Nazi Shoes

Have recently become quite the internet-shopper with numerous purchases from tradera. Was particularly delighted with a pair of new-looking adidas trainers to young Hjallis yesterday for a mere 70kr. Good walking shoes. The young scamp could no doubt do some solid walking in said shoes. However, my joy was to be shortlived when I got a mail from the seller and saw that their mail address was nazi(name)@hotmail.com. Balls!

I am a fan of bargain shoes. I am not a fan of giving money to nazis. Nazis in general are pretty rubbish. In fact, I can't think of a single good one.

First blogspot post and disgusting omelette-mix

A new chapter in my short blogging history commences with a move from Metro to Blogger. There is no specific theme behind this blog as you can see from the old entries posted below.

Many of them are much in the style of this mornings' post where I stumble across something I have difficulty processing for one reason or another, followed by my often nonsenical musings on said something. Todays' post concerns a strange product I found at Coop Extra recently - namely a ready-made omelette mix in a carton. Many questions spring to mind

Who decided that this was a product worth selling? Who buys it? Why? Last time I checked omelettes required very few ingredients and barely any effort. Furthermore, this ready-mix had a lot of ingredients I do not associate with omelettes... most of them beginning with E followed by a long number

If I was a rich man I’d buy a carton just to test it. But I’m not. So I won’t. In these financial climes I just can’t justify such frivolous spending. Maybe someone more daring than I can buy it and invite me round for dinner?

Enough for now. More later.

2-2

An unexpected encounter with 'moustachioed arch-nemesis' this morning. The upper hand was mine. The bus stopped mere metres from where I was standing whilst he stood forlornly at the official stopping place believing the yellow behemoth occupying would rumble off allowing him to waltz unchallenged to his favourite aisle seat. Alas, he was mistaken. I lowered my head for some private smirking, a second at most. I looked up, and the moustachioed devil swooped in like the proverbial hawk. Not only was he now positioned in front of me, but the guy in front of me too.

Inconcievable.

And so, just like that, arch-nemesis is back on level terms. 2-2. Bitter, I make no attempt to muffle my hayfever-induced sneezing in a spiteful attempt to wake him (because as per usual he is asleep within seconds)but there is no rousing him from his self-satisfied slumber. He sleeps the blissful sleep of the victor. The scoundrel. I shall have my vengeance.

Freddie Prinze Jr is poo on a stick

He really is. Was flicking through the tv channels yesterday and saw one of his long line of cinematic masterpieces ’I know what you did last summer’ was showing.

Found this quote from the great man himself on t’internet:

Acting is the only thing I’m good at. I know how to create and make people feel something

Two things. Firstly, you’re not good at it. Decidedly shit, in fact. I will concede that the second part of the quote is true. You make me feel sick. He earned US $2.5 million for Scooby Doo. Arguably one of the worst films ever. To put this in perspective - "It would cost just US $2.5 million worth of drugs to significantly reduce HIV infection of unborn babies across the world".

Makes you all warm and fuzzy inside, doesn’t it!

Just finished this...

Not at all bad this book. An eccentric Ukranian widower who moved to the UK post-WWII plans on marrying a fellow Ukranian (Valentina) to help gain asylum for her and her genius teenage son (Stanislav). We follow the story through the eyes of the yonuger of his two daughters whom despite their differences conspire to prevent the marriage fearing their father is being exploited. The father, however, is infatuated with the heavily made-up, peroxide blonde, enormous-boobed woman who is less than half his age and is determined to go ahead with the marriage.

They wed but things do not pan out as the father had hoped and the daughters step up their efforts to rid their father of this woman. Valentina, however, is not easily budged. I'll leave it at that and say that the story is highly entertaining and the characters of the father and Valentina (especially her rambling insults such as 'dried shrivelled relic of ancient goat turd' and 'morsel of old grisel that dog chewed dog spat out') in particular are pure comedic genius. Read it and you'll find out how it ends. Simple as that!

I've now started a somewhat more serious effort of Albert Camus, The Plague. How intellectual and pretentious of me!

Sad :-(

Read THIS in Svenska Dagbladet today. Pretty depressing reading for us fathers. For those not bothered to read the whole article, here's the sad bit...

"5 700 barn mellan 8 och 15 år hade svarat på frågan vem de vände sig till om de behövde tröst. Mamma kom på första plats. Pappa på femte. Däremellan kom en kompis, någon annan och ingen. "

Hopefully a lot of dads will have read the article and realised that they need to sort themselves out. The thought of Hjalmar (17 months in 5 days) turning to someone else, or no-one at all, for comfort is horrible.

Högskoleprovet

Completely forgot to inform one and all that my undertaking ofhögskoleprovet was a relative success. Obviously the official grade will not arrive for some weeks but thanks to the marvels of modern technology I was able to ascertain that a solid 1.2 or 1.3 is my likely result. Not bad considering the national average is around 0.8 or 0.9. I'm happy with my effort but happier for my good friend Miriam who has a definite 1.9 and can thereby get in to the university programme she desires. Top stuff Mizza!

Rubbish advertising!

Came across this top-class piece of advertisement creativity after picking up Hjalle from pre-school the other day. I understand that in times of recession one perhaps doesn't have the funds to splash out on lavish advertising material but I'm sure you can do better than this. Not only is it uninspiring, it's also a little confusing and ambiguous... are they selling dance-shoes? Or are they merely depicting the shoes of someone called Dan? I would say my shoes but mine don't have heels.

Apologies for the reflection but it's a small price to pay for good weather, n'est-ce pas? Ooooh, just like Poirot!

Hitler doesn't approve...

... of unauthorised people entering work zones. That and Jewish people.

New Shoes...

... is a topic I will not be bringing up in this blog. Not now. Not ever. It's just so boring. Speaking of boring: Today I've been trying to study a bit of maths-type stuff for the högskoleprov. So exceptionally dull. Frustrating that it makes up such an important part and large part of the test.

Something I did find interesting today was a story that was read for the kids at my school. Actually, the story itself was pretty average. Old man (Algot) is lonely. Makes friends with worm (Karlknut). Fun ensues. My interest, however, was aroused primarily by one incident. Algot, a dapper type, decides his new pal needs some clothes. Can't be seen with a naked worm, can he? The tailor complains it might be difficult but manages to put together a nice little outfit with (and here's the bit that bothers me) lots of pockets. Why would a worm need a pocket? Let alone lots of them. Even more confusing is that no further reference is made to said numerous pockets rendering the whole incident completely pointless. A bit like this anecdote perhaps but I can't be held responsible for the way my mind works. So I've made a quick list of things a worm could have in its' pocket:-

• FUCK ALL! It's a worm!