I used to be able to fit a hockey puck in my mouth. Sure, it took some pushing, and I had to pull my lips over with my hands, but at least on that one sunny, spring day, I could do it, and I have witnesses who can back me up.
Well, you may not think that’s anything special.
Unlike Groucho Marx, I’d be happy to get into a club that would have people like me as a member. As a kid, I started numerous clubs, and always designed membership cards for each of them: Tarzan club, Pecos Bill club, Tex Willer club, and Woody Woodpecker club. They were ultimate anti-Groucho Marx clubs, because most of them had just one member: me.
I didn’t care about not having any other members in my clubs, that wasn’t the point anyway. The point was the card, the official badge that I could flash whenever I felt like it. The cards had my name, my membership number – “1” – and the club logo on them, often “a stamp” of the main authority. Me.
I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but haven’t got around to trying to make one. Anyhow, you know how certain songs always take you back to a certain place? Like, for me, Bruce Springsteen’s “Night” always takes me back to that one winter’s night when I was in high school, and Dad stopped at the traffic lights and then the drums kicked off “Night”. I know exactly where we were.
And “Heaven’s on fire” makes me think of Terry, and how he would rest his feet on our dog while watching music videos.
I was sitting, resting, at the gym at the Orillia Y when that summer’s big hit, “Brickyard Road” was playing and I remember hearing the lyrics clearly for the first time, and how sad I thought it was.
So, here’s my attempt to create my historical musical map. I’ll update it as new songs pop into mind.
See a larger map on Google.
I read a great story in the paper this morning, about a Guldsmedshyttan hockey team that was getting ready to put the finishing touch on their Cinderella story in Sweden’s under-16 national championship tournament.
The team hails from a 3000-people strong village of Bergslagen and had beat big Swedish clubs, such as Djurgården, Linköping, and Leksand, on their way to the Final Four, against all odds.
I’ve been playing around with Twitter short stories lately. So, if you’re on Twitter, you can follow @finnjewel*, and get these 140-character stories delivered to you. (And yes, it’s surprisingly easy to follow a story with 140 characters.)
Here they are, in no particular order:
Today, I watched Ghostbusters 2.
I loved the original Ghostbusters movie when it came out. I loved the title song, and I thought Bill Murray was the funniest and coolest guy in the world.
The commuter train that I take from downtown Stockholm to our idyllic Sollentuna is probably about 100 meters long. Maybe a little longer, maybe 150, even, because it takes me a good minute to walk from one end to the other.
It may not sound significant, but choosing where to get on is a big decision, because it practically also seals my decision to either walk home, or take the bus.
Front of the train: bus. End of the train: walk.
It’s an 11-minute walk in the winter, and a 9-minute-walk in the summer.
Driving north on Sankt Eriksgatan in Stockholm, at the intersection between the said street and Rörstrandsgatan, there’s a no-left turn sign. I see it every day, when Son and Daughter and me are driving home from school. (It’s here.)
We’re always on the left lane because the right one is only for those turning right, and the traffic is always easier on the left lane anyway. I pick up the kids, on average, four times a week, but for argument’s sake, let’s just say I’m in my car, driving north at Sankt Eriksgatan and Rörstrandsgatan three times a week, sometime between 3 and 3.30. (Singing, talking, playing car games, refereeing a backseat argument, or, just quietly listening to a podcast while Son and Daughter listen to a CD).
“If you find a job you really love, you’ll never work again.”
– Winston Churchill
I’m listening to “The Upside of Irrationality”, by Dan Ariely, because I like to hear how stupid we people are. I like books that take down things that we’ve been taking for granted, like for example, that the bigger the bonus, the better the performance. (According to Ariely, a moderate bonus works best, and a huge bonus actually makes people choke, or lose focus).
He also writes about the importance of meaning in work, and cites several of his experiments as proof of how not only money, but the meaning of the work we do, matters. “Even a small amount of meaning can take us a long way,” he says.
I was walking home from the gym – after a nice hour of sauna if you’re curious – listening to music – Bruce Springsteen, and The Promise, if you really want to know – and had just walked through the underpass when I saw something that made me stop: two sets of footprints in the snow.
