Chess, beer, work and virus

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The past week and weekend has seen me doing three things:

* Calling companies for work.
* Playing chess and drinking beer.
* Getting inoculated for hepatitis a&b.

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Oddly enough, I don’t worry as much as maybe I should.

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Ever since I left for Iceland a couple of years ago, returning with a passable Icelandic and general confusion, I haven’t had any specific goals set. Getting in at HFF was not something that was only up to me to accomplish, so that wasn’t as much a proper goal as a wish. Once I got in it I felt awesome. And now, five years later, I’m sort of drifting along a bit too much.

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I have great friends, live rather comfortably and am healthy. The stuff I worry about are the same stuff that most other people worry about; money, sex, happiness.

I could do well with more of all three, granted, but it seems like such a waste of time. I would like to worry about something that isn’t an abstract non-issue. (or in case of money, a manifestation of your abstracted self-worth) Of course I’d love to have glorious sex and spend a week drunk, but those things are not supposed to take up so much of ones time – they are the things we do when we are not doing other things. Like curing cancer, or becoming really good at baking.

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And while I’m looking for work, any work, I’m occasionally drifting off into willy-wonka land, imagining what I would like to do. Drifting away isn’t very hard when all the vacancies I find have such a perky and up-beat note to them that I stare in disbelief: No one can honestly be this fucking optimistic about offering an evening-job at a call-center. I once interviewed for a two week job carrying crates at a supermarket (see prole) and the interview took one hour where I had to pointificate on how my arts degree would benefit the working place. I almost cried.

Maybe what I should learn is to relax and chill, man.

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I am now inoculated against hepatitis a&b, so I should be ok with whatever it is that gives one hepetatis in Tunisia. We are leaving in three weeks time, and I’m looking forward to it. In the meantime I’ll be drinking cheep stuff, smoking as much as I can afford, and start up enough projects that unless I finish some of them I’ll have to move out of shame, in disgrace.

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Gbg Expat whipping

Reading guides for foreigners to your own country of residence is a hoot. One guide to Sweden that I picked up convinced me that I was an atypical Swede for not hiking in the country more than I do. (at all)

If you happen to be an American woman living in Sweden, you might be interested in this link: the American Women’s Club of Gothenburg.

whip

In other news, last fridays dinner evolved into something with a, ah, snappy theme. I had gifted Jan a whip a year ago, and it was dusted off and prominently smacked about. Slightly disconcerting. It’s an aquired taste, I’m sure.

Opening

Anna along with three others were chosen by curator Power Ekroth to exhibit at HFF for two semesters. I’ve been painting, drilling, masking, and waiting for stuff the past week, and on saturday there was a humble opening. It went well enough, and the exhibition is nice. Simon Fagéus has an excellent video piece up that will be playing a western ditty non-stop, and this will hopefully drive a good percentage of people insane.


HFF exhibition Andreas
HFF exhibition Power Ekroth
HFF exhibition stairs
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Other than that, I’m not being all that productive, and both my fanclub and carnal relations leave a lot to be desired.

Finishing a job, drinking wine: cough & boredom

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I’ve been a bit knocked out by a cold the past couple of days. Sunday was horribly boring. Before going to bed I realised that the only actual conversation I’ve had with anyone for the whole day didn’t add up to more than three sentences:

1) Saying hi to Eskil when he came by to pick something up
2) Saying bye to Eskil ten minutes later
3) “One pack of LM Light please” at the 7-11

I am looking forward to getting my last salary from Yfo next Tuesday – until them I’m on 50 kronor per day, and since smokes cost 40 I’m not in a happy place. Today turned out to be nice since Tobbe visited – we went to the driving range and he did a handbrake turn. I was impressed.

Saturday was mini-out-day and Jan was kind enough to buy me beer. And wine. And whiskey. And I was coughing my lungs out at the same time. I recall Lenny Bruce (Woody Allen?) making jokes about tuberculosis being a sexy disease; None of the people I spat pieces of my lungs at seemed to appreciate it though.

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Windy art

A video with some random crap I’ve caught the last week or so. The opening at Röda Sten, Thomas Hirschhorn lecture at Konsthallen, and a crap party out by the bridge. It ends with a moneyshot of me. Ten years from now I’ll be looking at that video and thinking “Dang, I really looked quite nice before all the world war III radiation mutated me”.

Making movies and taking pictures

Jan Pilgaard, the up and coming maverick director, was graceful enough to let me take part in his latest production as a stills photographer. Two days of loitering and taking so many rolls of film you would not believe, (Yeah, I know, film, in this day and age) if you’re unable to believe any number higher than 20. Fun, but leaves me thinking I should do more. So I’ve decided to start doing porn-art; the worst of two worlds, or the best, depending on your disposition.

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Also, there is a sky over Gothenburg, and we have birds, and occasionally family that visits and anti-nato grafitti:

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A while ago we were on a roof, drinking wine and discussing good sniper positions for two hours. My insight into proper sniperish behaviour is exclusively derived from movies and camping in Ghost Recon, so obviously I’m an authority:

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At a certain point in the evening I became, against my better judgement, involved in some sort of vegan debate. This spectacles are more often than not unfruitful and leave me bitter and with yet another dead body to dispose of. Judging from my gesturing and Petters cowering/laughing, it’s easy to surmise that whatever I said about vegan hot-dogs was brilliant, and whatever anyone else said they can stfu and keep to themselves:

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Todays theme: It’s too warm! It’s too cold! It’s raining! I’m tired and my body aches!

Celebrating borndom [hah!]

Anna celebrated her mumblemumle‘th birthday with a dinner in the yard. Sound carries like a bitch there, and I’m certain that we entertained all neighbours with our tales of chivalry and hello-kitty-dildos.

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As usual, vegan food is regular food sans everything not vegan:

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I’m going through a slightly antagonistic phase at the moment.

my birthday

i’m not big on celebrating birthdays. this is more out of necessity than of my own volition: most people are out of town 21st of june, and i’m used to be forgotten. (it’s a childhood trauma)

a few of my friends thought they’d cheer me up and celebrated me yesterday. they came over and made lasagna, salad and pie. and i got presents! shirts, necklace, a sausage, licorice, strawberries, and a pair of mr fantastic underwear.

earlier miriana and the kids tried to surprise me and sing happy birthday. they are not very good at surprising, but it was very endearing. i’m always a bit awkward in those situations. do i sit? do i stand? do i judge the merit of their singing abilities? group hug? miriana gave me a nice purple tshirt, although i’m quite sure that she didn’t give much thought to what was printed on it. (“game over”)

friends are a good thing to have. maybe i should get more of them? if anyone is interested in becoming one, i’m taking applications.

some pitschurs:
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you would not believe the day i’ve had. litterarly.

seriously, there’s some messed up crap going on that i’m not going to go in to. i can’t relate to it because it’s bloody surreal, and if you can relate to it i’m very sympathetic to your fucked up situation.

as an alternative i present some images to you from my previous saturday that left me hung over and slightly concussed all of sunday. in no apparent order:

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this was the spring party at valand and it took place at berg 211 – it was a bit too far away from the city center to become a staggering crowd of stinking artists, but we made do. and the locale is stunning.

four days ago i was dreaming about loosing a tooth, and the more i poked at it with my tounge, the bigger it became and the more it split into fragments. it became so bad that i had trouble talking. when i finally started pulling pieces out, they turned out to be glass fragments – such as you might expect from a broken bottle.

any interpretations?

you would not believe the day i’ve had. litterarly.

seriously, there’s some messed up crap going on that i’m not going to go in to. i can’t relate to it because it’s bloody surreal, and if you can relate to it i’m very sympathetic to your fucked up situation.

as an alternative i present some images to you from my previous saturday that left me hung over and slightly concussed all of sunday. in no apparent order:

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this was the spring party at valand and it took place at berg 211 – it was a bit too far away from the city center to become a staggering crowd of stinking artists, but we made do. and the locale is stunning.

four days ago i was dreaming about loosing a tooth, and the more i poked at it with my tounge, the bigger it became and the more it split into fragments. it became so bad that i had trouble talking. when i finally started pulling pieces out, they turned out to be glass fragments – such as you might expect from a broken bottle.

any interpretations?