May 11

Jun. 4th, 2014 09:00 am
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I love some of the playlists listed under "Browse" in Spotify (like the "Guilty Pleasures" playlist that's my go-to one for when motivation is needed at work) but clearly my running music is completely different from the stuff in all the running/cardio lists there... the BPMs aren't that far away but the genres are completely different.

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That disappointing moment when your hands aren't red enough after working on a beet. You've cut up all this veggie matter and all you get is this measly reddish tint, not the blood red you expected.

Or is it just me?

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You know how not all apples are equivalent? These were among the top 1% of amazing apples. Extremely firm but not sour. Good stuff. So good that they even deserve a mention here.
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Birthday flowers as it was my Mum's 39th birthday the other day.

Popular wisdom and jokes say that it's your 39th birthday up until you turn 70... but really, for some reason I think that I'd much rather be stuck on my 42nd or maybe 45th birthday. It just sounds a bit more refined.
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If the ingredient list on the box is correct, then that vodka bottle candy contains less than 0.1g of actual vodka. It sure didn't taste like vodka... the Cointreau was a tad better, it tasted at least a tiny bit like the real stuff.

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The tuber of the devil! Mwahahah!

Not really. Just ready for spring, I guess. Still made good mashed potatoes.

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Day 2 of the apocalypse. I mean... rain. Enough rain to fill in a whole cooking pot left outside. At least it wasn't all that windy.

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Let me tell you about this amazingly weird dream that I had the other night! It was one of those where you wake up and ask yourself just what the hell your subconscious was trying to tell ya because dreams could hardly get weirder than that. Anywho, it came down to the fact that for some reason I was in some random hospital and I had a set of male private parts (why did I just why write "male private parts"? What's wrong with "penis" and "testicles"? But we'll keep the original stuff...) and somehow I had managed to skin those private parts. Do not ask me how. I just know that I kept on telling everyone at this second hospital that I have been waiting for about three hours to be seen by a doctor about my skinned private parts and how annoying it was and how at the first hospital they probably would have taken better care of me. And then at some point I also went for a walk in a mall that was close by and there was a doughnut shop that was involved somehow but I forget how now. Do you think I can blame SYSK's episode on castration for this? I listened to that over a week ago but I bet there is a link... although I don't think one can realistically skin male private parts and that wouldn't really be castration.

And how was your day then? Now that I've shared that much TMI stuff that would probably keep some psychologists happy for years. But dammit, I still blame that podcast episode!

Back to normal stuff. How about some of my favourite comfort yellow food? Yep, yep. I can change countries but some things will forever remain the same.

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I like to pretend I have the whole grown-up thing under control but then there are days when homemade pizza is just too much work and pizza from the box is fine and when ice cream is my best friend and I will emit squeals worthy of a pre-pubescent fangirl meeting Harry Styles in person (even though we all know Niall is the best) when I see that a ladybird has chosen to come inside my flat. The ladybird thing is totally comprehensible though, I don't think there are happier looking bugs out there, are there?

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The best touristy stuff are things that happen by pure luck - and random luck happened on October 6th for me at the National Gallery Museum. It was a Sunday and my plan was to go the reptile house at 10am and then head to the National Gallery Museum at 11am, when it was supposed to open. The reptile house ended up being extremely boring (but I did get to see one of those signs that says "no balloons" so that's already something) and I was by the National Gallery by 10:30ish. I had planned to just walk around but saw that peeps were already going in, so I went in and, as luck would have it, it was open already because the Munch 150 exhibit was in its final days. There was the beginning of a crowd but I still managed to see everything quite well (note to parents: if you have a toddler, bring something for him/her to do while you visit because they will get bored after two rooms and will annoy everyone trying to visit the museum). Then as I was heading out I noticed that a queue had formed down to street level and the museum guards were actually telling people to wait before they could come in! It was random luck that I had planned to visit this place early on and that I hadn't spent any time at the reptile house… without that I would never have been able to beat that crowd and most likely would never have visited this second part of the Munch 150 exhibit.

Oh, and special mention and kuddos to the lovely security person who helped me figure out the labyrinth that was the History museum. I'm all for using every space to display artefacts but I was absolutely lost there. It might have something to do with my natural tendency to tour rooms in a clockwise circle and most exhibits are actually displayed counter-clockwise.
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At some point I decided that reading books and doing research online about stuff that interests me is good but it would be even better to take some online courses. And so now there are fun times in environmental law, neuroethics, model thinking, history of the world since 1300, game theory and other fun things. I had forgotten what it was like having to read chapters and chapters in textbooks about subjects that I do not fully understand. I had forgotten what it was like trying to fit whatever I want to say in a maximum word count. I had forgotten what it was like trying to figure out just what that random question on the multiple choice means because none of the answers seem correct.

Sometimes things like fancy chocolate help. Fancy chocolate, locally made in Stockholm. Fancy chocolate that tastes like tiramisu. There have been worse bribes to one's self.

Some people bring souvenirs back that will forever be forgotten on the back of some random shelf and collect dust. I only believe in bringing back edible stuff.

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What amuses me most about the use of "entré" in Swedish is that someone at some point must have seen the French "entrée" and thought, "hey, useful word that means entrance but look at that extra vowel, pff…" and just decided that "entré" was good enough for Sweden. And to a French speaker it just looks so weird because you can't help think that it doesn't make sense because it's just the male adjective "entered", not even a verbal form, not a noun, just an adjective and you need either être/avoir before to make it even a fragment.

I also like to pretend that this means that there are gangs of cyclists on the cycling/pedestrian paths… they butchered "entrée" first, so I totally can. Smiley face.

Totally useless but fun fact, in Finland å is called "Swedish a".
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If you do not believe that eating stuff with a fork shaped like a bird will make everything taste 1209381208310 times better, we are not buddies. Even if said fork shaped like a bird is actually quite weird to hold and try to get food onto. It is still a freaken fork shaped like a bird and therefore superior 99.9% of all other forks.
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Forget one space and some idiot is going to take a photo of the sign and post it on their blog! The nerve of some people…

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Is it obvious that I'm trying to cut through the deluge of Stockholm entries with other random stuff? Because that's what's going on. And heck, isn't my life so interesting? Here is a weathervane! Look at its beauty… or something. I'd make a shitty art critic.

Oh, and here is a photo of a cheese nugget I had the other day. I took it for the 365 day project and that was pretty much the highlight of that particular day because I hadn't had nuggets in years, let alone cheese nuggets. They didn't taste like cheese at all and they also had some kind of herbs on the outside that made the things taste even weirder.

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I've been thinking about this whole "have at least two posts scheduled every single day" thing I've had going for a while on here. At this point in time it's really about actually posting anything and everything and forcing myself to go through photos and post at least one photo each time. Quantity over quality. I'm basically doing the whole "keep the chain going for as long as you can" approach that I tried doing with my thesis and other work and that I had never managed to do… mainly because here I can schedule tons of entries in advance (although for the last weeks I've mainly been writing them up the night before they're posted). It kind of works… but I certainly can see why it did not work for my writing.

(quarter-life pseudo-crisis status: 3.5 months in and we're still in full on "I have no idea what I want to do with my life and therefore I shall just read as much random stuff as I can" mode, come back in a couple of months for the next check-in.)

August 30

Sep. 7th, 2013 09:00 am
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I often have trouble accepting that the names I call a lot of cartoon characters are not their names in other parts of the world. Like these are Schtroumpfs. At least that kind of sounds like Smurfs… in the case of stuff like "Olive et Tom" or Goldorak, their equivalents in other languages are really different. In Italian, Olive et Tom becomes Holly e Benji… when their original names in Japanese are Tsubasa and Genzo. Because it all makes sense! Tsubasa - Olive, same thing!
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Yes, that's a little fromage de chèvre family. Yes, you can buy tiny goat cheese at the supermarket (alas, or I should perhaps say thankfully, not in Finland… yet). Yes, I may have bought the pack of tiny cheese just because they're tiny fromages de chèvre. Because I felt a need for tiny little goat cheese. Because look at them! With their mummy (or daddy)! I had to get their mum (or dad) too. So that I could have a little goat cheese family.

I knew about Babybel and all those tiny cheeses, but tiny goat cheese? It's obviously something that's marketed for people who take lunches to work… because I think few kids would eat goat cheese, cute and tiny or not. I would be right in their consumer demographic if I were still living in France and taking homemade lunches to work!

Or maybe it's wishful thinking. I just want to feel special and therefore think that cute and tiny goat cheeses are made for peeps just like me.

Please excuse me, I am getting emotional over cheese. But look at the adorable little things! Look at them!
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Remember when "I can't." and "I can't even." and "I don't even." wasn't part of my everyday expressions? Should I blame Tumblr?

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Interestingly, I could not find anywhere on the packaging where the grain came from. I mean, it's awesome that it was ground in an authentic Dutch windmill but I kind of care more where and how it was grown than the grinding! Alas that information was nowhere to be found and that tells me that it's probably not a good thing because if it was locally and ethically grown/harvested, then that would also be indicated in huge letters… ah, food packaging, how I love dissecting you.

March 2017

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