It's been quite a year. Both my brothers were married and I completed (nearly--I'll be done by months end) my MSc. I spent some time with friends and family back in the US but have decided to remain in Sweden with the faint notion of pursuing a PhD or finding employment. That and avoiding the politics in the US--if I can only find something to keep me here past the current election cycle I would be ever so happy.

So that's all for now, though I don't think it will another year until I post something else (I hope!!). I've been toying with the idea of updating my blogging software to the new Apple iLife suite, but haven't made any decisions yet.

There were new friends met and old ones said good-bye to, new customs to learn and new foods to experience (filmjölk--blech!!). There were trips to take and papers to write--just so many small and unique things that, when taken individually, mean so much more than "Two Year Anniversary" could ever portray or even come close to expressing.

I hope to be able to share many of those memories with you, either through this website or in person. I've been terrible about maintaining it, but the frequent, random emails I receive requesting an update let me know that people are definitely interested in my various and nefarious comings-and-goings. They have strengthened my resolve to eventually get this blog properly updated. I won't say that it has strengthened my desire to do so--my thesis and plans for the future are sapping all the energy I have right now--but some day soon, I'll post pictures from Martin's surprise birthday party, entries detailing my parents trip to Norway and other, hopefully interesting and fun tidbits.

In the meantime then, I leave you with my happiest anniversary wishes. And since this would be my "Cotton" anniversary, I think I'll go by myself some new bedding.

So here you have it, just a quick entry for now. No more promises that I'll get everything posted because that never seems to happen. But keep checking in--you never know when you might get lucky and find some pictures of a Naked Italian BBQ or some other scandalous event . . .

I recognized the date as I was writing it on the front of my exam booklet. Exams are given on Saturdays at KTH (sometimes) and so on this anniversary, I wrote an exam, one of my last for the year. Four hours discussing the differences between "Place" and "Space" or "Seamfulness" and "Seamlessness" was not my ideal way to reflect on the past twelve months. And no, it wasn't a philosophy exam, but instead Ubiquitious Computing (computers that aren't your traditional desktop models but that are small, elegantly concealed and omnipresent).

Afterwards I ate lunch with my friends Rafa and Garance and then headed home. As I was keying into my apartment, I looked at my empty keyring. In the span of a year it had gone from near-bursting to near-empty. What formerly had nearly needed a partner to wrestle all of the protocals of my life was now completely bare and even taciturn, its mishapen arc the only hint of its former glory.

One year ago, as I was leaving AWS, I began shedding those various encumberances like so many dead leaves in autumn. First it was my "leash"--the name badge. Several weeks later, it was the keys to my home of 8 years. As the summer progressed, I picked up a few new ones but by the end of August, I had either sold them (my car) or returned them (to Grant). I arrived in Sweden with no keys and have managed to only acquire three since (apartment, laundry and mail).

Perhaps more than any experience since I've arrived was the wonderful, giddy, quasi-nauseuous feeling that I felt during that instant at my front door. My current life has been reduced to 20 square meters and some clothing. I don't have anything to show from my past--no house, no investments--but in that instant, I had a moment of clarity. Everything is as it should be, I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. And as long as I can continue putting one foot in front of the other, I will be OK.

Pictures can be viewed here.

I'll work on getting the rest of my trip, along with everything else I've promised, posted by Christmas, 2009 ; )

So today was my first full day in Amsterdam. For some reason my program has an odd break now--nearly three weeks-- and although I have a large group project to complete in Ubiquitous Computing, I knew that I needed to take this opportunity to travel while it's cheap, prior to the summer rush. As luck would have it, my friend Abe was planning to visit his father who's on sabbatical at the University of Delft. I'll meet up with them tomorrow.

First impressions are mixed. I've realized just what a little Wonder Bread child I am. Living in Seattle and now Stockholm won't exactly qualify me for urban survival training. For although they are large cities with diverse populations, they are very safe and orderly. While I can't say whether Amsterdam is safe, I certainly didn't feel safe today. I was very aggressively panhandled by a man--who I happened to "run into" twice--and it one point shoved him and told him to get away from me. Lots of sketchy people creeping around and lot's of loud-mouthed British boys walking around in the Red Light District, looking for, well, you know . . .

My hotel offers free "full English breakfast" which amounted to watery orange juice, sandwich ham and beans with toast . I found a Dutch bakery with flakey puff pastries stuffed with dark cherry jam and pizza made from the same buttery dough and laced with ham, cheese and peppers. Then I walked down the same street, across the main square (Dam Square) and made my way to Anne Frank's house.

That was quite an experience. The Dutch have done an amazing job with preserving the setting for this famous story while still having a museum that could handle the crush of visitors. The original house has been wrapped with a modern steel structure, with the house being split open for visitors and the museum and requisite bookstore in their own "annex". You first enter the warehouse where her father worked and then you make your way up some stairs and under a bookcase. Then, you're in the kitchen where so many bored but fightened hours were spent. Next, her bedroom with the cut-outs from movie magazines still pasted on the walls. Then its Peter's bedroom, where the boardgame he received for his birthday is laid out ready to play. And finally, you're in an exhibit showing what eventually happened to each of them. It's a very compact (about one hour) but surprisingly thorough experience.

I had lunch at a Dutch cafe and tried one of their "pancakes". On the tables were huge stoneware urns filled with "sirop". There was also "American syrup" (maple) but I was intrigued by what looked like cookie jars with wooden spoons sticking out of them. It turned out that they were filled with molasses and weren't too bad with a savory ham pancake (almost like a thick crepe).

Next I went over to see a church I'd once seen on TV. It turns out the Dutch have been surprisingly open and tolerant for centuries, long before hiding Jews from the Nazi's and allowing gays and lesbians to be treated like human beings. During the Reformation, they allowed Catholic's to have churches as long as they weren't "visible". People built secret churches and the one I visited--Amstelkring (Our Lord in the Attic) was actually the top of two canal houses. It was really interesting to go into the main house, seeing where the family entertained and lived, and then crawling up some very narrow stairs to come out into a church.

I had met my panhandling friend in front of this museum, which just so happens to be in the Red Light District. I was still pretty jumpy, even after having spent several hours in the museum, and I was walking down the street, I heard a loud banging sound. I turned around and was greeted by some rather ample women dressed in lingerie, hitting the windows which separated them from the street. They motioned for me to come over, but they were really barking up the wrong tree. Actually, what fascinated me more was the fact that it looked like their brothel was one of the former out-buildings for the Oudekerk ("Old Church")--it looked to be attached and the brickwork was identical. I was liking the Dutch more and more; I'd popped in briefly to the "Nieuwekerk" which was hosting an exhibition of Indonesian art. That's the way I like to see churchs--used as museums. No good comes from them hosting religious witchcraft and various mumbo-jumbo, and this was a great start. I hope that trend hops the Atlantic soon, though I doubt it.

So with that, I went to dinner in a nice Thai place. I hadn't had good Thai food since leaving Seattle (I miss the crunchy tofu at Buddha Ruksa) At this place I had (several) Singha's, an order of chicken satay and Larb Gai. The grand total was $US25 with tip. Considering that I can't eat imitation Chinese food in the mall for less than $US15 here, I was more than pleased.

So tomorrow Abe and his mother arrive--I wonder what we'll end up doing?

I think an unsung character in the movie is the scenery and it affected me much more than the acting. Growing up, I never felt like I belonged in Montana; there was always this deep sense of alienation that, although very palpable, I was never able to quite put my finger on. That was until I spent the summer between my junior and senior years of high school at Oxford . I learned that there was a world much larger than my quiet little white-bred redneck mountain town and my life seemed to make more sense.

When I return for a visit or often when I talk with my parents or brothers, that confused feeling resurfaces. They'll talk about some family that they know or about some ranch south of town that I have no clue about. It's difficult because I don't feel like I'm truly "from" there; I put in my time and got out as soon as I could. And seeing that strange but familiar world lit large across a screen, while I'm a bit alienated and raw from living in a foreign land, is a bit hard to sort out.

Aside from that, I wasn't nearly as moved by the film as I was by the short story. Perhaps because I had my own colors and images to fill in Proulx's stark, black-and-white prose--truthfully, I'm not certain. Heath Ledger (as Ennis) and Michelle Williams (as his wife Alma) were stunning and revelatory; Alma's reaction to catching her husband kissing another man was just pitch-perfect. Jake Gyllenhaal was underwhelming, although he's so cute he makes my teeth hurt.

I hope that everyone is able to see it while it's in theatres because its lustre will be dulled if you're forced to watch it on a small screen. Regardless of how or where you see it, or what you think of "the gays", you SHOULD see it. So many people think that being gay is about being homo-sexual, but this film shows that it's also about being homo-emotional.

I also saw Munich earlier this week. It was a very good film; if both Jews and Palestinians hate it (according to the news), I figure it must be good. My friends Garance, Rafa and Mamdouh also enjoyed it with Mamdouh going so far as to say it was "fair". Coming from a man who is a Palestinian refugee, this is high praise.

So that's all for now. I've got some more reading to do before tomorrow, but didn't want to leave you "hanging" any longer.

Nicolas sent this quote on Saturday morning and I couldn't help but laugh. Having grown up in Montana (on the Eastern Great Plains, not the sissy "tropical" part in the Western mountains) I'm used to temperatures far colder than what I've experienced in Sweden. While I'm undoubtedly tempting Fate by writing this, the weather has been much more mild than I expected. Then of course, Winter is barely one month old.

When I first ventured into my lowly student hovel in August, I shuddered to think what winter would be like. It's a manufactured dwelling, basically like two tornado magnets stacked atop one another. And knowing what fine, solid buildings their American counterparts were, I assumed the Swedish version would be the same.

Why do I ever bet against the Swedes! Ever industrious and practical, they have perfected manufactured housing. Due to their experience in communal real estate and penchant for equality, the Swedish apartments are simple, efficient and cozy, much like the people who inhabit them. My small unit sports double-paned windows, a heavy metal door that seals tightly and walls so sound-proof that even DAN (Drunk Australian Neighbour) cannot be heard on Friday OR Saturday nights. But why should I be surprised--if the nation that spawned IKEA could create disposable, functional furniture, certainly they could engineer the same sort of house.

(Side note--for a VERY interesting study, check out this article on the Million Program, Sweden's campaign in the 60's to create 1 Million new housing units for its citizens. Imagine if the US tried to build houses for 30 Million people?!?)

Which leads me back to Nicolas quote--almost. In a figure often bandied about, Sweden has an employment rate of about 80%, meaning that 4 out of 5 people are working at any point in time. As with all things in the Dark Art of Sadistics, numbers will squeal however you'd like them to, provided that they're given the proper "motivation". For instance, did you know that the "real" employment rate in the US is actually nearly 10%? The Bush Administration, those masters of deception and lies, changed the official reporting mechanism for people that are unemployed. If you've been out of work for more than 24 months, you've "left the workforce" and so are no longer counted. Persons who aren't employed full-time (less than 40 hours) are now counted as "employed". Funny how Wal-Mart won't give them benefits, but the government considers them "fully-employed".

The reason that the workforce in Sweden is only at 80% is due to the social benefits (vacations, sick time, parental leave) and a lack of work (good ol' fashioned unemployment). People here value their time with family and friends--above all, AWAY FROM WORK--and hence, aren't often there. Your employer is of secondary importance here, and exists only to pay for "semester"(vacation) in Tenerife.

I say that there's another unofficial source of the lack of employment. Swede's are too darn comfortable with their cozy manufactured homes that don't leak heat through the windows, bedecked with bags of tealights and smelling of "yogi te" (a spice tea, like Market Spice without the heavy citrus topnote). I say that if the Swedish government were truly serious about getting people back to work, they'd put an end to the wonderful soft "säng" (beds) covered with their "dun" (down) stuffed blankets and pillows. These are people who have developed the art of simple comfort into a high art form.

So in going back to Nicolas quote, we see a cultured Frenchman, a citizen of the "New Europe", having been seduced into a life of indolence and sloth by simple creature comforts. On a Swedish winter day, nothing is nicer than lying in bed.

I also think I've found a way to make my fortune--I'm going to become the first kang importer in Sweden.

So dear readers, although the entries are "written" they aren't "edited", meaning I need to link them to their pictures, correct my harried thoughts and otherwise make silk purses out of so many sows ears. So my goal now is to publish one "old" entry with each "new" entry. Hopefully that will clear the backlog without causing me too much additional stress.

As always, thanks to everyone for their patience and for reading my thoughts!

EOS

It was held in the Blue Room where the Nobel Prize banquet is held each 10 December. Needless to say, it was an amazing experience. Luckily, my friend Faisal Hoque took pictures since NONE OF MINE TURNED OUT!!. Apparently, my camera is smarter than I am and insisted on managing all of the shots for itself. Note to people at Kodak--I AM smarter than my camera and know when the flash needs to be used!

Be sure to check out the City Hall website for a virtual reality tour, along with a history lesson about why the Blue Room isn't blue. Interesting fact--due to the size of the Nobel Banquet, each person is allocated only 50 cm (20 inches) of table space. Imagine all the stuffed shirts and cocktail dresses trying to shovel foie gras down their gullets while their arms are pinned to their sides.

City Hall

Courtyard of the City Hall

The Blue Room, where the Nobel Banquet is held

The Vice-President of the Stockholm County Council (our host)

The veranda

Nicolas Grasset (Paris, France) and Faisal Hoque (Dhaka, Bangladesh)

Mosaic in Golden Hall

Eric in Golden Hall (lower right, near the date stamp)

Roof of the Golden Hall

Length of Golden Hall

Tim Tijs (Utrecht, Netherlands), Faisal Hoque (Dhaka, Bangladesh) and some guy that I don't know

But through all of this, I've worked with a truly stellar individual, Mamdou Eljueidi from Gaza, Palestine. And no matter how much work we had to get done, it was always important to Mamdou that we socialize.

This is something I've noticed again and again in Sweden; as an American, I'm used to finishing one task and moving on to the next; no lingering or resting allowed. We never fully enjoy anything we do and are often not fully present while we are doing it. Life is all about utility and function and we're forever in a rush.

Here it's very different. There's a loose group who share the same general program--probably 10 different students. Our lunchs in the Forum can easily last two or three hours. We talk about life in Brazil, in France, in Sweden and in Germany. I've learned about Thai food and Pakistani bread while eating Swedish "Pizza Salad". Unless there's a class immediately after lunch, we linger and learn as much from each other as from our instructors.

This is something that I've had to get used to. Normally, I didn't have time to eat lunch and if I did, it was at my desk reading email. I can't tell you the number of times that I've been prepared to stand up and bus my tray but instead, watched what my fellow classmates were doing and followed their social cues. So instead of rushing back to check email, I listen and learn. It's much nicer this way.

I used this lesson when working with Mamdou. Even though we had pressing deadlines, he was never rushed. We always had time to talk about stories; over toffee peanuts (smågodis) or sharing a story about being a Palestinian refugee, the deadlines seemed to lessen. Like our lunches, our meeting could never be given a time frame--they would be finished when they were finished. For someone who personally and culturally likes everything organized and in tight, compact packages, this was very stressful.

In the end though, I realized that the importance of group work isn't the work but the group. I learned more valuable lessons on this project about people than I did about affordances or Nielsen's Ten Heuristics. So I suppose I'd call it a success (although we won't get our grade for awhile).

The highlight of the night had to be the performance by Chinchilla Von Swamp. Born in EmmerEssen, Germany, Chinchilla was the first to semi-conduct the famous song cycle "Ich Habe Mich Ubergeben" by the famous composer, Ralph Offenpuke. She made for an amazing hostess. Check out the short video using music from the Hives and photos of the event.

Note--the video is about 15 megs

I apologize for the delay in getting Sveeden rolling. I haven't had consistent access to the internet but have continued to write entries, all of which will trickle out over the next couple of weeks. I hope to have the backlog released by 1 October and will pair "old" postings with new ones. It will be a bit confusing as the days won't match up for awhile, but postings like "Swedish Children of the Corn" and "George W. Bush, my Ass in the Hole" are really worth checking out.

Alright, it's late in Stockholm and I'm ready for bed. Take care all and enjoy!

When I arrived, my apartment was f-i-l-t-h-y. This is not Eric-super-picky-son-of-Pat talking, this was real, disgusting filth. Redolent with a sour greasy smell from a thousand curry pots and fish frys, the air was thick and pungent. There were long wirey hairs everywhere and the mattresses, well--it's lucky I didn't inspect them before I went to sleep. Finally, I refuse to discuss the linens that my room was let with. Dean, Rory and Christopher are the only people who can begin to describe their condition; ask them for details.

So off to Kista Galleria I trudged, on the hunt for cleaning supplies. The Galleria is the "indoor downtown" for the suburb I live in (pronounced "Shees-ta" but I've taken to calling it "Shit-sa") All of the stores are contained within this mall, including essential services like wardcentral (health clinic), SystemBolaget (state-run liquor store) and the Tunnelbana (subway). The Galleria has the two Swedish grocery chains--ICA and Coop/Konsum.

I thought that purchasing some cleanser, rubber gloves and sponges would suffice. Afterall, I had received one bonus in the filth--a mop bucket. Sans its' crusty mop, I was in business (or so I thought). MANY trips later, I realized the error of my initial estimation. My inventory for cleaning supplies:

-2 liters of Ajax
-6 cans Mr. Muscle Oven Cleaner
-3 bottles Ajax bathroom cleaner
-6 rolls of paper towels
-10 scouring sponges
-2 pairs of rubber gloves

All told, it was about SEK 400 ($US60). I had to wipe down all of the walls twice because they were sticky with grease; once with diluted oven cleaner and a second time with Ajax.

This isn't to say I wouldn't have thoroughly cleaned everything anyway. I think that's something I got from my mother. In order to feel ownership in a living situation, I need to have cleaned it thoroughly first. This was a bit on the extreme, even for me.

The coup de grace though was the stove. It was about 9 PM last night and I only had it left to finish. I promised myself that once it was done I would go to bed. I thought it would take an hour, maybe 1.5, tops. Yet again, another poor estimation on my part. Don't let me do your taxes folks!

So I pulled the stove out from its cubby, guessing that it hadn't been cleaned behind for some time. I stopped when it was about two-thirds out. The sides were covered with thick orange grease--to be expected since after all, the walls had been. This was about 1/8" thick. What I didn't expect to inspect in the pale moon light were fingernail clippings stuck to the sides. I stopped in disgust and immediately went to bed.

When I awoke the next morning, I donned my rubber gloves like a prize fighter ready to take on Ali. I pulled the stove the rest of the way out and sure enough, there was a boar's nest of old food behind it. Definitely a fire and health hazard, it helped to justify the horror I had inflicted upon myself. Then there was nothing to do but face that disgusting stove.

Upon closer inspection, what I thought were fingernails the night before were actually coconut shavings. Large thick and toenail reminiscent, but nonetheless, coconut. Once that was cleared up, I felt like a new man and managed to clean the stove in record time.

I'm including several photos. For my mother's sake, I have included the oven top AFTER it's been cleaned once, but also AFTER the greasy drippings from the oven hood had dripped onto it.

Mr. Muscle, my hero

The stove, after cleaning once, with oven hood drippings

The foam pad (e.g., "mattress")

The foam pad, close up

Note: Smell-o-vision not available in all areas.

Stockholm has four airports--one for domestic (Bromma), two for freight and traffic reduction (Skavsta and Västerås), and Arlanda where I arrived. Immediately I felt a strange sense that Dorothy wasn't in Kansas any longer. First, there were no signs like I've seen since I was small and going to the circus with my dad. Instead there are green tabs suspended from the ceiling which show a person running for a door--very clever. Second, there's parquet flooring (and "Swedish finish" floors) everywhere--lots of wood and glass. Third, it's not what I would imagine a world-capital to have for an airport. It's very cozy and dare I say comfortable. The new Seattle airport expansion is enormous and flashy--a 20-meter wall of glass looking longingly towards Rainier, a large concourse with multiple escalators, etc. I suppose this is what people mean by "Swedish"--only time will tell.

So I was about two hours early for the official "greeting". I'd forgotten to print out the instructions about how to get to campus and I couldn't find an internet kiosk to save my life. I got confused about where to go and the Swedish guards weren't very pleasant when I asked for help--they're guards so I suppose giving out free DumDum's wouldn't work well. I finally found some terminals for hire but they only accepted coins.

I noticed a couple of people who looked like students so I approached them. Prasit, Utam and "Lotus" were three guys from Dhaka, Bangladesh. I was a bit embarassed by my "abundance"--a new Apple iMac, two large suitcases and a laptop bag. They each had one suitcase and that was all. Once they found out I was an American, the questions began--why am I studying in Sweden? I told them that I wanted to study the interfaces on wireless devices and that there was no better place to do that than Sweden and KTH. They still weren't sold, so I told them that I thought George W. Bush was an idiot and an asshole and that I didn't want to be in any country that would elect a monkey president twice. They smiled and nodded--I think we'll get along just fine.

The greeter arrived and gave us maps to campus. Unfortunately, all of the sh*& that I have is on a cart and I now need to take an express train and the T-bana (subway) to get to my accomodations. That's not going to happen. So after breaking the ice fairly well, I was forced to break out the ugly American card--the ugly American Express card. The Boys from Bangladesh headed to the trains while I hailed a cab. I felt badly but really, there was nothing else I could have done.

SEK500 later (about $US65) I was dropped off at the lobby of campus. I was early yet again--the housing people wouldn't arrive for another hour--so I collapsed in a nice chair. Nice, sturdy, attractive chair--good design. More students arrived--Pan from Seoul, South Korea and Ahmet from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia--along with my airport buddies. I picked up my keys and headed over to my room.

One of my suitcases has a handle and wheel's so I tried to use it as a luggage cart to handle the iMac. Not good. Too much stuff and too far to walk. Ahmet offered to help but even then, it was alot. So I pulled the ugly American card again and hired a cab for the 1/4 mile to my flat. Not good but I convince myself that I'm in no place to screw my back up, especially after Dr. Moreland has me all straightened out. But I was raised Catholic and educated by Jesuits's--I can rationalize anything.

I arrived in my room thoroughly exhausted. I've been up for 30 hours and only had 4 hours sleep beyond that. This place stinks and is filthy dirty but I'm tired. I'm going to write all this down while it's fresh in my mind and then I'm going to bed.

I was up until 4 in the morning packing. So much of this stuff could have been done earlier (technically) but I suppose in some ways, I wasn't ready to have this transition made so very final. The trauma of seeing my life condensed into an ever smaller collection of boxes has been very trying, much more so that I had imagined. In May there was moving from my apartment of 8 years--the material parts of 32-years of life were wrapped in cardboard and hurtled down I-90 in a truck. Once everything was inside Grant's house, it seemed like there was much more stuff than I'd remembered; there was shit everywhere. Luckily he was away on business so he didn't experience things at their worst.

Then in July, Marcus and Gretchen came to take what remained of my possessions back to Montana. I could have rented a unit (very expensive) and Grant was willing to store stuff (made me feel like a mooch) but in this way, my stuff would find a use besides sitting useless in a box. I know they'll like my All-Clad pans ; )

And now tonight, I sorted clothes, deciding what would stay and what would go. I filled three lawn bags with stuff that can be donated/sold; Nicole loves garage sales so perhaps when she and Dennis are moved in, they can have fun with my remaining holdings. So many memories--I can tell you when and where I bought each piece. But now they are no longer useful to me and will be some comfort to others. I am thoroughly diminished, materially at least.

It's time for bed. I have a cab coming even though Grant said he'd take me to the airport. I'm sure he's been up half of the night listening to me bang around the house and I'd rather he just slept. I also don't want to have to face yet another goodbye. That one would be tough.