Stockholm: The Buildings

For Caro, who was getting tired of people pictures.

Here's the thing: when I take pictures of people, a lot of them turn out kind of like I saw them in my mind. Not all of them, but quite a few. When I take pictures of buildings, almost none of them do. Why? I don't know. I guess if I was choosing, I'd rather have it like this than the other way around, but still, it's a little frustrating.

So, here they are. Have a good weekend, in any case. I know I will. If you want to see the others, you can find them here.

Bags

I woke up this morning with huge bags under my eyes, and 45 minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I had been dreaming that I was married to a woman who was unfaithful.

What a great way to start the day.

Could someone hit the "off" switch on your way out of the room? Thanks.

The Coolest Thing Ever

I wrote about the Eurovision Song Contest here, and here, and here, and especially here. There are a couple other places, too, but you get the point.

I'm a fan.


And I just saw an add for the coolest thing ever. It's here. And that's all I'm going to say about that, for now.

*rubbing hands - the gleeful way, not the devious way*

The Bidet

In room 131, they had the good sense to put the toilet in front of the door and the bidet behind, rather than the other way around, as it is in some of the rooms. I haven't had a problem yet in the year and a half I've been staying here, but when it's late and the lights are off... well, they do look pretty similar. It's just not good planning.

Creativity, ENFJ, And Living In The Moment

I've been thinking lately about creativity. I guess if you know me, or have been reading here for a while, that's not going to be much of a shock to you.

It's been simmering for ages, but there are a couple things that have triggered me to consider it more closely in the last little while. First, I had a friend send me some pictures, one of which I did a quick edit on and sent back. She hadn't asked me to, but had said, "I wish I could just airbrush this guy out" (and no, it wasn't me; thanks for asking), and I thought, well, I can do that. So I did, and tweaked the contrast, saturation, and some of the colors at the same time.

It didn't take too long, but she was surprised to get it, I think, and seemed happy with the result. It made me wonder why. Not why she was happy; it did look better after being edited than it did before... of course, all of my pictures look better after being edited than they did before, too. Unless you really mess up in photoshop (which is always a possibility), any picture should look at least a little better after you've worked on it.

What it made me wonder was why, after opening it, it was so instinctive for me to edit it, rather than just to enjoy it for what it was. Back to that in a minute.

The second thing is when I was driving home from the museum in Lausanne on Saturday afternoon. I was thinking about shooting some pictures with friends that evening, and how the light was going to be. "It's going to be a beautiful evening," I said.

And then it hit me. "Going to be"? It already was a beautiful afternoon. Why was I already in the evening?

Well, the truth was that I wasn't really already in the evening... but I did give it just a short visit. My capacity to live in the moment is miles - lifetimes - beyond what it used to be. But still, I notice that I feel a strong pull not only towards what is in the future, but what is, in general, potential or possibility, over what is now. It's a hallmark of people with my kind of temperament. I know that it needs to be balanced, and that I need to find beauty and peace and meaning in what is. That said, I like this about myself, and I'm not really in any hurry to "fix" it.

One of the ways that it works itself out is in how I approach the pictures I take or the music I play. I love to open myself up to the possibilities... to seek a deeper and deeper beauty, to pull meaning and nuance out of things that are, at first sight, nothing more than a whisper of potential. What would it sound like with a French horn? What if I could make her eyes so intense they felt like they're coming off the page? What if...? It happens when I see things on the street around me, when I see a picture from a friend, when I hear a simple melody on the piano.

I know that I can never enjoy that simple melody the way some other people can. They can hear it and just rest in it... there is no lack, nothing missing, nothing more to do. I wish, sometimes, that I had that, but I don't. I hear what's not there. Sometimes, it's frustrating beyond description. But it also means that, sometimes, I can create what is beyond what's already there. I can take the picture. I can build the beat. I can add the vocal. I lose, sometimes, on what I could enjoy; but I wouldn't give up what I gain for anything.

But I also wonder: how does it impact my relationships with people around me? Where is the balance between enjoying and appreciating someone for who they are now and encouraging them and looking forward to who they could be? I guess that one obvious problem is when the person in question has no interest in either discovering or becoming that "could be"... well, that's not going to help either of us. But I don't usually keep many people like that close to me, now. At times, it seems somehow false to love what isn't yet there; at the same time, it seems almost criminal to just accept what is when the what could be is so much more. Where do hope and faith fit in with human relationships? When is it wrong to believe in someone for what they could become? When is it wrong not to?

The challenge, I guess, is to live in the moment enough to really live, and to really love. But, at the same time, to yearn and long for and seek out what could be enough to be able to bring it into the world of what really is. That's where (and what) I want to be.

MNB No More

Well, we have a gig on October 4, and so we need a name. I like MNB (Monday Night Band), but it seems I'm the only one, so we have some more options, and I want you to help us choose.

The band is somewhat divided in terms of how to get a name... some want something that represents what we're doing as literally as possible (using, if there's any way, at least one pun). Some of us just want something that sounds cool and doesn't mean anything. You'll never guess which camp I fall into.

Anyways, here are four options. Pick your favorite - if you guess correctly, you could win a fabulous prize!*

1. Cover Story
2. Undercover
3. Hot Little Potato
4. Story Corner

And the voting starts.... NOW!


*Though I wouldn't hold your breath.

Marilyn Manson, Part II

More beautiful people. There are a whole lot more still to edit, but I've added to the collection, and you can see them here (the new ones start on the third page, if you've been before).

The ones I like the most out of the new set:

I have two regrets about my trip to Sweden. One is that I saw a couple of guys (together, which made it about a million times better) wearing matching blue and yellow tees which said, "I (heart) blond girls". They were fantastic. I looked in one or two shops, but decided that it probably wouldn't have quite the same kind of playful feel about it to wear one by myself, and, on top of that, could not come up with one (hypothetical) appropriate situation in which to wear it anyways. Now I think, what if a situation does turn up? Where else am I going to find that shirt? Too late, I guess.

The other regret was that I didn't ask this girl if she would pose for a few shots. She smiled at me and her face just lit up - this picture doesn't begin to capture it. Rats.




Not a great shot, technically, but I love the contrast.




I love, love, love the focus in this.




They were giving people stamps of the public transit logo. I like it.




I think that really is her natural hair color. Isn't that wild?

Ice Cream

I thought I had ice cream in the freezer. I don't.

Crap.

Weekend

This is what a weekend should be.

To start with, I had a great time out at dinner last night - finally tried some Swiss Vietnamese food (initial verdict: not as good as Canadian, no idea on actual, from Vietnam).

This morning, I met up with buddy who's visiting for a cigar, a coffee and to hear some music we're going to work on together.

In the afternoon I went with a few more friends to Lausanne for a complete revelation - an exhibit of the photography of Leonard Freed - and a fascinating (and beautifully open) discussion with a guy visiting from Palestine about the situation and the history there.

Then back to Geneva, to take advantage of some of the most beautiful light I've seen this summer to take some shots of another couple of friends to celebrate their soon-to-be-done pregnancy.

And tomorrow, my little chick comes home. Yay!

[EDIT] I was looking at a Helmut Newton book in the bookshop with Kelly after the museum, and she informed me that the look now is like a lot of his stuff... very strong women, smoky eyes, and red, red lips. Kelly works for an ad agency, so I guess she knows. Smoky eyes... yes, all over it. But please... can we hold back a little on the Robert Palmer lipstick?

Hair & Wind - Yeah, Baby

I've uploaded my favorite hair and wind shots from Stockholm. Why do I like these so much? They are so unpredictable, so alive... it's like the hair has a life of its own and is dancing in a tempest on top of this head that's usually not in the least involved. See what you think. You can see the rest here.

Stolen Lyrics Of The Day

While I was in Stockholm, Richard introduced me to Bebo Norman. I've been listening for a few days now, and I'm impressed. The man doesn't bat 1000, but when he hits, he hits big, and some of his songs are absolutely drenched in honesty and passion. Today, I like this one, called Healing Song.

I can tell by this crack of light
Oh girl this is gonna be, it's gonna be a beautiful day
And I can tell by this stretch of silver
Spreading all out across the curves of your face

And for the love, for the love of God
I've gathered up my pride, I've gathered up my bits and bone
And in a world that broke me down
I'm standing up, but not alone

'Cause this is a healing song, oh and I've got a heart that fails
But love is pushing me along, I'm lifting up above this veil
This is a healing song, oh and I don't know if you can tell
But love is pushing me along
I'm pressing up against the rail, pressing up against the rail

I can smell the summer in the air
And I swear I can almost see, I can almost see my soul
Son, I know that it don't seem fair
But I'm turning away from here, and oh Lord, I am coming home

I've got friends here that love me
I've got all this mercy beating in my blood
And I've got friends here that love me
And that's something good, that's something good

'Cause this is a healing song, oh and I've got a heart that fails
But love is pushing me along, I'm lifting up above this veil
This is a healing song, oh and I don't know if you can tell
But love is pushing me along
I'm pressing up against the rail, pressing up against the rail

You and I, we've come so far
We've come so far, we cannot look back
I said you and I, we've come so far
We've come so far, we cannot look back

"I've got friends here that love me; I've got all this mercy beating in my blood". Good words to enter the weekend by.

You can hear a few seconds of it here... just imagine that voice continuing with that gorgeous, lilting rhythm that comes in at the end. I tried to find the link on iTunes, but they won't let me look at the store unless I install their software, and last time I did that it took me about 6 months to clean out all the other crap that came with it. But if your computer is already infected, I'm sure you can find him there. ;-)

Better Or Worse?

I mentioned before that while about 6% of the general population uses macs, about 30% of those periodically seated on TYC do.

Since then, the proportion has jumped to over 40%. So now I find myself in a dilemma.

Buying one is out of the question, since all my software is PC-based. But it does seem that I am going to be forced to deal with some kind of congruence between people who like to read what I've written (or see what I've shot) and people who like to use macs. Many of them seem to be the same people.

You can see that this is fraught with danger for me. Any anti-mac joke I make now is just going to come back and bite me. Even the one-button mouse is, I'm sure, in on it, somehow. I don't know if this is some kind of cosmic conspiracy to make me quit using wma files (they just sound better at lower bitrates! I can't argue with that!) or a joke that Macworld is going to be publishing in an upcoming issue.

I guess the good news is that, if they are, at least I won't see it. I still have that going for me.

For now.

I Want (Part III)

To be dressed by Tom Ford.

To see my little girl's smile.

To always live with passion.

Armrests on every chair.

To get lost in beauty.

To be thankful in everything.

Fewer pixels, and more sunburns.

To remember more.

To sing her to sleep.

To show you what I see.

To be strong, but not tough.

Canyon

I'm standing at the edge and looking down. It's deeper than I thought; steeper than I had anticipated. I'm ready, though, I'm pretty sure.

At least I think I am.

I hope.

I've been wanting this for a long time, now. I've been working out, getting in shape. I've been doing some heavy training, actually. I've checked my gear, over and over: the harnesses, the ropes, the chalk and the carabeeners. It looks to me like everything is here. I've had the maps spread out on my table more times than I can count, been planning my route, making sure I know where the crevices are deep and the overhangs more than I can handle. When I close my eyes, I can see it in my mind.

I'm prepared.

But everything is different on game day, you know? The moves that seemed so secure and well-practiced on the wall aren't quite the same on real rock. The muscles that have been getting stronger in the gym turn out not to be the ones that are needed to make it over to the next hold and down that face.

I know there will be some things I haven't foreseen; I have a feeling that they're still going to take me by surprise.

I wonder if I've made a mistake in some of my judgements, if maybe the ropes I have prepared aren't going to be enough for this climb, if the route that I've planned won't work once I'm on the face. I wonder if I'm in as good a shape as I want to believe I am.

I wonder if I'm more hesitant than I should be, or if maybe I'm not nearly cautious enough.

I wonder if I'm going to get half-way and become paralyzed with fear. I can see it already: too scared to take another step in the descent, too tired to get back up on my own. Stranded. That happens, sometimes, to people. I've heard about it, and it scares me.

But I know, at least, that I can't know. Not now; not really. I won't know if my hands have the strength I need until I have to swing across for my next foothold. I won't know if my heart has the courage I long to have until I choose to test it and let myself go.

But I hope.

My Favorite Compliment

The best one I've had in the last while was from a woman who was with me when I was listening briefly ("grooving" is probably a better word) to some recordings of a jam session I had played at. After a while, she told me, "I like watching you listen to music."

I thought that was pretty cool, especially since I can imagine that my particular version of "active listening" could be annoying. It was nice to hear.

[EDIT] Oh, and for the record, she's closer to my mom's age than mine, and wasn't hitting on me, which maybe doesn't make it count double, but it is different.

Sunsets

So, it turns out it's pretty tricky to get a sunset picture in Stockholm.

Somebody told me recently that you can gauge the amount of time it's going to take the sun to set by holding your arm out and seeing how many fingers fit between the sun and the horizon. Given that my arms are about average length, and my fingers are about average size, I saw no reason that this wouldn't work for me.

So when I set up my camera the first evening that I wanted to get some shots, I was ready for action. But I wasn't ready for what happened next.

The sun goes sideways in Sweden.

Yeah, it went down like it was going to set normally for a while, and then, about two or three fingers from the horizon, it starts just moving to the right, moving to the right... like an old hippie who suddenly comes into money. It does go down, eventually, but it's a matter of hours not minutes. So these were well-earned. I hope you enjoy them, and you can see more here.

Looking over city hall.




Also towards city hall.

Marilyn Manson, Part I

As in, "the beautiful people". I've only edited some of the shots in this category, but here are my favorites of the first batch. I think I may do some scenery ones next...

As usual, you can find more here.

I love the shadow in this one - plus, she has wonderful skin.

I hadn't asked them to pose, and they hadn't asked me to shoot, but I do love it when people smile at the camera. And I love that, in shots like this, they are real smiles, not, "say cheese" smiles. Beautiful.

They know how to work those eyes.

This guy just looks SOOOOO Swedish. I want to look like that in that color.

This is Swedish hair.

I just love the colors in this one - his skin is so warm, and the football field behind just accentuates it. Wonderful.

What great hair. And he makes the scarf work - impressive.

This guy just looks like a viking to me.

This one is a little bit Romy & Michelle, but she does pull it off. Maybe it's the tan. Maybe you just have to be Swedish. But I certainly saw some blond with black roots going on over my week.

Count 'Em

I decided that before I start editing pictures, I should organize them a bit. After all, I (may) have taken 300 shots of the city hall in the sunset, because it was just spectacular. That doesn't mean that anyone wants to see them all. In fact, something around 200 would probably do the trick.

It's going to take a while to edit them, but I'll let you know what's on my photo site and put a few of my favorites here as we go along. Just so you know what to expect:

Buildings - 145 images. Stockholm has absolutely gorgeous architecture, and it was hard to stop trying to capture it. Maybe if I can get some help I'll even try to tell you what's what.

Design - 95 images. A fair bit of stained glass, some graffiti, some details of buildings, sculpture, and, of course, a police dummy. Any anything else I thought looked cool but didn't fit any of the other categories.

Nature (animals) - 33 images. Mostly seagulls, dragonflies, and a bunny, cause everybody loves bunnies.

Nature (sky and water) - 80 images. The only thing that kept this from being way higher is the fact that I made the next category.

Nature (sunsets) - 70 shots. Ones that are more sunset, less building.

People (beautiful) - 285 images. Maybe not all beautiful in the classical sense, but beautiful to me. These are my favorite.

People (circus) - 39 images. I saw a circus guy on the little island we landed on after sailing on the first day. Well, I saw his troop performing downtown a few days later.

People (drunk guy) - 14 images. The guy dancing with the bottle on his head. Yeah, baby!

People (friends) - 33 images. Dorothy & Richard and family, and me and Johan.

People (interesting) - 43 images. Striking, but not beautiful? You decide. Sometimes, it's not who it is, it's what they're doing.

People (look-a-likes) - 10 images. Sting, Brad Pitt, and Anna Kournikova.

People (hair and wind) - 21 images. They may be beautiful, they may be interesting, but the best thing about them is their hair in the wind.

People (posed) - 22 images. They wanted me to take their picture, so I did.

People (vibe) - 78 images. They somehow just capture something about the feeling of the city.

My computer tells me that, after doing a lot of deleting, I have 984 files in my Stockholm directory.


Time to get editing...

Going Home

I leave tomorrow. It will be nice to be home. It will be wonderful to - soon - see my little chick again. But it's going to be hard to leave Stockholm. So, I pause to reflect.

Things I like here:

• Fewer people using their cell phones as stereos on public transport. And, as a result, a much lower desire to feed people their own phones.
• When I'm out walking and I'm not taking pictures, I am usually still looking at people. And, when I look at people, I make eye contact. And people here look back. And here's the cool part - they smile. I couldn't be happier.
• There are a lot of red shoes. Not a lot, I guess, but relatively more. Red shoes are good.
• There are beautiful children playing, which makes me almost unbearably happy and sad at the same time.
• It feels safe and orderly, but not as though a 70 year-old Swiss woman is about to pop out and hit you on the head with a broom, if you know what I mean.
• I saw a woman with her 3 kids carrying hockey sticks. Hockey sticks are good.
• I think Swedish is a cool language. My Swedish friends had told me that it was like Swiss German. Sure, there's a little more up and down than English, but it doesn't sound like anyone is about to cough up their spleen.
• There is a certain agelessness to a lot of the women here. I'm crap at guessing ages, which is why, if you ask me to guess yours, I will just say, "I don't know". And then I'll wait for you to talk about something else. But here, it seems even harder than usual. There are a lot of women who, I get the feeling, are somewhere between 25 and 40, but they could tell me anything in that range and I would believe them.
• The city is small enough that there are some people I've seen several times, and I think that's pretty cool, for only having been here a week.

Things I don't like:

• Smoking isn't allowed inside, except in my friend Johan's apartment, where it's mandatory.
• Some women are not just wearing leggings under shorts, but shiny leggings. Like super-hero costume kind of shiny.
• It's about 9 CHF just to take one ride on the metro. That's just way too much.

Something I've been thinking about:

I've seen a lot of parents of fairly young children who are tired of walking, who seem to be dealing with it poorly. They either just have the kid, crying, trailing along at the end of their arm, or, I've seen the family actually leave, go into a building a 100m away and wait. Eventually, they came back for the little boy (who was sitting, rather resolutely, where they had left him - seems this had happened before). Here's what I think.

Maybe those 3 year-old legs are just tired. Maybe you skipped naptime. Maybe he's hungry. So maybe you should carry him for a while.

And, even more to the point, maybe she just wants to know she is loved and valued. I don't know, but perhaps if those parents would just stop and crouch down and say, "You're tired, aren't you? Me too. I love you, and we have a little more walking to do before we can stop. Shall we sit here together for a minute before we go on?" there would be a lot less crying now and a lot fewer feelings of abandonment to work through later on. Maybe.

Anyways, time to pack!

What A Great Day

Okay, I have a lot to say, but I'm tired, so most of it is going to have to wait. I will say this, though:

I think I had the best sushi of my life at lunch today.

I got the absolute best hair-in-the-wind pictures this afternoon, and the clouds over Stockholm were UNBELIEVABLE. It seems a little bit cruel to say this without being able to post the pictures yet, but wait till you see them - you're going to love them.

Also, I was thinking about the principle of compounding. It's one of the financial principles that was actually simple enough for me to catch on to in my finance classes, but that's not exactly how I was thinking about it today.

Imagine yourself enjoying any of these things:

1. Listening to a wonderful song
2. Being in a beautiful city
3. Sitting in the sunshine
4. Being surrounded by stunning women (or men, if that's your preference... go ahead, imagine)
5. Creating something wonderful
6. Seeing nature showing off

Any one of them is good. Two are great. But when you start to combine them, it's not like 1 + 1 = 2. It's 1 + 1 = 3. Add in just having had amazing sushi and a really, really good cigar, and this was the one of the best afternoons I've had for a long, long time.

I've thought about it a lot, and I don't know if I'm more sensitive to beauty or if I just tend to talk about it more than most people (having never been anyone else, I'm not really well equipped to make that judgment), but it really compels me. I feel driven to seek it out and celebrate it, which is the main reason that I love photography. And it makes me so thankful that I can know the creator who designed things to be like this... that what I see just keeps leading me back to who it was who made it and gave me eyes to recognize it.

And on that note, I'm going to bed. Until next time...

Swedish Style

In a longstanding tradition, I've made some notes for those of you who plan to be visiting Stockholm in the next little while and want to shop to fit in before you go. No pictures because the internet thing is still tricky and it's 12:30 AM. So:

For Both Genders

• Skinny pants - skinny enough to require zippers at the foot. 80's, anyone?
  
• Black - all over, but very few in all black. It's often paired with beige.
• Tourist shirts - tees with place names on. Or maybe those are tourists advertising where they're from. The most popular is Venezia.
• Scarves - it's warm, but they don't care. Not heavy ones, usually, but there are a lot of them out there.
• Punk/Goth - hair and clothes. And I've decided, goth is WAY worse than punk.
• Strong glasses - forget function, they are like huge "hey, look at me" signs. And honestly - given the overwhelming amount of beauty at street-level, who can blame them?
  

Women

• Leggings - under shorts, skirts, or dresses... most popular seems to be a short jersey dress with them
• Shoes - some heels, a lot of flats (mostly ballerina with some sandals), an unfortunate number of those "in-between" almost heels, and almost no strappy heels, which I think is just a crying shame
• Blousy shirts - lots of really loose, flowing shirts, pretty frequently gathered at the hip
  
• Bags - big, big, big. Lots of leather, but lots of canvas, too. Colors aren't out of control, which is good since most of them are large enough to hold a small car.
• Low back pockets in jeans - jury is still out on this one... some of them can pull it off. At least they don't seem to be going with the patch pockets that looked like they were coming in last year. Hmmmm.... how can I make my bum look bigger?
  
• Big earings - I kind of like them
• Layered tanks - usually with white on top, which looks great with those tans

Men

• Brit-rock hair. It would like like they slept in it, if it wasn't so pretty
• Vans - the retro, low-top, slip-on, checkerboard ones
• Thin argyle sweaters. They're not just ugly, they don't keep you warm. They are especially popular with the chav/idiot set.
• Boat shoes - yep, I'm not even joking
• Heavy metal shirts - mostly Iron Maiden, it seems
• Facial hair - just like ABBA

Stockholmers, Part II

This is the continuation of the post which starts just below. You may want to read that one first.

And here's the other thing - I've never been in a place that's so friendly.

Everyone - EVERYONE - I've asked for help has helped me accurately, kindly, and in English. Bus drivers, the lady at 7-11, the guy with the machine gun in front of the palace (if anyone should know where a public toilet is, it's a guy with a machine gun, right?), the people at the metro station. I've never seen a city with so many friendly, helpful people.

And when I've spent a lot of time walking around and taking pictures in Geneva. I've had two people ask me to take a picture of them: a 6 year-old boy and a woman who, I have a hunch, was not really that interested in the picture. Most people either ignore me (my preferred reaction, usually, given the alternatives I've seen there), or they get scared/confused/angry. Rarely angry, to be fair, but there are a lot who look suspicious, even when I haven't taken a picture of them.

Today, I had almost a stream of people coming to talk to me. "I like cameras and photography, too. How did you get started? What do you like to shoot? Where can I see your pictures?" Or, "Hey, take a picture of me! Take a picture of my friend! Take a picture of all my friends! Can we take a picture of you with my friends?" Or, "What are you taking all these pictures for? Are they going in the newspaper?" Or, the most interesting one which actually took place in French when the guy and I couldn't find another language that overlapped, "I have pictures of models... where do I send them?". Sorry, I don't think I can really help you there. And no, I'm not making any of these up - they are the conversations I had today.

I don't think I usually give off a huge "hey, I'm taking pictures because I want you to come and talk to me" kind of vibe. In fact, I've had friends not stop to say hi to me (they told me later) because I looked so intensely absorbed in what I was doing that they just weren't sure it would be a good idea to disturb me. But somehow, in Stockholm, that translates to meeting a whole ton of new people. Of course, I forgot my model release forms back at Richard and Dorothy's, and I don't have any cards printed with my website address on ("here, just let me see if I can find a piece of garbage on the ground to write it on for you..."), but it was still a fantastic day.

Oh, and they hug when they meet each other, which I just adore. The girls seem to squeal a lot, too. Not so crazy about that. Maybe it's a special part of the cultural festival. *shrugs*

And to finish it off, I saw a Corvette and an Audi RS4 go at it off a light today. The Audi just wiped the road with the 'Vette. Nice.

I really do love this city.

Stockholmers, Part I

I mentioned to Richard that my first visit to Stockholm (10 years ago) was a little like walking onto the set of Baywatch or a beer commercial or something. In the immortal words of Zoolander, everyone was just really, really good-looking. Like, almost freakishly so. Enough that I feared that, at some point, my presence would come to the attention of the authorities and they would send me off to wherever it is that they keep all the average-looking people. Denmark, I suppose.

When I came in on Monday night, he asked if I had had the Baywatch experience again. I said no, that in fact it was the architecture that had really wowed me, and that the people really weren't as exceptional as I had remembered. Well, he said, in the old town it's mostly tourists, so if I really wanted to do people watching to see the Swedes, there were a couple other spots I should try.

Today, I didn't go to the spots he suggested, but Stockholm is having a cultural festival, so I spent all day on the site of that (the Kungsträdgärden). Even so, Richard was right: it was different.

To say that Stockholm has a disproportionate number of really stunning women doesn't even begin to hint at the reality. I'm not usually at a loss for description, but I don't know how to begin to really describe this, here. And, after coming home and going through my pictures with Dorothy, we agree that there are also a whole lot of men who seem to have the same fortunate genetics going on. Forget Volvos - their biggest national export should be killer bone structure.

So, I'm back in the beer commercial and hoping to make it through the rest of the week without being found out and deported.

Dorothy and I were talking about it and trying to isolate some of the key factors that make them so beautiful. These are the ones we came up with.

1. Good bones. Cheeks, jaws, and noses... this is the foundation, and if it's not there, it doesn't matter how good your skin is. They have "just high enough" cheekbones (higher than most Europeans, but lower than the Finns) and always well-proportioned noses.

2. Good skin. 99% of the people here have really beautiful tans. and most have really great skin to go with it. The other 1% is split between a few who have overdone it on the tan and those going for the goth look. Sweden and Canada have a lot in common, I think, but we do not tan like that. I know, I know... if they're all tanning today, they won't have that wonderful skin 15 years down the road, but somehow, here, they seem to. No, I don't know how; and yes, if I figure it out I'll tell you.

3. That hair. Not all Swedes are blond, but there are far more here than I have seen elsewhere, and their hair tends to often also be fairly fine. The women almost always wear it long, and the majority of the time it's straight or with just a bit of a wave to it. I'm not saying that's the only recipe for success, but it's dramatic, even when it's everywhere, and it works for them. Coincidentally, it's great for taking pictures of in the wind.

4. The details. I have one friend who will disagree with me on this, but Swedish women take good care of their eyebrows, and it makes a big impact. They also are pretty predictable in terms of makeup: lots of eyeliner and fairly heavy mascara; very, very light but glossy lip color, and not much else that's visible for the most part. It comes off, for me, as being a perfect balance of natural and dramatic, which is not an easy balance to strike, and you never have that problem of trying to follow all of the colors around, trying to figure out what you're supposed to be concentrating on. For the record, Dorothy thinks they wear too much eye makeup. I think she may be confused. A huge number (even with dark hair) have very light eyes, so I think it really helps to bring them right out where they should be.

They don't fit all the other stereotypes: they aren't all skinny, they aren't all tall. Most don't dress spectacularly, but I think between the really well-kept hair, the right kind of makeup and the tans, they just look so... healthy. It really is amazing.

Since I've been having trouble posting this, I'm going to see if shortening it will help. Hopefully, there's more to come.

I'm Having Trouble

The internet connection here won't let me make the posts I want, or send emails. I think it might be a Swedish conspiracy to shut me up. More to come, if I can get it working...

Everything Is New

Well, I know I said it about Rome, and I know I said it about Bruges, but I think Stockholm may be the most beautiful city in the world. I spent most of yesterday wandering around the old town (Gamla Stan) with my mouth open, just trying to take it in. The architecture, the narrow, curving streets, the colors... it's amazing. And I saw/did some things that I don't think I've ever done before.

I went the whole day without listening to music. I had my mp3 player in my bag, but a friend asked me about a month ago... don't you ever just want to hear the atmosphere around you? I usually don't, but decided to give it a try, and it was nice. I sang a lot of the day, so it wasn't completely without music, but it was different.

Richard had gotten breakfast ready: oatmeal, cheese, bread, butter, and some blueberry cream cheese spread. After we had started eating, he realized he had forgotten something, and got some pickles out of the fridge. "You put pickles on your oatmeal?" I asked. It seemed a bit odd, but in a country where fish is regularly fermented, I'm not one to say where the boundaries should be. "No," he said, "they're for on the bread". So we kept eating, and I noticed that he would put the blueberry spread on his bread and then put pickles on top. I was intrigued, but decided to go without.

Until I tasted it.

Hmmmm..... not really like any other blueberries I'd eaten, I decided. I had a bit more, and then realized that it actually was kind of salty and not really very fruity at all. Might work with a pickle, actually. So I put a couple on and, sure enough, it improved things pretty dramatically.

After the meal, I mentioned this to Richard. He seemed to think it was kind of funny.

Turns out that the bluish-colored paste stuff is actually liver paté. Which is why it goes well with pickles.

I also saw a guy yesterday who may have been drunk out of his mind. He came into the square where I was sitting, people-watching, and smoking a very nice cigar (a Romeo y Julietta limited edition robusto from 2001). He had a ghetto blaster with him, and he started to dance with it, in the very center of the square. Before long, he got too hot, and took off his jacket, still dancing. That wasn't enough, it seemed, and he got rid of a button-down shirt, too. Getting kind of interesting, I thought, snapping away. Then he pulled out a bottle of Chivas and danced for a while with that.

Then he put it on his head.

And he kept dancing. I'm pretty sure I couldn't do that, and I'm sober. So, if he was drunk, this is one talented man. Eventually the police came and the show kind of ended, but it was good while it lasted. I want to upload a picture, but my internet connection here doesn't seem to like some things, and that's one of them. But next week, I'll have a ton.

Well, would write more, but I need to get out and see the city...

4,000

Looks like TYC had it's 4000th visitor today. Or, alternately, someone is stalking me and figures this is the best way to keep track of where I am. In any case, thanks. I'm glad you've been here.

Archipelago

It's official. I love Sweden.

On the way home from the airport, Richard said he had plans for Saturday, if it was okay with me. We were going sailing. We had a wonderful chat that evening... it is really nice to see Richard and Dorothy again. We ended up talking until about 1, and then getting in a few hours of sleep before the alarm at 7 for sailing.

I've had a lot of people tell me that I needed to get out and see the archipelago. Sure, I thought, could be nice, but I don't know how much extra time I'll have, or how tough it is to get out there, or how much it would cost. And, clearly, those things are all nearly impossible to find out. So I wasn't so optimistic.

Dorothy had to work on some stuff in preparation for starting her PhD program, so Richard and I got ready and headed out to the boat together on Saturday morning. We met his brother (Jörgen) and his fiancé (Kajsa) at the dock and headed out. Rather than do a run-down of the whole day, here are the highlights:

1. Cultural enlightenment. I learned that, in Sweden, coffee breaks (fika) are critical. So critical, in fact, that if you choose to work through half your lunch, you can go home a half-hour early. If you choose to work through fika (usually 15 minutes each in the morning and afternoon), you still have to stay just as long. But people won't like you any more.

2. A lot of pictures. Not edited yet, but I have an inordinate number of sea and sky shots, a couple of which I think will be nice, but many of which are just kind of bland pics of what is really an absolutely stunning place.

3. Party, party, party. When we got to the island we were going to, we landed on one side and had a bit of a bbq. Then walked around it to the main area, and were promptly given free ice cream by a woman with incredible eyes but wearing a clown costume (not quite sure how to react to that), then heard some music coming from across the plane. It sounded live, but too good to be live. So, we went to see. And it was live... an amazing little 4-piece cover band, with a keyboard player who could sing - man, could he sing - showing why Sweden has such a tremendous pop music history. They did a few tunes - rock, r&b, pop... and just nailed them. And they were playing to maybe 100 or so people on a little island in the middle of nowhere. What a country!

4. Sailing is fun. Last time I sailed, it was a team-building exercise with my company. I don't know about you, but "team-building" usually seems to be a code for "you're going to hate this, but if you do it, we'll buy you dinner". I didn't hate it, but it was a lot of work... we were on a vintage racing boat, and there was a lot of pulling, tying, and leaning. Richard's boat, on the other hand, could more or less be sailed by one person, and it was just relaxing. Beautiful. For the first time, I understand why people do this for fun.


Today I joined them at church, and it was great to be reminded, once again, that God is not local. He loves to be loved in Sweden as much as he does in Switzerland or Canada. It was very, very good. After the service we went downstairs for fika and I had some time to talk to a neurologist who is on her way in a couple weeks to do post-doc research at Cambridge, and a family who just moved to Stockholm from Dallas a couple months ago as missionaries. I guess we were there for about an hour, and for a guy who often likes to stick pretty close to his friends, I didn't really notice that I had lost track of Richard and Dorothy in the first few minutes.

After church we had a bbq... Jörgen and Kajsa came over again, along with Richard's parents, the fascinating young Spanish guy who lives downstairs (dropped out of school at 15 because he was bored, g0t into computers, made enough to have spent the last year not working but, instead, studying finance and biology on his own online because... he thinks they're interesting), and a few other friends.

Here's the thing. Swedes are really, really friendly. I have met some really wonderful people here in just a couple of days... as I was saying good-bye to Richard's mom ("see you next week!"), she said, "I hope that we can see you again... maybe for dinner at our home mid week?". "I hope so," I said, "that would be really nice."

As they pulled away, it occurred to me that, for a moment, I forgot that I don't live here. Richard and Dorothy have already made me feel so at home that it's just wonderful. Sure, I don't know the language, but I'm kind of used to that.

Tomorrow I'm off to see the old town, to take pictures, and see if I can find the heartbeat of this city. I can't wait - it's going to be incredible. Even if I don't get free ice cream.

I Don't Want To Impress You

As I was getting off the plane this evening, there was a woman in front of me carrying a boy who looked to be about four, and she was pulling her suitcase behind her. We had to go down the stairs from the plane to a bus, and so I asked if I could carry her bag down for her. She said yes (they don't always) and thanked me rather enthusiastically. She thanked me again in several languages when we got to the bottom.

Being thankful is good. I don't have a beef with that.

But what gets me is that, given the amount of time I spend getting on/off trains and planes, I have the opportunity to help people who look like they could use a hand with bags pretty frequently. And they often seem shocked when I offer.

I like to believe the best about people. I like to think that anyone in my position would do that for someone who needed it, but it seems that's not the case. Young(ish) people are not helping older people get their suitcase up the train steps. Men aren't getting up to give women their seats. Single people aren't getting out of the way to let the lady with the stroller get on the plane first. And it makes me sad.

I'm not going to do the "back in my day" thing. First, I'm not that old. Second, I'm not sure if things have actually changed, or if my ideals just don't fit with reality. But if we all held one or two more doors open every day or gave someone a hand with a load when they needed it, I really do think it would make a difference. Sure, I want people to be thankful when I help them... ideally, I want them to be thankful to God, rather than me, but that's a whole other post. But in any case, I don't want them to be shocked.

Just so this is not all a doom and gloom post, I'm in Stockholm and it's dark but pretty cool. Great to see Richard and Dorothy again, and Richard is taking me sailing tomorrow, which will be a real treat. There were, as I had suspected, a disproportionate number of beautiful people in the airport waiting for our luggage to come in, but I found a short, rather round, balding Italian guy and stood by him in a kind of non-Scandinavian solidarity thing. It felt good.

And they have 7-11 here, which may mean my first summer slurpee in a LOT of years....

Stockholm, Baby

In a few hours, I'm heading north. And I can't wait.

I will get to have time with some old friends - is there any better combination than traveling and seeing friends? Okay, maybe surf & turf. I feel relaxed and happy just thinking about it.

I am going to take a bazillion pictures. And some of them are going to beautiful.

I am going to listen to 600 hours of music.

I will take in a lot of beauty. If I recall correctly, the only thing more overwhelming than the "Venice of the North" is the people who live in it. Nice.

I'll feel short, but it will be worth it.

I'm going to eat salted licorice and pickled fish. If I can find it, I'm even going to eat Flying Jacob (I think that's what it's called... a casserole made with chicken, bananas and peanuts. I don't really like it, but it's really Swedish, so it just seems appropriate).

As I look forward to this, it makes me reflect again on what wonderful friends I have. I wish that I could load up the plane and take you all with me. I can't do that, but you can at least rest securely knowing that I will do everything in my power to take care of your share of the world's meatballs.

I promise.

Facebook

I'm having a problem. I know that I need to catch up, and there are a lot of people on there that I haven't talked to for years and really do want to get in touch with again.

But it's happened a bit quickly. It seems like every time I log on, I have half a dozen new friends, which is, in itself, a bit odd since almost all are actually old friends. Anyways, I have prided myself in taking some creative liberties with the stories of how I have met people. It's fun. But a bit tough to come up with a bunch at a time. So either I abandon my idea of making up how we met, or I need to do some big-time inventing.

So I get a little intimidated and log off again without doing either.

My blog is being published to my facebook page, so if you're reading this, wondering why I'm ignoring you, well... I don't really have a great excuse, but at least you know it's not personal. But I hope to make it worth it when I finally get in gear.

Soon.

Pictures From Budapest

Okay, the stories may have to wait a little longer, but I have some pictures up. You can see them here for: design, people, and nature. And before you click and get pissed off, I'll warn you that the nature one only has three pictures. It's a city, okay? I did the best I could.

Here are a few of my favorites.

We saw this guy on the street in the city center, and he reminded me of statues I've seen of Christ at his burial.




We came across a wedding at the cathedral, so I became a short-term wedding photographer.




This may be my favorite picture of the trip. I was shooting these boys with their mom in the wedding crowd when one decided she may be getting a little warm. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to appreciate his help.




There was a lot of beautiful light. I love the color in this one.




Burger King. Yes, it will kill you, but it's a nice way to go.




In the metro.




More of that light.




Tribute to Anonymous, the first person to record Hungarian history. Not the same Anonymous who contributes here.




In Memento Park, where they keep the communist-era statues.




Even commies like a man-purse.




Aaron and Nathan, after walking a lot.




Troy and Katie, in danger of being run down by communism.

I'm Going On Strike

At least, I would like to.

I was in Budapest this weekend with some friends, and we had a great time. I'm going to tell you all about it. I even took a bunch of pictures, and I think there are a few that turned out pretty well. But they're not quite ready.

That's because last night the security and fuel personnel in the Budapest Airport decided that the Sunday evening after a F1 race would be a great time to strike.

Before I get into the story, can I just say that I hate unions? I'm not 100% sure, but I think I hate all unions. I don't pay you. I don't decide how you working conditions will be set. You never asked me for a raise. So why do you want to make me late? Here's the thing: just because you can doesn't mean you should.

When we got to the airport, there was a huge line, and several flights delayed. It turns out that when those people are on strike:

• The airlines have trouble checking in bags because there aren't any security people to make sure they aren't full of explosive sneakers
• The planes can't leave because they don't have any fuel in them
• When they check in the people who don't have luggage, they still can't get to the gate to board the plane that isn't leaving since they're supposed to go through security first
• All the passengers assume that the flights will leave at more or less the right time, so they decide they need to get through security anyways

I'm going to get right to the point and tell you that last bit - we were so late leaving that by the time we got in the air, it was too late to get to the Geneva airport before it closed. So we flew to Lyon, France, and took buses back to Geneva. So I got to bed about 5 this morning.

Consequently, you have to take my word that this could probably be really funny, if I wasn't so tired. More to come in the next few days, but now, I'm going to bed.

Fire

It's been a heavy week, and most of my energy has been invested in something I never wanted to do. It's going into a burning building to save a child - my own child. No one in their right mind would want to do it: I would have done anything to avoid it.

But once the fire has been lit in a dark corner and fed, once it spreads beyond the curtains to the walls and ceiling, the options are reduced pretty quickly.

So, I go in.

I try to hold on to her, not to lose her in the chaos or be distracted by the crumbling remains of what was our home. I try to make my arms around her, my voice in her ear more real and more lasting, somehow bigger and more present to her, than the flames that threaten to consume her. I try to shield her eyes, to keep her head buried in my shoulder. God, don't let her see the fire.

I hope that we both make it out. I pray that I can find a way to cover her, and that the scars that will be had will be on my body, and not on hers.

I hope that I can find the door.

I hope that, eventually, I can find a place for her to rest that isn't in danger of being burned down again. And I hope that when we get there, the memory of the flames won't keep her from sleeping. I hope that she doesn't grow up to just exist, waiting until the next fire, assuming it's only a matter of time before someone starts another one. I hope she finds safety, and I hope she can recognize it and let herself go in it when she does.

I hope.



I'm off for the weekend, to try and get my bearings, to find some clean air to breath, to create something beautiful and to be with people I love. I'll see you on Monday.

24 Sleeps

Until I get to be with my little chick again. It breaks my heart.