Take your protein pills and put your helmets on

Each year, my siblings and I create a music video. This year we did a couple. Bowie's "Space Oddity", and "Angel of Music" from Phantom of the Opera. I love my Canon 60D, but in camera audio isn't great and it's really hard to hold still.

Enjoy!

don't think too hard about it

"Är du bra?" The third concerned Swedish lady called to me as she ascended up the hill next to me. Are you okay?

"Yeah," I shouted back, making a face. Her concern wasn't surprising; I was half lying, splayed, halfway up the steep slope leading to the expert skiing hill. No, I hadn't crashed and burned after attempting a fancy new stunt. I hadn't even made it to the top – I had lost control of my skis while riding the T-bar lift up the hill.

We arrived with a group of seven: three of my siblings with their three out of country visitors. And me. Unsurprisingly, I was left without a partner for the lift up the hill. I went first, careful to lean back and not sit, while keeping my feet parallel. It was with a slow motion horror that, 500 meters up the hill, I watched my skis begin to split directions, dragging my feet outwards, yanking my knees toward each other.

I ended up on my back between lines of ascending skiiers, trying to figure out how to stand up. My six companions drifted past me, shouting various bits of conflicting advice, including: "Stand up and wait for an empty one," and "Take your skis off and walk up." I chose the latter (deciding against an accidental trip down the steep slope.)

**

Donc, I spent the initial 45 minutes of my first skiing trip lugging my skis and poles up the side of the hill as 50+ people glided by me on the T-bar. My ski shoes were stiff, unwieldy, and heavy.

When I made it to the top, I discovered that the path to the bunny slope was not actually a path, but the intense intermediate course. Will had practically rolled down. Llama saw this, removed her skis, and walked. Our guests – all of whom were experienced – skiied smoothly down. Emma and I discussed our options. She decided to go for it. I watched as she went headlong down the hill, straight down, and out of sight. She crashed on the other side. Fair enough; she had never learned to do the "S" thing or to stop.

I took a deep breath. I was sick of walking in my lead boots. I was here to ski. Anna – Will's visiting girlfriend – had told me I would be fine. I put my skis on and eased forward. And then I was off, speeding like a maniac, absolutely clueless to how to slow down, or even turn. My heart was doing its "You're an idiot" spastic irregular rhythm, and then suddenly I lost all semblance of control and crashlanded.

My landing was reasonably soft, and the experience had been so thrilling that I was laughing like a nutcase. "Did you see me!" I yelled at Emma, who was still untangling from her fall. "No! Isn't this fun?!" "Yeah!"

Then followed three hours of magic.

**


Life Advice for First Time American Skiiers in Stockholm.

1) Know all of your measurements in metric. Weight, height, foot size. We spent 15 minutes trying to gauge these based off of each other's estimates.

2) When speeding downhill, don't shove your poles into the ground.

3) Sitting down will not stop you. It will actually make you go faster.

food glorious food

My contribution to our Christmas dinner will be scalloped potatoes because, as my mother put it: "You like potato stuff right?" She was, of course, referring to my obsession with mashed potatoes.

I looked up a scalloped potato recipe online, and the first hit had many positive reviews, including one that began with this line: "I got a call from the man saying he had a yearning for scalloped potatoes."

Come quick! There's a man on the phone and he has a yearning for scalloped potatoes.

**

Swedes don't do eggnog. Actually, many people don't – it seems to be one of those love/hate items. I happen to be a lover. (Yes, you can quote me on that out of context). I believe I spent my sophomore and junior Novembers in college sitting outside of Vons having eggnog chugging contests in the car. My other California years, bereft of fellow eggnog lovers, I simply stocked the fridge and drank them by myself.

Eggnog Time!

This year, without the (Southern) comfort of the easily accessible nectar, I decided to make it myself. I looked up a recipe online and was happy with the results.

I also made roasted cinnamon almonds. I highly recommend the recipe.

Here's some cooking Life Advice :

1) Whiskey and eggnog don't make a wonderful combination. (Possibly a personal taste...)
2) Egg whites will not stiffen if they are compromised with a touch of any other substance. It doesn't matter how long you beat them.
3) Internet recipes with reviews are wonderful. It's a community effort to tweak and adjust recipes until they're perfect.
4) If your family is immature, expect silly comments about taking photos of your nuts.

love lifts us up where we belong

"I'm late...I'm never late."
"You couldn't handle the truth!"
"Everything you ever told me was a lie!"
"Someone once told me..."

In the fabulous creative writing class I took at Biola, our professor asked us to think of some of the most common movie line cliches. My favorite has always been "Everything you ever told me was a lie!" mostly because it's so dramatic, and really fun to yell at random moments.

**

One of my students has my number and finds it extremely funny to text me 5 minutes before class every week asking me where I am. I actually find it kind of funny too.

Something to do:

Pick an animal and learn how to draw it as a cartoon. Find your favorite cartoon version of it online, print it out, and copy or trace it until you can do it on your own.

**

I'm currently reading On Writing by Steven King. I loved, loved, loved this section. Writing is engaging in telepathy. Yes.

you...you would be mean

In the mail I have received:

- 2 memory cards
- a battery pack
- a camera carrying bag
- a lens cover
- a Rode microphone


I have not, however, received the amazing Canon 60D camera which I ordered at the same time. These items have been sitting in my room for a week. When I was talking about this at Lifegroup, my friend KZ said it sounded like a good setup for a sermon.

My life is filled with those.

**

Today was a breakthrough. I was walking my doggies when I realized that I didn't mind the cold. In fact, I rather enjoyed the feeling of being bundled up and impenetrable to the forces around me. It was -5 C with winds at 13 km/hr. Before I moved here, I considered anything below 18C to be absurdly cold.

Before today I had vocally questioned why Swedes have stayed here. Why would they stay in a land that is dark and cold for 9 months of the year? Why not just move?

I would look out my window at the hatless pedestrians strolling around in freezing weather, and I would literally shout at them: "What are you doing? The heat is leaving the body through your head!"

But now I know. I understand. I feel like I've been let into an exclusive club.

well i've never seen a king or beast with quite so little hair

It was 4:15, but the sky was already dark. The snow faintly glowed in a quiet beauty on the sidewalks and lawns of the street I was walking on. A small figure, bundled in a coat and poofy hat, walked 20 meters ahead of me. He must have been about eight – that was one of the pleasant things about Sweden; parents feel safe enough to let their kids walk around by themselves, even in the dark.

I checked the time; it wasn't 4:15, it was 4:20 and the bus was at 4:24. I started to jog. Ahead of me, the boy turned around, saw my increased pace, and burst into a sprint. He looked like he had seen a monster and was running for his life. I smiled to myself at his panic. I guess parents still warn their children about running strangers.

**

Our teaching term ended today, and I've spent the last week picking out my new favorites for Spring semester. These include any kid who gave me something edible as a thank-you/Christmas gift.

learn to find your way in darkness

Yesterday morning I woke up with the lyrics of "Learn to be lonely" running through my head. Specifically, I woke up with "Learn to be lonely da da da da da" running through my head because it's one of those songs with a memorable chorus and a lot of filler words.

I started to think about the words. Learn to be lonely. What exactly does that mean? If you're lonely, you're meant to give up on relationships with the people around you and learn to accept it? Or is it a lover's lament – without me you must learn to be lonely?

Lonely people. I began to think about Hitler. Was he lonely? I stopped this train of thought when I remembered that multiple friends have described me as the type of person who would defend Hitler. Nope.

So I'm leaving the song to its context. It belongs to a disfigured child who is taunted and abused for being different. He grows up in solitude, grasping for power and significance, haunting the halls of an opera house, watching the merriment from afar – from his shadows. He falls in love with a beautiful young singer with soft eyes and long dark hair, singing to her and training her from a distance. She responds to him differently than anybody ever has; with curiosity and – affection? She is his. All he wants and needs and desires. But she chooses another. And now he must learn to be lonely.

**

According to my father, the word for snow in Farsi is "barf." During his childhood in Iran, one of the major laundry detergent brands was "Barf," named after the pure, white, cleanliness of snow.

**

It turns out that Taylor Swift is quite the figurative little lovechild. I tried to maintain continuity in one of my classes by using another of her songs as a listening exercise. I have three of her songs on my iPod which helped narrow my choice to: Teardrops on my guitar.

Drew ______ at _____
I fake a _______ so he won't _______

etc.

The problems started early. "Who can explain this first section to me?" I asked. "Drew looks at me, I fake a smile so he won't see."

Stefan volunteered. "Drew is...like this," he made a scribble on his paper.

"Yes," I agreed. "But in English it's also a name."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. Drew is looking at her and so she fakes a smile so that he can't see she's in love with him." They stared at me.

We moved on. "'Drew talks to me. I laugh 'cause it's just so funny, that I can't even see anyone when he's with me.' What does that mean?"

"She's laughing because he's funny."

"No...she's laughing because it's – sad." More like ironic. But I wasn't going there.

"What?"

"Look at it. She laughing because it's sad because she loves him so much that she can't see anyone else when she's with him."

They stared.

"It's a metaphor," I added (yes, I went there). "It's not that she can't actually see. When she's with him, he's the only person she can see in the room," I mimed blocking them all out and focusing somewhere else.

Clearly my kids aren't old enough to understand the depths of love Taylor has experienced. At least not in English.

**

I've discovered the key to the craziness of the Swedish language: word stresses.

In English, each word has one stress. "If you hear two stresses, you hear two words." (Englishclub.com).

In Swedish, they throw around stresses like Bjorn Borg underwear ads.



(This one is all over the SL Metro Stations)

Seriously. And they don't just throw a couple of stresses into three or four syllable words – where there's a syllable, there's a way: they stick them into two syllable words. I have several students named "Karin" and couldn't pronounce it for the life of me until someone told me that I needed to stress both syllables.

**

Speaking of Swedish Tunnelbanan ads, some of my latest favorites are ones titled "The many ways of sisters." This is a series of (what I'm assuming are) clothing ads with the same girl duplicated several times in each photo. Yes, she looks like she could be sisters.



(on the ads, they have "The many ways of sisters" in black letters across the image)

After the sister campaign started, they launched a "Brothers" campaign. Just...Brothers. Apparently there is only one way of brother.

These men look nothing like brothers except that they both share a "concerned but slightly bored" brooding look. Amadeus loves these ads. I haven't figured out why.

where you come from and where you gonna go this time?

I took the wrong exit out of the metro station and started wandering around the complex. Surely the other exit couldn't be that far. It was -1 C and positively warm after yesterday's -16 C. Maybe the weather was all relative. Or maybe I was turning into a Swede.

This idea was quickly disproven as an older man walked up to me and started speaking Swedish. Nope. Still not fluent. His tone was strange, like he was making some sort of declaration. I waited until he finished and then shrugged and apologized for not being able to speak his language.

He switched to English. "You are beautiful," he announced, emphasizing each word. "Of course," he added in a 'what else would I have said' tone. I laughed and thanked him, and we both continued on our ways.

Full of little surprises, these Swedes.

but if you really hold me tight, all the way home we'll be warm

Mcdonalds apple pies here are fried. They are beautiful. In the States they are baked and they are boring and mealy and lame.

Mcdonalds needs to stop pretending to be something it's not. It's not a healthy food place.
"There is a place in this world for junkfood," my mother says. And if my wheat-loving, organic buying mother says it, you know it's true.

Happy Meals getting banned? Seriously? How much money and lobbying went into that battle? It's not that I don't think a good cause is worth fighting for – and protecting the health of our nation is certainly a good cause – it's just over the top. People know Mcdonalds isn't healthy. They go there because it's cheap, fast, and easy. I'm going to go out on a limb and say most people don't go there every day.

And honestly, this is a choice we should be allowed to make for ourselves. And yes, for our children.

And for our taste buds, because fried apple pies are better. They just are.

What's this? What's this? There's magic in the air...

When I worked for The Chimes my senior year, we had weekly staff meetings at 8 am. 8 A.M. (My entire university career consisted of about one class before 10:20.) And you could tell who the morning people were. They were smiling, chatty, enthusiastic, almost buzzed. The non-morning people slouched in a couple minutes late, clutching thermoses, wearing big sweaters with their hair pulled back (girls) or hats (guys).

We had some unusual staff members. Jake got 12 hours of sleep every night. Katie ran a million miles every day (seriously, I think around 8?). Gail drove a party bus. Well, that's what we called it.

So, Small Talk Question of the Blog: Is it possible to change your morning/night person orientation?

OK, so I'm pretty much a young, freckled, female Obama with some different political views. I believe in change. I believe you can change your morning/night person orientation. I don't really think you can argue with that.

So: Actual Small Talk Question of the Blog: Can you change your morning/night person orientation without a whole ton of intentional, time consuming, sleep hour changing effort?

Or can you simply will yourself to be a better person in the morning – ie. change your attitude. Smile. Act perky until you feel it.

unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe –

my new wand

Blond.

**

Kiriakos and Pavlo, the two half Greek boys that Ammadeus and I babysit, made each of us a magic wand this Saturday. I'm going to take a picture of mine later and add it, but for now I'll just say that it's really awesome. Pavlo used a knife to whittle the wood, and added a special green stripe at the bottom.

Naturally, when he handed the wand to me, I raised it up and used a spell, waving it for effect. The spell I used? Avada Kedavra. It just popped out. That's right, an unforgivable curse. And not just any unforgivable curse, the death curse. Everyone was silent and Ammadeus looked at me, appalled.

"I can't believe you said that."

Yup. That's me, making social gaffes through the most unlikely of methods.

**

Simply Sweden:

As an easily identifiable foreigner – I walk around shivering in uncoordinated outfits, don't speak Swedish, etc. – I am often asked what my favorite part of Sweden is.

Public Transportation. I love it.

The SL (Storstockholms Lokaltrafik) system is, in comparison to other cities I've lived in, terrific.

Basically, you can buy a monthly adult SL card for 690 SEK (around 100 dollars), and it works on buses, trains, and the Tunnelbanan (metro). This might not sound cheap, but compared to paying the exuberant Stockholm gas prices/parking costs, and compared to other monthly metro card prices (London, for example), it's not a bad deal.

The SL system has so far been punctual (supposedly it slows a bit during winter), extensive (covers Stockholm suburbs), and easily accessible; bus and metro stops are everywhere.

For me, it's also a personal quality of life improvement. In L.A., I didn't have a car (long story – didn't get my license until my last year there), and was forced to rely on walking, buses, and friends to get around. Unfun. This was partly because the system was not well coordinated – transferring buses involved long wait periods, etc. Also, I didn't like using my friends to get around. Even if they were going to the same place: I didn't like that it was something I could never contribute to (except pitching in with gas).

(During college, no problem. I lived on and close to campus and had easy access to most events going on. After college, unfun unfun unfun. Mostly, the problem was that everyone had a car, which meant that it was a built in assumption into people's way of living.)

So, Life Advice: Don't live in L.A./O.C. without a car. L.A. is not concentrated or connected like New York City. It is sprawling.

In Stockholm, I can get to the center of town in ten minutes taking a bus which is right outside my door. I'm independent again. Minus the fact that I'm living at home. Ah, life.

when i was young i listened to the radio

I learned a wonderful new phrase today: "Off with the fairies." My Aussie co-worker said it – I had asked her if we were really ending classes next week and she wasn't quite sure; "Sorry, I've been off with the fairies lately."

Excited, I asked if that was a real phrase. She said it was. I'm a bit surprised that my Australian high school math teacher never made the reference towards me (she had plenty of similar things to say).

Basically it means spacing out. Who better to space with than the fairies?

**

I think referring to your body as your "person" is just about the funniest thing in the world. "The money is somewhere on my person." My person? Yes, the person I take around with me everywhere. I wash my person, and feed her and take her out for walks.

but he spoke braid scots, when he courted me

Today's Smashing Story: Is a NYT piece about an online store retailer whose business strategy is to be rude to his customers. No, not silly Dick's Last Resort rude – more like Hannibal Lecter, graphically threatening emails, 3 am phone calls, messages with photos of the customer's house, rude.

After initially hiring a company to post positive reviews about his site to clear its image, Vitaly Borker discovered that negative reviews were actually more helpful to his revenue – the reviewers negative comments and links caused his site to be placed higher in Google search results, attracting more customers.

Or, as the article quotes him: “I never had the amount of traffic I have now since my 1st complaint. I am in heaven.”

I'm wondering if this guy has an extreme form of Empathy Deficit Disorder, or if he's a psychopath, because I'd like to think that most people wouldn't inflict severe psychological damage on strangers without some sort of mental issue.

I don't really buy into EDD – I think it's not a disorder and not necessarily a "childhood" thing. It's probably a symptom of lots of different conditions (possibly including certain personality types).


**

I had a friend who had a "one date" policy. Basically, she would go on one date with any guy, the rationale being that everyone deserves a chance to prove himself. This made for some interesting stories, and a bunch of 2nd date rejections.

I do not have this policy.

If I know I'm not interested, why waste his time and money? If he's somehow going to change my mind, I doubt one date would do it. Maybe if he wrote me a symphony. Someone once told me that upon meeting a guy, a girl immediately knows if she would ever date him. I think, on a subconscious level, this might be a fairly accurate generalization. This doesn't mean she will immediately say yes, but she might eventually agree to seeing a guy who is on the subconscious "possible" list. Guys who are initially placed on the "never" list, have an extremely slim chance of getting off of it.

And guys who try to pick you up after meeting you once? Personally, not interested. I, and many girls I know, have what I call a "context complex." We need a context – we need to have hung out a few times, shared a class, work together, etc. and gotten to see you interact in a few situations.

"I understand the courage it takes to walk across a room and try to generate a relationship out of thin air," (Hitch), but I'm not going to date a giant question mark. Even a cute one. A company won't hire an employee without asking for references and doing a background check – think of context as a relationship background check (seeing as it would be unromantic to literally ask for references.)

Naturally, all of the above spiel is based on me/my friends, and it's probable that many girls would differ in opinion. Also, I'm perennially single, so mine may not be the best approach out there.

Maybe when I'm 34 and scared of being 35 and tired of people asking when I'm going to meet someone and sick of asking the mailman for help opening spaghetti sauce jars and through with folding sheets by myself...maybe then I'll break down and try to fall in love with a guy I've never met and am not interested in. Maybe at some point it has less to do with a person than a lifestyle and a desire to have a warm, living, being to bounce thoughts off of, who tells you he prefers your voice to Barbara Streisand's, and who smiles at you when you pronounce archive with a "ch."

Until then, I'm happy with my context complex.


**
I thought this video was great, mostly because I love minesweeper, but it's such a pointless game.

If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life

John Stewart covers Swedish socialism.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
The Stockholm Syndrome Pt. 1
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Rally to Restore Sanity

ain't that the reason you're at this club?

"We're all looking for love, ain't that the reason you're at this club?" My sister and I always laugh at these lyrics. The idea of looking for love in a club sounds...ineffective. Sorry Jason Derulo.

**

I recently skimmed through Time Magazines' 50 Best Inventions of 2010.

My Favorite Inventions of Time Magazine's Favorite Inventions:

-A Sarcasm Sensor. Specifically, a Semi-Supervised Algorithm for Sarcasm Identification. Apparently it searches through product reviews and has a 77% accuracy rate. In my opinion, that isn't a great rate. If a birth control had 77% accuracy, no one would use it. Still, I suppose it's impressive for what it does – as someone pointed out, I wonder what the average human sarcasm detection accuracy rate is.

I've had to develop a physical system to inform Mr. Marx of my sarcasm and vice versa. (He signs the letter "S" when he's being sarcastic.)

- Super Super Soaker. Military. Pretty much what it sounds like. I got excited because it's a super super soaker, and that's exciting.

- The Deceitful Robot. A robot that can lie? Uh oh...

- Lifeguard Thingy. A remote controlled floatation zooms through heavy waves at about 15 times the speed of a lifeguard. I read this and wondered why it hadn't been invented before.

-Underwater Kite. Need I say more?

-Iron Man Suit. Yes.

So: I was inspired by all these inventions to come up with something innovative. Here it is: A regulated site where people send in ideas for inventions. A few people monitor the submissions and the interesting ones get published. Kind of like FML but with a purpose. Actually, not like FML at all.

I know so many people who have really decent ideas for inventions, but don't have the money/time/know how to create their ideas. This seems wasteful. Why not compile them on a site which can then be accessed by people with resources?

**

In our preschool English class, 3-year-old Hugo has a crush on 3-year-old Esther. He is always looking at her, showing off for her, and smiling when she's around.

Today they held hands while we sang "Head and Shoulders." This is a difficult feat.

**

Dear tall, young Asian man,

I saw you looking at me and I tried to give a flicker of an encouraging smile but I think it was too subtle. You seemed interesting: confident, not arrogant; reserved, not shy. I wanted to ask you what your story was.

How did you get to Sweden? What's in the bag you're carrying? Why are you wandering around at midnight on a Saturday? Do you miss someone right now? What was your childhood like? If you could relive one memory...? Were your parents strict? Do you like chai? Classical music?

I would have answered your questions. Well, most of them. I'm on my way home from a church event. I didn't make my bus because I overshot my metro stop because I was daydreaming. I could have been charming and clever and sweet. I could have made you laugh. Or smile. You could have told me something interesting, something thought-provoking. Or trivial. Then my bus would have come and we would have parted, each feeling somehow lifted. Lighter. Brighter.

Of course, that's not how it turned out. My mother says I should go back to the bus stop next Saturday. But I think that would kill it. It's a shame.

you're unsuited for the rage of war, so pack up

My blogging buddy, Emma Cole, recently linked an article from Psychology Today (which she apparently still reads obsessively) about introverts and extroverts.

The two main ideas that struck me were 1) reaction time and 2) internal monologues. I'm working on a story from the 1st person perspective of a 20 something girl, and judging by her internal monologue, she's definitely an introvert.

I thought the reaction time concept was interesting; apparently introverts would rather have a period of time to think so that they have something polished and thoughtful to say. Extroverts generally react immediately.

Best picture in the world.

In my experience, this reaction time theory varies by situation and person. Many of the introverts I have known have given me immediate responses to questions/comments in conversations. Maybe in one-on-one conversations they feel less pressure to think through everything (or they're just more on the spot?) Or perhaps this is only the case when it's a topic they have previously thought through? Or if it's a topic that isn't difficult or mind-bending?

Also, as an extrovert, I admit that my reactions are often immediate, verbal, and rapid. But not always. If it's a conversation about something I haven't really thought about, I generally prefer to listen – I don't like processing new information on the spot. In fact, I'm really bad at it. So is that simply me, an extrovert, displaying some of my introverted qualities? How many introverted qualities am I allotted before I'm considered to be functioning as one? And when my introverted friends are talking away, fully engaging externally, are they displaying their extroverted qualities? Or are they just being chatty introverts (who will be drained later that evening)?

There I go, packaging everybody up into boxes again:) Stereotyping can be useful to get an initial grasp of someone, but if it starts out harmful it might be more damaging than useful (Ie. Extroverts have less depth. Introverts don't like people as much)– I much prefer to assume the best and be proven wrong.

I love getting to the end of thoughts and conversations like this because I go all Ecclesiastes: None of it actually matters. Philosophy - changing anything? And yet I'm so drawn to it.

Favorite part of the article:

Even a simple opener of "Hello, how are you? Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you about X," from anyone can challenge an introvert. Rather than bypassing the first question or interrupting the flow to answer it, the introvert holds onto the question: Hmm, how am I? (An internal dialogue begins, in which the introvert "hears" herself talking internally as the other person speaks.)

Even if the introvert responds, "I'm good," she's probably still reflecting on how she is: Good? That's not quite right. I really have had a pretty crummy day, but there isn't a quick way to explain that. She wants to first work out privately her thoughts and judgment about the day. She also may evaluate the question itself: I hate that we so often just say 'good' because that's the convention. The other person doesn't really want to know. She may even activate memories of how the question has struck her in the past.

– Revenge of the Introvert, Psychology Today

**

This internal monologue cracked me up. It's the type of thing I might think/write/talk about later, but to rabbit trail like that in the middle of a conversation – it would drive me crazy. And possibly make me really, really insecure.

So: Small Talk Question of the Blog: What do you generally think about when you're by yourself? Do you relive memories/conversations? Do you worry about what you're doing? Do you think about how you're feeling? Do you think through theories and ideas? Do you avoid thinking and look for stimulation?

i need help believing you're with me tonight

The girl I was tutoring today told me about her fear of the dark, scary movies and haunted houses. I made fun of her until I remembered that during college my friends and I would do scary movie nights where we pushed couches together, fought over good seating (not on the crack), grabbed each other and screamed throughout the entire movie. Except Shawnie. She always laughed.

**

Aside from tutoring Swedish children in English, I tutor a few American boys, usually helping with their homework (mostly Math and Science). Today I had the pleasure of reading "Lancelot the Gigilo" which the ten-year-old had written for English class. The assignment was to write an editorial defending the position of Lancelot as a Gigilo or a Giant. Fun times.

**

Amadeus walked into the kitchen as I was eating dinner tonight and announced that she was sick of having trivial conversations. Instead, she wanted to use cards with pre-messaged answers to hand out to anyone trying to talk to her.

"Aren't 70% of your conversations dull and taxing?!" I told her no, only the ones I had with her. She found this extremely witty and amusing and took everything back. Or something.

**

On It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Dennis, one of the main characters, explains his system for dating women. It's called the Dennis System, and he describes how he used it on his latest conquest.

The Dennis System

D: Demonstrate Value. He does this by pretending to help a fake sick grandmother.
E: Engage Physically. Yes, this is step number 2.
N: Nurture Dependence. He makes threatening anonymous phone calls to the girl so that he can then go to her house and tells her he will protect her.
N: Neglect Emotionally. He stops talking to her completely.
I: Inspire Hope. He calls her and apologizes profusely, telling her he had been scared of how strong his feelings had been.
S: Separate Completely.


Sunny is Christophe's show, which he occasionally convinces me to watch (by telling me I remind him of Dee. And a bird.) After this episode, I couldn't help complain about what ridiculous jerks the characters always are. Christophe told me to think about all the relationships I or my friends have had, because they probably followed this system pretty closely. Maybe in Missouri Christophe.

tell her how the ...

"Hi, I'm ----."
"Hi -----."
"I own a shop."
"What do you sell?"
"I sell ....."

This is a game I play with the kids to practice their vocabulary. Each person has to say all of the previous for sale items and make a new one up.

Today's lesson went something like this:

"Hi, I'm Karin."
"Hi Karin."
"I rown –"
"Own. You own."
"I own a –" (asks her brother a question in Swedish)
"Store."
"What do you sell?"
"Uhhh." A minute goes by.
"It can be anything."
She exchanges some more words in Swedish with her brother. He finally says "Draugoon."
"Draugoons."
"Dragons?"
"Yes."

Then it was Sven's turn. He was pretty excited.
"I sell RPGs."
"Rocket propelled grenades?" I asked incredulously.
"No," Stefan butted in. "Rocket propelled grenade launchers."
"OK. Stefan's turn."
He listed a very specific shotgun.
"Where are you getting these words from?"
"Call of Duty 4."
"Well you can't use it. No more weapons."
"But everything can be a weapon. A house can be a weapon."
I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. Sell pillows."
"A pillow can be a weapon."
"How?"
"If you hold it to someone's mouth so they can't breathe."

I eventually convinced him to stop listing weapons. Our list turned out something like this:

Dragons, RPGs, Half Life 2 episodes 1 and 2, butterflies (mine), humans, hair...

Sounds like a store I'd definitely want to check out.

sexy sadie, what have you done?

Smashing Story: 10 songs you thought were about women. This reminded me of a conversation I had with some guys in high school. One of them asserted that every song was either written about or inspired by a woman. We threw ridiculous songs his way, but he had an answer for every one. (Apparently The Wheels on the Bus was inspired by the menstrual cycle.)

**

Swedes sometimes have a problem with interchanging fun and funny. (Note: I am not making fun of their English – it's excellent and far beyond any of my language abilities). This makes for cute comments along the lines of "I'm having a good time, this is so funny." My personal favorite was in class on Monday when Tristan asked, "Why is it always so funny in English class?" he laughed. "Why is English class so funny?!" I had a hard time figuring out if he was trying to say fun or funny or both. To his credit, it probably would be a confusing concept if this wasn't my native language.

That's what I'm called in the world of ESL – a native English speaker. It makes me feel primal, interesting, specially skilled. Well, not really.

I frequently get in trouble for making up a city or state when people ask where I'm from. If I'm in one state, I choose a different one to avoid detailed questions. I generally pick one that I have some sort of connection with (Texas, Connecticut, California, Virginia, New Jersey, Florida). In Sweden, I tell people I moved here from California. I hope I'm not needlessly upsetting any stereotypes of peroxide blond hair, orange skin, and Valley girl accents. We all need to believe there's a place out there like that.

Today Amadeus informed me she told a classmate she was from L.A. She has never lived in L.A. I'm actually not sure if she's even visited. Possibly once. When I questioned her choice of city, she said, "Well dad's kind of from there." Kind of. As in, he was born in Coronado and then grew up overseas.

So I'm thinking, as long as we're lying we might as well pick a new country. Not that I'm unpatriotic – it just seems easier and would save stereotypes. Being American is like having an unauthorized biography about yourself. There are lots of truths, lots of twisted truths, a few outright lies, and people assume they know something about you before talking. Of course other countries have reputations – but their books don't sell as well (less war, money, power, scandals, etc.).

OK so I'm being silly. Prejudgment – that's life. People assume they know something about you based on your shoes, the set of your shoulders, the size of your phone. And maybe it's good to have a base to build on (or rebuild as the case may be.)

turned me around and you got me believin'

Amadeus called me a dork earlier today. Later I asked if she knew what her Myers-Briggs letters were. I started to guess the letters, when she said, "I'm an E-M-M-A!" and laughed hysterically.

Yes. I got called a dork by that.

Shout out: To Emma Cole. I've managed to transport your bizarre Japanese cards to Sweden, probably through a misguided attempt to keep them for you until later. My family played 6 with them tonight, and nobody seemed to care about or appreciate the humor. I even tried to explain about the umbilical cord one that was buried inside the deck. (Apparently you have to see it to appreciate it). I'm sorry I stole your cards and your ring. Think of them as a deposit for seeing me again.

you're perfect – you're perfect, so we're perfect together

(Bride and Prejudice: No Life without Wife)


Yesterday, Amadeus, Lexis and I got to visit some old friends – three lovely girls we knew in Egypt. The conversation turned, as it often does in a small group of girls, to men and marriage. We discussed "lists" of things we were looking for in a guy.

Lexis, my 15-year-old sister had quite an impressive list. Highlights:

-magician
-composer
-someone with a secret (she was quite serious about that one)
-green eyes
-genius
-plays harp, violin, piano
-strong enough to carry her
-British, Scottish, or French accent


So if you happen to know anyone who meets all of these criteria, please let me know and I'll begin the screening process.

Until then, here's a quote from Amadeus:

"I would never date someone I don't love, and I would never sell someone I love for money."

This was her (eventual) response to the question of whether she would dump her boyfriend for a million dollars. It leads me to my...

Small Talk Question of the Blog: What do you think of the idea of only dating someone you love?

**

There you have it. Two of my sisters: selective like the CIA. My other sister, dating an ex-swimmer from Ohio. And me, with the claddagh that I should probably figure out.

it's bedtime, it's bedtime, it's bedtime

"It's bedtime..." these two words repeated over and over in different keys, comprise the bedtime song of Benjamin, the four-year-old I'm babysitting tonight. Not terribly original, but effective.

**

Sweden's Father's Day is tomorrow, so this morning's craft was a card to Dad, complete with a drawing by the child of him and his father.

This was a pretty easy project, aside from the inevitably ambiguous squiggles that the children labeled as "Dad" and "me." Not terribly flattering likenesses, but endearing coming from your child.

Julius, a six-year-old in the bilingual class who understands barely any English, had a few problems with the project. He grabbed the sample card with a picture drawn of Kenisha (my co-teacher) and her dad. He copied it exactly – including the labels – and ended up with a Father's Day card with a picture of Kenisha instead of himself. I took his paper away and asked him to draw another one, emphasizing that he was to draw "Julius" (point at him), not Kenisha.

He drew himself. And then he drew his mom and told me he was finished. I would have let it go, except for the fact that it was a Father's Day card. So I had him add his father into the picture.

you walked into my life and i thought "hey"

As I was typing a query into Google this morning I was, as usual, distracted by its suggestions for my search. "How to get a girl to like you." Really? I couldn't help but click and see what type of advice was offered to a young man searching for this on the internet.

Some of the Advice:

-Look Good. Work out run a mile or two, do some sit ups, get a six pack, etc. Also get a tan, so when you go to the pool and she is there, she will be like, "wow". Girls like a guy with a tan and some muscles, but don't overdo it; girls don't like it when you have too much muscles. That just shows that you love your muscles too much. Older people usually look better with normal facial and neck fat content range.


-Tickling can be risky because people who don't like it really don't like it, so beware. Don't take tickling too far, in any case; be gentle, and don't do it to the point that she's begging or screaming at you to stop.

-Don't stalk her. If she doesn't want to date, it means that she probably doesn't want a stalker either.


Some of the Questions:

"hey, valetnines day is coming up, and theres a girl i like... i want to make a card and write something in it that will make her like me, i was thinkin something along the lines of i had a dream once, me and you were together, happy, and we ha da beautiful house and beautiful children, for the first time in my life i was truly happy, and then i started to cry, coz i woke up and realised you werent there in my arms... what do you think? relpy soon please!"

"i meet a girl at a bus stop once in a week...how do i get her to notice me and be my friend?"

"i saw a girl but she doesnt like me. how do i make her like me so i can get a kiss"


**

Ah high school. I don't remember it being like that.

but Moses supposes erroneously

Today Amadeus told me that I've ruined her interactions with friends at school.

"What?" I asked, a bit confused.

"Yeah," she said, pausing from the dish she was washing. "Like, you and me always have these really boring, mundane, sometimes factual conversations."

I looked at her. This wasn't complimentary so far.

She continued, "But we laugh at everything. Even things that aren't funny. So now at school when someone says something normal, I'll laugh and nobody will join me. Like, someone will say 'Can I sit here?' and I'll burst out laughing."

I informed her that I don't laugh at dull moments, and she was the one with the uncontrollable laughter problem. She reminded me that I had burst into hysterics during dessert tonight.

In my defense, it was over something really funny. And in defense of this blog, I know she will laugh, even if noone else does. I just had bahand tha tares of a clawn.

you speak to me in riddles

I have a notebook that I used for school when I was seven. On one of the pages, I completed an assignment about what I wanted to be when I grew up. My answer went along the lines of:

A ballerina, because I like to dance.
An actress because I feel great when I'm on stage.
An author.
A mom with a horse.

Apparently being a mom with a horse is greatly superior to the alternative.

The ballerina idea failed (remember my attempt in Sweden?), but the acting and writing have lingered. Acting: fairly typical desire for a young, theatrical, attention-adoring girl. Writing: rather odd choice of future career for a child. As my buddy Dante put it:


But to dream of being a writer is quite a queer concept. If you dream of being an astronaut, you imagine skipping on the moon or hopping about on Mars. To dream of being a sports star clearly brings forth heavenly thrills of game winning catches and miraculous saves.

Yet to dream of writing is to imagine being so enamored with a realm whose existence doesn't expand passed the depths of your mind, that you are driven entirely by an internal monologue within one's self. It's only a romantic image when viewed with an idyllic lens of what the 'tortured artist' should look like.

To dream to be a writer is to dream to choose to live your life inside your head, rather than to share your action-life with the outside world.


Donc, writing is not only an odd choice for a seven-year-old: it's an odd choice for an extroverted social madcap like myself. And, according to Dante, an odd choice in general. He goes on to relate how watching Office Space (combined with this thought process on writing) brought him to the conclusion that he'd rather be physically living in an external world than in his head. This is not the conclusion that I would draw, mostly because I don't think the dichotomy needs to be so extreme; I hope to be able to traverse both worlds.

In Walker Percy's Lost in the Cosmos, he describes the problematic issue of "reentry" – the great writer's return to reality after transcending this world. As one of my friends described it: Dostoevsky has just completed The Brother's Karamazov and goes to the corner store to buy a drink. He overhears the trite conversations around him and is suddenly brought down from his lofty ideals into a dirty, mundane world. He has difficulty coping with this reentry.

Percy cites authors who reacted to reentry in different ways: drinking binges, traveling, sexual escapades, gambling – these writers have so perfectly described their surroundings, yet cannot reenter without finding a new escape.

**

I would like to one day be talented enough to write something which so thoroughly removes me from reality that I find it extremely difficult to reenter. Sounds like an intriguing, natural, productive high. Yes, I do romanticize the tortured artist. And the struggling one. The idea of living in the countryside in Ireland or New England – or anywhere beautiful – and spending my days producing works of fiction, sounds incredibly appealing to me.

Is this along the same lines of monk vs. person of the world argument? Dedicating your life to God through solitary prayer and silence, or dedicating it to God through actions and interactions...

Writer or Actress? Or teaching little ESL kids?

I suppose I could always buy myself a horse and adopt a child. Seems too easy.

**

Improv Everywhere: They perform a spontaneous musical in a food court.

looks like you're not happy, 'less I open a vein

I need to start making friends without addictions.

Today I visited Scrap Happy Chelsey (don't click if you don't want to get really hungry)at her wonderful red home in Nacka. I will probably refer to her as ScrapCrazyChelsey – SCC – from now on. She. Is. Scrap. Crazy.

Five years ago – after relentlessly teasing her friends about their hobby – SCC made her first scrapbook, preserving memories and moments from her wedding. She was hooked. She kept scrapbooking, started her own business selling supplies online, ran monthly crops, and attended weekend retreats where they powernapped in lieu of sleeping.

In Sweden, she has a room dedicated to the hobby. It hosts shelves and cabinets of supplies – papers, tools, punches, kits, etc. Now I've caught the scrapbooking fire, and am mentally planning an ambitious Facebook photo transference project.

Smashing Story: Apparently the U.S. is spying on Sweden. Well, that isn't true – a disgruntled Norwegian worker accused the U.S. Embassy of spying (really?) in Norway, and Scandinavia generally runs on a "buy one, get all free" policy.

**

Life Advice: When you turn 20, your mother will start thinking about grandchildren.

My mother didn't strike the genetic lottery with me. She, the diplomat's wife with a fondness for afternoon tea, has always had difficulty with me. As a child, I would wiggle and whine when she brushed my hair, and I had a a complete disregard for clothing (only noticing it when it hindered running/playing in dirt or with tadpoles).

"Dress to impress. You're on the market."
"I'm not a slab of meat for sale."

These are the types of conversations we have. Scintillating, I know.

**

Have you heard about the leprechauns?
Favorite part: 10 seconds in; the expression on the male anchor's face.

wearing a dress shaped like a pastry

I'm still going strong with my genius idea of printing out incomplete lyrics and having the kids listen to the song and fill in the gaps.

A couple weeks ago, I asked one of my classes if they wanted to do a Taylor Swift song. Reality check: Not everyone in Sweden has heard of TayTay. Weird. But they have heard of Michael Jackson, and asked if we could do something like "Thriller." I rejected this on the basis that it's probably the worst song in the world to have 7-year-old ESL students translate. The only words I remember in it are "nnnnnn THRILLER nnnnnn."

Being the flexible teacher that I am, I tried to think of another MJ song that had decipherable lyrics. I came up with Billy Jean. I had a mental image of something like this:

Billy Jean is not my _________
She's just a _____ who thinks that I am the ____ .
The ___ is not my _____.

This idea was quickly nixed; I wasn't enthused at the prospect of explaining "lover." Actually, I wasn't enthused at explaining anything about that song to my 7-year-olds, or their parents.

So: Taylor it was. We did Love Story, and I lucked out – the boys were absent. Olivia asked me if it was I who was singing the song, and I told her it wasn't. My classroom isn't always a den of lies.

**

Amadeus has recently convinced me to join her in watching an extremely dramatic television show. I initially refused on the basis of not wanting to turn my mind into flubber (I'm a firm believer of guarding your mind – "Eat fat, greasy food, become a fat, greasy dude" – etc.), but I soon caved because television is our bonding time (sad?) and I'm weak (more sad?).

No, this isn't interesting blog fodder, except that I've become so wrapped in the drama that Amadeus and I discuss the characters like they're real people. And I've started dreaming about them. I'm mostly wondering what information in my brain was deleted to make room for the dramatic secrets, lies, plots, and character analysis that are now residing in my head. Oh well, I don't really drink, so maybe that cancels it out?

Could we please invent a way to organize mind information? I'm pretty sure the phsyics formulas I memorized in high school are ready to come out. They're only useful with the metric system anyways.

Speaking of; the U.S. has been trying and failing to convert to the metric system since '75. This cracks me up. They call the process "metrication." This also cracks me up. It reminds me of matriculation. Funny words with dull meanings.

we once walked out on the beach and once I almost touched your hand

Small Talk Question of the Blog: What's some of the best advice ever given to you? Or just any advice that you remember specifically?

My friend Emma Cole used to say "You always have a choice." It was like her catchphrase. I really like it because it's empowering – no matter what mistakes you've made or what situation you're in, you always have a choice in your decisions.

Even if it's been a long, horrible day at the DMV, you still have the choice to stay calm, read a book, and remind yourself that you only have to make these trips every few years. (Or in my case, several times a day to retrieve missing items every few years.)

**

My mother met a Swede today who said that he had been to a DMV in Florida. "Americans are angry people," he told her. I love the idea of basing a judgment on Americans based on a visit to one of our DMVs.

Though if you think about it, that's one of the places where people are showing their true colors. Kind of like not marrying someone before you've gone camping with him.

i had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee

"Like my profile picture? I googled fat lemur."
-Lexis

**

Yesterday night, the 4 year-old girl I was babysitting wouldn't go to sleep, so I unscrewed her lightbulbs and locked her into her room.

This was in accordance with her mother's instructions. Yes, apparently Anna won't sleep unless locked in a dark room (and she can turn the light on when the bulbs are in).

"I know it sounds cruel, but it's the only thing that works," her mother said and explained that there was a baby monitor that I could listen to in another room. Fun times.

**

Anna's older brothers were really awesome. They are both fluent in English and Greek, and can speak some Italian, Swedish, and another million languages. This meant that I got a free Greek lesson – my name looks fabulous in Greek. " A bit like Elvish but more like Greek." (Yes, I wish I hadn't said that). Unfortunately Greek, like many other languages, hasn't managed to create letters for all the sounds in my name. They missed out on the "sh" and "v" sound, but made up for it with like three "O's."

The boys (10 and 11) told me about how they used to get bullied at a school they attended in Italy. Pavlo said he and his friends would hide from the bully in some old tires near the playground.

"What about you? Have you ever had problems with a bully?" he asked me.
"No. I was the bully."
They both stared at me.
"Just kidding. I'm a girl...we don't really do that."

They disputed this and I agreed and admitted that I was the kid in the corner with a book when I was in elementary school. I have no idea if bullying went on at my childhood schools.

**

I watched The Social Network last night and really enjoyed it. Movie ticket prices in Stockholm vary both by theatre and film. At the cinema in Hotorget, The Social Network cost 100 SEK ($15), Inception cost 110 SEK ($16.50) and other films went down to 90 or 95 SEK.

When I lived in L.A., I got used to La Mirada's dollar theatre prices – most days $2.00, Tuesdays $1.00) – and the Stockholm prices initially seemed really high. But that's just Stockholm; it's a European capital, and everything is a bit more expensive here. Also, big cities in the States hit comparable cinema prices, especially with 3D glasses.

**
Simply Sweden

Grocery shopping is definitely more expensive here. The US embassy puts out a biannual order to the commissary in Frankfurt, and staff are allowed to bulk order all the American goods that they miss (or are too expensive here).

Our family has been with the State Department for a million years, and we're used to not having American goods; in Yemen we didn't have pork, cereal, candy bars, McDonalds, etc. The order we placed was fairly small; a turkey and a pig for Thanksgiving/Christmas, a box of HeadNShoulders dandruff shampoos (you can only buy in bulk), etc.

Other families were clearly feeling a lack of America in their shopping. I was housesitting for a family, and they received a giant order (30 boxes?) which included a box of chewy bars, a box of bisquik pancake mixes, and a box filled with Ramen Noodles. They missed Ramen Noodles so much that they ordered them from Germany (and by extension, the States) in bulk. I still can't get over this.

**

me and my friends made comic book

Things I Like

- When you start out not liking something and grow to love it. Examples: all of my friendships (kidding!), onions, mayonnaise, chocolate, transferring unis, tiny dogs, saunas.

- Yellow leaves

- One word hilarity triggers. Every time I say "Buster," one of the kids I tutor starts cracking up uncontrollably. We just sit there laughing because we think the name is funny.

- Finding things in coat pockets. Money, phone, unused Kleenex

- Being on the right side of an insane exchange rate (yes, I get paid in Krona)

**

Sometimes I write stories in my head as I'm walking. The other day, a couple of characters were having a dialogue in my mind and one of them said something funny. I laughed out loud. I then realized I was laughing at the voices in my head. Problem?

**

Swedes are all about saunas. Alright, maybe that isn't entirely accurate. But compared to Americans, Swedes have a lot of saunas. Many of the buildings (at least in Ostermalm) have them, and private homes have them too. Americans seem to prefer jacuzzis.

"To get rid of the chill you have to take off all of clothing and jump into a wooden box heated to over 100 degrees. It sounds a little drastic but once you’ve tried it, you know the meaning of the phrase ‘toasty warm’." (repairhome.)

There is nothing that thoroughly heats your entire body like a sauna does. It's really fun to watch the beads of sweat rise on your skin and tickle as they trickle. And the phrase "beads of sweat" is also really fun. It's so perfect.

it's a cancer fatal to my soul

I got rejected as a volunteer today. This is a fun form of rejection, as they are essentially telling you that they don't want you even though you're free.

Or, as Emma Cole put it:

"You're like a box of kittens on the side of the road that nobody wants. You come with your cage and food and shots, but nobody wants you anyway."

Thanks Emma Cole.

**

In the English lessons I teach, I've started having the kids listen to songs and fill in the blanks of a lyric printout.

Next week I'm doing "Yellow Submarine." I took out all the "yellow"s. I'm really excited.

her mind is tiffany twisted

Today I walked into Carl and Edvin's home for English tutoring. I was met by a very hyper Carl and his equally hyper grandfather who sang at me something along the lines of, "Sheevon, we've been waiting. I'm so happy I got to be here today."

Carl was doing a funky little dance while holding an iPhone playing "Hotel California."

"What are you doing?" I asked, laughing.

"Guess what song this is?!" Carl exclaimed.

"Hotel California."

Both Carl and his grandfather were ecstatic over this reply. Apparently they had specially chosen the song because I had come to Sweden from California. It was really adorable. I was glad they had chosen The Eagles' California song over Katy Perry's.

**

A church friend of mine recently online posted her need for a dog sitter. Christophe, who does not know her, replied to the ad and she figured out that he was my brother. With a bit of information I supplied her, she replied to him with this email:

With some of the details you gave me, I was able to do a bit of research and I do have a few additional questions...I talked with someone who seems to be well acquainted with you and he mentioned that you are really into Animal Collective and Vampire Weekend? I don't know much about those bands, but the names make me a bit nervous? Also, the Robert Plant poster? My dog really prefers a quiet environment and is very low energy, so I am not sure if this is a good fit? What do you think?

He got a bit spooked. Sho 1, Christophe 0.

**

I occasionally think about horrible ways to break up with someone. Mostly these ideas are from the experiences of various friends and acquaintances. But noone plans a breakup, right? They just happen. Wrong. I recently had a conversation with a friend who told me she had not only planned her breakup, she had planned it with her boyfriend. As in they negotiated a date ahead of time.

OK, fine. My odd friends aside, I've started compiling a list of ways to "win" your breakup. This means breaking up with them in a horrible "Got you last!" way.

How to Win Your Breakup: 3 Ways to Dump Someone

1) Associations. A few weeks before the breakup, start creating strong memories with their favorites: Start making their favorite foods for dates, start wearing their favorite scents, start playing their favorite band, etc. When you eventually break up, make it a messy one and these favorites will be ruined for them: they won't be able to smell lavender without hearing your screaming voice, or eat pork without seeing your angry face, or listen to Coldplay without wanting to throw something.

2) Pick a good date. Birthdays, Valentine's Day, the day before Prom, the day after they get into a motorcycle accident: these all work. Personal suggestion: April Fool's Day. Because then the actual breakup lasts for at least two days in their head.

3) Don't Actually Break Up. Just get really half hearted about everything and avoid confrontation like the plague. You could actually make this last for years.

(Right, so the last one doesn't really fit in the list, but I had run out and it was donated by someone who said it worked for him.)

**

OK, so just to let you all know that I'm really a good person – I don't actually suggest any of the options on the previous list. Think of it as a social commentary. Also, I've seen all of these happen in the personal lives of my friends/family members. So you could think of it as an extremely vague piece of history.

for papa, make him a scholar

Today the dog I was walking thought it would be a good idea to prove that the ice on top of the pond would hold his weight. It didn't.

Today the fingerprint guy said my fingers were like bird claws.

Today I met a woman from Norwalk, Connecticut. This wouldn't have been a problem, had she not heard that I was from Wilton, the neighboring town. I had put Wilton on my bio hoping that it wouldn't draw attention because it was such a small, random town. I had fun explaining to her that I had never actually lived in the town where I was "from."

Today winter started. It ends in May.

**OR**

Today, while walking Adam, I was fascinated by the thin sheet of ice sitting on a pond. I poked at it, threw snow across it, and admired the branches that were half under, half above it. Adam became curious and jumped onto it, immediately breaking through the ice. Luckily it was really shallow, and he jumped right out. Also, he looked hilarious with part of his body half the size of the rest of it.

Today, my siblings told me that the fingerprint guy said my fingers were like bird claws. I told my sister that he had said hers were like sausages. I win.

Today I met a woman from Norwalk, a small town bordering Wilton, the town my mother and grandparents are from which I've visited every summer my whole life. It was neat thinking that we had probably eaten at the same restaurants and probably knew some of the same people.

Today it snowed and Stockholm was transformed from a place of coldness to a place of cold beauty. It is hard to describe the feeling of peace to be gained by sitting by a window, warm in your room, watching the snow fall to the street below.

the freckles in our eyes are mirror images

Last week, Adam's owner asked me if I'd like to have tickets to the dress rehearsal of a dance show her company was putting on.

"They like to have a small show beforehand. You know, so they don't have to go naked in front of Stockholm on the first night," she explained.

Naked on the first night? I decided that this was a figure of speech – they didn't want to be exposed without having tested an audience. It was a dance show; surely there wouldn't be nudity.

I was wrong.

It was a modern dance performance, and on the whole really enjoyable. The first act included a crazy Bollywood number, a couple of pokes at the audience on our need to pay money to be entertained, and some up close time with the dancers (they donned Rudolph noses and walked into the audience, standing still and staring). The choreographer/writer was clearly going through some sort of existential crisis when he/she penned the piece: one section was devoted to bizarre dancing, dark lights, flashing words, and an increasingly dramatic voice repeatedly asking about beginnings and endings, life and death.

The second act got crazier. A lady sat upstage with a glazed look, repeating the word "Expectations" in a monotone voice. Clothing was shed with every light change, and the final scene had a naked body lying on stage right (just the back of it) and a naked man writhing across the stage on his belly (again, no frontal view). His body was moving madly, but on his face was an extremely realistic looking happy mask; the whole time he crawled/writhed across the stage, his face was in a huge, frozen smile.