Not for the first time Eric finds himself helping out his land lord with his computer.
“There, now you’re back online. Just remember to dial up before accessing your inbox or starting Explorer,” I grin as I turn to John. He notices, and gives me his usual frown.
“Bah, alright alright. I easily forget things. Me and computers, you know.”
I knew. I had been his personal computer consultant for about a year now; sometimes not required for months but recently two or three times a week as he was using his computer more.
“Now that you’re here you might as well write a couple of letters for me.”
I smile again. When he called me he always mentioned only one or two things that he couldn’t handle, but more often than not I ended up writing emails or browsing sites for him once those first problems were fixed.
“Alright, but I only got half an hour.” I’d have to stay for at least two unless I expressed otherwise clearly.
“You youngsters, always running about, but alright, if you say so.” I was surprised he gave in that easily, before figuring he probably had plans of his own. I made sure not to ask.
At 64 John Burton was still very vital. Looking after his estates, often more carefully than his tenants would’ve preferred, bossing around his groundskeeper and browsing the web for potential partners. After three weeks with him as land lord I was sure he was an ex military of some kind, and alas, it was not surprising when he first told me he long served as captain in the Swedish army. One could tell by his formal speech, strict schedule and very, let’s say immodest opinions on politics and various aspects of foreign cultures. I had no idea how much mischief the Muslims were up to until I got to know John. It’s chocking, really.
“Just double click on the message itself like this and then click reply, this way you’ll never have to remember anyone’s address,” I repeat what I’ve instructed him on at least two other occasions.
“You know I did write you those step by step instruc-“
“Look! See Eric? It’s Stefan,” John blurts out as his full time tenant and part time janitor Stefan is seen through the window on the road passing by the house.
“Ehm, yeah, I’m acquainted with Stefan.”
“Yeah but what did I tell you about unemployed people? Huh? Look at Stefan here now, anyone can see he’s unemployed. Look at his crooked back, sloppy posture, dragging his feet behind him,” John continues, obviously not too fond of his janitor.
“Well he’s not fully unemployed, you do keep him busy with all sorts of things around here,” I object, not resisting provoking him a little.
“Oh come on, I mean a real job, not the silly chores he does around here. He’s good for plowing snow and that’s about it. Don’t you tell me otherwise young man.”
“Alright alright,” I give in, not wanting to go there after all.
“About these step by step instructions,” I continue, wanting to get back on track. “I did print them for you last time I was here,” I smile and turn to John, curious to see how he’ll react.
“Well, perhaps you did. God knows where that paper went. Hmm, Nora must’ve misplaced it. Yes, no doubt. She’s always in here messing up my office,” John objects, now restlessly tapping the desk with his hand.
I hold back a chuckle, not surprised he’s blaming his girlfriend. Not the most humble man it’s always a treat observing John whenever he’s forced to owe up to a mistake. He most often blames someone else. Not seldom Nora. Or Stefan. Finding himself out argued in a discussion he’d always end it abruptly, claiming he doesn’t want to quarrel.
”She’s quite the disaster with papers, that one,” I reply. John pretends not to have noticed my jab, frowns and looks back at the screen to again switch our focus on why I was there in the first place.
“I’ll print these instructions now. I’ll make two copies and put one right here next to the keyboard and the other on the printer, don’t miss-“
“There, look! See, Eric!?” John jumps out of his chair, again pointing out the window. I lean forward and turn my head to spot a woman hurrying past on the road outside. “Yes?”
“Oh don’t tell me you can’t notice. Just look at her!” John turns to me with a frown before again observing the woman. “Her head high, back straight, no sloping shoulders,” John again turns to me while waving his hand in her general direction, his excitement obvious. “Look at that little strut of hers. And what posture, what tempo! Now this woman, this woman Eric. This woman’s employed!”
André Söderholm
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Thursday, July 9, 2009
Familiar return
Stepping out of the car at our family's mountain cabin I reminisce as I take in the familiar surroundings.
”How many years again? Seven, eight?” I said as I stepped out of the car. Not realizing I had voiced my question out loud I was surprised to hear my sister’s reply.
“You said something about the last summer before high school, I believe. That makes it eight years, right?”
I looked up, confused, my thoughts interrupted.
“What? Oh, yeah. About eight years then. Yeah, makes sense.”
I wonder if it’ll take father seven or eight minutes to suggest someone better visit the store to buy fudge. Without fear of father forgetting the candy that over the years had become something of a cabin tradition I began observing the familiar surroundings.
Things looked exactly like I remembered them, only smaller. Feeling nostalgic I observed how tiny, worn and green our cabin looked next to our neighbour’s more modern buildings. They’re Dutch and, from the looks of things, very well off.
That mattered little though, as I had hoped to find everything as unchanged as possible. Our cabin is supposed to be plain, without hot water or a real toilet. Stepping inside one thing didn’t seem smaller than before though; the old black and white TV. It was just as miniscule as it always had been. Its size unable to be exaggerated even by memory.
“I wish Gabriel was with us. It’d be just like old times,” I said to no one in particular as I stepped outside again. Maria was again first to answer.
“True. But we’ve got Daniel filling in for him.” My sister smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek before dumping their largest bag pack in his arms.
“Somehow I doubt Gabriel accepted the role as pack mule,” he muttered in response.
Smiling I crossed the yard in the opposite direction from the cabin. No, being the older brother and all, Gabriel would never accept the role as pack mule. Daniel wouldn’t be a very likely replacement either, since he’d probably spend most of his time by his laptop. That didn’t bother me much though. He’s a great guy, and in case of rain I was planning to borrow that very lap top.
Again smiling I rounded the corner of our tiny storage house to have a look at the privy. Nature wasn’t calling, but I wanted to survey everything as quick as possible. Our old privy, little more than a wooden shed containing a seat with a hole, was after all the scene of some both funny and unpleasant childhood memories. As I approached it I heard mom’s voice back from the cabin.
“André, tell dad to get the electricity going at once, we have tons of stuff for the fridge.”
“You tell him, I don’t know where he went,” I responded, wondering where he could have gone so quickly.
“In here, son.” His voice came from inside the privy. “It’ll be a while, but I’ll get it runnin’ in time. You tell her.”
I couldn’t help chuckling as I turned around and started back for the cabin. Those two would nag each other all weekend about chores and errands, dad teasing mom by pretending not to understand her instructions.
“Oh, André, one more thing.” I stopped again. “Yeah?”
“How about you run over to the store. With the unpacking and all, lord knows we'll need some energy. That fudge they've always sold, perhaps?”
André Söderholm
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”How many years again? Seven, eight?” I said as I stepped out of the car. Not realizing I had voiced my question out loud I was surprised to hear my sister’s reply.
“You said something about the last summer before high school, I believe. That makes it eight years, right?”
I looked up, confused, my thoughts interrupted.
“What? Oh, yeah. About eight years then. Yeah, makes sense.”
I wonder if it’ll take father seven or eight minutes to suggest someone better visit the store to buy fudge. Without fear of father forgetting the candy that over the years had become something of a cabin tradition I began observing the familiar surroundings.
Things looked exactly like I remembered them, only smaller. Feeling nostalgic I observed how tiny, worn and green our cabin looked next to our neighbour’s more modern buildings. They’re Dutch and, from the looks of things, very well off.
That mattered little though, as I had hoped to find everything as unchanged as possible. Our cabin is supposed to be plain, without hot water or a real toilet. Stepping inside one thing didn’t seem smaller than before though; the old black and white TV. It was just as miniscule as it always had been. Its size unable to be exaggerated even by memory.
“I wish Gabriel was with us. It’d be just like old times,” I said to no one in particular as I stepped outside again. Maria was again first to answer.
“True. But we’ve got Daniel filling in for him.” My sister smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek before dumping their largest bag pack in his arms.
“Somehow I doubt Gabriel accepted the role as pack mule,” he muttered in response.
Smiling I crossed the yard in the opposite direction from the cabin. No, being the older brother and all, Gabriel would never accept the role as pack mule. Daniel wouldn’t be a very likely replacement either, since he’d probably spend most of his time by his laptop. That didn’t bother me much though. He’s a great guy, and in case of rain I was planning to borrow that very lap top.
Again smiling I rounded the corner of our tiny storage house to have a look at the privy. Nature wasn’t calling, but I wanted to survey everything as quick as possible. Our old privy, little more than a wooden shed containing a seat with a hole, was after all the scene of some both funny and unpleasant childhood memories. As I approached it I heard mom’s voice back from the cabin.
“André, tell dad to get the electricity going at once, we have tons of stuff for the fridge.”
“You tell him, I don’t know where he went,” I responded, wondering where he could have gone so quickly.
“In here, son.” His voice came from inside the privy. “It’ll be a while, but I’ll get it runnin’ in time. You tell her.”
I couldn’t help chuckling as I turned around and started back for the cabin. Those two would nag each other all weekend about chores and errands, dad teasing mom by pretending not to understand her instructions.
“Oh, André, one more thing.” I stopped again. “Yeah?”
“How about you run over to the store. With the unpacking and all, lord knows we'll need some energy. That fudge they've always sold, perhaps?”
André Söderholm
Read full text
Pittsburgh Penguins vs Ottawa Senators, Globe Arena
As a long time fan of the Pittsburgh Penguins I was excited about watching them live in Sweden, as they were one of the teams chosen to open the 08/09 season abroad.
This is a report I wrote for cult hockey site LCS Hockey (trying to mimic their style), giving my thoughts on the game and the NHL sending teams abroad. To not lose some of the humour you as a non hockey fan need to know that Def Leppard once placed the Stanley Cup upside down, and that Daniel Alfredsson once deliberately shot the puck at Anheim's Scott Nidermayer.
One happy Swede went to Stockholm to watch his favorite team on home soil. One less than happy Swede returned home feeling cheated, miserable and wasted after downing one shot for each Letang giveaway.
Got to hand it to Penguins management though, after years of nagging emails, Ray Shero and Company finally budged and agreed to send the team overseas, saving me the effort, jetlag and whatnot. Most kind of them, I must say. Maybe we can do this every year.
I know lots of native NHL fans hate the Europe gig, but I still haven’t seen that many arguments other than sheer dislike of their own team not playing at home. Some mention how it's “their” team, the NHL has enough problems in America and that the time change sucks. Well, guess what? Watching games at 2 pm is not worse than at 2 am, and for the NHL to increase revenues, I'm sure it's important to keep Europe happy. Most silly is not liking your team starting in Europe because you couldn’t attend. Come on, we're talking one missed home game. With the current rotation of four teams playing two games abroad, that'd mean one game out of 41 every eight years. Aw, poor native fans missing out on the action.
Look, Europe sees all its best players leave for America (30+% of all NHL players are European, and more than that when looking at the better players), pay to air the games (in the middle of the night) and buys a lot of merchandise. TV-revenues and merchandise are huge for the NHL, and the European fan base is part of both.
London was a failure because England's not a hockey market. Finland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Russia and lots of other smaller European countries very much are, and these games will further increase interest. There was lots of buzz about the Stockholm games weeks before the teams even arrived.
So both business wise and as a way to give something back to the European fans, these games make sense. Now, this game in particular... ugh.
I hope it didn’t convince those attending their first NHL game to never watch hockey again. The game was horrible, all slow, sloppy, uninspired, low scoring, and whatnot.
A friend considered leaving early in the third to catch an earlier train, and I really couldn’t have blamed him. If the decision was mine, I’d make it one game on Friday and one on Sunday to avoid the back-to-back grind. When marketing the NHL abroad, at least make sure the players get the chance to give it their best. And they spent like a week in Sweden anyway, so adding the off-day wouldn’t be a problem.
The Sahara Hotnights kicked off the “action,” playing two of their hits before hoisting a fake Cup and placing it upside down, afterwards stating that being something every true rocker would do. Appalled over such manners, Alfredsson was quick to fire two slap shots at them, drawing a standing ovation as the Hotnights hurried off the stage. Sweden loves their Alfie. Ask any announcer or studio guy working with NHL games aired in Sweden, and they’ll tell you Spezza and Heatley both suck. One even phrased it as Alfredsson carries Ottawa’s entire first unit, defensemen included. Aw, Alfie, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind.
Highlights were few and far between. Malkin had some really good moments, but other than that and Heatley’s one-timer, I’d say the cameramen spotting Lemieux (twice) and Salming were the greatest crowd pleasers. Luckily, those moments were kept short. Alfredsson came over the boards, dropped a puck and looked around the arena to find Lemieux’s seat, his stick raised and ready.
Rival captain Crosby had a frustrating evening, failing with some blind passes and not really getting things working. His deliberately taking more shots was obvious, though. If he keeps that up and stops with the risky, blind passes, I say he’ll be a threat for those 120 points again.
The game truly stunk though, especially the Pens and their power play. Speaking of the latter, don’t get me started on Letang. Some giveaways early is one thing, considering his now increased responsibilities, but it takes a whole lot of suck to fail on a dump from between the red and blue line with only one opponent remotely close to you. One could say he missed the 95% percent of the rink’s width that would’ve made the dump successful.
Last night’s game against New Jersey didn’t exactly look great, either. Still, I think the Pens will be fine before long. If they’re in the playoff race come January/February, Whitney and Gonchar will be awesome additions to an already solid team. Maybe this Swede will have to come over and watch the Pens in Pittsburgh after all.
André Söderholm
Read full text
This is a report I wrote for cult hockey site LCS Hockey (trying to mimic their style), giving my thoughts on the game and the NHL sending teams abroad. To not lose some of the humour you as a non hockey fan need to know that Def Leppard once placed the Stanley Cup upside down, and that Daniel Alfredsson once deliberately shot the puck at Anheim's Scott Nidermayer.
One happy Swede went to Stockholm to watch his favorite team on home soil. One less than happy Swede returned home feeling cheated, miserable and wasted after downing one shot for each Letang giveaway.
Got to hand it to Penguins management though, after years of nagging emails, Ray Shero and Company finally budged and agreed to send the team overseas, saving me the effort, jetlag and whatnot. Most kind of them, I must say. Maybe we can do this every year.
I know lots of native NHL fans hate the Europe gig, but I still haven’t seen that many arguments other than sheer dislike of their own team not playing at home. Some mention how it's “their” team, the NHL has enough problems in America and that the time change sucks. Well, guess what? Watching games at 2 pm is not worse than at 2 am, and for the NHL to increase revenues, I'm sure it's important to keep Europe happy. Most silly is not liking your team starting in Europe because you couldn’t attend. Come on, we're talking one missed home game. With the current rotation of four teams playing two games abroad, that'd mean one game out of 41 every eight years. Aw, poor native fans missing out on the action.
Look, Europe sees all its best players leave for America (30+% of all NHL players are European, and more than that when looking at the better players), pay to air the games (in the middle of the night) and buys a lot of merchandise. TV-revenues and merchandise are huge for the NHL, and the European fan base is part of both.
London was a failure because England's not a hockey market. Finland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Russia and lots of other smaller European countries very much are, and these games will further increase interest. There was lots of buzz about the Stockholm games weeks before the teams even arrived.
So both business wise and as a way to give something back to the European fans, these games make sense. Now, this game in particular... ugh.
I hope it didn’t convince those attending their first NHL game to never watch hockey again. The game was horrible, all slow, sloppy, uninspired, low scoring, and whatnot.
A friend considered leaving early in the third to catch an earlier train, and I really couldn’t have blamed him. If the decision was mine, I’d make it one game on Friday and one on Sunday to avoid the back-to-back grind. When marketing the NHL abroad, at least make sure the players get the chance to give it their best. And they spent like a week in Sweden anyway, so adding the off-day wouldn’t be a problem.
The Sahara Hotnights kicked off the “action,” playing two of their hits before hoisting a fake Cup and placing it upside down, afterwards stating that being something every true rocker would do. Appalled over such manners, Alfredsson was quick to fire two slap shots at them, drawing a standing ovation as the Hotnights hurried off the stage. Sweden loves their Alfie. Ask any announcer or studio guy working with NHL games aired in Sweden, and they’ll tell you Spezza and Heatley both suck. One even phrased it as Alfredsson carries Ottawa’s entire first unit, defensemen included. Aw, Alfie, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind.
Highlights were few and far between. Malkin had some really good moments, but other than that and Heatley’s one-timer, I’d say the cameramen spotting Lemieux (twice) and Salming were the greatest crowd pleasers. Luckily, those moments were kept short. Alfredsson came over the boards, dropped a puck and looked around the arena to find Lemieux’s seat, his stick raised and ready.
Rival captain Crosby had a frustrating evening, failing with some blind passes and not really getting things working. His deliberately taking more shots was obvious, though. If he keeps that up and stops with the risky, blind passes, I say he’ll be a threat for those 120 points again.
The game truly stunk though, especially the Pens and their power play. Speaking of the latter, don’t get me started on Letang. Some giveaways early is one thing, considering his now increased responsibilities, but it takes a whole lot of suck to fail on a dump from between the red and blue line with only one opponent remotely close to you. One could say he missed the 95% percent of the rink’s width that would’ve made the dump successful.
Last night’s game against New Jersey didn’t exactly look great, either. Still, I think the Pens will be fine before long. If they’re in the playoff race come January/February, Whitney and Gonchar will be awesome additions to an already solid team. Maybe this Swede will have to come over and watch the Pens in Pittsburgh after all.
André Söderholm
Read full text
Firemen
What's not to love. My take on firemen.
Firemen; quenching flames threatening our homes while doing the opposite to our fellow females since who knows when. What’s up with that, really?
This issue has been debated eagerly by a group of friends of mine lately, as one of us is a fireman. The latter a fact most appealing to girls on parties or other happenings.
One can almost hear a buzz going through the room as it’s first mentioned. A number of female acquaintances even refer to him as ‘the fireman’.
“The fireman’s coming?”
“Where’s the fireman?”
All longing to fuck him. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken advantage of the situation more than once. Alright, maybe twice. No more than three times, I’m sure.
Why this obsession with members of a certain profession when it comes to the opposite sex? Is it purely superficial? I think not, and I see nothing wrong with this obvious admiration of firemen. Think about it. They represent the rescue from something as dramatic and threatening as fire. Hearing their sirens in the distance is like finding an oasis in the desert, hearing the chopper when drifting at sea or spotting a ship when marooned. They’re always there, ever vigilant, rushing to aid in their trucks in the middle of the night.
They also boast fine qualities on an individual level. I bet they’re all good guys, choosing their careers because they care, want to keep people safe and have this great urge to help. Staying fit and wearing uniforms helps too. Heck, am I developing a man crush here?
We simply have certain ideals that members of certain professions seem more likely to match. If the qualities mentioned above indeed are more likely found in a fireman than a man of another profession who can blame a woman for favouring them? It’s all about first impressions. Basing one’s first impression on all the things mentioned above must surely be less superficial than judging by looks alone, right? There are many reasons for ladies to fancy these brave fighters of fire. It’s like men’s view on nurses as the kind hearted lady caring for their wounds and needs.
Then again, who am I kidding? It comes down to two things: The muscles and the uniforms. Yeah, muscles and uniforms.
André Söderholm
Read full text
Firemen; quenching flames threatening our homes while doing the opposite to our fellow females since who knows when. What’s up with that, really?
This issue has been debated eagerly by a group of friends of mine lately, as one of us is a fireman. The latter a fact most appealing to girls on parties or other happenings.
One can almost hear a buzz going through the room as it’s first mentioned. A number of female acquaintances even refer to him as ‘the fireman’.
“The fireman’s coming?”
“Where’s the fireman?”
All longing to fuck him. I’m surprised he hasn’t taken advantage of the situation more than once. Alright, maybe twice. No more than three times, I’m sure.
Why this obsession with members of a certain profession when it comes to the opposite sex? Is it purely superficial? I think not, and I see nothing wrong with this obvious admiration of firemen. Think about it. They represent the rescue from something as dramatic and threatening as fire. Hearing their sirens in the distance is like finding an oasis in the desert, hearing the chopper when drifting at sea or spotting a ship when marooned. They’re always there, ever vigilant, rushing to aid in their trucks in the middle of the night.
They also boast fine qualities on an individual level. I bet they’re all good guys, choosing their careers because they care, want to keep people safe and have this great urge to help. Staying fit and wearing uniforms helps too. Heck, am I developing a man crush here?
We simply have certain ideals that members of certain professions seem more likely to match. If the qualities mentioned above indeed are more likely found in a fireman than a man of another profession who can blame a woman for favouring them? It’s all about first impressions. Basing one’s first impression on all the things mentioned above must surely be less superficial than judging by looks alone, right? There are many reasons for ladies to fancy these brave fighters of fire. It’s like men’s view on nurses as the kind hearted lady caring for their wounds and needs.
Then again, who am I kidding? It comes down to two things: The muscles and the uniforms. Yeah, muscles and uniforms.
André Söderholm
Read full text
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