Review of the year- the people and events that defined my year

Lets see... Obama, Mrs O,( noticed more people of colour in the streets and actually having important jobs since they moved into the White House) the fling in Barcelona with Big, Micheal Jacksson left us all stunned when the curtain fell for him, getting loaded off a Ryanair flight after telling the ground control madam to shove it up her cock-pit when I refused to pay for my beauty box as extra luggage arguing it was a legit handbag, getting a job working in a real Swedish institution with a clock in card, fika breaks and learning that screwing with the hands that feed you is highly over rated in the literal sense. But never mind about that... the year has been a challenging one. Recession has made the demand for pavlovas scarce and Hagen Das ice cream surpassing all expecations making the sin stocks-sex, alcohol, chocolate and ice cream souring to healthy profit. I personally could do with less Hagen Daz and more sex with chocolate, but never mind about that.

Finished reading the book The Secret and the principles of the laws of attraction. I picture myself perched on the edge of rocks with my fishing line in the ocean...no bite yet...but cats whom I dislike lick and rub themselves against me, I mean what part of "no" do they not understand? Laws of attraction work when you don't want it to. I suppose that's the power of the secret, it works randomly.

The year has gone as quick as you can say pass the ketchup. 2010 sees some new challenges ahead; back to the unemployment office and having a fika with my handläggare and then off to visit my social secretary about finally getting that apartment in Södermalm after the dentist appointment paid by someone's taxes at försäkringskassan.

Might take a long trip somewhere and go on crash diet on the plane, take off the Christmas pounds that are going to pile up.
And for all you monkeys who have facebook... have a merry Christmas and enjoy your private information spread out in the public domain of the internet. You are all sooooo blåst, eller hur?

Just call me Mrs Boss now.

Kenneth Nguyen, a writer from Melbourne Age wrote a piece that went something like this, ”Please, Baz, tone down the kitsch and turf the Kidman”

When I read comments by Mr Nguyen and the general cold reviews on Australia the film, I realise how much in common Swedes and Australians really are; That both cultures are isolated – Australia at the arse end of the world and an island,and Sweden at the top north- with bloody freezing temperature most of the year which affects the people’s general out look on life, eller hur?
Both bag their locally produced films when directors dare to show something that is perhaps less kitchen sink realism and dare I say it,when us simple folk from the suburbs would pay a ticket to watch instead of downloading it or gathering in trendy arty cinemas the size of bathrooms,while having a chat over a double espresso.

You see, when you’ve been away from home a while one always looks back with perhaps a slight touch of romanticism-the sentimentality of homeland. The imaginary home and our country is what it is in my mind and the emotion it evokes,negative or positive. I have realised with time that things I would once dread no longer existed upon my return,(like John Howard)it is not that these fears in people,places things did not ever exist,as they did ( Pauline Hansson) and they were(are)real,it is that I have changed. I have outgrown my fear, my perspective has changed with time and distance. So when you are entrenched in dual landscapes as I am,one has the privilege of freedom and an odd obligation which I am not ashamed to stay stems from love for both landscape and culture to bring and see the best of both worlds in a universal context which the best stories over time tell and touch us. (Australia, Wizard of Oz, The Immigrants, just three examples)

I will dare to say that elements of the Swedish cultural institutions are totally unaware of the gifted individuals amongst them who are of what they would certainly count as the kitsch variety and have being promptly cut off so as not to be given any room in fear that we may have Bergman/ Lurhman mutation, which would be opposed to Swede’s unique phrase called, lagom, which means mediocre and that is a compliment on this side of town. Eller Hur?

And we have no major box office international sassy, sexy female actors since Garbo, Harriet Andersson, Bibi Andersson, Ingrid Bergman as they’ve been taught in film school to tone it down and be smart good girls who are directed by a generation of male directors who in turn have been raised by mothers who’ve castrated them metaphorically speaking,from the neck down-A backlash of social-liberalism, possums. (Which is probably why right now the sexiest man alive is a sweating, bloody cheaky bull drover, Aussie and not a Swede.)

So we don’t get sassy because that would be too frightening for the Swedish film school trained directors to handle- but one man did give women her mojo, good or bad- he got canned for it too and his name was Ingmar Bergman and women have never been as complex, sexy, strong, weak, loving, hating, neurotic bitches since. ( Mrs Boss, Monica (Summer with Monica) Scarlett, Baby Jane...me, citing some examples of what I mean)

I had the extraordinary and rare pleasure of sitting in a packed cinema in one of the western suburbs of Stockholm because all the inner city cinemas were sold out for the Christmas opening of Australia.(And they wouldn't let me in with my fish'n chips in my bag)
My point on Mr Nguyen article about toning down the kitsch and turfing the Kidman is this ; If you can get Swedes to come out on sub freezing levels on Christmas day, make them pay twenty-one dollars for a ticket and then expect them to sit for two and a half hours to watch a film about a drover, Mrs Boss and their creamy in the Aussie outback singing Somewhere over the Rainbow, then mate, Baz Lurhman IS the Wizard of Oz.
Eller Hur?

For the love of Wombats...

I'm taking a sabbatical from the usual business and have found myself in the spider web of the hotel and restuarant maze.
You could say that I've been promoted into a job. Mr Eriksson felt it was time to cut a wage and start paying back for the pavlovas that got us into a wee debt. No biggy, just some guys came and took the TV set, some tools and my made in China tea set.You can see them in a window display downtown next to some HI-FI gear, bit of a mish mash display and someone should really see to the lighting...why those people who took the TV and the China tea set would want to display it is beyond my understanding. Any hur...you know what they say, pav's will tear us apart.

My dear friend Anna broke her leg the other day falling out of bed, what a lush. We spent the day and night stalking the medical staff and aghast that we were pushed in with the rest of the Geros, not exactly Grey's Anatomy but more like the movie, Cocoon, the armagedeon. (Geriatrics, in case Mr Eriksson reads this).
After much deliberation over drugs of choice that Anna and I preferred for pain killers, X-ray opinions and information from doctors and interns who have no relationship to the human condition but know everything about orthepedics, Anna finally got an operation...36 hours later.

The frumpy occupational therapist came by and took a seat for a chat with Anna who had just woken from her Pedro Almadova like coma from Talk to Her after the operation.
" Hej, Anna, hur mår du?"
Anna grovels out something like, " for fucks sake...where's the pain relief..."
I jump up at once demanding some service for my friend. I get blank looks and a fart from one of the geros in the corner. That's service for you.
Mean while, Anna is propped up on the pillows trying to look coherent but really looks like a fucked up cocatoo ( Aussie bird, family of parrot), Poor possum...
The frumpy therapist offers anything to make Anna comfortable and has a chat about preparing to return home...
" Är det någonting du behöver?"
"Can you get me a wheel chair?"
"Inte möjligt, tvärrrrr.Men du får en rucksack att bära grejer i..."
"No... I need a wheel chair to be mobile in...I can't have crutches..."
My friend is pleading weakly after still having the anethestic weaning off slowly.

Frumpy lady gets up to go, taking her clip board with her and wishing Anna all the best with her broken leg and crutches, her single motherhood, bills to pay, part time job she can't do because she needs a wheel chair, plus the laundry, the dishes, the idea of how to have a decent wash with a plaster on your foot,doing the food shopping and being stranded from public transport for six weeks.
"Trevlig sommar och bara ring om du behöver någonting" She said and waddled off into the sunset.


Eller fucking hur?

Living in Sweden is character building #9

The hoover, pill and the washing machine.

The above items have changed women’s lives and not the feminist political party and it’s slogans, says this year’s Nobel Prize winner for Literature, Doris Lessing. She’s right. Take notes, Gudrun.
Science and technology have given us girls freedom. Thank God for the silicon push-ups and the extra junk-in-the-trunk-knickers and viagra, eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building #8

That contentious literary prize.

What about Jane Austen for the Nobel bloody literature prize, eh? Why didn’t she ever get anything in the end? Even if it would mean posthumously but that would have been in tune with her whole literary life when you think about it. She became popular way after she was six feet under and only really took off after Bridget Jones nicking the whole Pride and Prejudice plot. But seriously, why not Jane? She’s more read than any of the previous and I am going to say it, the current line up of ”We-have-never-heard-of-them-before-writers”

They are going to announce the literary prize winner this week and I reckon the one they choose probably has not one book available in the book store. The Swedish Academy and their cronies have got some Korean and a Syrian poet on the list. Anyone recognise the names? I am postively sure they are certainly deserving in their own right but what about the ones that have come before? Those that have changed our world by simply writing about it, quietly yet powerfully present in our history as great story tellers and unbeatable, extraordinary will and determinatation fuelled by passions and ideals that have given us the pleasure of being a part of a literary, personal and human experience. I am talking about these writers; (take notes Horace) Jane Austen, Joyce Carol Oats, Sidney Sheldon, Stig Larsson, Ian Banks, J.K Rowling, Philip Roth, Margaret Atwood, Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton, Ben Okri, David Chase ceator of Sopranos and the list goes on. You will agree just like the current Nobel list mine is just as eclectic but I could bet my pavlovas that your mother has read one of these writers. And cried.

I do have to say that after living with the luke warm summers for quite some time, I feel rather the same about the prestigious Nobel awards. I mean seriously, who watches it on TV anyway? I fear that it is losing it’s merits with the rest of us- I am refering to the rest of the reading race, Horace, and not a committee of literary nazis. But I shouldn’t really speak on behalf of the rest of us. In fact the last word should really be left with the founder of the Nobel Prize, Alfred Nobel, the bloke who invented the world’s first weapon of mass destruction, dynamite. He said that the cronies on the committee should give the prize to idealists.“I would like to help dreamers, as they find it hard to get on in life."
Well since he put it like that, might as well give it to me! Eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building # 7

How much is that banana in the window?

Mr Eriksson felt it was time that I learnt something about art and took it upon himself to take my Saturday to take me on a gallery round. I would rather recycle rubbish quite frankly. But I saw this as an opportunity to get him to take me shopping on the way to the galleries. By that time he would be too stuffed to gallery anywhere and we’d be home in time for cocktails.


I said I wanted to check out the new look PUB after seeing the window display. We ventured up to the top floor and I was in seventh heaven but before my fingers could even stroke the fancy gear, Mr Eriksson yanked me away and shoved me in front of a glass cabinet that kept a picture of a banana. What’s the big deal with the banana, I ask? It’s an Andy Warhol original he tells me. Enter Velvet Underground and Andy Warhol 101. Mr Eriksson was salivating as he trapped me into art school class lesson. What about the those jeans over there? I pointed into the distance towards a stack of hazy blue.

To my utter surprise and some what disappointed that my plan failed, we were in an art gallery in a shopping mall. Who would have thought? Art everywhere for Tom, Dick and Jane. The gallery is Operating Place at the PUB department store.

How much is the banana in the window I ask the lady in the gallery. Not for sale, she tells me but then she shows me the other stuff; a possum made of wax made me homesick, a large phalic wooden cone that could be a good hat stand or if the artist made minature battery operated versions that could fit into a handbag…just think how much he could sell. There were some kooky art graphics and paintings that I have to say were cheaper than a pair of jeans and dare I say better designed. I am not what one would call ”knows my art” but I do know good investments when I see one and insisted that Mr Eriksson buy the Kiss My Arse fluffy stool. The lips are really blowing kisses on your bottom when you sit down. I thought I would save it for when I become the boss lady. Everyone should get one of these.

There were some other folk that asked about the Andy Warhol bloke and the Velvets. Apparently they were a part of some movement that obviously made the banana graphic and a can of Campbell’s soup quite famous. The Velvet Underground exhibition is temporary and on it’s way to Tokyo. I wouldn't miss it a rare and most of all free entry into an art exhibition. All that arty farty stuff aside, what turned out to be my plan to go shopping and avoid the art gallery scene ended up being a nice fusion of both fashion and art in the Operating place.
If only marriage could be as compatible like PUB and the Operating Place, very sexy eller hur?

Fru Eriksson

Living in Sweden is character building #6

The Business Trip.

My darling Mr Eriksson had to manage on his own for a while as the world outside ( Finland) beckoned my presence at a rather serious kiss-arse-begging-for-money conference. I was decked out in my latest tummy tuck-in knickers recently purchased to keep what is all migrating south an illusion that some things are still perky and north if you know what I mean. Thank God for good knickers and decent bras. They can make or break a deal and that is what I call equal opportunities in the workforce, so go figure little Miss Sweden!

I sat down to a set lunch together with the other conference delegates who came from all over the world, Denmark, Norway, Iceland and Stockholm. I was pleased to be seated next to an individual who also came from Stockholm. As we exchanged our introductions of who we were and our respective functions, he asked if I arrived in Sweden as a refugee. I always seem to have this effect on these highly educated, politically, socially aware and extensively world travelled Swedes. We foreigners are all refugees it seems. I just couln't help myself so I said yes, as a matter of fact I did come to Sweden as a refugee and here I am sitting in this conference in Finland selling tupperware, what an amazing life story! It took him a couple of seconds to realise that I was been sarcastic. He didn’t speak to me again through out the lunch.

About being sarcastic and rude, it was sad to read that Sweden’s number one blogger, Alex Schulman has decided to retire from his game but it was just a matter of time. Mr Eriksson always says to me that a monster that is allowed to be given a lot of room ends up taking far too much space. I get it now. He was referring to Mr Schulman.
After much pondering and reading about the issues surrounding his ”literary death”, I come to one conclusion which is my own analysis and that is the Swedes just do not know how to take the piss out of each other without being nasty about it. It’s an art and the Swedes do not have this in their humour cupboard. The Finns however do. In a strange but definite form of self deprecating humour, the Finns do it better and I would say far superior than their Scandic neighbour. Us southern hemisphere folk also master this art rather well, where we can take the piss out of each other without being a dick about it- take notes, Mr Schulman. There is an art form in how to take the piss out of someone or something without character assasinating the subject, again I hope you are writing this down, Mr Schulman. The Swedish psyche seem to be navally earnest and deadly funny but not much to laugh home about.

Speaking about home, on my return I went into the city and just had to stop at the new windows at the PUB department store. I always associated the place with mothballs and old farmer’s wives for some strange reason, but after seeing the windows one certainly gets the idea that PUB has gotten a bit of puffing up. The only damper to the windows is why on earth the KICKS window haven’t got a window display to join with the others? It looks very odd if you ask me. Maybe someone should tell them.
My favourite window has to be the zombie doctor and the naked patient on the operating table. The doctor is a male mannequin and the patient is a female mannequin. It’s all politically incorrect role models! Get it? Ha! ha! I heard that there was a big deal about it being a bit too sexy in a female degrading way. If only people would chase real flesh and bone problems where the penis is more dominant in real life everyday working issues for the vagina. Eller hur?

Fru Eriksson