Probably the prettiest girl in the world.
söndag, juni 25, 2006
lördag, juni 24, 2006
Catching the Strawberry Thief
Sometimes, when no one is looking and things are in the right level, life is just great!
We spent Midsummer this year with my sister, her boyfriend and the lovely little Miss Lova (above) just like last year. It’s in the middle of nowhere, or it feels as if it is in the middle of nowhere which it is not of course. A lot of nice houses, a lot of trees and mosquitos and at Midsummer an open medow with a temporary wooden dance floor and a DJ. This is where all the people, young as old, end up when they’ve run out of herring, strawberries and schnapps. It doesn’t get more Swedish than this.
Last year I got to see my boyfriend dance to the lowest form of music, a very popular genre with the older generation, especially around Midsummer. Since it is not really his scene it went fairly and considering the fact the dance floor is in fact moving up and down from everyone “dancing” around on top of it, it doesn’t really matter. You can stand still and look like you’re shaking it all like that! Though this year Marika, a friend of my sister’s, tried to teach him how to dance “kasedans”, which is the custom in these settings. He then wanted to show his new moves when the next appropriate song came, in this case In a Small Fisherman’s Harbour (I en liten fiskehamn), a smooth transendance from the previous song Lordis Hardrock Hallelulja. I doubt that we got the moves right judging from the professionals around us. Maybe next year we’ll show them.
måndag, juni 12, 2006
Bored
My boyfriend sits with his headphones on, editing his documentary. He pretends that he doesn't hear what I say when I talk to him but I know he does. I just have to say something interesting enough and his curiousity exposes him. Mostly I humor him though and communicate through the msn which is even more annoying I'm sure.
"I'm bored" I write to him which he at this point feels is my own problem.
Every now and then he wants my oppinion of course. Not in the sense of a muse but rather a 'partner in crime'. Still, he mostly just sits there, poking around in the timeline, going over the sequences as if there was no tomorrow.
And I am bored. So incredibly bored.
"I'm bored" I write to him which he at this point feels is my own problem.
Every now and then he wants my oppinion of course. Not in the sense of a muse but rather a 'partner in crime'. Still, he mostly just sits there, poking around in the timeline, going over the sequences as if there was no tomorrow.
And I am bored. So incredibly bored.
torsdag, juni 01, 2006
Cracks Me Up
"The ants are my friends
they're blowing in the wind.
The ants are blowing in the wind...."
What I can't understand is how the person singing this could connect this line of thought with the previous lyrics of this song.
they're blowing in the wind.
The ants are blowing in the wind...."
What I can't understand is how the person singing this could connect this line of thought with the previous lyrics of this song.
lördag, maj 27, 2006
Graceful Me
I am one of those boring people who seldom gets drunk beyond the ability to control my own action or motorfunction. Usually that is.
Once when I was around 16 years old I drank a whole bottle of wine with a straw in the park and my friend had to drag me in to a taxi. This isn’t even my own memory but a story told by others which scared the living daylight out of me. So I spent the rest of my teenage partying days drinking myself pretty and holding my friend’s hair when they were throwing up in the bathroom in the back of a club. These were friend’s who drank tequila straight from the bottle and who apparently did not understand the sentiment of the word enough.
Sure, once in a while I would stumble and fall but as my boyfriend pointed out to me the other day, it had little to do with the alcohol and more to do with my ability to fall over and run my toes in to dead objects.
“You’re always cursing the furniture,” my boyfriend explained one morning very matter of factly. “It’s always ‘damn that chair’ or ‘stupid idiot table’. What you should be saying is ‘stupid idiot feet’” he snickered, recieving a well deserved pillow in his face.
It’s because of my mother you see. My mother always falls, trips or turn things over. I inherented that gene. The clumsy gene. On every vaction we ever took my mother would fall. She would tell me and my sister that we should be careful and then the next second she would slide down the slippery slope on her behind. In New York she got it out of her system right from the start as she flew out of the taxi, falling flat on her stomach right in front of the hotel, just inches from the doorman, a tall African American who was looking down at her. I was so embaressed.
Maybe that is why I stay so much in control when we’re out. Becuase for once I am the person standing up straight. The person who can look at others acting clumsy, falling over, and for once feel like a graceful being.
Once when I was around 16 years old I drank a whole bottle of wine with a straw in the park and my friend had to drag me in to a taxi. This isn’t even my own memory but a story told by others which scared the living daylight out of me. So I spent the rest of my teenage partying days drinking myself pretty and holding my friend’s hair when they were throwing up in the bathroom in the back of a club. These were friend’s who drank tequila straight from the bottle and who apparently did not understand the sentiment of the word enough.
Sure, once in a while I would stumble and fall but as my boyfriend pointed out to me the other day, it had little to do with the alcohol and more to do with my ability to fall over and run my toes in to dead objects.
“You’re always cursing the furniture,” my boyfriend explained one morning very matter of factly. “It’s always ‘damn that chair’ or ‘stupid idiot table’. What you should be saying is ‘stupid idiot feet’” he snickered, recieving a well deserved pillow in his face.
It’s because of my mother you see. My mother always falls, trips or turn things over. I inherented that gene. The clumsy gene. On every vaction we ever took my mother would fall. She would tell me and my sister that we should be careful and then the next second she would slide down the slippery slope on her behind. In New York she got it out of her system right from the start as she flew out of the taxi, falling flat on her stomach right in front of the hotel, just inches from the doorman, a tall African American who was looking down at her. I was so embaressed.
Maybe that is why I stay so much in control when we’re out. Becuase for once I am the person standing up straight. The person who can look at others acting clumsy, falling over, and for once feel like a graceful being.
tisdag, maj 23, 2006
Dare to Dream
Today came the verdict. At least it felt like a vertict since the outcome wasn’t what I had hoped for. “They decided to go with another candidate....” If I got payed every time I heard that, I’d be rich. But at least they called this time. Usually they don’t, you have to call them up yourself, which you know is a bad sign right from the start.
I am dissapointed. Naturally. This was not just any job. It was not Customer Support, which I have been told from one agency is my only option because of my limited experience and which I can’t get either way since I have too much education. It was not a Marketing Assistent job which another agency called me in for a couple of weeks ago, but that I didn’t get because they wanted someone with education in economics. It wasn’t even a job as an Informant or Communicator which I have been told I can forget about right from the start even though I have the education for it. It was Head of Information at on of Sweden’s most successful companies. Like being Chief. Boss. In charge.
Madness!
“Don’t look at this as a defeat,” the recruiter said. “Try to focus on the fact that you got this far on almost no experience. They felt you had a lot of potential and ambition but they wanted someone with experience.”
He said it almost as if he disagreed with their decision. As if he thought that they’d missed the point. “I’m really sorry.” He added.
It didn’t feel like he was feeding me a line, it felt as if he really meant it. At our first meeting I found him completely intimidating in the way that he kept throwing difficult questions at me, as if he was testing my ability to cope. I walked out of that room never expecting to hear from him again.
Then he calls, out of nowhere, and he wants to see me again. We meet again and he is no longer intimidating. After that meeting he calls and tells me he wants to send me to the interview. For the job as Head of Information! He tells me that he is sending two other candidates with experience and then me. He tells me I am his favorite candidate, the most ambitious one in the bunch and also the one most likely to pull this off. These are almost his exact words. He sees something no one else have dared to discover. He sees potential. And he tells me that potential is more important than experience.
I can’t believe it is happening. I can’t believe that I am going on this interview and that someone believes in me as much as he does. And even though I know that this is too good to be true, I dare to dream. I know I don’t have the same chance as the rest but I am toying with the posibility of getting the job and I can’t stop myself from thinking: what if?
So of course I am dissapointed. And I panic over the fact that I now have to deal with the people of little faith. The unbelievers.
I am dissapointed. Naturally. This was not just any job. It was not Customer Support, which I have been told from one agency is my only option because of my limited experience and which I can’t get either way since I have too much education. It was not a Marketing Assistent job which another agency called me in for a couple of weeks ago, but that I didn’t get because they wanted someone with education in economics. It wasn’t even a job as an Informant or Communicator which I have been told I can forget about right from the start even though I have the education for it. It was Head of Information at on of Sweden’s most successful companies. Like being Chief. Boss. In charge.
Madness!
“Don’t look at this as a defeat,” the recruiter said. “Try to focus on the fact that you got this far on almost no experience. They felt you had a lot of potential and ambition but they wanted someone with experience.”
He said it almost as if he disagreed with their decision. As if he thought that they’d missed the point. “I’m really sorry.” He added.
It didn’t feel like he was feeding me a line, it felt as if he really meant it. At our first meeting I found him completely intimidating in the way that he kept throwing difficult questions at me, as if he was testing my ability to cope. I walked out of that room never expecting to hear from him again.
Then he calls, out of nowhere, and he wants to see me again. We meet again and he is no longer intimidating. After that meeting he calls and tells me he wants to send me to the interview. For the job as Head of Information! He tells me that he is sending two other candidates with experience and then me. He tells me I am his favorite candidate, the most ambitious one in the bunch and also the one most likely to pull this off. These are almost his exact words. He sees something no one else have dared to discover. He sees potential. And he tells me that potential is more important than experience.
I can’t believe it is happening. I can’t believe that I am going on this interview and that someone believes in me as much as he does. And even though I know that this is too good to be true, I dare to dream. I know I don’t have the same chance as the rest but I am toying with the posibility of getting the job and I can’t stop myself from thinking: what if?
So of course I am dissapointed. And I panic over the fact that I now have to deal with the people of little faith. The unbelievers.
onsdag, maj 17, 2006
Dead Ficus
My ficus is officially dead. I can't tell if it is caused by too much or too little water because all the other plants are still alive. But the ficus is sagging like a tired old man sitting outside a dressing room, waiting for his wife to try on the tenth shirt which looks like all the other shirts in which she just posed for him.
"It's been a good couple of months," my boyfriend proclaims and rather congratulates me on the success of the plants that are still alive. He knows as well as I do that I am hopeless with plants, maybe even more so than he is. And I am proud of this minor achievement, a step in the right direction, but at the same time I can not let go of the failure, the stains in my success. That's just the kind of animal that I am.
Meanwhile I am three out of over two hundered. I am one of three for the position of a life time. The kind of job that no one gets, not in my position anyway. I am the candidate least qualified for the position, of this I'm sure. Not sure like in "I pity myself" but sure because the man sending me to the interview told me so. He said I had spirit and ambition but not sufficient experience. He said he believed I was the best candidate but that chances are that they don't. People stare themselves blind on experience, he said. And contacts, I added in silence.
He told me I am his favorite candidate. That out of over two hundered, cut to ten, then to five and three, I am his favorite. I don't care that he probably tells all three candidates this, I really needed to hear it. After all the dissapointments, the deceits and unfairness that comes from the position I am in, it felt like coming up for air when you are suffocating.
Even if I don't get the job I am very content. I am proud that I got this far. I never thought it possible after what I've learned these past couple of months. And I take solace in the fact that you can get far with honesty and hard work. It feels comforting.
But I am very much like my ficus. Usually I drown in the water, having too much experience. Otherwise I dry out, having too little experience. This interview felt very dry. I'm fairly sure I'm not getting this job, it all adds up to that. Never the less I have had a good experience and I've regained faith in something I thought I'd lost.
"It's been a good couple of months," my boyfriend proclaims and rather congratulates me on the success of the plants that are still alive. He knows as well as I do that I am hopeless with plants, maybe even more so than he is. And I am proud of this minor achievement, a step in the right direction, but at the same time I can not let go of the failure, the stains in my success. That's just the kind of animal that I am.
Meanwhile I am three out of over two hundered. I am one of three for the position of a life time. The kind of job that no one gets, not in my position anyway. I am the candidate least qualified for the position, of this I'm sure. Not sure like in "I pity myself" but sure because the man sending me to the interview told me so. He said I had spirit and ambition but not sufficient experience. He said he believed I was the best candidate but that chances are that they don't. People stare themselves blind on experience, he said. And contacts, I added in silence.
He told me I am his favorite candidate. That out of over two hundered, cut to ten, then to five and three, I am his favorite. I don't care that he probably tells all three candidates this, I really needed to hear it. After all the dissapointments, the deceits and unfairness that comes from the position I am in, it felt like coming up for air when you are suffocating.
Even if I don't get the job I am very content. I am proud that I got this far. I never thought it possible after what I've learned these past couple of months. And I take solace in the fact that you can get far with honesty and hard work. It feels comforting.
But I am very much like my ficus. Usually I drown in the water, having too much experience. Otherwise I dry out, having too little experience. This interview felt very dry. I'm fairly sure I'm not getting this job, it all adds up to that. Never the less I have had a good experience and I've regained faith in something I thought I'd lost.
lördag, maj 13, 2006
Misunderstanding
In Sweden most kids come to the realization some time during pre teen period that the rockband Kiss does not mean urine, which it translates in to in Swedish. I am embaressed to say that I was very late to discover this myself which is strange since I was always advanced in English in relation to my peers. Justified humiliation though since I was always very arrogant about it.
My best friend once told the story about her boyfriend's brother who misunderstood the song lyrics for the theme song in the cartoon version of Robin Hood. Instead of singing "Oo-de-lally, Oo-de-lally Golly, what a day", he sang "Woody Allen, Woody Allen Golly, what a day" (in Swedisn of course).
I just love such stories, because I know how stupid we feel when we realize the mistake. And usually we've always felt that our misunderstandings sounded weird and didn't make much sense even when we were unaware that we were wrong. I mean, why would any band want to be named Urine?
This is why I was delighted to find this site about the song lyrics we thought we heard and what they really meant. Some of these are hilarious.
http://kissthisguy.com/
My best friend once told the story about her boyfriend's brother who misunderstood the song lyrics for the theme song in the cartoon version of Robin Hood. Instead of singing "Oo-de-lally, Oo-de-lally Golly, what a day", he sang "Woody Allen, Woody Allen Golly, what a day" (in Swedisn of course).
I just love such stories, because I know how stupid we feel when we realize the mistake. And usually we've always felt that our misunderstandings sounded weird and didn't make much sense even when we were unaware that we were wrong. I mean, why would any band want to be named Urine?
This is why I was delighted to find this site about the song lyrics we thought we heard and what they really meant. Some of these are hilarious.
http://kissthisguy.com/
torsdag, maj 11, 2006
Point, what Point?
I was sitting on the bus on my way downtown when I noticed a man looking straight at me. I met his eyes and he didn't look away like people ususally do when caught staring at someone. Intense glaring makes me uncomfortable however so I broke contact but noticed that the man kept staring at me.
Had I been 16, thinking that the world evolved around me, I would probably have thought that he couldn't help himself, seeing how pretty I was. Now, eleven years later, it's more leaning towards: "I must have smut somewhere on my face...." So I dove into my bag for my hand mirror and tried to see just how bad it was.
Turns out I didn't have smut on my face. It also turns out that the man is holding a white cane, indicating he was blind. I felt really bad for thinking he was creepy.
Then, two hours later, over a cup of Vanilla Nut Latte, my friend starts pondering whether or not blind people dream. According to a number of not so reliable websites I find out that they don't. At least not in images.
You're now probably thinking that if there is a point I should be getting to it shortly. Sorry to say that I have no point to make. Just making an observation.
Had I been 16, thinking that the world evolved around me, I would probably have thought that he couldn't help himself, seeing how pretty I was. Now, eleven years later, it's more leaning towards: "I must have smut somewhere on my face...." So I dove into my bag for my hand mirror and tried to see just how bad it was.
Turns out I didn't have smut on my face. It also turns out that the man is holding a white cane, indicating he was blind. I felt really bad for thinking he was creepy.
Then, two hours later, over a cup of Vanilla Nut Latte, my friend starts pondering whether or not blind people dream. According to a number of not so reliable websites I find out that they don't. At least not in images.
You're now probably thinking that if there is a point I should be getting to it shortly. Sorry to say that I have no point to make. Just making an observation.
söndag, april 30, 2006
Review
I feel the pressure of writing some kind of review of the documentary, Smiling in a War Zone, I watched this Friday, since I brought it up. So here goes.
I heard that it got some bad reviews on TV the day before but I haven't seen the review myself so I can't really object to any specific complaints. I can see how someone would be unimpressed by it, and I had a few bad reactions to the poor video qualities, embaressing "special effects" and the occasional unability to keep a clear perspective. It felt as if she wanted to say so many things with the documentary that some things became a bit redundant when she didn't take the time to explain her point thurully.
But.... to give it a two out of five? To me that just feels like the person didn't understand the point of the movie, which wasn't to do a high quality documentary but something completely different. The fact that this woman spent a year of her life, a fortune that she didn't even have and risked her own life to be able to fulfill one young woman's wish of flying is enough to give it at least three points. I mean, are we so spoiled with special effects and perfectly scripted and orchestrated documentaries that we fail to appreciate a genuin effort and inspirational message just because it doesn't come in a golden wrapper? I think it is sad.
To me this documentary represents a brave woman with a message that becomes a truth rather than a cliché through the journey that she makes. A message that you really can do anything you want if you just put your mind to it. And that's good media.
I heard that it got some bad reviews on TV the day before but I haven't seen the review myself so I can't really object to any specific complaints. I can see how someone would be unimpressed by it, and I had a few bad reactions to the poor video qualities, embaressing "special effects" and the occasional unability to keep a clear perspective. It felt as if she wanted to say so many things with the documentary that some things became a bit redundant when she didn't take the time to explain her point thurully.
But.... to give it a two out of five? To me that just feels like the person didn't understand the point of the movie, which wasn't to do a high quality documentary but something completely different. The fact that this woman spent a year of her life, a fortune that she didn't even have and risked her own life to be able to fulfill one young woman's wish of flying is enough to give it at least three points. I mean, are we so spoiled with special effects and perfectly scripted and orchestrated documentaries that we fail to appreciate a genuin effort and inspirational message just because it doesn't come in a golden wrapper? I think it is sad.
To me this documentary represents a brave woman with a message that becomes a truth rather than a cliché through the journey that she makes. A message that you really can do anything you want if you just put your mind to it. And that's good media.
fredag, april 28, 2006
Smiling in a War Zone
About two or three years ago I went to a seminar held by a Danish woman, Simone, who was making a documentary of her "journey" to Kabul. Allegedly she had, through some news channel, heard about a young woman in Kabul who wanted nothing more than to once be able to fly a plane. Reading this, Simone got the crazy idea that she should fulfill that wish. And she did.
She bought a forty-year-old Piper Colt and made the trip, 50 hours in the air, 33 landings and one illegal flight in to Afghanistan to find the young woman Farial and make her wish come true.
The documentary, Smiling in a War Zone, premieres here in Malmö today and I am meeting up my boyfriend after work to see it. Expectations are high.
torsdag, april 27, 2006
The Horror, The Horror...
I went on an interview for a position as an international informant this morning and I honestly can't say what scares me the most; to recieve information of yet another failure or to actually get the job.
The whole experience of the interview was, to say the least, horrifying. He treated me as if I had worked as an informant for years, asking me questions that probably any qualified informant could answer in a split of a second, and demanded quick answers. I started to wonder if he had read my application at all because it would clearly tell him that I have limited experience. Then he confessed that his approach was rather agressive and that he understood that I could not possibly know these things with respect to my background. And I started to wonder why I was even there. With all of the 300 applications he'd recieved... I did not even impress myself.
I feel a bit discouraged about this informant business. It's sad because I've had that goal in sight for as long as I can remember. But everytime I get within reach of it I end up either devastated or doubting my own abilities.
I've never created an entire internal network by myself. I've never composed an actual communication plan by myself. I'm not even sure if I know what it is. I've never been a part of any board of directors or responsible for the communication of one. I've never had to defend a company in a press release...
Given the cance, I could learn and I know that. But it doesn't really matter when you are expected to master it before you've learned it.
It will be a cold day in hell before I get this job. My only solace is that whether I get rejected or, God help us, get the job, it is all me. I'm loosing or gaining this job on my own. And damned proud of it either way.
The whole experience of the interview was, to say the least, horrifying. He treated me as if I had worked as an informant for years, asking me questions that probably any qualified informant could answer in a split of a second, and demanded quick answers. I started to wonder if he had read my application at all because it would clearly tell him that I have limited experience. Then he confessed that his approach was rather agressive and that he understood that I could not possibly know these things with respect to my background. And I started to wonder why I was even there. With all of the 300 applications he'd recieved... I did not even impress myself.
I feel a bit discouraged about this informant business. It's sad because I've had that goal in sight for as long as I can remember. But everytime I get within reach of it I end up either devastated or doubting my own abilities.
I've never created an entire internal network by myself. I've never composed an actual communication plan by myself. I'm not even sure if I know what it is. I've never been a part of any board of directors or responsible for the communication of one. I've never had to defend a company in a press release...
Given the cance, I could learn and I know that. But it doesn't really matter when you are expected to master it before you've learned it.
It will be a cold day in hell before I get this job. My only solace is that whether I get rejected or, God help us, get the job, it is all me. I'm loosing or gaining this job on my own. And damned proud of it either way.
onsdag, april 19, 2006
I Have a Confession to Make
My name is Sofie, and I am a chocoholic.
Like that. The truth. The ugly truth about the habit that I apparently can not kick. Chocolate is my heroin. Simple as that.
I stopped eating chocolate for two weeks. Two whole weeks. It is hard for anyone to comprehend the nature of the situation. The nervous eye twitch, the biting of nails, the self delusions I suffered. Until time did its thing and I realized that I didn't need it anymore.
Then comes Easter.
Big Easter egg. Chocolate dreamboat. The best kinds of chocolate in a see trough delight. The kind of chocolate that melts in your mouth before you even get around to tear the wrappers. Not at all a cheep perfunctonary gift that nobody ever asks for. Just an oval shaped piece of heaven.
I was such a good girl. I didn't even touch it. Then the next day my boyfriend opens the egg and lets out a scent of chocolate my way. He looks at me and asks: "Do you want one?" Do you want one? Is he freaking kidding me?
I was lost and the addiction came back. But I didn't really understand how serious it was until today. When I went through the last remains of the egg and found three pieces of the disgusting chocolate still there. You know the hardened jell-o and marzipan pieces that no one really likes. And as one piece of my brain concluded that I hate marzipan the other part of the brain kept insisting on the importance of; covered in chocolate, covered in chocolate. It all ended with a see through egg, filled with brown paper wrappers and one girl who never knew what hit her.
Like that. The truth. The ugly truth about the habit that I apparently can not kick. Chocolate is my heroin. Simple as that.
I stopped eating chocolate for two weeks. Two whole weeks. It is hard for anyone to comprehend the nature of the situation. The nervous eye twitch, the biting of nails, the self delusions I suffered. Until time did its thing and I realized that I didn't need it anymore.
Then comes Easter.
Big Easter egg. Chocolate dreamboat. The best kinds of chocolate in a see trough delight. The kind of chocolate that melts in your mouth before you even get around to tear the wrappers. Not at all a cheep perfunctonary gift that nobody ever asks for. Just an oval shaped piece of heaven.
I was such a good girl. I didn't even touch it. Then the next day my boyfriend opens the egg and lets out a scent of chocolate my way. He looks at me and asks: "Do you want one?" Do you want one? Is he freaking kidding me?
I was lost and the addiction came back. But I didn't really understand how serious it was until today. When I went through the last remains of the egg and found three pieces of the disgusting chocolate still there. You know the hardened jell-o and marzipan pieces that no one really likes. And as one piece of my brain concluded that I hate marzipan the other part of the brain kept insisting on the importance of; covered in chocolate, covered in chocolate. It all ended with a see through egg, filled with brown paper wrappers and one girl who never knew what hit her.
onsdag, april 12, 2006
Last Friday
My boyfriend knows a guy who works backstage at various concerts here in Malmö. He managed to get my boyfriend the drumsticks after the Morrissey concert last friday. Since my boyfriend is a drummer and a fan of Morrissey he thought that was a very nice perk to the whole concert.
The drumsticks are barely holding together and they smell kind of funny. But I appreciate sentiment.
The drumsticks are barely holding together and they smell kind of funny. But I appreciate sentiment.
måndag, april 10, 2006
lördag, april 08, 2006
Renee
My father is an accountant and he finished his studies a when he was around 23 years old. He got a job right out college at a company which he is now part-owner of. The lady that interviewed him for the position was called Renee.
Renee was an old lady who had lost her husband a few years back and she now claimed that his ghost was still living with her. Once when my parents were over for a visit and they were sitting in her living room, small talking, she stopped in mid-sentence and smiled. "Now there is four people in the room" she had stated calmly. Very serious and matter of factly.
At the interview Renee asked my father for the date and time of his birth. He found it odd but gave the information to her. Months after he had started working she told him that the information he'd given her had been of signifigance to his employment. She had found that at the time of my father's birth the right planets had been aligned in the right way (though I'm sure she put it more adequate than that). That's why he got the job.
About one or two years after he had started the job I was born. It had happened really sudden, and a good one or two weeks before the predicted time and my father had to go straight from the hospital to his job, leaving a much smaller version of myself and my mother at the hospital. He was alone when he got there. Or so he thought. Because all of a sudden, Renee appeared in the doorway. "Congratulations to the new baby girl," she said, smiled at his perplexed reaction and then went away.
Years later my father and a co-worker was at a business trip in Norway and decided to take a tour at their spare time. The tour lady had turned out to be the splitting image of their now retired co-worker Renee, a resemblance so evident they both brought it up on their way back to the hotel. Later that same day, their boss, and moreover an old friend of Renee, callled my father to check in on something work related. Before he hung up he said he had some tragic news to deliver as well. Renee had passed away a few hours ago.
I've heard these stories since I was very young. My mother brought me by my father's office once when I was just a baby. Renee looked at me and told my parents her prediction of my future. A very strong statement that I prefer to keep to myself. I have never been able to decide if I should believe it or not. If she really knew these things or if she was just plain crazy. I'm not closed to such thoughts but I am extremely sceptic.
My father doesn't believe in such things, he's an accountant for cying out loud. Numbers and facts are his religion. Renee made him doubt his beliefs though. And I guess for myself, I will always wonder, unless her prediction comes true. That would be neat.
Renee was an old lady who had lost her husband a few years back and she now claimed that his ghost was still living with her. Once when my parents were over for a visit and they were sitting in her living room, small talking, she stopped in mid-sentence and smiled. "Now there is four people in the room" she had stated calmly. Very serious and matter of factly.
At the interview Renee asked my father for the date and time of his birth. He found it odd but gave the information to her. Months after he had started working she told him that the information he'd given her had been of signifigance to his employment. She had found that at the time of my father's birth the right planets had been aligned in the right way (though I'm sure she put it more adequate than that). That's why he got the job.
About one or two years after he had started the job I was born. It had happened really sudden, and a good one or two weeks before the predicted time and my father had to go straight from the hospital to his job, leaving a much smaller version of myself and my mother at the hospital. He was alone when he got there. Or so he thought. Because all of a sudden, Renee appeared in the doorway. "Congratulations to the new baby girl," she said, smiled at his perplexed reaction and then went away.
Years later my father and a co-worker was at a business trip in Norway and decided to take a tour at their spare time. The tour lady had turned out to be the splitting image of their now retired co-worker Renee, a resemblance so evident they both brought it up on their way back to the hotel. Later that same day, their boss, and moreover an old friend of Renee, callled my father to check in on something work related. Before he hung up he said he had some tragic news to deliver as well. Renee had passed away a few hours ago.
I've heard these stories since I was very young. My mother brought me by my father's office once when I was just a baby. Renee looked at me and told my parents her prediction of my future. A very strong statement that I prefer to keep to myself. I have never been able to decide if I should believe it or not. If she really knew these things or if she was just plain crazy. I'm not closed to such thoughts but I am extremely sceptic.
My father doesn't believe in such things, he's an accountant for cying out loud. Numbers and facts are his religion. Renee made him doubt his beliefs though. And I guess for myself, I will always wonder, unless her prediction comes true. That would be neat.
fredag, mars 31, 2006
Our Collective
How fast we managed to evolve into a unit. I've always considered that to be an unhealthy development in any relationship. I still do. But in the neck of time one of us got a job, even if it wasn't me. Yet. Hopefully the unit will partly dissolve now.
We have too many inside jokes, too many things that only we appreciate as a unit. In the private of the apartment that can be quite cosy and nice and in so many ways I am amazed that we still get along like this. I had expected fights, maybe even wanted them to prove that we have a normal relationship. But aside from the occasional nagging about the little things real fights have been completely absent. It'll come though. Fights are healthy. They keep things interesting and help you see things in perspective.
Outside the apartment the unit doesn't work as well. At least not in social situations. Which is why I think this job will do the unit good.
We have too many inside jokes, too many things that only we appreciate as a unit. In the private of the apartment that can be quite cosy and nice and in so many ways I am amazed that we still get along like this. I had expected fights, maybe even wanted them to prove that we have a normal relationship. But aside from the occasional nagging about the little things real fights have been completely absent. It'll come though. Fights are healthy. They keep things interesting and help you see things in perspective.
Outside the apartment the unit doesn't work as well. At least not in social situations. Which is why I think this job will do the unit good.
tisdag, mars 28, 2006
Oh Well....
At college we had a lot of professors and teachers who held lectures on feministic problems in the Patriarchal Society in which we apparently live. The fact that women are treated differently to a disadvantage could be applied to almost all the fields that we studied, not the least from a career prespective.
A lot of people, mostly women, became extremely upset about what they learned from these lectures, a reaction which is common when you first encounter what you perceive as unfair, and so encouraged by the people in power most of these students came to pursuit these feministic problems in many assigments during our education. A noble and much needed pursuit indeed.
In my oppinion there was a little too much focus on these feministic perspectives. They are extremely important and should be given a lot of space but they are not the only problem to adress. And what I felt eventually became destructive in this one sided approach to every field was that the focus always stopped on the problems and gave very little room for the solutions.
It's almost been a year since I finished my studies and I am still looking for a job, a career. The market is though for young academics without work experience in Sweden, that is a known fact, but as the one year anniversary of unemployment is closing in those feministic disadvantages has come in to questioning. Is it harder for me because I am a woman or is that just the "propaganda" speaking?
What if that is true?
"Let's see... we have an acceptable candidate here. Education, check. Minor work experience in the field, check. Good English skills, check. This looks ok." Continues to read in silence. "Oh damn! That's not good, this one has a uterus. It has to go in the no box."
Even though some work places probably panic over the idea of employing a woman with the risk of pregnancy and all what that would mean as an economical and practical setback I don't want to believe that this is common. I always dismissed the thought that my gender would stand in my way and hoped that hard work and talent would prevail. But suddenly I begin to doubt that theory. And it has much to do with those endless lectures about how society discriminates against all women. I am begining to wonder how close to the truth that really is and how my role as a human being holds up against my role as a woman.
For the sake of argument, seing I still refuse to accept it as an absolute truth, I am annoyed and upset over the fact that I was given the tool to acknowledge such information but not to fight it, or be able to do anything about it. So with the risk of ending with the cheesiest line in historyI would like to say this: I've heard the truth. Now what I want are the answers.
A lot of people, mostly women, became extremely upset about what they learned from these lectures, a reaction which is common when you first encounter what you perceive as unfair, and so encouraged by the people in power most of these students came to pursuit these feministic problems in many assigments during our education. A noble and much needed pursuit indeed.
In my oppinion there was a little too much focus on these feministic perspectives. They are extremely important and should be given a lot of space but they are not the only problem to adress. And what I felt eventually became destructive in this one sided approach to every field was that the focus always stopped on the problems and gave very little room for the solutions.
It's almost been a year since I finished my studies and I am still looking for a job, a career. The market is though for young academics without work experience in Sweden, that is a known fact, but as the one year anniversary of unemployment is closing in those feministic disadvantages has come in to questioning. Is it harder for me because I am a woman or is that just the "propaganda" speaking?
What if that is true?
"Let's see... we have an acceptable candidate here. Education, check. Minor work experience in the field, check. Good English skills, check. This looks ok." Continues to read in silence. "Oh damn! That's not good, this one has a uterus. It has to go in the no box."
Even though some work places probably panic over the idea of employing a woman with the risk of pregnancy and all what that would mean as an economical and practical setback I don't want to believe that this is common. I always dismissed the thought that my gender would stand in my way and hoped that hard work and talent would prevail. But suddenly I begin to doubt that theory. And it has much to do with those endless lectures about how society discriminates against all women. I am begining to wonder how close to the truth that really is and how my role as a human being holds up against my role as a woman.
For the sake of argument, seing I still refuse to accept it as an absolute truth, I am annoyed and upset over the fact that I was given the tool to acknowledge such information but not to fight it, or be able to do anything about it. So with the risk of ending with the cheesiest line in historyI would like to say this: I've heard the truth. Now what I want are the answers.
torsdag, mars 23, 2006
Nad the Pursuit of Happiness?
When I was 16 I could recite Martin Luther King's speech I Have a Dream by heart. I had problems in the start with the Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. I had no idea what the Emancipation Proclamation meant and I couldn't for the life of me pronounce it either. Which is why I constantly changed that part when by rare occasions someone asked me to recite it for them. In retrospect, I do wonder what kind of document I had poor Lincoln sign in my recitation.
There was also a typo in the copy of the speech that I had in my possesion which is why in the part: This note (reference to the Emancipation Proclamation) was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, I kept saying nad the pursuit of happiness, thinking that the nad was probably a meaningful and fancy word that I just didn't understand.
Today, I can't recite the speech from start to finish. Probably bits and pieces but not the whole thing. I do however know that it is meant to say and the pursuit of happiness and I know what the Emancipation Proclamation means and how to pronounce it. And you've got to be impressed by that ;)
There was also a typo in the copy of the speech that I had in my possesion which is why in the part: This note (reference to the Emancipation Proclamation) was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, I kept saying nad the pursuit of happiness, thinking that the nad was probably a meaningful and fancy word that I just didn't understand.
Today, I can't recite the speech from start to finish. Probably bits and pieces but not the whole thing. I do however know that it is meant to say and the pursuit of happiness and I know what the Emancipation Proclamation means and how to pronounce it. And you've got to be impressed by that ;)
onsdag, mars 22, 2006
A Fish with Struma
In a previous post I brought to attention the unexpected gay community that had formed in the animal kingdom, more specifically in the penguin community. I thought that was an extremely fascinating piece of information. Little did I know that the unexpected animal facts would soon become a theme.
It happened as I was waiting for my mother in the reception where she works. I noticed that the numerous goldfishes in the reception tank seemed unaturally obese. Naturally I had to investigate.
On a closer look I had yet another shocking discovery. All the goldfishes seemed to be suffering from a serious case of struma! I kid you not, it looked just as if their eyes were about to pop out of their... do you say scull?
I managed to take this photograph with my cell phone and I would like to present it as exhibit one. And quite possible the only exhibit that I will be presenting all together. But it is really true what they say. You learn something new every day.
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