Living in Sweden

I've been living in Sweden for some months now, so I thought it was about time to write a few words about my experience of being an exchange student here. If we haven't talked in a while, well, this will be a valuable update for you (if you really care that much about what's going on in my life)!

The academic year consists of two semesters. I'm trying to get two minors here, so I spend one semester on each minor. This semester I'm studying English, whereas I probably will be studying psychology next semester. English is quite interesting (not all the time) since I've always been fascinated by it. It is, however, proving to be a more challenging task than I initially expected. Well, whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you stronger, right? At least I'm giving it my all; I end up studying many hours a week (even during the weekend), which sometimes is a necessity if you want to keep up with the teacher(s) and the lessons. I can honestly say that I don't think I've ever worked this hard at school/university. Ever. On the bright side, I guess I'm learning something. My teachers are great; we only have one native English teacher, but she is funny and possesses a charming Scottish accent (toned down, so we'll be able to grasp what she says, though). The rest of the teachers are all Swedish (as far as I know), but they speak English just like any Briton. One normally has to be prepared for every class, so reading and preparing is always a good thing. You don't really appear as very smart if you answer "I don't know" to every question. Speaking of English - I have an exam in English linguistics next week. Wish me luck!

So how is living in Sweden? Not too bad actually! The language is very easy for me, so I understand everything I read and hear. At least almost everything! The Swedes seem to understand Norwegian fine, but there are certain words/phrases that their brain just can't process. Oh well. When I came here, I was pleasantly surprised about the price level. It's relatively cheap to live in Sweden, especially if you come from Finland or Norway (which I do). Put simply - I have more buying power in Sweden than in Finland. Hail to the euro! There's one big difference, however, and that is when it comes to the price level of the lunch at the university's restaurant; a lunch actually costs as much as 6€ here! Compared to Finland where you have to shell out a mere 3-4€ for a lunch, the difference is noticable. I suspect the food served here might be a bit better though. Not dissing school food in Finland, but sometimes I ate what resembled prison food at my home university. That hasn't happened here yet, but maybe I was just unfortunate in Finland? Could be!

So besides studying - what does Tommy do? I have returned to my healthy lifestyle, which means I'm going to the gym again. It's been a bit on and off during the last year (often due to moving and such), but I feel very content now: I usually do a few bodypump/bodycombat classes per week. It feels great, and if you are to believe researchers, it should boost one's learning ability. Here's to hoping! I have noticed that going to classes is way more fun than just playing around with all the strange equipment in the gym; I push myself harder in classes and time goes much faster. Plus I get to listen to loud music while exercising! I still drink soda, though (Dr. Pepper is my new addiction), which could be considered unhealthy, but I can live with that. It's hard to be 100 % healthy. Oh, and I still love to play computer games, but who in their right mind wouldn't?

I'm going to spend the weekend reading for the exam and preparing an oral presentation. Great. I hope YOU will have a more exciting weekend!

Observations of a shop worker

I've got a summer job at a supermarket in Northern Norway this summer. The first week was stressful, and I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it, but I've gotten into the routines now and know the basic shit. Since I sit behind the counter a lot, I get to observe a lot of different people during one day. Most people are nice and don't even utter many words, others complain about products that have the wrong price tag or sigh when something takes too long. Some people even attempt to pull some jokes, and this is what amuses me, because there are two jokes that I hear every week. I don't even consider them very funny, but since I have to be polite I always fake a laugh or a small giggle and I'd still take bad jokes instead of pissed off customers.

Me: Do you want a bag?
Customer: Yes, it's a little too much to carry in my pockets! [insert laugh and huge grin]
Me: Yes, I suppose so... [insert fake giggle and fake smile]

That's one of the two jokes. The customer often looks at other customers while saying it, hoping to get more people laughing and thus feeling better about himself. Hilarious. A real crowdpleaser that one.

Me: Do you want the receipt?
Customer: I doubt I get anything back on my taxes if I preserve it! [insert laugh and grin again]
Me: Yeah, unfortunately I doubt you would... [insert fake giggle and smile again]

It's just funny to hear those jokes so often. I dont know who came up with them to start with, but it must have been some fekkin' clown! Funny thing is I heard the exact same jokes when working in a shop in another city last year.

Another funny observation I've made is that Norwegians (at least up here) seem to drink a lot less beer than our Finnish neighbors. That's how it appears, anyway. During one shift I might get 5-10 people buying beer or cider whereas it seems like every 4th customer in Finland carries home a six-pack or twelve-pack from the shop. Crazy! Maybe the high prices scare customers here? Maybe they are brewing stuff at home? Who knows.

On a sidenote: I woke up today, and I saw snow! Wet snow coming down from the skies above. I really need a couple of weeks in some warm country after this.

Tommy out.

Observations and lessons I've learned over the years.

1. Smoking has never been, and will never be cool.
2. It's far from OK to watch Gilmore Girls or Ally McBeal if you belong to the male species.
3. Boys that wear pants that are so big they expose their buttcrack should be kicked in the (sch)nuts.
4. You're too boring and common if you watch popular movies and listen to music that's being played on the radio (top 20).
5. If you've consumed so much alcohol that you can't remember the name of your mother, it's RARELY a good idea to hit on a girl in a bar.
6. It's your duty to laugh of guys that drive around in cars taken out of The Fast and Furious while playing loud music, but when you sit in that same car it's actually quite cool and a lot of fun.
7. You're gay or way too feminine if you use skincare products or generally care about how you look.
8. Gaming as a hobby is only approved by a minority of girls. If you mention that you enjoy a game of GTA IV or Call of Duty IV the girls run for the hills.
9. GTA IV and black metal doesn't make people kill.
10. Girls never take the initiative.
11. It's actually a good thing to be arrogant and emotionless. It's often considered an attractive quality by females. The nice guy can only be a friend...
12. To satisfy the demands of today's society one should work out on a regular basis, eat the right sort of food (sorry, McDonald's and milk with fat is a no-no!), have at least a bachelor degree and wear the right brand of clothes.
13. Men are absolutely not allowed to enjoy movies like Titanic or The Notebook. If one happens to shed a tear one can not be called a man anymore.
14. It's uncomfortable sitting in the train if someone sits opposite of you. You never know where to look. Way too awkward!
15. We're rarely happy with the present time, but in a year or two we refer to these days as "the good old times".
16. It's common courtesy to laugh when cool people tell jokes, even when they're not funny.
17. Most of us were braindead, hormonal idiots in upper elementary school.
18. Beer never tastes good the first time. It takes time to get used to the taste. Most people adapt due to peer pressure. Real men can't drink cider or girly drinks like Smirnoff Ice.
19. We mock reality-TV shows, yet we watch them every week.
20. Being a Macgyver fan is still cool in the 21st century.

Dental horror

So there I was. Alone in the sterile hallway. From behind the big, beige doors I could hear the sound of metal hitting teeth. I was at the place where the white collar workers dictate and rule. It’s their domain. Sweaty palms. Shaking hands. Wet armpits. I was at their mercy now. The next half hour of my life belonged to them. A voice in my head trying to convince me that they know what they’re doing. Words I didn’t entirely trust seeing as no one is perfect. People do make mistakes. Even doctors. What if something goes wrong? What if the dentist has been drinking last night and his hand coordination isn’t the best? Anxiety gets a chokehold on me. One of the white doors opens and another victim comes walking out. Bright light from the room blinds me. I spot the tools of the trade in front of me, inside the room. The torture chamber. Strange, foreign equipment I wouldn’t be able to name even if I got weeks to do so. The victim was a survivor. The men and women in white had done their job. There were no casualties. Maybe I’d come walking out of that door in thirty minutes too?

“So you’re next. The operation, right?” one of the women dressed in white says. I reply with a “yes”. I wait a bit longer and the one responsible for my life for the next thirty minutes or so, comes out and greets me with a “hi”. To my surprise I’m not called in yet. He walks down the hallway and disappears from my sight. The door is still wide open allowing me to see my throne; a green, futuristic yet comfortably-looking green chair. A woman shows up and tells me to lie down in the chair. The mouth surgery specialist comes back, looking forward to finish his work day. They tell me I’m the last patient of the day. “Just don’t rush it. Rushing things is very bad. It can seriously ruin my mouth. Be careful!” I hear myself thinking. One of the assistants hands me a couple of ugly-looking glasses. I’m told to wear them for a while. Looks like something that comes with a Donald magazine. Trusting the almighty people in white, I do as I’m told. One of the things I fear the most appears in front of my eyes: the dreaded needle. I don’t fight it though. Salvation comes in a needle filled with anesthesia. Afterwards I’m given a glass of water and two white pills. Proper service, hey! One is penicillin, the other one is just a regular painkiller. Painkiller? Not a big surprise, because pain is coming. At this point it’s impossible to say at what magnitude. I can only guess. I’m a good patient. I don’t fight the dentists or their orders. I do as I’m told and swallow both pills and finish it with a glass of life’s finest drinks: H2O. A little to my surprise, I get another glass. It’s not filled with water, however. It looks sort of funky with its pink color. Looks tasty. Supposedly mouth water of some sort. I can’t knock it down just like that. I have to keep it in my mouth for a minute. I follow the order, but I feel a bit stupid sitting there, looking at the clock, wondering how the dentists perceive me. It’s all very awkward. No one says anything and I can barely hear the clock ticking. Sixty painful seconds passes. Finally. Let’s proceed.

“So this wisdom tooth of yours, it’s a difficult one” the one responsible for the operation concludes. I try to utter a “yes”, but the anesthesia is kicking in and talking feels weird. My mouth is starting to feel, in lack of a better word, funny. I experience today’s biggest surprise as they put a big, green cloth over me. Is it really that bad? I’m friggin’ buried before they have even attempted to remove the tooth. “Help! I can’t see anything” I think to myself. At the same time I feel slightly relieved at the thought of not having to wonder how stupid and scared I look to the dentists. Why? Because they can’t see me under the cloth. I’m safe. All they can see and access is my mouth, and that’s where the work is taking place today. You see, a friend is leaving me. I’m afraid I’ll score lower on IQ tests after its departure. One of those jokes again. Heard it a million and one times now. I shouldn’t actually call it my friend because it has been everything a friend shouldn’t be. It’s been raising hell in my mouth, and now it’s going to handicap my personal economy too. It got its eviction note a couple of weeks ago, but it didn’t leave voluntarily. Now it has to be thrown out by any means necessary. In this case we’re talking about the use of them foreign tools: drills, needles and whatnot. This one is about to me a goner soon!

Thankfully my operation wasn't this bad.

I’m not familiar with all of the foreign objects put in my mouth, but they are needed to get the tooth away. I’m asked to keep my mouth wide open. Sometimes even for many minutes. Tiresome. My mouth isn’t made for this, but I manage. It’s a must. The female dentist to my left tells me to shout “aaaaaaa” or something similar if I feel pain, but to my surprise I don’t feel much pain at all. God bless painkillers and anesthesia. The dentists talk amongst themselves while I lie there, hoping for it to be over soon. From what I can gather from their speech, this tooth is a tough mutha! It wants to keep living in my mouth. As a matter of fact it’s hell bent on staying. After using different tools in an attempt to remove it, it finally gives in. I thought I’d feel it being jerked out of my jaw, but I don’t. “It’s gone” the dentist says. I feel relieved. Then they start doing something else in my mouth, something that feels extremely uncomfortable. My bet is that they are doing something to prevent it from bleeding too much, but in order to do whatever the hell it is the dentist is doing, he has to put some fingers in my mouth, one of them pushing my tongue backwards, almost causing me to puke. Horrific. Thankfully the horror is over after a couple of minutes. They remove the green cloth I loved so much. Truth be told I was afraid I’d die under it too. I saw images of friends and family walking in the door, looking at the room with all the alien equipment and me lifeless in my green throne. Mouth wide open and dead eyes. Turns out that wasn’t what faith had in mind for me this day. I was a survivor, just like the guy leaving the room half an hour earlier. From this point on it’s all routine: I’m told not to exercise or expose myself to physical strain for a week, water and food is a big no-no for the next couple of hours. I’m a bit disappointed when I’m told I can’t go to the sauna either. Typical. I had booked the sauna for Saturday. It’s a no-go for me then. I’m also told to get certain types of candy from the pharmacy. Penicillin being one of them. I utter a “thank you” as I leave to the hallway where I’m asked to sit with something cold pressed against my right cheek for half an hour. I’m actually happy, albeit feeling a bit numb and “not present”. I feel a river of blood floating in my mouth. Gross, but a normal reaction to this sort of operation. After thirty minutes I walk out, one less inhabitant in my mouth, passing the water tanks, the beige doors and the posters advertising and urging people to take care of themselves and their health. As the discussion of the dentists sitting in the staff room fade away and I’m about to walk out the door, I feel happy, but at the same time I pray I don’t have to be subjected to something similar in the nearest future. Score one for the good guy.