A Swedish American in Sweden

Energy Drinks and Age Limits – Self-Imposed Swedish Regulation

2009-12-07T20:40:00.001+01:00

I avoid caffeine like blind people avoid silent films. It does mean things to me. My eyelids twitch. My gut dances. My heart jumps rope. It basically becomes field day for my organs and appendages. It isn’t fun. On a different note, I am not a teenager anymore. I left those awkward teen years behind me several years ago. These two things are actually related.

I was at ICA, you know, your friendly neighborhood grocery store here in Sweden, purchasing what was to become my dinner. Two microwave calzone-like-ish things filled with taco-like-ish meat. I topped my grocery bag (which I of course brought to the store myself) with some potato chips and 1.5 liters of milk. Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do live alone. Is it that obvious?

What I purchased though isn’t nearly as interesting as the little sign on the cash register. I glanced at it, thinking it was the typical, if you look young and want to buy cigarettes or snus, be ready to show ID. I don’t buy either so wasn’t all that concerned. But something caught my eye. Fifteen. They were checking ID on 15 year olds. Not because they are allowed to buy tobacco. They aren’t. But because they might want to buy energy drinks.

ICA is checking ID for energy drink sales. If you are under the age of 15, you can’t buy a Red Bull. Because I don’t drink caffeine, please see above for reasons I don’t like feeling like I was sucker punched by Manny Pacquiao, and because I am no longer a teenager (I told you they were related. Never doubt me.) I haven’t been keeping up on the energy drink debate.

A quick search for “energidryck” on SVD.se confirms my lack of interest in the subject. Turns out there has been a debate going on about this. A couple of months ago, 7-Eleven and Pressbyrån, decided to implement the 15 year old age limit. Since then, ICA seems to have followed suit along with a couple of other grocery store chains.

Just recently, a survey of 700 school nurses reported that about 80% wanted an age limit. And many of them wanted the age limit to be 18. The age of consent in this country is 15. Meaning that some nurses believe drinking an energy drink could be potentially more dangerous than having sex. I suppose putting a condom on a can of Red Bull might not have the desired effect, but I just don’t really understand the line of reasoning there.

What really gets me is the self-imposed legislation on caffeinated beverages. You can overdose on caffeine in plenty of different ways. A couple shots of espresso will do you in in no time. But Wayne’s Coffee doesn’t have a little sign on the cash register asking people to show their ID before buying an espresso. Here in Sweden though, companies are actively discouraging people from purchasing a product because they are unable to monitor their intake on their own. Kind of like Systembolaget.

It turns out this discussion is being had in the US also. Which is just as ridiculous as having it here. But here’s an idea, let kids overdose on caffeine. At some point, you kind of just have to accept your fate when you continue to drink highly caffeinated drinks after breaking out into a cold sweat with serious heart palpitations and anxiety attacks. Legislation can’t fix stupid.

Welcome to Sweden.

The Art of Farting and Swedish Advertising

2009-12-06T20:12:00.005+01:00

The Swedes have been doing good work lately. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve been using the subway more than usual and so am subjected to the different advertising campaigns like light therapy through billboards.

Either way, I managed to laugh at an ad campaign. Again. This ad campaign was first brought to my attention by Tod. Although at the time I hadn’t seen it. Then, just the other day, I was riding the subway to Odenplan. And there it was. Staring back at me. Taunting me. Speaking to me. Like an old friend.

An old man, who bears an uncanny resemblance to my dentist back in the US of A if he had completely white hair, seems to be very pleased with himself. As he should be. He is on the cover of a book titled The Art of Farting. As someone who finds flatulence hilarious, even at the age of 25, this made my day. When fart jokes stop making my day, a part of me will have died. The fun part.
Other classic titles advertised are Herregud, jag var ju bara ung och naiv (Dear God, I was Just Young and Naive) written by Judas Iscariot and of course the Kokbok för militanta köttätare (Cookbook for Militant Meat Eaters). I found these to be hilarious. For various reasons.

One, as mentioned above, I still think farts are funny. Advertising campaigns that use farts are immediately winners in my eyes.

Two, I love eating meat and feel fairly confident that if people can be militant about their vegetarianism than people should also be allowed to be militant about their meateatingism.

Three, I like witty word play. And witty word play that is borderline sacrilegious? Even better.

Swedes are often stereotyped as being very dry people. Devoid of humor one might even say. I think it has to do with the stereotypical reserved nature. And also crappy Swedish comedies on TV. But then they come with advertisements like this and I can’t help but be impressed by the creativity and humor.

In case you were wondering, the ads are for an online book store. They claim to have over two million titles. They also claim that those titles they don’t have, probably don’t exist. Like a book written by Judas.

Welcome to Sweden. And the art of farting. And advertising.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Sunlight for 2.43% of the Month of November

2009-11-30T20:28:00.002+01:00

Technically the sun set today before three in the afternoon. I say technically because while the sun might technically be up, it doesn’t mean I saw it. Not because I spend the majority of my day inside staring at a computer screen, but because clouds managed to hide it. Almost for the entire month of November. I am not immune to hyperbole, but I am serious. The sun was absent for nearly the entire month of November.

Turns out the average amount of November sunlight in Sweden is 54 hours. That’s not a whole lot considering there are 30 days. However, it is more than two full days of sunlight. This month though was well below average. Depending on your sources, I was privy to 17.5 hours of sunlight, or 14 hours of sunlight. Either way, that is less than 24 hours of sunlight. That is less than one full day of sunlight.

The month of November has a total of 720 hours in it. Let’s be generous and say that there was actually 17.5 hours of sunlight. That means there were 1050 minutes of sunlight. That means an average of 35 minutes of sunlight every day. Only 2.43% of the month of November saw sunlight. Which means Stockholmers were without sun for 97.57% of the month. 97.57%.

Let’s put that into perspective. 97.57% is an A+ in nearly all measures of grading scales. 98% is the rate of effectiveness if you were to use a condom perfectly. 97.2% of Argentineans over the age of 15 can read and write. 98% of Antarctica is ice. And 97.57% of the population masturbates. The other 2.43% are liars. That’s not true; I stole that from my high school history teacher. But you get the idea.

I wrote a couple of posts this month about homesickness and about creative Swedish winter advertising. Clearly my subconscious was at work wanting to either go home to Colorado and at sunlight that numbers in the days not hours, or sit in front of a billboard giving off artificial light. Instead my skin is more pale than usual, at least the skin that can be seen through my hair. My golden locks are darker than ever. And I am seriously questioning the mental stability of anyone who willingly moves to Sweden. Myself included. Did I mention that the sun shone for less than 18 hours over the course of 30 days?

Welcome to Sweden. But not really.

Murderous Swedish Moose

2009-11-29T11:30:00.002+01:00

Over two years ago I wrote a post titled Beware the Swedish Elk. A Swedish Elk, or a moose to Americans, was wounded by a hunter. Not dead, the hunter approached the moose and somehow the moose managed to fire off a shot with the hunter’s rifle. It missed and the moose died. I wrote then that:

“In the fight for equality, seldom is the first fight the deciding fight, or the last for that matter. I expect Swedish Elk attacks to rise this hunting season, and as time goes on lives will be lost, Swedish Elk will be revered as heroes and martyrs within the forests of Sweden and no hunter will be safe. And so, to all of you who plan on shooting an elk, I can only say one thing: Beware the Swedish Elk.”

Two years later, my predictions are proving to be right. Feel free to refer to me as Hairy Nostraswedus. News reports are coming out that a murder case from September of 2008 is about to have a break through. A 63 year old woman was found dead near a lake. The husband was immediately arrested and spent 10 days in prison as well as being suspected for over five months.

Today though, it turns out his wife was murdered by a moose. Murdered. By a moose. The woman was attacked and killed by a moose. At least, the moose saliva and hair found on the body would suggest that. The Swedish police will hold a press conference on Tuesday to confirm the rumors. And their own incompetence of course. Because who are we kidding, regardless of the circumstances, to figure out one year later that a woman suspected to have been murdered by her husband was actually killed by a moose... that’s just embarrassing for Sweden’s finest.

Had they only read my predictions, this poor man would have been allowed to mourn his wife rather than be suspected of murder. Just one year after the initial attack by the Swedish moose against the armed hunter, the revolution continues. It seems that the moose of Sweden have risen up and taken back the forests. Unfortunately, innocent lives were lost in the beginning of the revolution as unarmed older woman have now been killed. The moose claim collateral damage, but all I see are war crimes.

As the Swedish moose run free, I encourage all able bodied Swedes to join the droves of hunters, take up arms, and hunt the moose. Protect our mormors and farmors! I will not stand idly by as little old Swedish ladies are killed by moose.

Welcome to Sweden. Beware the murderous moose. Seriously.

Holidays That Don’t Exist in Sweden - Thanksgiving

2009-11-24T22:16:00.000+01:00

The holiday season is coming up. Although in the US, it starts a little early. Because the US celebrates holidays that don’t get celebrated in Sweden. Like Thanksgiving.

Because I am an American abroad, I try to recognize as many holidays as possible. Although, there is a difference between recognition and outright ignorance. And yes, I know, I am a pretentious asshole, but there are few things that bother me more than Americans asking if Swedes celebrate Thanksgiving.

No. They don’t. Sweden does not celebrate Thanksgiving. Think back to elementary school, Thanksgiving celebrated the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. Pilgrims were religious separatists from England in the 1600s. It’s a simplified history but regardless, it gets the story across. Nowhere does Sweden come into the picture. They didn’t leave from Sweden. They didn’t go via Sweden. They weren’t Swedish. Sweden was busy with their own age of greatness and not really all that concerned with a small group of religious zealots trying to cross the Atlantic.

Strangely enough, they could still care less. The average Swede might be aware of Thanksgiving, but that is about it. They will not celebrate it. They will not have Thursday and Friday off from work. They will not eat themselves stupid on turkey and potatoes (although they probably should). That will be left to the American ex-pats in the country. They might even invite a few Swedes along for the ride. If there is a Thanksgiving celebration in Sweden, there is an American close by.

Instead, Swedes will go about their business, happily spending their paycheck from the 25th. Waiting for their holiday season to start. Sweden doesn’t really get started until the 13th of December when blonde girls dress up in white and walk around with live candles on their head. Of course, just in case there should be an accident, small boys walk behind her dressed in white robes with conical white hats on their heads while carrying star wands. December 13th is Santa Lucia. Duh.

Welcome to Sweden. And the holiday season.

Looking for Swedish Porn

2009-11-20T07:20:00.003+01:00

I should have known better. I should have known that writing the words “Swedish” and “porn” in the same post would cause create a stir.

I am a huge nerd. I use Google Analytics on this blog. Mostly because I like to play with that sort of stuff and now actually have a job in which I use it. Really it keeps me entertained. It also allows me to see what brings people to my blog. Other than my wittiness of course.

Turns out my post about Child Porn in Sweden gave Google some ideas. The wrong ideas, but ideas none the less. Now people looking for Sweden porn or Swedish porn are clicking on Welcome to Sweden. Most are horribly disappointed to find that this Hairy Swede was not exactly the kind of hairy Swede they were looking for. I’ll let that one sink in for a bit...

And a little bit longer...

And that’s enough of that. Gross.

It’s not the people that leave immediately though that confuse me. It’s the ones who stick around for a bit. Maybe read a post or two. What exactly is going through their minds?

“Well here I am, typing one handed hoping to see some naked Swedish girls, but yeah, I think I will read about how dark it is in Sweden right now. Or oooh... let’s read about immigration issues in Sweden. That’s almost as good as naked buxom blonde girls. Almost.”

I’d like to think it’s my amazing titles. Catchy little numbers like: A Swedish Thanksgiving Eulogy to Poseidon or maybe the classic Swedish Death. And Poop. Or maybe my use of the word “glorious” draws them in.

Really I think they just aren’t committed. Committed to finding Swedish porn. So here’s a tip based solely on my knowledge of the Swedish language. And nothing else. Obviously. Svensk is Swedish for Swedish. The Swedish word for porn is porr. Gentlemen (and I use that term so very loosely), good luck. Now move along...

Welcome to Sweden. Where everyone needs a helping hand. Especially those typing one handed.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Critiquing Swenglish Critiques

2009-11-18T21:16:00.004+01:00

Somehow I stumbled upon this little gem of a clip. Because apparently I am unable to write things now without help of various forms of media. Some people would argue that this adds something to the blog. A je ne sais quoi if you will. Those people are pretentious jerks who just want to show off their four years of high school French. No one likes those people.

No one likes people who try to show off their English skills by disparaging others, all the while butchering the language they purport to know either.

As a general rule, I don’t watch reality shows. They bother me. Because despite their claims of reality, I end up just being disgusted with people and can’t handle them, which actually might be too close to reality for my taste. Not since Joe Millionaire freshman year of college have I watched a reality show. Then Idol 2009 started in Sweden. And I watched one episode. Then a second. Then remembered why I don’t watch reality shows and stopped watching. I’m stubborn.
Yesterday I ended up seeing a clip with the headline “Till och med en sjuåring klarar det.” Even a seven year old can do it. Well, I like to reaffirm that I am better than a seven year old. So I clicked on through. And I learned something yesterday, I am not better than a seven year old. At least not according to the Swedish Idol judge.

I am not better than a seven year old because I am unable to mime perfectly someone singing a song in a different language. Apparently Swedish school children are incredibly advanced and capable of doing such things. Which was news to me because in the past week I have heard two different Swedes attempt to pronounce unique correctly. It came out as eunuch. Unique and eunuch are two very different things. Although, come to think of a eunuch would be very unique to me.

The critique came after one of the contestants, a non-native Swedish speaker, and non-native-English speaker was said to have butchered the pronunciation of the English language. I didn’t see the performance. Remember, I gave up on reality shows nearly eight years ago. Fine.

But it was here mixing of the languages that just somehow put it over the top for me. Because I speak English flawlessly. And despite what 50 Cent might have you believe it is in fact, “the” not “da.” Our demeaning judge seems confused by all this as she peppers her Swenglish with a misplaced “flawless” (“Kan de lära sig det flawless på engelska...”) as well as the classic “da.” While da might work for my homies back in the hood, most native English speakers capable of enunciating know that a more acceptable version is “the.” T-h. Like “Thufferin Thuccotash,” which is almost the same thing.

And there you have it. The low point of Welcome to Sweden. I have just spent several hundred words of your time critiquing a critique of the Swedish version of American Idol.

Welcome to Sweden. May I suggest reading something better? Try 1000 Awesome Things. I’m partial to #638. Or perhaps some economics from a Harvard professor. Or maybe even some quick hits at Letters to Ira Glass.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Light Therapy in Stockholm

2009-11-17T17:24:00.004+01:00

There are times I really question my move to Sweden. Those times are called November. The worst month in Sweden. Ever. November is followed closely by February, but February has the benefit of days getting longer, not shorter.

I was reminded of the overall worthlessness that is November the other day on my way to a hockey game. Sitting on the train staring dumbly out the window I saw a man with his eyes closed, head tilted up, standing in front of a billboard. This is not normal behavior. Even in Sweden in November.

My eyes moved from the man to the billboard. Clearly this must be the greatest billboard ever. And it turns out it was.

Skandia, an insurance and online banking company, has billboards throughout Stockholm that are backlit stating “Lite ljusterapi i höstmörkret. Ett enkelt sätt att motverka lättare depressioner.” Horribly translated: A little light therapy in the autumn darkness. An easy way to combat mild depression.

First, this is awesome. It’s taking advantage of the season. It’s funny. And apparently it works, or at least the light therapy part works, no idea if Skandia has sold any extra car insurance policies lately.

Second, this is awful. Who wants to live in a country where people feel the need to stand in front of an advertisement to get light therapy because there is so little daylight? Me. I apparently want to do that. Because here I am.

Welcome to Sweden. You have been warned.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Hot Sauce and Homesickness in Sweden

2009-11-14T16:27:00.002+01:00

Recently I received a mysterious package. Not like someone left it on my doorstep, ran away, and it turned out to be a baby mysterious, but a package that I wasn’t expecting. I of course tore into it immediately like a kid at Christmas. And by kid I mean myself last year at Christmas.

Turns out it was hundreds of small packages of Cholula. One of the greatest tasting hot sauces on the mass market today. If anyone works for Cholula, or knows anyone who does, I can be convinced to work for you. Seriously. I love you.

But I digress. The sender turned out to be my father. So I duly thanked the old man for his gracious gifts. As the honorable man that he is, he admitted that he was in fact the sender, but was not responsible for the gift itself. Apparently I have friends in high places. Or at least friends willing to walk into restaurants and take hundreds of packets of Cholula, pack them, and attempt to ship them to Sweden.

The attempted shipping was what went wrong. Which is where my dad came into play. With the help of his trusty green card, he was able to navigate the tricky customs situation between Sweden and the US. Actually, I think he just slapped a label on it and drove to the post office. But that’s almost the same thing.

Since then I’ve been smothering my food in Cholula. Rice and beans. Meat. Potatoes. Pyttipanna. Spaghetti. It’s been amazing. I’ve even attempted to recreate what I like to call Red Sea Goldfish. Goldfish crackers mixed with lots of hot sauce and eaten with a spoon. I’ve substituted cheese tortilla chips for the Goldfish, it’s not quite the same but it will do.

Moving to Sweden and having lived here now for over two years, it’s amazing how homesickness can manifest itself. Sometimes it’s missing the big things, like family and friends. Sometimes it’s missing the little things, like Cholula and smothering cheesy snacks with hot sauce. Either way, when one or the other shows up on your door step, it’s a good day.

Welcome to Sweden. And Cholula.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Simple Swedish – Lesson One from Patrick Hansson and Ola Lustig

2009-11-10T22:16:00.004+01:00

I have written about the Swedish language a few different times. How I think you should learn Swedish. How it makes me laugh. And how good Swedes are at English, and just how annoying that can be.

I have never posted a video about the Swedish language. But now I have. Because this made me smile and nod in agreement. At the ridiculousness of the language. At the false friends. At the rules that you just need to know. And at slut. Of course.

If you have any interest in the Swedish language, watch this. If you’re learning Swedish you’ll chuckle. You’ll see the judging Swedish look as you mispronounce å, ä, and ö. If you don’t speak Swedish and just don’t have any desire to. Well, you’re not alone. It’s not exactly a popular language what with the nine million people in the country. But it does mean that you aren’t nearly as cool as you could be. Watch it anyway. If only for the slut jokes. Because come on, that stuff is comedic gold.

There’s talk of a second episode. I’m hoping they’ll talk about river horses, tooth meat, and breast warts next time. And if they do, I’ll claim all the credit. If they don’t, they also aren’t nearly as cool as they could be.

Welcome to Sweden. And Simple Swedish.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Child Porn in Sweden

2009-11-04T22:39:00.001+01:00

I am in awe of The Local. It is such a great idea in its simplicity. Essentially they take news stories and just translate them and regurgitate them for all of the non-Swedish speakers. When I first moved here it was my Bible. My Koran. My Torah. (I’m very PC you know). Lately though, I just haven’t been that inclined to read The Local.

The last few days though I saw some things about the Swedish justice system that caught my eye. I bitch and moan about the Swedish justice system a lot. Life in prison doesn’t really mean life. Convicted murderers get furloughs and kill someone while away. Two to three millions pictures of child porn will only get you six months in prison. And so I needed to find in English, what I had been seeing in Swedish. I was not to be disappointed.

On November 2nd it was reported that Sweden would be overhauling their child pornography laws (Sweden to tighten child pornography laws). Just looking at child pornography will be illegal as opposed to the current law stating that you have to possess it. The government is even hoping to change the definition of child pornography. Any pictures of children under 18 will be considered child porn. Which seemed strange to me considering the age of consent in Sweden is 15, but I digress.

On November 3rd it was reported that a camp counselor accused of filming children naked in 2007 would not be punished for being a pervert (No penalty for man who filmed naked children). He managed to escape by fleeing to Thailand. Since then he has been hanging out waiting for the statute of limitations to run out all the while working as a school teacher in a different country. Awesome. But wait. It gets better. While doing all of this, and knowing that he could no longer be charged, the man requested that his video equipment be returned to him. You know, the video equipment that he had been using to film camp-goers in the sauna.

While I’m all for banning child porn, I’m concerned by the proposed laws for a couple of reasons. First, banning the viewing of something is a very slippery slope. There’s obviously the whole free speech argument, but I’m mostly concerned that some sicko will get away with this because he argues that he “accidentally” stumbled across some child porn. It just seems too vague to be effective.

The definition of child porn is also concerning. Mostly because of the fact that my mom was just explaining sexting to me. Yup. My mom explained sexting. “It’s what the kids are doing these days” were her words. Apparently some kid back home has now been labeled a sex offender for passing along a naked picture of a girl he went to school with. A girl who was under 18. Thus, child porn. He should be labeled an idiot but not a sex offender.

Then there’s the camp counselor. Who is now a teacher. And got all his video equipment back. There are just so many things wrong with that story. But what really gets me, aside from him getting his video equipment back (did I mention he got his damn video equipment back?) is the fact that the statue of limitations ran out after less than three years. He videotaped kids in the sauna while working as a camp counselor. He fled to Thailand, where Swedes go every year for vacation. H is now working as a teacher. And they can’t do anything about it.

If Sweden really wants to do something for child porn, increase the statute of limitations and snag this guy the second he gets anywhere near a country that will extradite him. And drop his video camera in the toilet.

Welcome to Sweden. And child pornography laws.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Halloween in Sweden

2009-11-01T15:08:00.005+01:00

Yesterday was Halloween. It was even a Red Day on the calendar. Not really because of the Halloween celebration as most Americans know it, but because of All Saints Day. In a ridiculously secular country like Sweden, it makes perfect sense that the day be seen as a public holiday. You know, to go to church.

Swedes claim that they don’t celebrate Halloween. But that is changing. Not the claims, but the celebrating part. As I wandered around town yesterday in a fit of classic Swedish book buying (Bränt Barn by Stig Dagerman and Utvandrarna by Vilhelm Moberg) there was a large Ghost hanging between the buildings on Drottninggatan. There was a line at least 100 people deep waiting to get into the one big costume shop in Stockholm, and there were Halloween signs being advertised in shops throughout town. Halloween is coming to Sweden.

Traditionally, All Saints Day is meant to be a day to celebrate the dead and to decorate the graves of family members. A day of remembrance really. This is the third one I’ve been around for and I still haven’t been able to get myself out to Skogskyrkogården to see the display. Apparently it is impressive.

Instead, I chose to celebrate Halloween by dressing up like a zebra. Obviously. Essentially this entailed me wearing white pants, a white shirt and covering myself with strips of black duct tape. To top it all off, I also have come into ownership of a zebra print bandanna, which I wore with a strange sense of satisfaction.

It is quite the effort to cove oneself in black duct tape. I went through two rolls of the stuff, managed to remove a patch of hair from my belly, and wrap the tape so tight that I was unable to remove my shirt. My future does not lie in costume design.

Especially considering the number of times I had to explain that I was, in fact, a zebra and not a prisoner. Or a mental patient. Prisoners and mental patients do not have patterned stripes meant to confuse and camouflage them from their pray. Zebras, and I, do. Duh.

Because I was heading over to my cousins for the Halloween party, I had to take some public transportation. And by had to, I mean I am too cheap to pay for a taxi. So away I went, dressed like a zebra wearing a jacket. This being Sweden, people stared but said nothing. So I sat alone, people avoiding me as if I had the H1N1 virus, until four guys climbed in. They gravitated towards me. Probably because they were also in costume. A soldier, a heavy metal rocker, a soccer player, and a douche bag. Either that or he got lost on his way to Stureplan.

Suddenly, I felt at ease. My stripes were doing their job. No one knew who to stare openly at. Should they admire the hair of the ‘80s heavy metal rocker? Should they salute the Swedish soldier? Or should they bask in the glory of the zebra? Most chose to look away awkwardly while trying to steal alternating glances of all five of us. It’s the Swedish way.

After several stops and countless awkward glances, I arrived at my destination. I bounded off the train like a zebra in the savannah, looking over my shoulder, with my alcohol and bag of candy clambering at my side as I fled from the surprised Stockholmers behind me. That’s not true. Although it did cross my mind.

Welcome to Sweden. And Halloween in Stockholm.

Saabs to Skåne, Busses to Stockholm

2009-10-26T22:55:00.002+01:00

On Saturday I left my apartment around 8:30 in the morning to drive down and visit my family in southern Sweden. I had hoped to leave Friday afternoon but got stuck at work. Seeing as how I have no heat my car, I wasn’t too excited about driving down late at night. It tends to get cold.

So Saturday morning I bundle up. Hoodie, hat, gloves and a jacket just in case and I am ready to go. Immediately, I am cold and have to pee. Because despite being 25, I still am not responsible enough to pee before I leave the house to drive for five hours.

As I’m driving, I’m listening to my iPod. Because along with not having any heat, my radio doesn’t work. All the while I am shivering. I’m pretty sure driving for five hours was the best workout I’ve had in quite some time. My traps were sore the next day. It was quite the workout.

But I made it through the drive without incident, which, considering my history of running out of gas, having my battery die, or nearly losing a tire, seemed like a small victory. While I was visiting my family, I changed to the winter tires as required by law here in good old Sweden.

Since my winter tires had been sitting unused for a few months, I decided I would go to the gas station and put a little air in them. So I got into my car. And turned the key. And the car started. And the car died. And my sore traps sagged.

I am not good with cars. The only things I know how to fix have been forced upon me because I buy old run down cars. I can change a muffler for example and am capable of using enough duct tape to get a 1989 Saab 9000 to drive me home. But I cannot open the hood and look in and figure out what is wrong. It doesn’t help that my manual is written in French. I’m surprisingly ok with all of this until my car dies. At which point I am surprisingly angry at myself.

This time was worse. For a variety of reasons. One being that I had scheduled an appointment to get the heat fixed with my local mechanic, local meaning Stockholm, on Monday morning. My car died on Saturday. Suddenly, I was faced with the possibility that what should have been a relatively simple fix of the heating system would result in me just junking the car.

So after some phone calls to my old man in the US (who, by the way, has received phone calls from me about car trouble from various corner of the globe, including Australia) I was able to get the car started. Kind of. If I kept the RPMs revving high enough I could go places. Of course, that makes stop signs and roundabouts troublesome.

With ample use of my emergency lights, I was able to get my car to a mechanic. Of course, mechanics are closed on the weekend so I left it out front with a little note saying please steal me so I can get insurance money (that’s not true... I do not endorse insurance fraud). Turns out, that very night the mechanic was the victim of a little vandalism and several cars were broken into. Mine was not amongst them.

Instead of driving home at a leisurely pace on Sunday afternoon, I was sitting on a cramped bus for over seven hours. In silence. In the dark. The clocks had changed the night before so suddenly the sun was setting around 4:15 in the afternoon. And I was sitting on a bus in total silence, wondering how much I would have to pay to have a functioning car.

The call came Monday morning. I prepared for the worst. I had eaten some yogurt in advance just in case. The mechanic had taken a look, it wasn’t a big deal, parts and labor to get the car running, the heat working, and even the radio playing, would be less than $500. I let out an awkward relieved laugh. You know the one. Kind of high pitched while exhaling.

So I have a working car again. Kind of. Because it is parked nearly 600 km away from home. Looks like I have another bus ride in my future.

Welcome to Sweden. Where driving down South might result in a bus ride back North.

Five Things I’ve Learned Since Moving to Sweden

2009-10-23T00:05:00.000+02:00

The move to Sweden was a big deal for me. I had lived away from home all through college, but it’s just college. And it was just Oregon. Moving to Sweden was different. Sweden was a ways away. I was going without a job. Without knowing many people. Without any set plan.

I jokingly tell people this has been my existential quarter-life crisis. Which I suppose is quite true. The beauty is I’ve managed to learn a few things along the way. Which is much better than my upcoming midlife crisis where I intend to make poor choices with women half my age and possibly buy a boat. Or I’ll just go skiing in New Zealand.

Until then though, I’ve got to live with lessons thus far learned.

I can’t make Swedish pancakes to save my life. Seriously. Early on in the move, I bought the proper fixins for Swedish pancakes; I even have a Swedish cook book so I don’t make any conversion mistakes. Swedish pancakes are supposed to be thin, kind of mottled, and delicious. Mine end up thick, kind of burned, and tasting like cement. Needless to say, I still have most of the fixins for Swedish pancakes.

Allemansrätten is probably the coolest right ever. Much better than that whole free speech thing in the US. That I can go essentially anywhere I want and camp as long as I don’t destroy anything, show respect to nature and whatever lucky landowner gets to have me on their property is something that still boggles my mind. And something that more people need to understand.

Swedish girls just aren’t as good looking as the stereotype will have you believe. Blonde big breasted Swedish women are not running up to me on the street. That being said, and this is a discussion I have had with plenty of friends, most productively with my little brother when he was studying here, the average Swedish woman is better looking than the average American woman. Probably because the average American woman is five feet three inches and 163 pounds. That is squat. And no one likes squat. The average Swedish woman? Five feet five inches and 142 pounds. That is less squat. It might also be demeaning and sexist, but I’m just not that into squat girls.

Never, ever, ever, leave spaghetti boiling, run to take a shower, then run out naked as you hear the spaghetti boiling everywhere. It’s just a bad idea. At least that’s what I’ve heard.

Sometimes you need to leave to find out where you belong. In the US, I have always been the Swedish guy. In Sweden, I have always been the American guy. This is confusing on a base level. Especially considering that I spent the majority of my life in the US. It is also, I’m convinced, the reason I am so intrigued by Swedishness. So in leaving the US, I was hoping to figure out where I belonged. After two and a half years in Sweden, I realize very clearly that I am an American. And I am quite pleased with that.

Welcome to Sweden. And my life lessons.

Yoghurt and Swedish Health Care

2009-10-19T23:58:00.001+02:00

I have become my father. I’ve already got the thinning hair and cul de sacs. I’ve got the abnormally long arms. I’ve got the skinny calves. I’ve got the poor eyesight. Ladies, I am single.

I’ve also been indoctrinated by the man. Because in the last few days I have espoused the virtues of yoghurt. Yoghurt. Fermented milk. I have carried on two separate conversations about a dairy product. Did I mention I was single ladies?

My father is under the impression that yoghurt cures all ills. Upset stomach? Yoghurt. Herniated disc? Yoghurt. Blood clots? Yoghurt. Syphilis? Yoghurt. For years I have made fun of him. Much as I am doing now. He takes it because he knows I am awesome. And because in the end, despite being well over 50, he can still beat me in arm wrestling. Clearly the only way to measure a father.

Apparently, repetition leads to some sort of belief. Something to keep in mind if you intend on starting a cult. This weekend I explained to someone how helpful yogurt is with digestion. This was followed by me explaining (in a separate conversation) that a little yoghurt will probably help beat back the oncoming cold a friend was fighting.

I have no scientific evidence to back this up. But by saying it with a sense of authority, I was able to convince both parties that they should be eating more yoghurt, since yoghurt is delicious, it is pretty good advice regardless.

Since moving to Sweden, I have been inundated with yoghurt choices. The dairy section of your average Swedish grocery store has enough yoghurt to cure cancer, maybe even breast cancer. (Which reminds me, feel free to support my friend’s boobies for breast cancer awareness.) I’d like to think that the availability of yoghurt in this country, coupled with my father’s voice ringing in my head, has led me to champion yoghurt as a cure-all. Really I just think it is a Swedish supplement to health care.

Take heed Obama, it’s no coincidence that there is more yoghurt in Swedish dairy sections than American and that the US health care system is currently in disarray. It’s no coincidence that since moving to Sweden, I eat more yoghurt than ever before, yet don’t have cancer. Or syphilis. Turns out the old man knew what he was talking about.

Welcome to Sweden. And yoghurt health care.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Service in Stockholm

2009-10-17T16:50:00.002+02:00

It’s time, once again, for a complaint about customer service in Stockholm. Because it just isn’t fun if I don’t kick the already beaten dead horse that is Swedish customer service. Then spit on it.

I had made plans to get things done today. Errands if you will. Unfortunately the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. As I fit into one of the aforementioned categories my plan did just that.

First, because I have the grace of a sumo wrestler on ice skates, I fell into the water a couple of months ago taking my cell phone with me. I have since been using an old cell phone that I had lying around. It has decided no longer to allow me to accept phone calls and send or receive SMS’. Sometimes I’m allowed to call people.

I decided it was then time to get a new phone. Or at least try to repair what damage I had done to my previous phones. I wanted to test a new battery in my old phone and possibly find out what was wrong with my current phone. So into The PhoneHouse I went. And approximately three minutes later I walked out.

The conversation started with me explaining that my phone was water damaged, but when plugged into the wall without the battery, it turned on and seemed to be in some working order. I needed to test a battery. The proud representative of The Phone House began by leaning on the wall behind him, it had probably been a long day what with them having been open for a solid three hours. Maybe my hairiness intimidated him (I later checked my breath and body odor and confirmed that I smelled delicious so it wasn’t that). He told me that they didn’t have any batteries to test. He told me that the phone probably wouldn’t work anyway. Then he told me that my phone was water damaged. Yes, I know. I already told you that. In fact, I was there when it became water damaged. Good thing he could confirm it for me. He is an expert after all. So I pressed him for his expert advice. Go online he told me. He didn’t try to sell me a new phone. He didn’t try to offer any solution as to where to find a battery. Go online. So I left. You know, so I could get online.

Next on the list was getting the heat in my car fixed. Winter is coming and I do not intend on driving around all winter dressed in my ski gear like last winter. This was going to take a phone call to set up an appointment.

I had a phone number. I had a service center near me picked out. I was ready to go. I called (my phone was allowing phone calls to go out between the hours of 14 – 16:30 today, strangely those are about the same opening hours of most businesses in Sweden on a Saturday.). The phone rang and rang and nothing happened. Until finally the automated recording came on. I was expecting a “thanks for calling, we’ll be right with you” message. Instead I was given a “lots of people are calling right now, please call again soon.” And then I was hung up on. By a machine.

I called again. And was hung up on by a machine. So I called again. And was hung up on by a machine. I waited ten minutes and called again. And was hung up on by a machine. I think we can all see the pattern here. For over an hour I called. For over an hour, they were too busy and a machine hung up on me. Then my phone stopped allowing phone calls out.

Now I am sitting here without a working cell phone, a car that has no heat, and a hatred for service in this country that rivals only my hatred for whole tomatoes.

Welcome to Sweden. Where I yearn for customer service.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

A Swedish Swine Flu Public Service Announcement

2009-10-13T20:19:00.002+02:00

Moving to Sweden means there will always be something that pops up that you didn’t think about. Like a global flu pandemic for example. It will get you every time. Luckily, the swine flu vaccinations began yesterday in southern Sweden. Apparently it is the largest vaccination program in Swedish history. Which I suppose makes sense because the Swedish population, as a general rule, has increased throughout history. Weird how that works.

One of those benefits of living in a country with the second highest tax burden in the world is trying to use the programs which I am funding. And I am funding health care. Of course, considering I am the picture of health what with my stationary bike riding next to men with moobs and all, I don’t use health care. In fact, in all the time I have lived here, I’ve only managed to use the Swedish health care system once. But I think I’m going to use it again.

After months of morbidly waiting for the flu to run rampant hoping that my genes are strong enough to withstand the onslaught, I’m thinking it’s probably not that big of a deal. But I love my fellow-man so am now considering getting vaccinated. Plus, I love free things. After speaking with my biologist friend and reading one newspaper article (I am easily swayed) I’ve been informed that if 50% of the population is vaccinated, it’s good. It’s not until the 70-80% rate that the vaccination really start making a difference.

The swine flu, or H1N1 so I don’t hurt any pig farmers’ feelings, is alive and well in Stockholm. But so is the vaccine. This being Sweden, the vaccine is being offered free of charge. The vaccine is being phased in. This still being Sweden, the phase-in is referred to by weeks.

We’re in Week 42 which obviously means it is time to vaccinate the at-risk group. Pregnant women for example which excludes me. This is followed by a week (Week 43) of even more pregnant women. Considering the population growth of Sweden is just over 0.15% there sure are a lot of pregnant women to vaccinate. Week 44 is the public health workers like nurses and doctors. I am still excluded. Finally, in Week 45, the general public, your standard Svensson if you will, can be vaccinated.

When I say the general public I really mean the general public. Everyone. Even non-citizens who just happen to be staying in Stockholm for a solid amount of time can be vaccinated. My understanding is that this includes everyone from refugees to students. Exchange students throughout Stockholm can thank me and my taxes by buying me a beer.

If you’re looking for a clinic near you (and by near you I mean near me as in the Stockholm area), click here for VårdGuiden’s search page. On the right click on “Vaccination svininfluensan,” that being Swedish for the swine flu vaccination. I know, I know, it’s a good thing I was here to translate that one for you. When you click on it, you should see it pop up in the “Vad?” field. Under “Vad?” is “Var?” click and find your city and you should be good to go. Or just use Google translate.

Welcome to Sweden. And my attempts at avoiding the swine flu.

For information on vaccinations in Stockholm in Swedish: När, var och varför ska jag vaccinera mig?
For information on vaccinations in Stockholm in English: Swine influenza

Barack Obama Wins 2009 Nobel Peace Prize

2009-10-09T11:42:00.008+02:00

Barack Obama has been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2009. The announcement was made at about 11 am here in Sweden. And I am stunned. Not in that good way stunned, but that the Peace Prize would award it to a man who has been in office for less than a year. And done nothing of note. Keep in mind all nominations for this award must be submitted before the first of February. Obama was inaugurated on the 20th of January. The audacity of the nomination is mindboggling.

According to the announcement by the Nobel committee he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize "for his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples."

There was also talk of it being because of his goal for a nuclear free world, the American acknowledgement of the climate issue, and strengthening democracy and human rights.

So a man who essentially burst onto the scene just a couple of years ago and began serving as President in January has now done enough to warrant a Peace Prize. For what exactly? The flowery language used by the committee suggests they really aren’t sure either.

He now finds himself in the same company as notable winners such as Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr., the Dalai Lama and the Red Cross. And in the same company of less notable winners such as Al Gore. Considering that Al Gore won just two years ago, it is amazing how little he has been able to accomplish with that Nobel Prize backing him.

That the committee would allow themselves to be so colored by the hype of Obamania is mind boggling to me. By awarding such a respected prize to someone who has done so little, it cheapens the entire award.

I would love to see Obama earn this award. I would love to see the US take a leading position in the world on moral issues again, like human rights and democracy, and become that beacon on the hill. But with wars in several different areas of the world, a floundering economy, bitter partisan infighting at home, it is hard for me to see how the man in charge of the US at this time has earned this award.

Americans have been cleaning up this year in the Nobel Prizes. I love it. But I don’t love awards being handed out as if it were a popularity contest.

Welcome to Sweden. Where at least the Norwegians have to take the blame for this award.

For reactions (in Swedish) check out the following:
Fredspriset till Barack Obama (Dagens Nyheter)
Barack Obama får Nobels fredspris (Svenska Dagbladet)
Barack Obama får fredspriset (Aftonbladet)
Barack Obama får Nobels fredspris 2009 (Expressen)

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

An Open Letter to the Bald Guy at SATS

2009-10-05T23:49:00.004+02:00

Dear Bald Guy,

You know who you are. You of the slicked back comb over. You of the man boobs. Moobs if you will. You of the mesh tank top showing off your moobs.

I don’t drink very often. I’m not very good at it. So 10 days away from home in a perpetual state of drunkenness including Oktoberfest did not treat me well. I am getting over a cold. I am dehydrated. My liver hurts. Plus, it is cold and getting dark. I’m not necessarily in the best of moods.

In an attempt to rid my body of the damage I have done to it, I went to the gym. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home and sleep. Or at least read my book (A Prayer for Owen Meany, in case you were wondering). I went to the gym though. This chiseled physique takes a lot of work. And by chiseled I mean doughy. And I by work I mean, milk and cereal.

So I sat on a stationary bike hoping to sweat beer. And I did. I pedaled and sweat. It was glorious. Then you came by. You caught my eye. Because you were sporting a slicked back comb over and a mesh tank-top. And I laughed to myself.

Then you sat on the stationary bike next to me. And I laughed again. Hoping that you didn’t hear me. It’s not nice to laugh at people, I know. But come on. A mesh tank-top? With moobs? I struggle with fashion, but even I know that’s just not right unless you happen to be a twenty year old girl hoping for a dollar bill shoved down your g-string in Las Vegas. The descending darkness and imposing cold would suggest we are far from Las Vegas. And your comb over and moobs would suggest you are far from being a twenty year old stripper.

On a normal day I would have been disgusted. Would have ranted about the ridiculous nature of Swedish fashion. Would have suggested that, while mesh may cool you down, a cut-off t-shirt, un-see-through of course, would have sufficed (that was a lot of hyphens). But not today. Today, you improved my day. You brought a smile to my tired face. And while I may have been laughing at you, I’m sure deep down you were laughing to. So really we were laughing together.

Sincerely,
Hairy Swede

P.S. Welcome to Sweden. Where moobs do not equal mesh.

Swedes Abroad

2009-10-04T21:59:00.000+02:00

I’ve been away from Sweden. Traveling the world if you will. Mostly, just drinking heavily because I was at Oktoberfest. Drinking does not lend itself to writing, and so, I took a self-imposed vacation.

Oktoberfest is, quite simply, ridiculous. It is a living stereotype of excess and debauchery. I saw an Australian chug two liters of beer in approximately 30 seconds and promptly throw up. I saw another man hold a glass filled with a liter of beer by his teeth and chug it in less than 10 seconds. Look mom, no hands! I saw enough men in lederhosen to last me a lifetime. I also saw a Swedish flag. Constantly. And overwhelmingly.

Swedes are not known for their nationalism. At least as long as they are inside the Swedish border. Pride in ones nation is often seen as a negative, something more appropriate for a red neck republican from Georgia than a refined Stockholmer. Of course, the flag days, the blue and yellow that dominated so much of Swedish society, doesn’t count as nationalism. Blue and yellow are just nice colors.

But get Swedes outside of their borders and the pride runs thick. Suddenly, Sweden is the greatest nation. Suddenly, Swedish colors are worn with pride. Suddenly, Swedish flags are waved wildly. I have yet to understand this.

While at Oktoberfest, three Swedes sat down next to me. Not because they knew I was Swedish. I do not exactly scream “Swede” by my appearance. My clothes are just a tad too big. My body type is just a tad too large. I’m just a tad too American.

Often times, Swedes are easy to pick out in a crowd. They immediately made their presence felt by trying to get Australian Joe kicked out. He had made a toast a little too heartily and some beer spilled over the glass. He was drunk and working on his 6th liter of beer by around 2 in the afternoon. The fact that he could even lift his glass was a feat in my opinion. But rules are meant to be followed, and the Swedes clearly didn’t appreciate the overt drunkenness of Australian Joe. Because Oktoberfest is clearly not the place for wanton drunkenness. So the waitress was called and Joe was made to take a walk.

Of course, this didn’t enamor them in the eyes of their fellow tablemates. Neither did the flag. The constant, and obnoxious really, waving of the Swedish flag. At first, I thought maybe they were trying to wave someone else down. One of those corny tourist guide moves where the flag is used to identify the group. Twenty minutes later, despite my somewhat inebriated state, I had ruled this out. For some reason, these men felt compelled to show the Löwenbrau tent that they were Swedish.

This seems to be a common occurrence. Swedes abroad love their country. Swedes in Sweden are slow to praise it. I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen it with Swedes in the US. I’ve seen it with Swedes in the UK. And now I’ve seen it with Swedes in Germany.

I like pride in ones nation. I think, to an extent, it is a good thing. It builds a sense of community and gives citizens something to belong to. Something to work for. Something to serve. There’s nothing wrong with some pride as long as it comes with a healthy dose of realism.

I suppose it is because of this that I struggle with the Swedish pride. It is obviously there. I’ve lived here long enough and seen too much of it not to recognize that Swedes like Sweden. Even think it is a wonderful place to be, especially in comparison to other countries. As they should. But why it is not displayed in Sweden escapes me.

Maybe they feel so confident in their country that when inside the borders there is just no need to make a display of their pride. Or maybe Swedes have a horrible inferiority complex and need to demonstrate their nationalism to others while abroad. Or maybe they were just drunk. Either way, I’d like to see more Swedish flag stickers on the back of Saabs.

Welcome to Oktoberfest. And Swedes abroad.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

TV-Fees in Sweden

2009-09-22T00:20:00.001+02:00

It’s that time of the month. Bill paying time. There are those things that just have to be paid. Like rent. Then there are the things that I choose to pay. Like parking. Then there are the things that I have decided to pay late. Like the TV-avgift.

Since moving to Sweden in June of 2007 I have never paid the mandatory fee levied by the state to watch TV. Actually, not even watch TV, you have to pay if you have anything that can pick up a TV signal. I’m paying to watch five worthless TV channels (which some people may describe as spewing government propaganda, but not me of course), listen to 45 radio stations, and access radio and TV on the internet. And I’m paying 2076 SEK to do it.

Because I am cheaper than a Tijuana hooker, I made a choice to not pay for cable here in Sweden. In fact, for a large portion of college we didn’t pay for cable TV, or use heat for that matter which was rough in an old house with single pane windows, but damned if we didn’t save at least $10 a month.

Anyway, I knew about the TV fee here in Sweden. I had seen the commercials thanking the good citizens of Karlstad, Umeå, and Ystad for paying their TV fees. They never thanked me. Probably because I never paid. I never really understood how, and I sure wasn’t going to seek out another bill to pay. Especially when I first moved to this country and was living off savings and a part time job. So I didn’t pay.

Then I made a temporary move. One night there was a knock at my door. Mormons I thought. Mormons would have been so much better. It was the TV-avgift guy wanting to collect. I was living a little under the radar, meaning that I wasn’t really on the lease at the place I was staying. The benefits of rent control and a housing shortage here in Stockholm. So I managed to fumble my way through me being an American and just visiting and not really understanding what he wanted. So I lied. First I felt bad, then I felt pretty Swedish, simply because I had avoided the TV-avgift.

Then I moved again, this time a little more legally. A letter arrived at my door all the way from Kiruna. They wanted my money. They assumed that I had a TV. The letter got lost a bit in the move and eventually surfaced a month or two late. I went to Catholic Church a couple of times with friends back when I was younger, and apparently the guilt part of the religion stayed with me. So I sent in the form saying that, yes, I did have a TV, and that, yes, I would pay the fee. Although I had a choice. I could pay the 2076 SEK in one lump sum or break it up into four easy payments of 519 SEK.

I kicked my business degree into action and remembered that if I paid in four different payments and there was no interest to be paid; technically I could make the other money work for me. So I chose four different payments. And am currently making the rest of the money work for me by purchasing large quantities of beer. Lundquist College of Business, preparing the business leaders of tomorrow, today.

Anyway, I was chatting up the old man the other day and mentioned the annoyance of paying money for state run channels that I just really don’t want to watch. And he admitted something. He had never paid the TV-avgift. Clearly, he has earned that Swedish passport. I was jealous, think of all the money he has saved over the years. Here I am, a sucker, paying to watch quality programming like Melodifestivalen. But the invoice has already come. Two of them actually, because thanks to Skatteverket, they know when I moved in and they don’t want to miss out on collecting on those few months it took me to send in my form.

Of course the due date has also come. And gone. And I haven’t paid. I’m going to pay, it’s that guilt thing. But I decided to protest a bit. Hold off until I get the reminder. Maybe even watch some SVT so I feel like I get my money’s worth.

Welcome to Sweden. And my passive protest against state run television.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Massive Voter Fraud in Sweden

2009-09-17T21:47:00.003+02:00

I think can we can all remember the exciting voting process that took place not too long ago. It was an historic event. Months later the results are finally in.

Well, actually the results were in months ago, but I asked for a recount. Turns out there was evidence of massive fraud. And by evidence I mean obvious fabrications which I concocted on the fly. Over 100% of the voting population in certain constituencies were represented. Now math was never my strong point, but you can’t technically have more than 100%.

As we had already determined long ago I am, and in turn this blog is, awesome. May I remind you that I was asked to leave the country by several kind contributors to the comments section? And don’t forget that I was accused of sniffing glue as well as not being very smart but good with words. That’s like a friend telling you that the blind date he just set you up with “has a good personality” or that the greeter at Walmart is “a good man. He tries hard.” It just doesn’t help the self esteem.

Here are the results of the Top 100 Language Blogs 2009. Feel free to scroll around looking for my blog. Keep scrolling. Seriously. Keep scrolling. Just a little bit more. And one more time. There you go. 92nd place. I know you should never start a sentence with a number without writing it out, but I don’t even know how to spell 92nd. That’s how far down the polls I was. 92nd. Out of 100.

Now I think we can all agree that these results were highly suspicious. I had obviously stumbled upon massive voter fraud here in Sweden. How could this very blog, this blog that brings you so much joy and insight into Sweden, not be listed amongst the best language blogs of 2009? I know what you’re thinking, it is impossible. And I agree.

Which is why I requested a recount. I wanted to see ink stained space bars. I wanted to see "I voted!" stickers. I wanted voter registration cards. But I was denied. My quest to protest, to start a movement championing my cause, represented by the color orange, obviously the best color in the world, died in its infancy. Struck down by the higher powers that be. I couldn’t handle the shadows. Always lurking. The strange clicks in the night. I feel fairly confident that the moldy smell in my apartment was an attempt by the opposition to silence me. And it worked. I’m still 92nd out of 100.

Alright, I lied. I didn’t request a recount. But lying is acceptable when discussing voter fraud. Just ask Hamid Karzai. Or Abdullah Abdullah.

You may remember that I was listed first on the ballots. The beauty of that simple “A” at the front of the blog. But clearly it wasn’t enough. A friend told me that little old Sweden just couldn’t compete with the big boys. Like English or Japanese language blogs. Of course, since I write in English it didn’t really make me feel any better.

In the end I must take responsibility for the loss. My campaign promises fell hollow. My misuse of commas emerged. In the end, so many others were able to blog about a language in a way that educated people. Unwrapped the mystery that is a foreign language. I don’t do that.

So after months of self reflection, I can only say this:
"Words never quit. They never surrender.They never hide from history. Words make history."

Welcome to Sweden. And my concession speech, with a little help from John McCain.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Selling Sex in Sweden

2009-09-14T22:19:00.003+02:00

Sexuality in Sweden is one of those stereotypes that has travelled the world. There is an idea of openness when it comes to sex that you just don’t find in the US. Sometimes, it’s a great thing. I love that there are massive campaigns handing out condoms in Stockholm. I love that you can catch a boob on TV (or in an elevator) every now and again. And I love that sex toys are sold at Apoteket in hopes of removing stigma.

That being said, the news in Sweden today was somewhat disturbing. Sex sells. Kind of. Sex is being sold and a large percentage of people between the age of 16 and 25 think that is quite ok. A new study, reported in all kinds of media outlets, shows that 1.7% of Swedes between the age of 16 and 25 have sold sex online. That’s about 20,000 people. And 43% think that is quite alright. Of course, the country already allows for the selling of sex by prostitutes. It’s the buying of the sex that is illegal. Interestingly enough, it is the men in this age range who are more likely to be paid for sex.

I am in the age range of people who think this is ok. Granted, at the far end of the range. At 25 I’m basically an old man. But I don’t think it is ok to sell sex over the internet. Or to accept payment for sex. Nor have I been offered money for sex. Which I’m pretty ok with.

I know I have been shaped by the sexual attitudes of the US. I think it is an extreme that is unfortunate and very much based on the religious background of the US. It’s something I don’t necessarily agree with, especially when it leads to a fear of sex and the stigma that follows. But I understand it, if only because it’s the sexual culture that I grew up with.

In Sweden though, I wonder if the opposite is true, if the openness leads to a destigmatization that allows for sex to be sold by young adults online. And not just allows for it, but accepts it as if sex is something that should be on par with buying a bag of chips at Pressbyrån. Or online. Yes, I’d like the new Dan Brown book, The Lost Symbol, and a blow job please. For 100 SEK... well as long as shipping is free.

Social media has contributed with the availability of pictures and information that was once meant for friends, not Facebook friends. Cell phone cameras have contributed with sexting and pictures of things that were once meant for that awkward first experience in high school. Or maybe it is middle school now. It’s as if my generation has grown so accustomed to openness that it has become blind to any repercussions. Blind to the sex trade that they themselves are suddenly taking part in. Because that is exactly what this is, a new age sex trade.

I suppose from an entrepreneurial standpoint this is cutting out the middle man. Cutting out the pimp. It’s just good business. But I don’t want it to be a business. Everything has a price. Economically, everyone and everything can be bought. It’s just a matter of how much. But I don’t want sex to be a commodity. But if sex is allowed to be so open that there is no mystery behind it, no sense of meaning, then it will become just that. And when 43% of 16-25 year olds think that payment being exchanged for sex is ok, well, then sex is becoming a sellable good. And Sweden has 20,000 new prostitutes.

Welcome to Sweden. And web 2.0’s sex trade.

Manliness in Sweden

2009-09-09T22:49:00.001+02:00

I’ve been in Sweden well over two years now, and every once and a while I am stricken by certain things. They give me that Welcome to Sweden moment. That moment which I just don’t know if I would get in the US. Sometimes it hits me in one fell swoop, other times it is a culmination of stories over the course of a few months, like Swedish manliness.

Manliness is a tricky thing. Gender issues in general tend to throw some people off. And that’s fine. Sometimes it’s political, sometimes it’s emotional. I consider myself a man because I have a beard, chew on toothpicks, and wear flannel. Unfortunately, that describes some of those farm girls just outside of Greeley. This is where the confusion comes in.

But in Sweden, manliness is confused by other things. Like breast feeding. And Chlamydia. (On a side note, Microsoft Word automatically capitalizes Chlamydia, which for some reason made me laugh.)

Turns out that Swedish guys who get Chlamydia see it as manly, as some sort of rite of passage. Because who doesn’t want a burning sensation while peeing, weird discharge from the penis, and maybe even some swollen testicles? I am MAN!

Turns out it’s not just Chlamydia stricken Swedish guys who cling to a sense of manliness. A man just a bit older than me does the same. With a two year old son. Now that his two year old son is past breast feeding stage, this guy thinks he missed out on something. The bond of baby and breast. So he wants to be able to breast feed the next time he pops out a kid. And by he I obviously mean his wife. Because while gender might be tricky sometimes, in the end, the whole biology thing comes into play and some people just can’t have a baby.

But he is determined to get as close as possible. He thinks it is perfectly ok for him to whip out a breast pump in the middle of class so that he can stimulate his nipples into maybe, possibly, giving milk. Is androgyny something we should strive for? I don’t think so. It’s ok that men and women are different. I want men and women to be different. Biologically, we are different. Is it a nuanced view or argument? No. But I'm surprisingly ok with that.

This comes after a story a while back saying that Swedish men had lost some of their masculinity.

The Swedish stereotype in the US is of a male population that is tall, broadchested, maybe blonde with a red beard. This is based on the belief that all of Sweden was once populated by marauding Vikings. Which we all know wasn’t true. An incredibly small percentage of the population of what is now Sweden was Viking Vikings, the rest tended to farm and trade. But that stereotype seems to be undergoing a change. A change to a confused manliness. On the one hand public perception is that the metro culture is taking over, men attempting pump their nipples to stimulate breast feeding feed this stereotype. Then there are the men who think sexual diseases are a sign of manliness.

I don’t know how to define manliness. I suppose it is something that each individual needs to decide for himself. Or herself. Because I’m politically correct. I do know that manliness is not getting Chlamydia. Or pumping my nipples in the middle of a class.

Welcome to Sweden. And manliness.

Subscribe to a Swedish American in Sweden

Shameless Plug for Keenan and Jeff’s - ride for HOPE

2009-09-06T21:44:00.002+02:00

I met Keenan in the fall of 2003. We were the two youngest people in our group of exchange students at Uppsala. This meant that we were constantly having our friends buy us alcohol at Systemet. We would put in an order and patiently wait. We bonded over hockey, waiting for alcohol, and the fact that Keenan is probably one of the nicest people I have ever met. It makes it easy to bond with someone when that is the case.

Over the course of the semester in Uppsala we had a lot of fun. We did some stupid things, we did some smart things, and we even did some cultural things. We definitely formed a friendship that has withstood quite a few years and a lot of distance, and the fact that I am very slow in responding to e-mails.

I remember Keenan suffering from some insomnia during our time in Uppsala. Most people did at some point, and I still do. I completely blame the extremes of dark and light. One morning we woke up to hear a fantastic story from Keenan. He couldn’t sleep, which came as no surprise. What did come as a surprise was his bike ride. Keenan had ridden his bike from the Flogsta student housing in Uppsala to Gävle. If you were to take E4, the main highway, it’s about 110 km and would take you just over an hour to drive there. Keenan rode that stretch on a bike, in the middle of the night.

That ride was a harbinger of things to come. A couple years later Keenan came to visit a group of us living in Oregon. He was trying to recruit people for a crazy idea, a bike ride from Canada to Argentina. He even came bearing a CD trying to convince me to ride along with them. While flattered, my body is not made for riding a bike over two continents. Plus, I’ll be honest, I was skeptical of the ride actually happening. Apparently, I had forgotten a couple of things, specifically the kind of person Keenan is, and the fact that he rode his bike from Uppsala to Gävle in the middle of the night because he couldn’t sleep. As a general rule, never write anyone off who has done something like that.

Just over a year ago, Keenan left his hometown in Canada and headed off with his brother Jeff. They had put together a website, a plan to raise money for a charity, and a couple of bikes. Over 18,000 kilometers later and just a few days ago, Keenan and Jeff crossed the Argentinean border. I am left shaking my head at their adventures in bewilderment. I have gone on for nearly two years on this blog about my adventures in Sweden. An adventure that has taken place in one country where I already speak the language and have citizenship. I suppose adventure is always relative, but what these two guys have done is a true adventure. The kind of thing that makes me proud of my amazing friends, of the kindness of their hearts, and of the strength of their characters, as well as their legs at this point.

If you haven’t already, please head over to their blog ride for HOPE - canada to argentina by bicycle and leave them a comment, or join their Facebook group at Keenan and Jeff’s - ride for HOPE. If you’re really feeling engaged, donate a little bit of money, even if it is just a Loonie. See what I did there?

Welcome to Argentina guys.