Public Service Announcement

I know this is against the very fibre of the internet, but:

If you know me in Real Life and read this blog regularly, and I don’t already know that you read this blog regularly,* I just want to let you know, we can talk about it. It’s cool. Just sayin’: Everything here, on this blog, is primarily for self-referential purposes. Writing to an audience forces me to attempt to use proper grammar. Secondarily it is for a few fans (you know who you are).

It’s just that WordPress lets me see page views by country, so, for the most part, I know comfortably almost exactly who is reading. However, my statistics have been climbing lately and, trust me, I do not advertise or drive traffic! I often do the opposite: I don’t tag posts, I don’t post to Facebook, I try not to use my name nor, as of late, the real names of others. I’m just curious who else is out there.

Drop me a line. Leave me a comment. Or, tell me at lunch. If you dare.

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* Hi, you guys.

…men ej skiljas…

…från vännen min, utan att fälla tårar.

First World Problems

So, now I have a Bachelor’s degree. In the wake of all the celebration, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done nothing but wrong this semester. I sunk the first half of it wholeheartedly into an experiment which was never carried out, and got behind in my classes. I sunk the rest of it into preparing for the Physics GRE and grad school applications (and maintenance managing), but nevertheless, as I discovered mid finals week, I failed epically. In the midst of my “oh, shit what do I do now?” moment, which lasted several days, I ended up getting a not so stellar grade on my Math final, a class I had previously ignored due to the “grad schools won’t see this semester” mantra I had foolishly been repeating to myself all semester. Ain’t gonna be easy, is it?

However, if I’ve learned one thing at Berkeley, it’s that you have to acknowledge your own shortcomings, but not let them destroy you. So, onwards.

Evening Redness

“His origins are become remote as is his destiny and not again in all the world’s turning will there be terrains so wild and barbarous to try whether the stuff of creation may be shaped into man’s will or whether his own heart is not another kind of clay. the passengers are a different lot. they cage their eyes and no man asks another what it is that brings him here. He sleeps on the deck, a pilgrim among others. He watches the dim shore rise and fall. Gray seabirds gawking. Flights of pelicans coastwise above gray swells.”

……………………

“the shadows of the smallest stones lay like pencil lines across the sand and the shapes of the men and their mounts advanced elongate before them like strands of the night from which they’d ridden, like tentacles to bind them to the darkness yet to come.”

…from Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy.

(Read this book)

Watch out, Hbar

Hbar, prepare to be stochastically kicked around.

Oh heck yes. It’s in the mail at the moment.

And prepare to get a little more ghettofabulous. Yea, the box is made of plexiglass, and that’s definitely scotch tape on the front. That scotch tape is good stuff, you know. Without scotch tape we wouldn’t have graphene, you know. Just ask last year’s Nobel prize winners.

Ha. A little more ghettofabulous. As if the cut-up-trash-bin-turned-drainage-system hanging off of the experiment wasn’t enough.

I just hope my plexiglass encased electronic thingy works as well as the trashcan does.

ett år sedan

A year ago at about exactly this time, I was sitting on top of a bike box in my mom’s living room, trying with all my might to squeeze the (now dearly departed) blue Allez into acceptable airline luggage limits. The next day I lugged that box to LAX, and stepped on a plane. When I stepped off, it was dark, the air was cold and I was nine hours in the future.

Tales from the Road: Lund to LA

Hey everyone, I am in California! I still have some posts about Sweden in the pipeline, along with a lot more photographs, so look out for those in the coming days as I stay up to ridiculous hours updating my blog (totally Jetlag’s fault, you know).

On the öresunds tåg for the last time, with my luggage and bike box (sans bike) I sat and looked out the window. It was raining, so that made it a little bit easier to leave. But still, when I saw the rolling hills and infinite farmland of western Skåne glide by out side, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. When the train stopped in Malmö for 10 minutes and I sat looking out at the buildings, towards Gustav Adolfs torg, it got even worse. Geez, thought, this is gonna be a little awkard.

———–

At the Copenhagen airport I soon found out that I had messed up the packing logistics big time. Admittedly, it was a dumb idea to pack my books in the bike box. So, it was away from the check-in counter and out to the hallway to re-distribute the weight. About a half an hour later, I had three acceptably-weighing bags, and one heck of a heavy piece of handluggage. Also, I had to wear my Swedish rainboots on the plane, as well as the old-fashioned Danish cap I bought for my brother, so although I looked ridiculous, I was cleared for takeoff!

———-

The whole flight to my layover in London, I was, well, uh, sad. Yeah, it was a little awkward. Good thing the flight was only 55 minutes.

———

I got through security at Heathrow and found my gate for my connecting flight. I saw a whole group of people wearing Wranglers jeans, button-up shirts, Cowboy hats, and boots. They looked a lot just like a bunch of Idaho kids on their way to the next rodeo. They must be Americans, I thought and smiled to myself. I really am almost back. So I went and sat near them, somewhat smuggishly self-content at my ability to find the only group of calf-ropers in all of Heathrow. Then one of them opened his mouth and started talking. Talking German. In an instant it all became so clear. The way they sat (one ankle resting on the opposite knee, hands folded, back straight, gaze forward), the earring in one ear, the blond-ish hair … yes, they were Germans. Not back yet, apparently.

—–

The flight out of Heathrow was delayed for a few minutes, supposedly because there was a leak in the plane. Good thing I have my rainboots on, I thought.

——

For the long stretch of the flight, London-LA, the in-flight-entertainment wasn’t working. But it was ok, I got my amusement from watching all the travelers complain and the British flight attendants run around trying to make things better. Also I read some Harry Potter (och dödsrelikerna) and chatted with the people in the seats next to me. I turns out they where two Physics PhDs (a couple, one from Switzerland and one from Ireland) who where headed off on a California road trip vacation. So, in short, we actually had a lot to talk about. They where desperate for a smoke and started asking me about smoking laws in the US, and asked me if they would get deported if they smoked outside. I said no. (that’s true, right?)

—–

Picked up the luggage, hugged the family, got in the car, onto the freeway. First stop: a gas station to ask for directions. Oh, America.

Spent the rest of the drive home wondering where all the people came from, and why everything was so big and why their where buildings everywhere and where was the forest for goodness sake?

Oh, America! God bless you!

last rites

I just wanted to say that I just hugged the Domkyrkan in Lund. It felt a lot like getting a hug from an old friend. An old, Danish friend from the middle ages.

The Domkyrkan was my beacon of hope during my first weeks in Lund. If I could find my way to the Domkyrkan, I could find my way home. Its stocky silhouette is unmistakable.

And now to think, that I have only hours left before Lund will no longer be my home.

I just can’t get my head around it.

Next time you hear from me, I’ll be in that big country to the west. See you on the flip side!

Hej då Domkrykan, Hej då Lund, Hej då Sverige. Jag ska säkert tillbaka, fast jag vet inte när det kommer bli… och allt jag kan komma på att säga just nu är Ha det så bra så länge och tack så jätte mycket. Det var ju fint : )

jag är den dumaste som finns, aka R.I.P. Allez

warning: bad news and major self pity. Also, unhealthy emotional attachment to an inanimate object.

Well, this time it seems like it is for good.

My bike is gone.

After an almost unbelievable amount of cycling and mind-boggling logistic public transport through the lower third of Sweden, I have lost my most valued possession, my blue Specialized Allez, and right out from under my nose at that.

After many hours in a car driving down from Hartzö, I unloaded all my stuff and locked somewhat nonchalantly my bike in the garden behind the house. I was exhausted and not really thinking too clearly, but I thought to check on the bike the next day to see if it was still there anyway. It was, so I thought my lock job must have been ok and didn’t recheck it. Stupidest decision, ever.

The next morning I checked, and the bike was gone. All they had to do it turns out was spin the wheel a little bit and undo the quick release and they had every thing but the back wheel. In short: I am a major idiot.

I have never really felt homesick in Sweden. But at that moment, when I saw that the bike was gone, I sat down in the middle of the walk way and thought to myself that I just wanted to disappear from Lund and be at home, with my bike still in my possession and my family and friends around me. Unfortunately, that was impossible. So what I did instead was make a police report in Swedish (that was a first), put up signs all around (no death threats this time), checked the Swedish craig’s list, and walked around the neighborhood checking bike racks. Then I ate a lot of chocolate. And OK, I cried a little.

I could write a long obituary for the Allez, but that might make me seem just a little bit more insane than I already do. I will just say that the Allez served me well for six years: From riding the back bay route with the volleyball team (the only part I was good at during volleyball, which I wasted a good part of my life on in high school), to countless grizzly-peaks and redwood-wildcats, to a good season of road racing, to a trip from SF to LA, to a trip from Lund to Uppsala to Hartzö with a Vätternrundan in between, the Allez had a good life. I just wish it didn’t have to end at that. I really, really loved that bike.

On the plus side, I now have an entire bike box to fill with Swedish cheese to take back to California. Prästost, anyone?

: ( : (  : (

Oxford, part I

Punting. What do you think of when you hear the word ‘punting’ ? Well, if you are American, you probably think of a guy kicking a funny-shaped ball through a big white goal post.

If you are from Oxford, you think of propelling yourself lazily down a canal with a very long rod while standing in the back of a low, wooden boat.

Yes, I did that. I punted. I ate strawberries and punted. I felt very elitist.

Then I had discussions about the 12th century, Greek classics, and the identidy crisis experience by the Viking setters in northern France during the middle ages. I saw an outdoor performance of  ‘The Tempest’. And then I ate a sandwhich, with eggplants and goat cheese.

These are the kinds of things you do in Oxford. You hang out in old buildings and be scholarly. It is quite the life.

to be continued….

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Sorry for the lack of updates, it has actually be quite ahrd to come by a computer as of late. I still have loads to write about England, but in case you are wondering, I am actually back in Sweden. And after a lot of last minute coincidences, a bit of luck, and one heck of an epic solo bicycle journey, I find myself on an organic farm 20 km north of Uppsala ( in Björkinge) weeding carrot fields to earn my keep and sleeping in my very own storage shed turned sleeping quaters down by the river (so I can commune with the water, according to Karin, the farmwife here).

It’s a long story, but I will try to keep it going chronologically, so we’ll finsih with england first before we get to Sweden. Maybe.

stay tuned. If anyone is still reading that is…