach to me or try to convert me. Of course, I know they think I am going to hell for not believing. That doesn't bother me either. Why? I probably do not believe it. In many ways I envy people of faith. I always say I'd rather have had faith and be wrong than believe in nothing and be right.

Does that mean there are not close minded, bigoted, fanatical zealots? Ofcourse not. But then, those people are more than alive and well in the circles travelled by the secularists. They are very healthfully represented in the new church of the environment. And, yeah, those people DO scare me. A lot. There is also no shortage of self-righteous liberal seculars and humanist religionists who belong to the cult of perpetual grievances and pathological social movements. I'll take a pass on them also.

If I had to make a choice between putting my faith in a God or putting my faith in the men of government, I'd go with some supreme supernatural being or nothing at all. Every time. Many people have suffered in the name of God but far more have suffered at the hands of their own government and countrymen.

Flash Mobs in the City Center

2009-11-21T05:44:00.000-08:00

I miss all the good stuff. There were a series of flash mobs in the city center this week. The first one posted took place at T-Centralen which I see, at least, ten times a week. The second in the famous NK Department Store located close by. Unfortunately, I missed it all. Though from what I read, flash mobs are a rather common occurrence here in Stockholm.

A flash mob is defined as a large group of people who assemble suddenly in a public place, perform an unusual action for a brief time, then quickly disperse.

Twilight

2009-11-17T03:24:00.000-08:00

It is nearly twilight time here in Northern Europe. That would be the time of year when day light is limited to a few brief hours. At the tale end, it will barely get light beyond twilight at all during the day. The days shrink until December 21st or so and then gradually get longer.

For some odd reason, I love it. There is something so relaxing about perpetual night time. A less guilt ridden excuse to give in to laziness and winter retreatism. In a word, it is snuggly. A few months long, perpetual putting your head back under the covers and hitting the snooze button. On those crazy race track American lifestyle days it is the slowness of these days that I long for but can never be replicated on American soil.

It is not anything I would want year in and year out as I need the sun to function. But to indulge in it a few years out of an entire lifetime is a guilty pleasure indeed.

Flick Your Bic

2009-11-12T05:58:00.000-08:00

Round two at the orthodontist's office. It went well and did not cost even half as much as the last visit. No goodie bag emblazoned with his logo filled with fun little flosses, brushes and new products to try out. Nothing particularly notable. Oh yeah, I have to admit astonishment when instead of pulling out a the high-tech precision soldering tool that I am used to seeing, to get the thermoplastic material to a softened state, he pulled out a "high-tech" Bic lighter. Budget cuts, I guess.

Aye, yi, yi....carumba.

How the Sheep are Shorn

2009-11-10T00:20:00.000-08:00

Or Taxation: How it Shrinks Economies and Initiative

At a dinner the other evening I got into a conversation with a woman who owned a company. She explained her company to me and it was in the same line of work as what I do. Later, the conversation turned to her asking if I would like to do some work for her. Initially, I thought it sounded great.

Then I thought about it further. If I were to work for this person, any income I make would be taxed at the highest income tax rate in Sweden. That would be 59 point something percent. Mind you, this is after a reduction. It was somewhere around 62 percent. For every dollar, I made, I would have to give the government 60 cents. At this point, I am working hard to see the up side. Jees, you must make a boatload of money then to be in this tax rate. Maybe, maybe not. This rate applies to around 300,000 Swedes with the very highest incomes, starting at 75,000 dollars a year. I don't know what is worse that only 300k Swedes make more than 75k a year or that they start this draconian rate at 75k. Who'd want to make more than 75k, you'd only be punished for your success.

For fun, I will also factor in the fact that Swedish employers match the employee’s withholding with a separate employer’s tax of 40 something percent. Let's also recognize that corporations do not pay taxes. They either pass them on to the consumer and they simply keep wages lower to compensate. Hence, the insane consumer prices.

Now, I go out shopping with my wage deflated forty cents on every dollar. Nearly every purchase is met with the 25% national sales tax or VAT tax! Factoring in my payroll tax, my employers contribution and my VAT taxes, I am now in the negative. In the red, over 20 percent. Wow, what a deal, where do I sign up?

These Shoes Are Made For...Fixing?

2009-11-06T00:04:00.000-08:00

Here in Stockholm, nestled in between the Turkish pizza joints, the endless hair salons, the golden key makers, the dry cleaners and the coffee shops you will find a plethora of choices for shoe repair. It is safe to say I could walk two blocks in any direction and find a few. I didn't know people still repaired shoes but apparently they do. Enough to support several high rent Vastastan locations to boot. (no pun intended). Sometimes, the shoe repair place doubles as the key making place and triples as the dry cleaner. Not really any weirder than when the Taco Bell doubles as the Pizza Hut when you stop to think about it. Incidentally, I hate when they do that.

When I peek in the shops, business appears to be brisk. Shoes line the shelves, two by two in little black pairs. Typically, they do not appear to be shoes worth salvaging but there they sit waiting for new heels or zippers. The place down the road usually has two guys working diligently. Peering in through the window, one younger man looking to be of immigrant status, arduously cobbles away at a heel of a boot or diligently inspects the sole of an Italian leather.

Who even repairs shoes anymore? I can not even think of but one shoe repair place that I know of. It's a little ramshackle building on Main Avenue in Durango, Colorado. The business is actually second generation and run by the son of an Italian immigrant and cobbler. Naturally, he was taught the trade by his father growing up in the apartment upstairs from the shop. Durango is known for outdoor sports so I would think he sees many hiking and skiing boots, too pricey and used too little to just discard. I'd also imagine using his services is a bit of a sentimental act for locals in Durango.

I shudder imagining what it would even cost to have a shoe repair here in Stockholm. I used the key makers and that was frightening enough. I have used the dry cleaners and I think it may have just been more cost effective to buy new clothes, certainly it would have been more satisfying. Looking back, it was close to $35 for a suit jacket and a pair of dress trousers. The place by my house in the US is less than $5 for the same two articles of clothing.

Thinking about it, I used a shoe repair guy once. I had these shoes I loved, a funky pair of Doc Martin knockoff type things. They were really unique. Ah man, I loved those shoes. You could wear them with anything: shorts, jeans, dresses. The buckle broke off. I thought I couldn't part with them. Even though I had bought them for seven dollars on clearance, I brought them to the shoe repair guy to get a new buckle put on. My attention span and wherewithal being what it is, I never went back to get them. Which really wasn't very nice now that I stop to think about it.

I wonder whatever happened to those little beauties? Some lucky girl, somewhere, benefited from my inaction. I do my part.

If we really get back to a place where repairing our shoes is commonplace, I don't know if that is a world I really want to live in. Yeah, I said it. Just the thought of it is depressing. Unless ofcourse, we start wearing some sort of high technology Jetson like shoes that double as something else like, maybe, some sort of space age travel apparatus.

Don't Know My Rodneys From My Stanleys

2009-11-04T00:48:00.000-08:00

Nor do I know my Kappas from my Reeboks. Actually I have zero desire. I am talking about soccer. It is difficult to articulate my utter distain for soccer. It is deeper than just not liking a sport, it goes against the grain of something elemental in all good Americans. It is just wrong. Embracing soccer would be like adding a jar of Nutella to the pantry and putting it right next to the peanut butter.

I got into it once with a soccer coach. He was talking about David Beckham and explained to me that people do not understand that soccer is different. A player can be one of the best in the world and hardly ever score a goal. Ofcourse, I found that amusing. It put it all into perspective for me. Made sense. That is why the areas of the world that take it seriously as a sport embrace it. That about sums up their entire world view right there.

I do not have a problem with rugby. Americans, as a rule, don't play rugby. A Brit once explained the class structure of sports to me. I was told in Britain, it's a class thing. Blue collar plays soccer, white collar plays rugby. I do not know that we have class distinctions in sports. I guess raising thoroughbreds is a rich man's sport. Golf used to be an upper class sport but now it seems everyone golfs. Not so much because golf has gotten cheaper either, we have all just gotten a lot richer as much as most people like to believe otherwise.

I am glad the rest of the world has soccer. World soccer fans should be happy it doesn't catch on with anyone over the age of ten in the United States. Imagine if it was a popular as basketball or football. All of the best players in the world would come to the United States. Every soccer club in the world would become a farm team for US soccer as the best players would go for the highest dollar payday in the US, not at home. Hopefully for the good of all, Americans will never warm to it.

Wasa this?

2009-10-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Add Wasa bread for breakfast to things I was always adverse to but suddenly developed a liking for. I remember buying a package of it, once, a long time ago in Germany. I tasted it, concluded it tasted like cardboard and it sat in the pantry until I finally threw it away.

But, now, I like it. I have been eating it every morning for breakfast. You can load it up with some cream cheese and whatever fresh veggies you might have available and viola! A quintessential European breakfast. Not the stuff of bacon and eggs but, nonetheless, I am finally getting it.

What is funny is most Europeans, Swedes included, do not eat sandwiches for lunch but they eat the stuff of sandwiches for breakfast. The main meal is lunch. Often times, the sandwich routine is repeated again at dinner time. My husband, like many Americans, typically has sandwiches for lunch to much bewilderment of the Swedes. They insist he is not eating enough for lunch. Lunch should be a proper full out meal.

Moving on, it is not a far leap to turn the conversation as why it is that Americans tend to be so fat, because we eat our main meal at dinner hour. Um, no. Americans are so fat because we eat our main meal at every hour and because food is relatively cheap and plentiful. Oh, and because we don't move a lot. And because we recreate with food. And because we drive every where. Americans are fat for a whole host of reasons but eating dinner at dinner hour probably is not high on the list.

Sometimes the more cantankerous will push the issue further. How can your kids learn anything eating like this at lunch? If they only knew of the peanut butter and jellies, fruit snacks, Chips Ahoys and other crap our kids pile on at lunch. Some schools even patrol the kid's lunch plates looking for offenders who have not completed their entire lunches.

I do not know why sandwiches for lunch brings about such a reaction. I really don't worry myself with why they eat sandwich stuff for breakfast. Hell, I am even partaking in the Wasa.

Kill a Fireman, Enter Paradise

2009-10-28T00:58:00.000-07:00

This video was made earlier this month. It is so easy to forget the precarious place Sweden is in. When you live in the city center, it is very easy to dismiss these kinds of reports as scare mongering. However, the clash of civilizations is here and very real.

This report is actually in Gothenburg which is Sweden's second largest city located on the west coast of the country. It could easily have been written about the, now, infamous Mälmo. Or many of the suburban ghetto areas of Stockholm.

A testament to the failures of the misguided, purple unicorns and rainbows leftist notion of multiculturalism. Your strength is never in your diversity, EU, but in your unity. It will be a bloody lesson your sons and daughters will have to learn. A hefty price tag you have left them to pay.

Meter Maids

2009-10-24T02:55:00.000-07:00

There was a story this past week that meter maids in Mälmo, Sweden's third largest city, will get spy cams to help increase their safety and reduce the incidents of physical threat and violence toward them. I do not know if this problem is isolated to Mälmo or if it is is repeated throughout the country. Mälmo, to put it politely, is a city in transition. Transitioning from the twenty first century to about the fourteenth.

I watch these meter maids with a lot of perplexity. Actually, the term is traffic warden. Warden is much more fitting for the mentality it must take to perform this activity day in and day out. There is no shortage of them and they are constantly on the prowl looking for offenders and writing tickets. Very costly tickets I might add. Tickets like this are, after all, a revenue stream for the state. Lord knows, the Swedish state needs all the revenue it can get. If it can't collect it in punitive taxes and fees, fines are a good alternative.

I do not drive here and everyone tells me that is a good thing because you would invariably receive boat-loads of parking tickets. The parking rules, they say, are so confusing and fluid that even seasoned Stockholmers find themselves getting ticketed. Probably by design. Driving should be discouraged in the new green world. Except for the elites ofcourse. They can drive and when they get tickets they can just get them fixed. Funny how that works.

Yesterday, I saw two parking wardens examining a car. They were in their blue uniforms walking repeatedly around the vehicle. One of them crouched down and seemed to be inspecting the location of the tire of this nice, new blue Audi cross over. They exchanged a few words and parking warden #1 took out his pad and began the process of ticket writing. A smug look of satisfaction peeked out from under his cap. That will teach him for having that nice, new shiny Audi. I know that was what they were thinking.

For sure, it takes a certain, special kind of person to perform this task with cold efficiency. In another era perhaps they would have been asked to be drivers of cars previously used to haul cattle. I would undoubtedly get fired because I would rarely hand them out. Thinking about it further, perhaps I could become some sort of vigilante ticket writer. A sort of Charles Bronson of the parking world, studying and staking out my victims. And I know just who I would target.

UN Day

2009-10-23T03:51:00.001-07:00

It's United Nations Day at my kid's school. Apparently, it is a real bona fide day acknowledged by the rest of the world. I had half a mind to keep them home in protest. Really, though, my kid's already know more accurate information about the UN than most adults. I can only imagine them raising their hands and saying, "My mom says the UN is a corrupt and vile institution and that it has never met a dictator or murderous regime it does not defend".

Actually I am glad to see displays of national pride. I am surprised that kind of thing is still allowed. So, for that reason alone I could support it. A one day celebration of people coming together. I can get behind that notion. You can try to erase borders, language and culture but we will forever be a planet of star and unstar bellied Sneetches. A timeless truth.

The kid's broke up into their countries and marched through the surrounding park area. Surprisingly, the Americans were the second largest group behind Sweden. They were encouraged to dress in their country colors and traditional costume if they had it. Many did. As always, the Asian countries were the best with beautifully patterned and colored kimonos and traditional garb. The Indians were not far behind with some pretty impressive duds.

There were lone flags, flags I did not recognize and kids who have been expats so long and in so many locations they did not know whose flag to march under. Surprisingly, the biggest show of nationalism came from the Brits. I tried to get the American kids to let out one big giant, heart felt "Boooyah" but the closest I got was four of them chanting "USA, USA". And no they weren't my kids, some other future jingos. Bless their little hearts.

Burning the Bunnies

2009-10-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

They are burning bunnies for biofuel here in Sweden. Well, they cull them from the parks to prevent damage to the greenery. And then they are burning them. Making use of the cadavers. They freeze the bunnies until they are ready to use them. I would be curious to know the energy in-energy-out equation for this endeavor.

They theorize that it is irresponsible pet owners who are responsible for the over population of bunnies. I do not know if I buy that. There is an expression, "breeding like rabbits"...Plus, I'd wager buying a bunny in Sweden is akin to buying anything else in Sweden. A fairly large investment. Let's see...a new coat this month or buy a bunny and let loose in park?

I would think, perhaps, if killing the bunnies is the best option there could be better uses for them. People eat them, their furs can be used for clothing. I have even read the recommendation of using them, at least, as a food source for zoo animals. Ah, but ecomania is all the rage and burning food stuff for energy is the left's newest passion. They've single handedly influenced enough corn burning to triple the cost of tortillas in Mexico. As if the average Mexican peasant is concerned with going green.

Culling in the parks may not be a bad idea. Maybe, though, let's leave the bunnies alone and stick to the junkies and other sordid characters that inhabit so many of them.

Snow Already?

2009-10-13T05:45:00.000-07:00

It snowed today for about twenty minutes. That was several hours ago. Now it is blue skies again. It's that ever shifting, schizophrenic Stockholm weather for you. Still and all, it seems rather early for snow.

The high today is a balmy 41. Contrast that with the 98 degrees forecast for Phoenix this Friday. Overall the cold is not really getting to me yet, though. The only time it seems a little daunting is when I remind myself that it is only mid October and it's slated to be cold for, at least, ummmm, seven more months.

Hotbox Cactus

2009-10-08T07:25:00.000-07:00

I purchased a cactus today and it brightened my mood. It is a little slice of Arizona. I was in Lidl and they had a fresh shipment of them just in. It was odd to me that they would have a random shipment of cacti, even stranger since in another month we will be very short on daylight. They were set up by the registers as a sort of impulse buy. For 29 sek, I just couldn't pass it up. Especially since, they were adorned with a little Mexican guy in a sombrero. I was sold.

I miss my dessert plants. I saw a large agave for sale down the street for about $300. It was the kind of agave I can get at home for about $20 and in six months have propagated into 20 more agaves. Understandably, agaves are not as easy to come by in Scandinavia.

Truth be told, I think this may actually be a succulent and not a cactus. Close enough though.

Hej då

2009-10-07T03:44:00.000-07:00

I have not written this past week as my niece was here visiting from the US. She came with her boyfriend who she met in the states and who resides in Norway. They took the train over from Oslo, after spending an inseparable month together. He returns to Norway; she, the states.

My heart is heavy for them both today. Not so much because I miss their presence, though I do. But I know the sadness they must feel not knowing when they will be reunited. It is a quintessential love story, one I hope she does not mind me sharing with the thirty or so regular readers of this blog. She, the free spirited, independent and sensitive young American woman, he the mild mannered intellectual European who meet by happenstance. Now only the vastness of the ocean separates them, at least temporarily.

Only five words come to mind: Love will find a way.

Again With the Sweatpants

2009-09-30T13:00:00.001-07:00

Standing in the line at the German grocers, Lidl, today in my sweats and running clothes I was again reminded of an episode of Seinfeld. The one where Jerry chastizes George for wearing sweats in public. He says to him, "You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable."

I knew it was a fashion faux paux here in Stockholm. But I had just finished running and they just feel so good. So comfy. It just seemed like so much effort to go upstairs and change into something more presentable. After all, it was only Lidl.

The truth is, you never see women here out in their sweats. Stockholm women go to some lengths to look nice and they most often do. Young and old alike, they are a well dressed lot. Freshly coiffed hair, made up and I've noticed they often smell really good; like freshly applied potions and lotions. Rarely are they overweight no matter their age. I have learned by observation that middle age spread is certainly not inevitable. I see 50 year old women as fit as 25 year old women.

Additionally, some of the best looking women reside in this city. If I were a single young man, this would be where I come. So much natural blonde beauty in one place, it seems almost unfair that they've been keeping this perfect DNA hidden away up here. I think of all the time and money I could have saved on peroxide over the years if I'd just had a few strands.

Pimp My Green Ride

2009-09-28T03:34:00.000-07:00

I have returned from Copenhagen with, yet another, cold. I hate being sick. Another perfectly valid reason for me to abhor public transportation. It's making me sick. The four white blood cells I have are in constant overdrive. I must be making up for last year when I did not get sick all year, unheard of for me.

My first impression of Copenhagen was the cleanliness of the city. It was remarkably clean. It was very green and had a lot of wide open space. I liked that. It also had a great mix of old and new, which I also like. So, I was digging it. It was almost like some European style Phoenix replete with old buildings and sterility.

The streets were calm and aside from the city center pretty quiet. Almost a little unsettling. Stockholm on valium and by default much cleaner. My daughter thought the city had a creepy vibe and I somewhat agree. It had the sense of extreme orderliness common to many German cities. Similarly too, it was much lighter on the commerce, advertising and trade.

That is something I think Americans THINK they would like but when faced with a life without it find out they do not. They miss the constant jockeying for the dollars in their pockets. I know I did. Thankfully Stockholm is not like that. Despite the punitive taxes, the city is always working.

As usual, I couldn't leave well enough alone, I had to dig a little deeper. Well, in this case I didn't have too dig too hard or too far. I really just had to purchase something. Ha!! Holy shit! Someone please, put me on the train back to Stockholm where things are cheap. Yeah, that is what I said. Everything was two times as costly. No joke.

It is all a little unnerving. There really is no end to the levels of taxation these people are 1. capable of and 2. capable of convincing others to pay. Personally, I do not care if Danes want to pay 110% taxes to the state. If it works for you Denmark; great, have at it. My fear is--we actually have idiots who, through, I don't know, fear of getting a passport and relocating, feel the need to try and inflict this type of society on us.

When I got home, I had to research a little. I had to know just what the median income was in a place where a can of coke is $3 at the 7/11 and a casual dinner for a family of four is 5x that of the same dinner in the United States. According to my favorite source of unbiased information, the New York Times, Denmark has a 63 percent marginal tax rate paid by top income earners in Denmark. (anyone making more than 360,000 Danish kroner, or about $70,000). The good or bad news, depending on how you look at it, was the median income was relatively high, about $65,000 a year. Jeez, must be a lot of "rich" Danes paying that 63% tax rate.

The New York Times was also quick to tell me that such effective income redistribution has made Denmark the most egalitarian society on the planet ---that wealth is more evenly spread than anywhere else. Yeah, everyone is equal alright. The productive are equally getting the hell out. One thousand skilled workers flee Denmark each year for greener pastures.

Maybe not truly greener. Copenhagen is something of the mecca to the "green" (watermelon) movement. Green propaganda is throughout the city. Cars are outnumbered by bikes. So, greener may be hard to find.

Bike stands abound and giant hordes of bikers ride purposely through the streets. It must be hard to date when the bicycle is your main mode of transportation. Do you meet out by the bike stand? I don't particularly have anything against bikes. I like bikes. I really do not care for lemmings though. Lemmings I have a problem with. For some strange reason I just couldn't shake the visual of the bikers all following each other off a cliff.

Off to Copenhagen

2009-09-23T23:28:00.001-07:00

will return Tuesday...

Of Mice and Boys and Men

2009-09-20T00:27:00.000-07:00

"Swedish dads are tragic with all their nappy-changing and equality"

That is a direct quote taken from an interview given by Anna Anka, Paul Anka's Swedish born wife.

http://www.thelocal.se/22132/20090917/

Swedish men do live with the stereotype of being what I would call lacking in the testosterone department. It is said that the women certainly "wear the pants" in the family. I can not really attest to it first hand but by just observing it does seem to be the case.

Sweden likes to reverse the order just for the sake of reversing the order. In the early mornings, you will see 98% dads taking the wee one's to nursery school or primary school. There's dad, in his work clothes and lap top rushing off to get little Lars to school. He generally looks rushed and as Anka said, rather tragic.

I do not know where the moms are. My guess would be working too as most women here do work. It's good to see father's involved, do not get me wrong. But, when it's 98% the dad doing the school run that tells me something else. It makes me think, this is just another example of turning the traditional order on it's head just for the sake of turning the traditional order on it's head.

And that is funny to me. Apart from whether it is realistic or sustainable, I have to wonder, in fifty years will tomorrows liberals reverse things back just to turn the new established order on it's head? Probably.

Another thing that perplexes me is that boys here are boys! Fully loaded with testosterone, beating the living shit out of each other, jumping on each other, smelly, unwashed, frog catching and exuding hormones and boyishness at every turn. They travel independently and in packs freely roaming and exploring the city. None of that mom-doting over protectiveness I am used to witnessing (and surely guilty of myself) in suburban United States.

So, I ask myself---what the hell happens to these boys between these ages and adulthood? At what point do they transition and start crossing their legs and carrying man bags?

I Should Have Been a Bear

2009-09-17T02:36:00.001-07:00

It is starting to get cold in Stockholm. I can see my breath in the morning. The days are still mostly warm but the nights and the mornings are getting cool. Yep, it is for real. I am really looking down the barrel of...winter.

Just the word summons dread. I despise winter. I try to embrace some poetic version of the seasons changing and all the imagery that goes with it. Having spent 24 hellish, bitterly cold and grey winters in upstate New York I have engineered my life around, not only rain, but winter. Real winter. Coats. Boots. Hats. All of it. And I have to say, I don't miss it at all. Not one iota.

And even if I do have small lapses in judgment (which I am prone to having) and think I am starting to miss it, I have a house in Colorado. I can drive seven hours to winter. Put on the hats, the gloves, the coats, drink the hot cocoa, do a little sleigh riding and then hop in my car and put winter away. In it's rightful place. The recesses of my memory.

Ocourse, I am telling myself this winter will be different. I will dress for it. I will enjoy it. It is after all, only one winter. I can do this. I can wear boots. I like boots. I never get the chance to wear boots in Arizona. My kids can ski, play ice hockey, ice skate and whatever other activities people engage in cold weather. All activities, lord knows, they will never have the opportunity to do with me around. I can do this...

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

2009-09-15T02:26:00.000-07:00

I have overdosed on Swedish meatballs. I started to really get into them. It was after one of those touristy boat rides. They served lunch and I had the meatballs. It was that or fish. I have never really been a big fan of them. It was not that I did not like them. There were always so many other, better, choices. However, here, my options have narrowed. Gone are my beloved enchiladas, frijoles and papitas.

On the boat, they served lunch. A very nice lunch, I might add. I ordered the meatballs. It was the perfect combination. Little Swedish meatballs, gravy, lingonberry sauce, pureed potatoes and razor thin sliced cucumber salad marinated in a sweet vinegar sauce. I was sold. My new meal. I replicated it at home to near perfection. When I was not eating it, I was looking forward our next encounter when I would again savor the perfect balance of tastes. I was barely thinking of enchiladas. Hard to imagine.

Then I moved and the trips to IKEA began. I have been to IKEA a handful of times in the past few weeks. Sheepishly, I must admit, each trip consisted of, yes, meatballs. It was Saturday's meal that finally pushed me to the brink. I can't even think about the meal anymore. I've ruined it. My all or nothing personality has once again taken me from all to nothing.

The Swedish meatball love affair was good while it lasted. But like all torrid love affairs, it has fizzled out. Perhaps we, the meatball and I, with a little absence can get the magic back. Perhaps...

A Student of LIfe

2009-09-10T12:22:00.000-07:00

I attract interesting people over the age of 70, let's put it that way. Tonight, I had an hour long conversation with a former opera pianist who had some sort of an oracle who would tell her things were going to happen. The Oracle, she said, told her Barack Obama wouldn't be elected. Apparently it was one of the only times it was wrong.

She was also a student of Native American shamanism (again, are we detecting a theme here?) and needed me to write the names of my entire family so she could visualize stuff. She never got into much detail about the stuff but she was still holding the paper as I made my escape out into the night. Perhaps, next meeting.

Before this, she read my palm. She said, I had different gifts in special ways. She was tipped off by my apparent unique finger nails. Each one is different than the next. A very special trait. She had only seen a few like them in her 84 years. Then she told me she also exaggerated a lot.

Her name was Ann Marie and she seems to have lived a full life. Her English was impeccable and she had travelled the world with her craft. As farfetched as some of her ideas, she had a sharp mind at 84 and moved in and out of Swedish to English with ease.

Vanity, if she ever suffered from it, was a distant memory. She was attired in a mix matched ensemble of various colors and styles topped off with a black fedora. Long wispy grey strands hung down as she hung her head and smiled when she couldn't quite bring the English word she was looking for to her mind. Many times she would get stuck on an English word I would use and ask me to explain it's meaning. It was always the simple words--very, much. The larger, more complicated words she seemed to have no problem with.

She spoke 5 languages and had hoped to learn a sixth, Gaelic. However, the instructor had to cancel that class for a lack of interest. She was the only enrollment. At 84, it seems, she is still a student of life.

Koh Phangan

2009-09-08T00:57:00.000-07:00

It is hard to say whether it is genuinely the best Thai food in the city but it must must be the as close to a genuine Thai experience as you are going to find just about anywhere outside of Thailand. Koh Phangan, located on the island of Sodermalm, serves up delicious Thai food in a jungle-like, eclectic Thai setting. This is an atmosphere chain restaurants try to emulate but never quite hit the mark.

It will take an hour or longer to be seated but it is every minute worth the wait. Tables consist of individual beach style huts, fishing shacks and private tables made from old tuk tuks. If the unique interior of bamboo and grass walls lit by only colorful strands of lights are not enough to make you feel like you could walk out into a steamy Thai beachfront evening then perhaps the piped in sounds of rainstorms and tropical fauna will.

When visiting make sure to pay attention to the details. Waterfalls, bridges and even a koi pond can be found inside. Thai trinkets, pictures of royalty and other kitschy items adorn the walls. Even the toilets add something of interest.

Stockholm is not short on choices for Thai eating. In fact you probably can not walk ten feet in any direction without hitting either a Thai restaurant or food stall of some variation. However, if you are limited to just one, let Koh Phangan be it.

Trash Talking

2009-09-04T22:10:00.000-07:00

Initiative is doing the right thing without being told.

Victor Hugo

There was a steaming pile of dog shit sitting at the entrance of my building for, what, five days? Not really steaming after five days, I admit. Do you think anyone would stop and clean it up? People have come and gone all week, walked around it and carried on their way in and out of the building. Then a plastic bag was added to the mix, then some sort of wrapper. Soon a stroller ran through the poop and tracked it into the building.

OK, so no one touched the dog poop. Cleaned the hallway. But, the trash? Nah. There is an advertising agency downstairs, they couldn't be bothered despite the fact that it is their place of business. Then there was an open house for a flat upstairs. The agent came, hung up some flyers and taped open the doors.

Ya think he might have cleaned some of it up? He did clean up the hall, it appeared but the now growing pile of trash stood at the entrance. Finally, my husband came in, oblivious to my growing annoyance with it, and said, "They are having some kind of open house upstairs, I had to move that pile of crap that was in front of the door". That put an end to my experiment.

It leaves me wondering is it a city thing, a collectivist mindset thing or just that there happen to be a whole lot of lazy people living and working in this building. Probably a combination of all three.

Why didn't I, you probably ask. I wanted to but then I was amused and perplexed watching people walk in and out of the building and each time walking around the mess. Then I just got curious how long it would stay there.

Keys Please

2009-09-03T02:10:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the last time you had some keys made? Remember what it cost you? Three bucks? I had to get some keys for my kids last year and they put them on some special little cartoon character keys. I think those cost me about $4 a piece.

Well, any brave soul wanna take a wager what two new keys will set you back in Stockholm? How about about $22. Yeah, not kidding. I almost had a coronary when he said it. 180 crowns.

No, no, old chap, you see -- I wanted ordinary house keys not the 22k gold keys. Not keys to the universe. Just ordinary keys.

Well, you say--perhaps he is the only game in town. Perhaps he has a monopoly on this key making business and he can set his price. Ha! Nice try. Every third store front, after the Turkish pizza places and after the hair cutting places is a key making place.

Then to further boggle my mind, I went down to get some coat hangers. You know, the plastic variety we buy 12 for a dollar sometimes 10 for a dollar. Try about $2.50 for three! Three!? I need, like, 300 hundred. So, I am looking at spending $200 on $20 worth of hangers. Are you frikking kidding me right now?

Thankfully, of the 16 boxes we shipped over here, one was a box of hangers. I knew from experience.

Americans really need to think loooonnng and hard about taxpayer funded *free* healthcare and cap and trade taxes. Long and hard.

Moving Day

2009-08-31T05:01:00.000-07:00

Moving Day has finally come. We are no longer in the Flea Market and in a better setting. If not an emptier setting. Empty is OK with me though, I'll take it.

Sunday, we met the owner at noon and she was to give us the keys and tell us what information she had to give us. She had warned us that the cleaning people were going to be there all weekend and we would not be able to move in until after they were through. In Sweden they are very big on using "professional" cleaners and you can never move in until they are through. It seems to take a really long time from what I have noticed.

We get upstairs to the door and when she sees it is locked she is in disbelief that the cleaners have not been there. Great. All in all, it is a big fluster cluck and she finally gets the cleaners over at about 1:30. He shows up with a team of ladies and they are done by about 5:30. In the meantime we move all of our stuff, about 20 boxes and five or six suitcases, using a dolley cart because it is only about a block's distance. It is a first. Though we have moved numerous times, we have never moved via foot before.

We come in and out with our stuff and it completely has the cleaning ladies disorientated because we are not supposed to be there. We are not supposed to be there until after they leave. It is the way it is always done. Except, the guy who runs the show had to cut us some slack because they neglected to show up on time because of some sort of miscommunication. His name is Michel and he is from Turkey as so many of the entrepreneurs we meet are. The more we come across them the more I like them. They are always friendly, down to earth and extremely hard working. (generalizing again, Lex! LOL, I am always going to think that)

I am without internet for the next few days. Actually I have this broad band card that is only getting three bars. The owners accidentally packed the cable modem in with their stuff with them to the UK. They are supposed to ship it back. We can not figure out the TV. They have a magnet induction stove top that it took me about an hour to figure out. Apparently, it has to sense that there is a pan on the surface to switch on. And they have some sort of condensor dryer, that I have not a clue what to do with.

All in all, it's been a crazy three days. I sent my daughter off for a week long camping trip with her class to the archipelago and almost missed getting her to the bus. Forgot to get a cake for a fika and had to run out this morning at seven am to get one.

Good times.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

2009-08-28T10:18:00.000-07:00

I went to the PTA meeting for my son's class today. As a general rule, I try to avoid any place where large groups of women congregate unless shoes or purses for purchase are involved. However, I went in today armed with an open mind and low expectations.

Actually, this was the second PTA meeting I have gone to. The first was the "business" meeting, this was more of a get to know each other coffee. It was pleasant, as these things always are in the beginning. It isn't until later that you realize it is still very much like the social constructs you left behind in high school.

During the meeting the nurse came in to talk about the swine flu and immunizations. Then an American woman took the stage and went into a 20 minute lesson about head lice. It was a full demonstration. She had some special small comb and a homeopathic tincture she bought from the health food store. She was showing us how she combed her kids' hair each morning as a preventative measure. I nodded off about three minutes into the presentation, as I generally do so I really could not tell you what other tips of the trade she was sharing.

She was clearly spending a lot of time, effort, thought and resources into combatting these little head squatting creatures. As I looked around the questions were coming at her rapid fire and everyone had the same look of abject fear I must have.

Initially, before slipping under, I was horrified. Lice? "Is this a common thing?" I asked the two Swedish women I was sitting with. One woman who looked extremely irritated answered, "No, this is crazy".

Another American woman in the room, maybe her assistant in all this, was as animated and as concerned about the impending lice epidemic. And it hit me. Aaaaaaah, good old American neuroticism. So, I laughed and said to the Swedish woman, "Oh, it's an American thing". We kind of laughed a bit about the hand sanitizer and the antibacterial soaps. A little self deprecating humor is always a good thing and a little disarming. She then said "Yes, anytime there is anyone on the room asking 100 questions it's always the Americans"

Hey now... they may be neurotics but they are MY neurotics.

Anyhow, I figure the truth is probably somewhere in the middle. True--American's tend to over worry and try to control their environments to a huge extent. Also though, Swedes tend to gloss over negative attributes about their society, avoid unpleasantries or to even be in denial about many things.

Red Light, Green Light

2009-08-27T07:55:00.000-07:00

When they say pedestrians have the right-of-way, they really mean it in Sweden.

There are two different types of crosswalks in Stockholm. The first is with a light system allowing you to cross when it shows a green little man walking. The second is a cross walk with no light. In these crosswalks, pedestrian trumps driver and here a pedestrian can cross at any time.

If a car sees a pedestrian it must stop on a dime to let them go. The crazy part is--they actually do. I have seen many cars come to screeching halts to let the cross walkers cross. It seems backwards to me because I think it's much easier to stop your legs than to stop a 3,000-4,000 pound car.

Even more mystifying is the unwavering faith that the crossers seem to have that the cars will always stop. They obliviously cross even as a car is speeding toward them. Half the time they do not even give a glance as though maybe they have some apprehension. That maybe this vehicle could be the one that was going to keep going.

It think maybe it has something to do with an almost child-like naivety many Swedes seem to have. A microcosmic sized example of self preservation taking a backseat to the belief in the system.

European Grooming

2009-08-25T01:10:00.000-07:00

I can not really say this is an expose on Swedish grooming because, over all the Swedes seem better than most Europeans. However, I do see a bit of it here also. By "it" I mean just an overall lack of grooming. What got me thinking about this was the "Back to School" meeting at my children's school last week. I had noticed that all the men looked to be about a good month out form a haircut. I found it strange that one wouldn't have themselves spruced up for the event. Lasting first impressions and all that.

It is a common sight. Eloquently dressed in a nice suit, nice tie, good shoes and a complete wreck from the shoulders up. Sometimes, I think it is purposeful. They are going for that Sven look. You know what I mean, the windswept blonde almost surfer look. And do not get me wrong, it can be a good look, if you are 22. At 42 and in a business suit, it's just plain puzzling. There is something about age that lends itself to good grooming anyway. Lack of grooming just doesn't work for you the way it used to.

Many times though, it is not intentional. The hair creeping onto the neck, the nose hairs, the hairy moles, over grown mustaches that cover the teeth...all of it not planned. All of it unpleasant for those around the offender.

It is true that most American's have a compulsion for overall cleanliness. It is to the point where some experts claim our environments are so sterile it could actually be harming our children's immune systems. Hand sanitizers, antibacterial everything..I have friends who would need biological warfare suits to get on the subways I ride everyday. I like trying to spot the Americans. They typically don't blend.

What is even more of a mystery to me is the fact that salons/frisors are every third storefront here in the city. So, clearly, there is a lot of haircutting and grooming going on. I've never seen so many beauty salons. I am not sure who is keeping these guys in business. Maybe it is all the Svens getting their highlight regrowth done.

The Singing Sverigiachis

2009-08-23T09:47:00.000-07:00

There is a commercial here for Bredbands bolaget that features a group of mariachis coming out of a suitcase singing in Swedish. Click here for link You can file that one under, things I would have never seen ten years ago. Happily, I can report that Mexicana has reached Scandinavia. Coming from an border state in the United States, Arizona, I have grown to appreciate our hybrid mix of all things American with a little salsa flair.

Every burger place in Stockholm seems to be running a special on the Tex Mex or Mexican version of their burger. Max Burger is even getting in on the game and offering up a Crunchy Nacho Burger. The Mexican food section of any grocery store is rather impressive. While you won't yet find refried beans or New Mexican style green chile, you can get some decent jarred salsas, flour tortillas and seasonings. Enough to cobble together a fix for any south of the border cravings.

Sometimes, though, they get it wrong. I ordered a chicken club sandwich last night with a "tex mex" sauce. Really, I should know better than this. I have had enough odd concoctions that have been labeled as Tex Mex or Mexican to know the outcome is less than certain. When the sandwich came out it had the undeniable yellow color only found in the one spice I have zero fondness for-- curry. No, no, no--you will never find curry in anything Mexican, except maybe outside of North America.

This penchant for Mexican food makes me wonder if thinking outside the bun™ or perhaps a run for the border™ is not in Scandinavia's future? I could really use a gordita right about now.

Using the ATM

2009-08-21T01:05:00.001-07:00

I finally got my bank card a few weeks ago. There are a few things I really do not have the patience to stop and take the time to do. Stopping to buy gas, going to the bathroom and using the ATM are among the top three. Little annoying pieces of time banditry that take away from more productive past times like being on the internet.

Well, getting gas is no longer an issue. Using the ATM is, although, now it is using the ATM while everything on the screen is in Swedish. I have it down to a basic routine as long as the screens do not change. Well, yesterday they did. A little stress inducing to say the least.

Usually, I make my husband come with me. I am not really sure why as he knows less Swedish than I or the kids do. Yesterday I was feeling brave, so I went it alone. I put in my card, the usual screens came up. I typed in my pin, typed in my amount and, yikes, a completely foreign message popped on the screen. Ofcourse, at this point the line behind me was four deep.

I could not make out what the screen was saying. I just wanted my card back. It was the longest 30 seconds of my life and I was certain I was never going to see my card again as I bargained with God about being a better person and never using the ATM again if I could just see my card one more time. I tried my luck and pressed the button that said something about a receipt and presto, my card was back. My ATM card never looked so good.

I stepped back and let the queue file through and what do you think I did? I tried it again. Like some sick masochist, I went back for a second round. Only this time I knew to press the kvitto button. I was convinced that, maybe, I did something wrong. I think it was telling me it was out of 100 kronor notes and I had to take out a minimum of 500 kronor. I am pretty sure that was what it was reading.

This Place is Falling Apart

2009-08-20T07:42:00.001-07:00

Nine days and counting until I am outta the Flea Market. But I am here to tell you, this place is falling apart and it's nothing we are doing. Just because I can not stand the place doesn't mean I am deliberately treating things badly. It is just a case of bum luck, bad timing, whatever you call it.

Two weeks ago the washer stopped working. Last night the freezer stopped working. Thankfully, I have successfully cracked myself into the laundry room but it takes me three hours to do the laundry every four days! Thank God for Mark Levin podcasts.

I pulled down a shade, it refuses to go back up. The ironing board, which had some jimmy rig repair, fell apart. I am truly afraid of what else can self destruct in the next nine days. I keep having bad visuals of us on some Swedish version of Judge Judy.

No freezer means no ice...for nine long days. I feel like I am camping.

Raggare

2009-08-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

Raggare, as far as I understand, is a sub-culture in Sweden that is hooked on vintage American cars. It seems like one Saturday a month the Raggare spend the evening cruising Sveavagan, the largest street and basically the entering street into Stockholm from the north. Living close to Sveavagan we get to watch the Raggare Parade from the window to the delight of my kids who find hours of entertainment watching this.

Vintage car clubs are not unusual, we have them in the United States also. The Reggare take it to a whole other level. In addition to parading their cars they usually dress up as 50's greasers, red necks, punkers, etc. The cars are not limited to old style American vintage, though that is mostly what you will see. There are more vintage American cars in Sweden than in the entire US. You will also see just strange contraptions welded together. This weekend we saw a Smart car with a race car grill and bumber and all sorts of unusual pairings welded together.

With this traffic comes to a halt on Sveavagen and it is pretty much mayhem for several hours. Music blaring, people hanging out off car windows, riding on roofs, openly drinking while driving, horns beeping, singing in unison (a European tradition that I'll never understand) and sheer craziness rule the street. For some reason, American Confederate flags adorn the landscape. The way I understand it, Ragarre has it's roots in the rural towns and the followers were viewed upon as sort of rednecks. In fact, there is a Swedish saying - "if you don't like CCR, you are not a raggare

A celebration of red-neck-iness. In Europe. Yep, even Europe has rednecks.

School's Back

2009-08-18T04:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marks the beginning of the new school year which is bittersweet in many ways. Sweet because my kids are going to a wonderful school , in an excellent environment and learning so much about the world around them. Already, my daughter is in her element. I think I will have a hard time ever getting her back into a public school. My son, who is normally, apprehensive about any change is also doing remarkably well.

Bitter because I am losing my summer accomplices. My son has been largely my compass. At eight, he knows pretty much where all the buses go and how to get everywhere for the all too common instances when I am absolutely clueless. My daughter, as always, is the adult in the trio. She keeps us on task. They have both been my extra arms and legs with the, now bane of my existence, trips to the grocery store.

I have selfishly had them all to myself for the entire long summer with no intrusions and not having to share them with the outside world. It was a memorable summer, one I am sure we will always carry with us and I am thankful to give them this opportunity that so few children get to experience. They have put up with my complaining, my constant philosophizing, my soap box styled rants, this terrible apartment and a giant upheaval in their lives with hardly a complaint.

That 70s Ortho Office

2009-08-16T10:25:00.000-07:00

Friday I took my daughter to her first orthodontist appointment. She has braces so I need someone to continue her treatment while we are here. Overall, it was a non-eventful appointment, the dentist seemed to know what he was doing; he was professional and pleasant. All good things.

What struck me was the vast difference between our orthodontist offices in the states and this orthodontist office. This office reminded me of the doctors offices I remember from my childhood in the 1970s. Not that the equipment or furnishings were antiquated. They were not. Just the feel, the look and the general vibe of the place.

Our orthodontist office in the states...a whole other level. First off, it is called Aspen Orthodontics. The entire office is snow board themed. Snow boards and winter sports equipment hang from the ceilings. The waiting room is a plush, interior designed space with a big screen TV and kid's nook complete with a Play Station. Everything is state of the art and antiseptically modern. All this competes with the any one of the fifteen orthodontists in the five mile radius including the guy we didn't choose with the Slush Puppy machine.

Oh, and have I forgotten to add his display case where he displays the gifts for his token system? Tokens are given to his patients for "good" standing. Things like showing up for appointments, wearing your Aspen Orthodontics t-shirt to your appointments and not breaking brackets are rewarded with various incentive gifts. The more tokens you collect the bigger the prize; movie tickets, Ipods and even a Wi make up the selection.

These are the things, the comforts, the luxuries we live with, as Americans, everyday and we never think twice about them. They are small material things and it wouldn't kill you to not have them. But how lucky are we to have such options available to us?

Yasuragi Hasseludden

2009-08-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Today we spent the entire day at the Yasuragi Hasseludden Japanese spa which is located in Saltsjö-Boo, just outside of Nacka. Nacka is my favorite suburb in the Stockholm area and where we will live if we stay a second year. I love being there. It is clean, green and serene with very pretty Swedish style country houses and not a commiebloc in sight.

Water is the theme for Yasuragi. There are indoor and outdoor hot tubs, saunas, pools and steam rooms. The outdoor hot tubs while built into the surrounding forest and hillside also over look the inner Baltic archipelago. They also offer yoga, tai chi, karate and meditation classes. Yasuragi is one of the few spas that also allows entire families as a result they offer classes and activities for children as well. Laughing yoga, martial arts, origami are some of the activities offered today.

The entire spa is Japanese themed. Yasuragi means inner peace and harmony and the entire spa is designed to promote those principles. The minute you enter the building you are given a complimentary kimono and swimsuit. That is your attire for the entire day. You are given an introduction to the Japanese bathing ritual. The bath is an ancient ritual that requires quite a bit of patience and time. Before entering the tubs you are expected to perform the ritual scrubbing and rinsing in the scrub-section. This gives both body and mind the time to relax and wind down.

Lunch of sushi and miso soup, fresh fruits and herbal teas are available through out the day. I should add that Yasuragi is also a hotel and longer stays are available. Probably the recommended course for Americans as it takes us a good half a day to begin to even start to relax.

Unfortunately I did not get any pictures because my camera is giving me some strange error. But I am nabbing a few off the internet to give a visual.

Tala svenska

2009-08-14T11:21:00.000-07:00

I am slowly finding myself understanding words here and there when someone speaks to me in Swedish. This is a good thing. I know quite a few words and can, myself, put basic sentences together. When I see it written, I can generally make out enough of what has been written to get the gist. I do always have a hard time understanding what is being said. It probably has more to do with poor listening skills than much else. I probably should work on that.

Today while shopping the clerk told me the price and I could make out the numbers well enough to know she had given me the 25% discount that was advertised. I was quite pleased. Then for some reason, out of the deep recesses of my brain, when she handed me the receipt I responded with "Danke". She looked at me quite confused as she had already heard me speaking English with my children. Why I would be thanking her in German was a complete mystery. To her and to myself as well. More than once all the words have come to me...in German.

I like the challenge of learning other languages. Swedish and German are very similar and many of the words are nearly identical. The sentence structure is pretty similar. I am slowly getting used to the strange U sounds that in the beginning really irritated me. A lot of ewwwws and ulllll sounds. In Swedish, there is a strong emphasis on stress of certain syllables which is not as common in English. There are a few more vowels, ä and ü and strange letter combinations such as sj or tj.

The Swedes are more than willing to speak English and most have an excellent command of the language. A few have even acted surprised that I would bother learning Swedish as so few in the world do. I can not see why you would not try to learn the language of your host country, just as a sign of respect for their culture and way of life.

Lagom

2009-08-13T12:05:00.000-07:00

Lagom is a Swedish word that has no real equivalent in English. Roughly translated it means not too much and not too little. The Swedish way.

To completely understand Sweden you must understand the concept of lagom. The ideal amount. A perfect compromise. As it carries over, not only in terms of material things but in terms of work/home life and show of emotions. It is a concept Swedes are very proud of.

It is a way of thinking completely at odds with the American psyche of excess and limitless bounty. Americans, in general, would see the concept of lagom as a limit put on them. It would be in direct conflict with our "the sky is the limit" mindset. Though, in reality, I think most Americans could probably use a little more lagom and most Swedes a little more reaching for the sky.

Ten Magic Digits

2009-08-11T22:59:00.000-07:00

We have finally received our personal numbers. Well, I shouldn't say finally because there is always a chance it couldn't have happened at all and when it did it was supposed to take 6-8 weeks--we have gotten ours in a record three.

So, we are now residents. Supposedly I can now operate with ease. I can now open bank accounts, get library cards, movie store memberships, go to the doctor and whatever else requiring the number. Actually, we've already done the above without too much hassle. Except getting the movie store membership. That was a little dicey.

The first movie rental store turned us down. We asked if they could keep our credit card on file. Nope, gotta have the personnumber. Maybe my thinking is a little off base but doesn't a personal number really just tell you I'd have a really large chance of really only being a liability and a credit card, at least, give you something to bill against if I never show back up to return the merchandise? But, hey, why let logic interfere with policy?

So, we shuffled off to the next video store where they gave us a membership, no problem. The bank wasn't too much of an issue either. Sweden is big on having people physically go places and give their assurances that you are who you claim to be and are an all around OK guy. Basically, that was what we had to do in that instance.

The library was a piece of cake. The librarian was extremely helpful. Again another instance of Swedish graciousness to annoying foreigners. The German's would never have given me a library card. Then again the German's would never have personnummers for reasons that are obvious.

I am very interested in actually using the medical system so I can give a first hand assessment. I have found out, though, that contrary to popular opinion doctor's visits are not free. What? All this time I have been told, it is free, free, free. Turns out there is a co-pay of anywhere from about $15-$25. Turns out too, a lot of stuff isn't covered and a lot of stuff is billed to the employer rather than the state. Gets more interesting, the more I find out.

I did use the German medical system and I was quite pleased with it but I was a private payer. My son was born there. What was nice was that my doctor had an ultrasound in his office and for the first four months he gave me an ultrasound included in my $50 co-pay. I think an ultrasound on the states would cost you at least $1500. I had about six of them.

In the hospital, when my son was born, because I was private pay, I had a huge double room all to myself. I almost felt bad that the German women were cramped 3 to a room while I had a this huge double room. Almost. But, that's what private paying will buy you and what the state will buy you. My Russian nurse kept telling me 'Erste klasse", meaning I had first class accommodations.

I got the distinct impression she didn't like me because of the room. Leftover baggage from the Soviet era was my guess. It didn't help our relationship along when she asked me if I liked Germany or the United States better and I promptly, without the slightest bit of hesitation, answered the United States. She cooled considerably after that.

Let's face it after six long days, we were working on a relationship of sorts. I do not know when, if ever, they planned to discharge me. I finally had to had to call in my husband and have him demand to have me be let out of there.

Back to my personnummer, if I only had a real, paying job, I could break a nail and collect some sort of worker's compensation for 12 weeks at 100% pay and another 27 weeks at 80% pay. Ok, those are not the real numbers but I'd bet they are close.

Actually, the excuse du jour is stress. Writing this blog does carry with it a fair amount of stress. The deadlines are tough.

There is some sort of starving artist state subsidy I could qualify for. (for a moment I ask you to dismiss the fact that the 80s are way over) Recently a heavy metal band member claimed that his heavy metal lifestyle was causing him to miss work to go to his gigs. He argued this was causing him to lose jobs and he HAD to rely on welfare handouts.

He won some sort of income supplement. I am thinking, writing this blog could possibly be construed a creating art. I am so entrenched in the internet/blog lifestyle it is causing me problems actually finding work? Yeah?

Yes, it is a Garbage Chute

2009-08-09T23:11:00.001-07:00

And that's a picture of my kids stuffing our American sized garbage into the European sized garbage chute.

I think it's pretty strange looking. All the apartments that we looked at had the same sort of set up. To take the trash out, we have to go down two flights of stairs and back up another flight of stairs and with the use of an electronic scan key get out to what is, essentially, the roof of part of the second story. I think it may be the roof of a parking garage.

This roof is something of a courtyard. It's quite nice actually. It's where the laundry room resides in a separate little building. There are some other little shed type things for storage that actually have soil and spaces for gardens on their roofs. Grills, patio sets, bike racks, a sand box and play areas for children...it is actually rather pleasant out there. You would be surprised.

Come to Jamaica, Mon

2009-08-08T12:44:00.000-07:00

Tonight we set off to Stockholm's southern island of Sodermalm to try our hat at caribbean food Stockholm style. Who would think you would find excellent, authentic Jamaican food in Stockholm, Sweden? Who would also guess that Stockholm has a thriving and alive reggae scene? True on both accounts.

For anyone reading in the Stockholm area, Back A Yard, is located in Sodermalm at Folkungagatan 128. Once there you will be met with a uniquely Jamaican interior. The restaurant is small and fills up quickly so reservations are recommended.

The traditional favorites, for caribbean foodies, can be found. Jerk chicken, fish stews, saltfish fritters, steamed fish with mountains of vegetables and rice. Fried johnny cakes compliment each dish. To quench your thirst, a decent assortment of beer including Red Stripe and, a novelty for an Americans, Cuban beer. For dessert we opted for a sweet potato pudding with rum ice cream and fresh passion fruit. It was more of a cake than a pudding. The portions were huge and by this time I was in physical pain not wanting to waste a bite.

I don't think I'll make a habit of writing about food but this was a meal truly worth sharing. If you are reading this from or heading to Stockholm and would like a little island flare, Back A Yard is worth the train ride to SoFo.

Let It Rain

2009-08-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

I've finally found a reason to just maybe, kinda sorta, like rainy days. Hunter Wellington mud boots. I have wanted a pair of these bad boys since I saw fashion queen Kate Moss stomping around the Glastonbury Festival mud. Alas, I have never have had a need for a pair living in the desert. Until now.

I've started my collection today. I am downright giddy at the prospect of owning many, many pairs.

It's the little things I tell ya. The little things.

2009-08-06T09:58:00.000-07:00

What is this? Poll in sidebar

Personal Space...What A Concept!

2009-08-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

The whole idea of personal space seems lost on the average Swede. In queues that stand right up behind you, their hot breath on your neck and their conversations in your ear. Walking behind you they walk right on your heels never quite walking around you but right on top of you. Stopping to read a sign or a menu, they'll stealthy stand right behind you, closer than your shadow. You will never hear them come up but if you quickly turn around you will find yourself nose to nose and you'll wonder "why, why, why are you standing so close to me".

In check out lines, where you bag your own groceries, they'll hastily start throwing their groceries in with yours. You'll stand there side by side picking your groceries out of a big pile of yours and theirs. The other day I was filling a bag with potatoes. There were five large bins filled with potatoes. A man came over, ignored the four other empty bins, and stood right with me picking through the same bin. Weird. I wondered did he think I somehow had the better bin?

What makes it even more unusual is this is pretty much a society where there is no real sense of urgency. I'd expect it in the hustle and bustle of achievement driven and space deprived Tokyo or Hong Kong. Let's face it, this is a place where you may not get a reply back to an email for three weeks. Nothing can't wait and it often does.

I wonder if it is some latent side effect of collectivist type societies? Is personal space and the idea that we own the 12 inches of space surrounding us an American conception? The difference between an individualistic culture and a collectivist mindset? Hmmm, food for thought.

The Flea Market

2009-08-04T09:58:00.000-07:00

I haven't written about the place until now, well, because it was just too damn depressing. Now that it is August 4th and I have passed the halfway point I am feeling better about it. I am almost outta here...27 more days to be precise. Not that I am counting or anything.

I should preface this to say, we rented a flat just down the road from here in the picturesque district of Vasastan. However, it would not be available until September 1st. We had to find a temporary apartment for those two months. We used an online service and rented the Flea Market, sight unseen. I reasoned:

a. it was only two months
b. I had looked at several places and didn't see anything that wasn't decent
c. It was large, fairly expensive and in Vasastan

I should also preface this by telling you that I really don't like stuff. I have some material objects that I really like but they are few in number. Please note, I don't say this to point out some great moral positioning. Less stuff is just easier. The couple of things I do love -- my Dyson vacuum, my Mac, my Kitchen Aide fridge with (sob) icemaker and clothes and shoes. Other than that and as far as decorating goes, I am in the Georgia O'Keefe realm. Chair, table, lamp and I am good. We are talking real minimalist use of things like curtains, knick knacks, and pictures.

So, really, if the fates wanted to play a cruel joke on me and invent an interior that is so anti-everything I could ever want in a place this would be it. Antiques-check. Really, really bad paintings by the truckload with even worse ugly frames, check. Bad, bad, bad antique like tables and mirrors--oh, yeah, we've got 'em. Throw rugs everywhere, yes siree. We promptly rolled up all the rugs and hid them under beds about five seconds after the owner left. Ugly ornate lamps and clocks. Check and check.

Can I also mention that clutter makes me crazy? This place gives clutter a new name. And because they were only at their summer home for two months, they only packed up half of their clutter. Drawers and drawers full of crap. Bags full of old newspapers--for what purpose, I have no idea.Trick closets that would make Bugs Bunny proud. Book shelves over flowing with pretentious books that I am sure she's probably never read, old school notebooks and ledgers. She has old notebooks from college. On display in bookshelves. She's like 40, I've seen her pictures.

Yep, and to add insult to injury she's some sort of a, dare I say, liberal. All the obligatory titles are here. The Story of Bob Dylan, The Works Of Marx, Nietzsche, Is Hetrosexuality Normal. The full set of classic music. Brochures for the local theaters. The whole gamut of liberal merit badges on display for anyone who cares enough to be impressed by them.

Even weirder, is, though four people live here, every room is overrun with her stuff. As far as I can tell, the husband has one closet that he keeps very neat. The kids have their own wardrobes and a dresser. The rest is hers. Every drawer, every bookshelf, every nook, every cranny. Wow! And I thought I was self involved.

I am just thankful, in 27 days, she can have it all back. In the meantime, I need to remember where I put all those throw rugs and where they go.

The Rational Jingo

2009-08-04T02:28:00.000-07:00

In an effort to keep my OAIS blog separate, or as separate as humanly possible, from my political views I have started a blog specifically for political and related topics. For anyone interested.

The Rational Jingo

Sweden's Secret Paradise

2009-08-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

What would you call 30,000 islands, clear blue water, islets and skerries; spanning from the barren to the lush and leafy, seaside cottages; spanning from the quaint to the downright decadent and idyllic scenes of children tire swinging and cliff jumping into the water? Naturally you'd call such a place paradise. And rightly so.

It's Sweden's best kept secret, it's archipelago. A day at the archipelago and suddenly you get it. You understand the vacation homes at the expense of the first home, the two month holidays and why and how they stay and tolerate the long, cold and dark winters. You understand better how so many are able to maintain near oblivion that not only are the barbarians outside the gate but that they have a firm foothold inside the gate.

It's the kind of place, I'd check off the list for being too cold, too far north, too not tropical or desert enough for me to bother with. Which is probably how and why it maintains it appeal. Because even at the peak of summer time, though brisk with activity, the waters are still vast and roomy, the air still clear and the breathing room still plentiful.

It's a step back to a more innocent time. A simpler time. A slower time.

Red Skinny Jeans Are Never a Good Idea

2009-08-01T10:46:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a widespread fashion phenomenon here in Stockholm. Colored jeans. Really, really hideously colored jeans. The kind of jeans we see on our clearance racks for about $4 a pair and we wonder where they came from and where they were before they were on the clearance rack. Well, now we know.

The most prevalent of these colored jeans would be of the fire engine red variety.

It takes a special kind of person to pull off red jeans. It takes an even more special kind of person to carry off red skinny jeans. It takes a really, really special kind of man to pull these off. I don't know that I have seen one yet.

I didn't know how bad the problem was until I was looking for jeans for my eight year old son in the boys section at Åhlen's. Åhlen's is a popular Swedish department store and what's interesting is that it still breaks clothes into men's and women's and boy's and girl's. Some of the newer more trendy stores do not. And, silly retrobate me, I am still living with a mindset that there are definite differences between the sexes. A concept not popular among the mainstream left in Sweden.

Back to red jeans. I can unequivocally state that my son will never own a pair of red jeans. As long as I am paying for them, at least.

Tyresta National Park

2009-07-31T11:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we spent the day in Tyresta National Park and Nature Preserve. Stockholm is the only European capital with virgin forest close by, about an hour south of the city center. Here you can find primeval forest with pine trees that are 400 years old, pristine forest lakes and a large number of unusual plants and animals.

The main entrance to the national park is at Tyresta village, which is considered to be among the best preserved villages in the Stockholm region and has been inhabited since the iron age. The buildings date back to the 18th century and have been preserved in their original state.

Call Roto-Rooter

2009-07-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

What's worse than a plumbing problem? How about a plumbing problem in a foreign country and really limited knowledge of the language?

My kids were washing off their feet after spending the day at the park yesterday and, well, my daughter decided it was too strenuous to actually stand and do this. She decided to sit on the sink. That was barely anchored into the wall. With anchors that where twenty years old and jimmy rigged in with toothpicks, I later found out.

The horror that followed is still so raw it's really difficult to relive at this moment and let me tell you, I am not entirely sure, it can not be somehow be traced back to the Shaman. It'll be a while before I look back at this and laugh. Though, I know I will at some point.

Upon screams from my son that "Keeley ripped the sink out of the wall", I walked over to the bathroom. I was thinking she probably knocked the European style spray nozzle out of the shower.

Wishful thinking, I entered the bathroom to see her holding the sink up. Cracked anchors, icky black sink goo and cracked plastic piping lay on the floor. My son had a small glimmer of satisfaction in his eye and I think I detected a small smirk on his face, quite eerie actually, when he said to her, "You are going to be in so much trouble when Dad gets home!"

Ah crap..I had just received a text from him that he was on his way home and ready to start his five day weekend. Yeah. I am thinking this wasn't what he had in mind.

Getting a handyman in July or August in Europe? Lots of luck. The whole city is on vacation and has been since early July.

What ensued next was really much of a blur. A lot of internet surfing and trying to figure out just what the hell a Home Depot is called in Swedish. A whole lot more surfing to discover there wasn't one in the city center. A subway, a bus ride, $50 worth of parts and it was fixed. Actually in better condition that it was when we started.

Someday, it'll be funny. Just not today.

Hagaparken

2009-07-30T00:12:00.000-07:00

We spent the day in Haga Park yesterday. Hagapark is Stockholm's crown jewel and is said to be one of the best maintained English style parks in Western Europe. It's probably the nicest park I can recall spending time it. Nicer than Central Park, the Tiergarten and, even, Bangkok's Lumpini Park. What's even nicer is that it is about a five minute walk from our flat. It's actually located in the city of Solna which is the next municipality north of Stockholm.

It is an oasis in the city, offering vast amounts of green trees, fresh air and water for those who want to relax and refresh their souls. It is home to forest, gardens and many lakes. Another plus is that is immaculately kept and free of the urban debris.

The 50,000-square-meter park has a fairly-tale-like atmosphere, due to the many fantasy-filled structures, like the Ekotemplet, the blue Copper Tents, the Turkish Pavilion, and the Chinese Pavilion. It was said that the King Gustav III liked to sit under Ekotemplet for breakfast.

Hagaparken

Haga was the project of King Gustav III during the 18th century. His royal architect was responsible for most of the park’s design. The King Gustav III’s summer palace stands in the middle of the park, and today it is open to the public during the summer months.

Pay to Play...er Pee

2009-07-28T23:34:00.001-07:00

You won't find a public toilet here that doesn't require paying a fee. It's usually 5-10 SEK. The conversion rate, which you can't help doing in your head no matter how painful, is about 7.5 Krona to one US dollar. It's fluctuating, it got as high as 7.9 last week. With the dollar tanking this week, it was down to 7.4 yesterday. The Euro trades at about ten to one and that's about where things should be to be just ridiculously expensive. Converting to dollars, makes it comically expensive.

Doing the simple math, you can see, that's nearly a dollar to over a dollar to go to the loo. I have been told that they charge to maintain the bathrooms. Strange that they can't maintain the bathrooms on the sizable amount of tax revenue they collect. Even stranger that no one else finds this pretty unacceptable.

Places like McDonald's and it's Swedish equivalent Max Burger charge also. Leading me to believe it's also about keeping the inordinate amount of crazies, drunks and drug users out of the bathroom. So again, it becomes a case of the majority having to pay for the irresponsible behavior of the minority.

The Easy Way

2009-07-28T09:35:00.000-07:00

"There is a level of cowardice lower than that of the conformist: the fashionable non-conformist."
Ayn Rand

I saw a guy with a nail in his nose today. This isn't really a commentary on Stockholm because, really, cities everywhere attract these sort of attention needing types. The exception is, in Stockholm, they are generally drinking beers while walking down the street. I am guessing there are no open container laws here and if there are, they aren't enforced. So, yeah, here he was nail in nose, beer in hand.

How old was he you ask? 15? 17? Nah, he was about 35. As soon as he saw myself and kids he got louder, apparently to draw more attention to himself. You know to really freak me out. Because, having just fallen off the turnip truck and it being 2009-- I've never seen an idiot with a large piece of hardware in his nose. Well, maybe not one who's five years out from an enlarged prostate, I'll give him that.

Stockholm is full of them. Which is interesting, I guess. But, more than anything it's so yesterday. The non-conformists need to come up with something new. The 1970s punk rocker---not shocking. The over tattooed and pierced thing--seen it. The gothic look. For real? People are still doing this?

And isn't conforming to non-conformity--well, conformity?

The Ugly American Part One of Many

2009-07-27T00:57:00.001-07:00

Faced with a four day weekend, I set out to take a small trip. To complicate things, I am trying to keep it relatively inexpensive seeing as we just went on vacation. Inexpensive European vacation, an oxymoron if there ever was one. Especially with a dollar more fit for lining bird cages than anything else.

Originally, we were headed to the original Legoland in Billund, Denmark. Getting there turns out to be an ordeal. Three trains, a bus--sounds more complicated than what I had bargained for. Then I turned to the idea of renting a car. Ten hour drive, ferry to get the car over the water, $7 a gallon gas to get there..again, getting way more complicated than I have the tolerance for.

Isn't there a 1-800 number I can call and get the all inclusive deal? Some sort of mapped out, error free, baby stepped package for the easily overwhelmed? Someone would have thought of this in the US. Plus, we'd get free T-shirts to help market the idea along to other attention span challenged travelers. It's what we do. Actually, we just drive or fly. We don't bother fucking around with trains.

Really, I can't even blame it on my short attention span. My husband, who excels at conquering, complicated Kilimanjaro sized tasks, looked up from the computer and said, "Are you frikking kidding me right now?"

I'll eventually have to make good on my Legoland promise but a nagging voice inside my head keeps asking, "Can't we just wait until we get home hop in the car and make the 5 hour drive to San Diego?" We'd be guaranteed a rain free experience--with ice.

Plus, I hate the idea of spending my money in the highest taxed country in the world. Isn't it bad enough I am spending it in the second highest taxed place? It's like a subtle nod of approval.

Then I moved on, so I started racking my brain on where to go. I've been to many of the larger European cities so I started to look for the cheap, last minute airfares. Cologne, Bonn, Vienna--Yes, I know, Ugly American poster child here- but old buidings, old buildings, old churches. I am surrounded by old buildings. And I love old buildings, don't get me wrong, but I don't need to spend $3,000 to look at old buildings for four days. Especially, when I can walk outside and see old buildings all day long.

In my searches I see there is an airline called German Wings. They have cheap flights to Berlin. I love Berlin, a city worth going to again and again. Normally, such an airline might be a little frightening. I'd be a bit nervous to fly Turkey Wings or Poland Wings. But German Wings, I am OK with. The Germans may not be overly friendly but if there is anyone who I'd trust to maintain, fly and schedule flights--it's them. And I bet you could eat off of the floor of one of those babies.

Bah, it looks like there is some sort of World Cup festival going on in Berlin this weekend. Soccer, right? Don't even get me started on that topic.

Back to my search. Anyone of these cities would be a dream, if I were sitting planning the trip from my computer in Phoenix. But, I am in Stockholm. In the thick of it. So, I am not exactly sure what I am looking for.

Plus, old buildings and museums, at this point, aren't a huge selling point to my kids. Especially, when Legoland was on the table.

I am still looking and taking each city and googling "things to do in city". Museums. Hmm, Krakow has a water park. Who knew?

Then, I move on to what really makes me feel like getting on a plane and going somewhere. Sunshine and blue water. Now, I am down into Portugal, Spain, Greece and Turkey. It might be hard to actually drag me out of any of these places. Plus, it's high season--not really cost effective for four days, keeping in mind the ever eroding dollar. All and all, still considering Portugal...

In the meantime, we've decided it's Phuket, Thailand for Christmas. It's an idea everyone can agree on. Maybe we are all going Euro.

Uber Tolerance

2009-07-25T14:57:00.000-07:00

Witnessing the usual barrage of visual assaults on any given day in Stockholm got me to thinking about over tolerance and it's effects on the longevity of society as a whole. Perhaps it isn't the role of government to criminalize certain activities and it is more the role of society to ostracize certain behaviors. A concept that predates modern religions and practiced by tribal peoples throughout the world. Interestingly, I don't write this as a bible-thumping zealot, as I identify myself as much an agnostic as anything else.

When a society loses it's moral bearings, it can not exist in a vacuum forever. Something will eventually come along to fill that vacuum. It does not shock me that Islam is filling that vacuum in Europe.

Ice, Ice Baby...

2009-07-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

The following three things you won't find in Sweden and probably the rest of Europe.

1. Self cleaning ovens

2. Self defrosting freezers

3. Ice Makers

Had a little mishap with the freezer last night. It turns out someone didn't completely shut it and it defrosted. Which wasn't entirely bad because it was looking like it needed defrosting and I really had no burning desire to proactively defrost it, even if I knew how.

In the meantime, my entire stash of ice melted. I don't understand the lack of ice use in the rest of the world. I mean, it's ice--an important component to any respectable drink. And I promise you, as an American, you won't know how important it is to you until you are faced with living a life without it.

Imagine your Big Gulp with no ice. Well, really imagine no Big Gulp. Imagine a 4 Ounce Gulp with no ice. Yeah, that's what I'm talking about. I don't even drink Big Gulps. But, I like knowing I have the option to get one--anytime, day or night.

A German woman once told me that they didn't use ice because it was bad for your digestion. I don't know how true that is. I think the same person told me they didn't shower often in the winter because it was bad for your immune system.

Basically, this puts me back to cracking ice cube trays circa 1978.

In Germany, we inherited an extra freezer from one of the ex-pats who was being repatriated back the the US. I used it solely for ice, because by that time I had developed an odd obsession with ice. The entire freezer became my ice stockpile. I was cracking ice cube trays as fast as I could freeze them.

I would implore the cashier at McDonalds to give me lots of ice. "Viel ice" I would emphatically state. Each time I would get four ice cubes instead of the usual two. I've given up on begging for ice at restaurants, it's just too depressing. But, many times I'll notice that if the waiter knows we are Americans, he will add ice to our drinks. I think they are amused by our use of it.

I am faring better with the ice thing this go around. I am still hoarding it. But, I've come to accept it's just the way it's done.

Simple Observation

2009-07-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

I alway compare the Swedes with the Germans. They are the same in as many ways as they are different, really. Much as a Texan and a New Yorker may be, I suppose.

The Swedes are helpful and generally quite pleasant people. Recently when struggling with a map, a woman come over and offered some lengthly assistance with directions. When going through the self check out (bad idea to do in a foreign language, by the way), a woman came over and offered me some help. Today, coming back from a run, at the cross walk, a young guy, struck up a conversation with me about running .

Living among the Germans for nearly a year and a half, I can't remember one time when a random act of kindness was shown. I rack my brain and try to think of one instance. I can not.

I always muse when such small acts of decency are shown, that the Germans would have kicked me and pushed me out the door. Not much of an over exaggeration. It was not uncommon for them to walk up to the table where I would be eating lunch with my 3 year old daughter and put their cigarettes out in the ashtray on my table. I recall once when first arriving in the country, I did not know to weigh and label my bananas. The cashier took them, glared at me and without a word, threw them under the counter. I had a neighbor, who never, not one time glanced my way or uttered a hello. And I saw him nearly every day.

The Germans are known for their cool reserve, I suppose. A reputation rightly earned. They say it is difficult to earn a German's friendship but if you do, you have a friend for life. Probably a lot of truth to that statement. I never got that far.

The Swedes do not like confrontation and seem to avoid giving unpleasant news. The Germans revel in it. "Yes, there is no milk and there won't be any until next Thursday" they'd tell you with a glimmer in the eye. Where as the Swede may tell you the same bit of news but with a bit more optimism and a lot more empathy .

Finally, Random Men Giving Me Money

2009-07-22T07:46:00.000-07:00

OK, so it was only 20 crowns and he was a raving nutter, but still...it's a step in the right direction.

So, I met a shaman on the T-bana today. I am not really sure why I entertained the notion of speaking to him. I thought perhaps he would be blog-worthy, I guess. And he did not disappointment. Truthfully, I thought once I told him I didn't speak Swedish he'd go away. But, he persisted and he wasn't peeing himself, shooting up or performing any of the other standard issue city past times.

Immediately upon introducing himself, he alerted me, in his broken english, that he was indeed a shaman. "A shaman, really", I answered. Now my interest was peaked. I'd never actually met a Shaman before, this could get interesting.

He was going on, something about his third eye and my energy. Laced in his monologue was a little about how he was never taught English in school but taught himself and was from Stockholm all his life.

Then he opened his wallet and tried to hand me 20 krona. He would not take no for an answer and finally threw it in my bag.

Apparently, it was OK, because he was only a "dealer". Paying it forward or something like that.

Hogback or CommieBlock?

2009-07-21T10:03:00.000-07:00

"You have two choices, you can either..." It usually starts like this and it's generally a choice between two really unappealing options. Though sometimes to mix it up it's a choice between a couple of blissfully wonderful set of circumstances. ''

"You have two choices" I say, "CommieBlock or Hogback?"

Hogback is a vast expanse of nothingness in Northern New Mexico. It's a dusty, empty and desolate town anchored by the tiny Navajo town of Shiprock on one end, Farmington on the other and surrounded by vast expanses of open sky and red bluffs. A place where dreams go to die or simply are never born. In recent times, it's a place where dreams are vaporized into pseudoephedrine and Drano puffs of smoke before they ever have a chance to be acted upon. Casualties of the crystal meth craze that has scorched the earth of many small, western towns in the United States.

We have driven through Hogback many times over the years. We use it as sort of a bar--a measuring stick of yuckiness. So, it's not unusual for it to be a choice in this game. Today.

"You have two choices" I say, "CommieBlock or Hogback?". At this point I always have to qualify that it's only these two choices. Given license, she'll generally come back with a third--more appealing alternative. And the game is nothing, if not a lesson in critical thought. Even when it's the version of the more pleasant options, she'll usually find a way to have all them all.

She surpises me today. She answers "CommieBlock" without hesitation. I can't answer that quickly. It's a tough call.

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Going with the Grain

2009-07-20T11:30:00.000-07:00

I've taken to eating Mueslix. We all have. And it's really good.

It's not like we don't have Mueslix in the United States. We do. It's sits on the shelf next to the Grape Nuts in the cereal section where no one actually buys anything. Oh sure, you've glanced at it once or twice, saw that it was about $6.00 for a small bag and headed straight back over to the Cheerios.

Last stay in Europe, I never even picked up a bag of the stuff. I've watched the Europeans mix it into their yogurts at breakfast without the slightest bit of curiosity. I don't know what changed. But I bought it; I like it. It's good stuff.

Skansen

2009-07-18T10:57:00.000-07:00

We spent the day at Skansen today. Skansen is an open air museum and zoo located on Djugarden (an island in central Stockholm). It's purpose is to show the Swedish way of life before industrialization.

It has a full replica of a 19th century town. Throughout the buildings you will find craftsmen in traditional dress such as shoemakers, tanners, silversmiths, bakers, etc. The zoo houses a wide range of Scandinavian animals including the bison, brown bear, moose, grey seal, lynx, otter, red fox, reindeer, wolf, and wolverine. As well as other popular animals.

I really enjoyed the day there and the weather was, again, perfect. Particularly, I loved the island of Djugarden. It is a large National City park and is only home to historical buildings and monuments, museums, galleries, the amusement park Gröna Lund, Skansen, yacht harbours, and large stretches of forest and meadows. It is spray paint free, meticulously groomed and an oasis in the midst of the city.

Personnummer

2009-07-17T01:43:00.000-07:00

The Personnummer is, basically, like your social security number. In Sweden everyone who resides here for a year or more gets one. It is issued by the tax agency and it's needed to get pretty much anything done. Bank accounts, library cards, grocery store discount cards--they all want your personnummer.

Apparently it opens one to the world of highly coveted "social benefits". Social benefits -- it conjures up visuals of invitations to parties where the beautiful people hang out or special tables at select restaurants. However, social benefits to a European means something else entirely.

People's eyes light up when they question whether you've received your personnumer? They love to remind you that you won't have to worry about healthcare anymore. Mmmmkay. Just yesterday, I read on a chart that Swedish doctors are among the lowest paid in the industrialized world. Somewhere around an average of $66k per year. http://economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/07/15/how-much-do-doctors-in-other-countries-make/

That's a little concerning.

In any case, apparently I can not get a personnummer as I am only slated to be here for 50 weeks and not the minimum 52 required to qualify. I don't get to snuff my nose in the trough of social benefits. I, instead, get to pay $2 for a can of coke and $90 for a pair of Levis. A direct result of all those free social benefits.

Fuel for the Soul

2009-07-16T11:40:00.001-07:00

Something wonderful happened to me today. I was on my way for a run and a car was backing out of a parking garage and nearly ran me over. That wasn't the wonderful part. The good part was what kind of car it was. It was a Chevy Avalanche.

I don't even particularly like the make or the model. I was just downright ecstatic to see a truck. Any truck. The bigger the better. Then I looked around and noticed several more SUVs and trucks. It was some sort of service center for American made cars and trucks. Well, back when American car companies were actually shareholder owned and made cars by market mandate.

I was moved almost to tears at this point.

"Yes!" I wanted to scream. Somewhere in this land of banal conformity. Somewhere in this bizarro world of global warming dogma--even here -- there are rebels!

Free Bus to IKEA

2009-07-15T07:50:00.000-07:00

You really can't complain about a free bus to IKEA. For me, an admitted organizational freak, a day at IKEA is something akin to a day at Disneyland.

This is supposedly the largest IKEA in the world. Though I have to say, it didn't seem any larger than ours in Phoenix. It seems to lack in the plastic products. A syndrome, I have noticed most of Europe seems to suffer from. And when you do find them, they are four times as expensive as the plastic products in the U.S. Stuff we take for granted that we can pick up for a buck, will typically cost three, four or five. As opposed to just costing double what you'd usually pay. I've always assumed it has something to do with the fact that plastics are a petroleum product and anything associated with oil is taxed with impunity here in Europe.

It's just my theory. It could also just be that cheap plastic products are fun. And well, yeah...we all know what leftist social planners think of bourgeoisie fun.

This IKEA is located in the suburb, Kungens Kurva, about a half hour from the city center. It's a nice ride and a good opportunity to see the beauty of the countryside. Sadly, even this far out, the Commie Blocs are still ever present from any vantage point. I wonder how far north I'd have to go to be rid of them?

Overall, it was a decidedly normal shopping experience. It was a gorgeous day here in Stockholm, not a cloud in the sky and temperatures hovering near 80. Once in Kungens Kurva, mega stores stand invitingly like the giant diversionary retreats that they are. Parks, theme restaurants -- even (be still my heart) fairly maintained and manicured landscaping and piped in music in the parking lot.

All this and free drink refills in the IKEA restaurant. Still no ice, but I'll take what I can get. It was an easy day in Stockholm. The kind of days I like.

The Shower

2009-07-14T08:23:00.000-07:00

No really, I hadn't noticed this until coming to The Flea Market. But, my daughter has assured me that it's the way it's been in all the hotels too. Surely my shower in Germany had an actual base that was raised from the floor, didn't it? I would have noticed this. But, yeah, it appears this is standard issue here in Sweden. The shower floor and the floor are one.

Notice the piping and faucet in the photo. That's the shower. Standard Operating Procedure: you just hang a curtain and you are good to go.

Doesn't the floor get all wet you ask? Yep, pretty much.

The Million Programme

2009-07-13T03:42:00.000-07:00

The Million Programme is the common name for the housing program implemented in Sweden between 1965 and 1974. The aim was to see that everyone could have a home at a reasonable price. They reached to build a million new homes (apartments) in a 10-year period. Much of the existing, older housing was demolished to make way for the new structures.

If anything could be argued as being a crime against humanity, it should the results of this program. Hopeless, dreary, a blight on the landscape--these adjectives can not even conjure up what these housing blocks truly are and this is simply from the perspective of having to drive by them.

One of the main goals behind the planning of these residential areas was to create 'good democratic citizens'. The idea was to build a high quality dwelling with services including schools, nurseries, churches, public spaces and libraries nearby. Most of the apartments were of the "standard three room apartment". This is 75 m², planned for a model family of two adults and two children. (807 square feet).

Undoubtedly these were utopian ideas dreamt up in the minds of left wing elitists. People who would never have to walk in their halls. Like most leftists ideas, when brought to fruition, they are spirit crushing. They have become known for high crime rates and racial segregation.

You will find them anywhere left wing ideology permeates. More closely to home, Canadian cities are filled with them. Often referred to as Commie Blocks, because of similarity to the housing built in the former Eastern Bloc countries they are dull and grey concrete structures with little in the way of frills or aesthetics.

It is my belief that an ambitious program should be undertaken to remove these depressing eyesores. They hold no place on a continent that has a birthrate that is below sustainability. To pretend space is an issue and that people need to live on top of each other, especially in the suburban areas outside of the cities, is absurd.

Public Transportation

2009-07-10T04:53:00.000-07:00

The car has become a secular sanctuary for the individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond. ~Edward McDonagh 

This is the part where I am supposed to laud the wonders of public transportation. Marvel at the ease and organization of getting around sans automobile.

Not really feeling it.

For starters, it rains here. A lot. Which means I often get caught in the rain. You can never plan for the rain, you just have to assume it will rain at some point during the day. Never mind the blue sky with out a cloud on the horizon. Within twenty minutes it can be just the opposite. As a rule of thumb it goes like this, if you bring the rain gear, it won’t rain. If you don’t bring it, it will rain.

It never rains in my car or my garage. Especially since I live in the desert. I've really kind of engineered my life to be away from rain. In Phoenix, we get six inches of rain a year; even then I complain.

Also, there are never strangers in my car. The only people in my car, besides myself, are people I allow in. Public transportation forces me to share space with the rabble. People that, quite frankly, would never see the inside of my car.

I was always lead to believe public transportation was cheap. Transportation for the worker. The Proletariat’s Chariot. Ha! It will cost me $250 a month for 30 day unlimited subway/bus/train cards for my family of four. I checked my household accounting records and saw that in a bad month I would only spend about $200 a month to gas up two autos in the States.

For a single trip through two zones (the minimum) the cost would be somewhere around $5 USD. For a single trip. Apparently this subway thing wasn’t intended for families.

So, it leaves me rather confused. I can’t live in most of the suburbs because “it’s where all the social problems are”, having a car is discouraged due to the environmental impact (though many Swedes do drive) and using public transportation is nearly as expensive as having a car and ten times less convenient. It’s no small wonder so many Swedes remain childless.

Though, I am at least some degree thankful for the cost because I reason it keeps the real ne’er-do-wells off the subway and simply on the streets where apparently they belong in a “compassionate society”.

We could have had a car. A car was part of the compensation for coming here. We opted to trade it out for a larger, nicer apartment and high priced tuition in an international school. (damn you, global recession!) Our reasoning was a car would be more of a hindrance in the city. We reasoned public transportation and walking would be OK.

After all, you can actually have a parking spot in a garage a block from your apartment. I’d still end up walking in the rain. Perhaps we were right and I will catch on to this public transport thing. In the meantime, I have caught myself eyeing the ‘SMART” cars and saying, “maybe one of those wouldn’t be too bad”. My daughter quickly reins me back in, reminding me we wouldn't all fit in the tiny car.

I think about it for a minute and add, "Sure we could, you just gotta think outside the box. Reese could sit on your lap."

The Paradox of Stockholm

2009-07-09T03:52:00.000-07:00

Stockholm reminds me of that episode of Seinfield where he is dating a girl and her appearance can vary significantly depending on the where they are. Throughout the episode he continuously moves her to places where she has the more attractive appearance.

In Stockholm I can be walking in one city block and feel like I am in Greenwich Village or the upper East Side. I can walk a block away and feel like I have to be walking in the ugliest city on earth. The trees disappear and things look bleeker and less inviting.

It can really effect your outlook and mood. One minute strolling along on the tree-lined street thinking, "Yeah, this is OK, I can do this for a year" and ten minutes later the world is darker and my thoughts turn more to, "Blech".

My twelve year old daughter recognizes this also. We'll be walking along commenting on how we like this area or that area and when it abruptly changes (and it always does) she'll joke that we are "ooops, back in North Korea". A comparison to the drab, unadorned grey landscape that fills the capital of the communist country, Pyongyang.

Another phenomenon is that many of these bleak unassuming facades hold some of the most wonderful interiors imaginable. A dull, old and uninviting entrance way can miraculously give way to a sleek, modern, tech-savvy interior.

While I find the city itself less than awe-inspiring. It lacks the wonder of many European cities. I don't feel the specialness in the air as in, say, Paris or the richness of the history as in Berlin. But as far as interiors go, the Swedes do them well. These are, after all, the people who gave us IKEA.

Laundry is Serious Business

2009-07-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last week trying to gain access to the state of the art, twenty first century communal laundry room downstairs.

Swedes take their laundry room seriously and I found this out at the Stay at Kista Hotel I recently stayed at.

Me: I'd like to get a key to the laundry room

Mean Front Desk Clerk who Clearly Holds Americans in Disdain: Do you have a time booked?

Me: No, is that necessary?

MFDC: Yes

Me: Well, then, I'd like to book a time.

MFDC: For when? (pulling out giant ledger and pen)

Me: Right now would be good.

MFDC: Ten o'clock!

Me: Ummm, OK. (noting that it is about 9:45)

MFDC: But, DO NOT use this key before ten o'clock because it will INVALIDATE the key before you.

Me: mmmkay, uh, yes, ofcourse....

I retreated back to my room and watched the clock until ten where I was met with an entirely empty laundry room. I had figured as such.

This laundry room has a complex computerized booking system and scan cards. Of the four times I have tried to gain access, I have been successful only once. This is not small feat considering the entire system is in Swedish.

I want regular access to this wonderland of laundry so badly I can not stand it. The machines are state of the art, stainless steel European beauties. There are machines in there--I don't even know what they do--I just know I wanna use them. Strange looking contraptions meant to do wonderous things to fine European textiles, I imagine. OK, so I have never actually seen these fine European textiles but I am sure that I have read that they they exist.

Oh no, this is not your college laundromat.

The room stares out tauntingly at me as I press my face to the glass longingly looking in. Something like a slick IKEA advertisement, it's almost like it's laughing at me---teasing me that I am resigned to use the old washer in the Flea Market upstairs.

The washer upstairs works well enough, though it's a mystery to me why it takes 90 minutes to wash a load of clothes. Why there is no dryer, a common scenario in Sweden, is yet another. I have noticed that there is an appliance store less than a block away. Skip the yearly trip to Cyprus or Phuket and get a dryer. Alas, it is the European way. Why make things easy when it is so much harder to keep them difficult?

Enough Already With the Spraypaint

2009-07-07T05:32:00.000-07:00

I am running this morning through what is supposed to be a idyllic park setting, a green oasis in the surrounding concrete and my entire focus is on the spray paint on nearly every available surface. The benches, the poles, the red farmy looking buildings, they haven't missed a surface.

I don't know who they are or what their message is but it is unsightly. I try and conjure up images of Swedish gangs roaming the streets and marking their turf but it is hard to envision the capri wearing, man-bag carrying male folk among me working up the level of testosterone needed for such endeavors. But I digress....

I am a person who is keen on esthetics. Certain things should be a certain way. It is probably a genealogical trait from my German DNA. Order. And parks should be kept free of spray paint.

Especially if I am paying north of 60% of every Krona in taxes. I know my sleepy little, unsophisticated burg of Chandler, Arizona manages to clean up a painted message in less than 72 hours and I have to wonder why such a cumbersome tax system can not manage this feat?

In the park spray paint abounds, park benches stand weather worn and unpainted, trees and bushes grow over and park play equipment conjures up memories of my 1970's school yard. Hardly the vision of a socialist utopia or is it?

Kista

2009-07-06T04:53:00.001-07:00

I am riding on the T-bana to get to the hotel to collect the rest of my belongings to bring back to the subletted apartment I have dubbed the "Flea Market". Exhaustion has set in after nearly three weeks in hotels spanning South Florida, Phoenix and Stockholm. I am still nursing the remnants of a particularly nasty summer cold that zapped much of my energy and enthusiasm. I can barely make out the names of the stops being called and do not have the energy to try and decipher them this evening.

But, I know that when the women a seat over and across from me begins to jostle her bags that my stop is near. She is in cover, a Somali I am guessing. A striking woman by any measure who bears a strong resemblance to the 1970's supermodel Iman. She catches me looking at her. What she does not know is that I am thinking she belongs in a photographers studio not on this city train to a suburban ghetto.

As she gets her bags, I know to collect my purse and the stop is announced. Sure enough, my thoughts were correct. I step off the train into the abnormally warm Swedish evening. I must walk through the Galleria to get to the hotel. Although it is late and a Wednesday, the mall is a beehive of activity. I walk by the McDonald's and notice there is not a seat to be found. Girls are running through the halls, giggling, buying ice cream and working their cell phones. Women are everywhere, waiting for buses, traveling back to the characterless concrete boxes that permeate the city.

I do not see a woman this evening who is not in cover. Only the cover varies. Sometimes it is only the head, adorned in a fashionable and colorful scarf. Sometimes it is a colorful full body and head cover. Many times it is the, disturbing to western sensibilities, full black hijab. I could be on the streets of Islamabad or Riyadh but I am in a suburb twenty minutes from still greatly homogenous Central Stockholm.

This is Kista. A corporate bustling center of professionals by day, somewhere else entirely by night. You would recognize the corporate names --the most prominent being the headquaters of the Swedish owned telecommunications giant--Ericsson. I also know this is only one of many areas like this. The areas the cab drivers and more vocal Swedes will tell me to avoid.

It is important to note that I saw nothing ominous this evening. In fact, everything I saw looked incredibly normal. What is abnormal is the complete segregation of two clashing cultures very much at odds with each other. What is puzzling is how Swedes can think this will end well.