On the train back from Anton’s I saw another great poster ad, which you can view a picture of on Web Shots. At the time, though, I needed a translation of the poster, so I looked around the train car to see who I could ask.
There was a 50 year-old man to my right, a mother and child behind me, and a cute 17 or 18 year old girl diagonally across the aisle from me. I decided to ask her. “Do you speak English?” She removed her ipod and said yes. I sat down across from her and explained, “I don’t know much Swedish, so I was wondering if you could translate the top line of that sign over there.” She had her back to the sign, so she turned to look at it.
I should mention at this point that the poster had a female hand putting a condom on a male pointer finger, and I knew the sign had something to do with Chlamydia. I should also mention that after I started talking to this girl, I realized she was 16.
Out of surprise she started laughing, but wouldn’t look me in the eye. So I said the magic words that every Swedish girl loves to hear, “It looks like it says, ’Chlamydia occurs in Stockholm,’ at the bottom, so I need to know how to protect myself.” She laughed a little more, mixed in with some nervousness, and still without looking me in the eye told me it said something like, “It’s better without Chlamydia.”
I could tell she was uncomfortable, so I tried to explain that I thought it was funny, and I was going to share it with my friends over the Internet. She was still laughing nervously, but now she was edging back in the corner of her seat, so I thanked her and went back to my area of the train. A word of advice to all the men reading this: the best way to introduce yourself to girls is not by talking about Chlamydia.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Swedish National Day
Wednesday was the Swedish Independence Day. Much like in America, that means drinking instead of going to work. I woke up at the crack of 11:23 am, and a couple hours later took the train to hang out with Anton and his friends by the water. Anton and his friend, Johan met me at the end of my journey.
The three of us walked to this lake. Not just any lake mind you, but apparently one that Alfred Noble blew up and created himself. They even showed me Noble's old laboratory, which was so interesting, we looked at it from the distance. Soon we found Johan--a second Johan, whom I will refer to as Lance--who was guarding the our spot, but more importantly the beer.
I had Danish and Finnish beer, which were both good. Of course, with beer comes the inevitable breaking of the seel, and unfortunately there were no public restrooms, not that it really matters if you're drunk. So I climbed up a hiking trail, went about 30 feet into the woods, and prepared myself for relief. I didn't notice, however, that I was actually 5 feet from another trail and currently exposing myself to an old man. When I met his icy glare, I did the classy thing: I put it away and ran.
When I got back from peeing, we played some cards, ending with a game of Go Fish. We agreed that the person who came in last would have to go in the cold water. I came in last. I pounded a beer and then headed towards the lake.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that drunk swimming in cold water was probably a bad idea, but as a man I would never break a vow made over Go Fish. Lucky for me, there was a rope swing. You just swung down an embankment, over some rocks, and then let go over the water. Again, in the back of my mind I was thinking this would be a real shitty way to die. I'd never been on a rope swing before, so I just grabbed as high as possible, swung out and let go! Splash!
This is nothing! Gilford Beach. Not even coast-of-Maine cold, and I don't think that was because of the beer. And, being the trendsetter that I am, about 6 other guys came up and asked me about the water, to which I replied coolly, ''Do you speak English?'' They all did, and 3 or 4 went in and thought it was cold. We all left soon after and watched Sweden own Iceland 5-0 before I headed back to Timor's house.
The three of us walked to this lake. Not just any lake mind you, but apparently one that Alfred Noble blew up and created himself. They even showed me Noble's old laboratory, which was so interesting, we looked at it from the distance. Soon we found Johan--a second Johan, whom I will refer to as Lance--who was guarding the our spot, but more importantly the beer.
I had Danish and Finnish beer, which were both good. Of course, with beer comes the inevitable breaking of the seel, and unfortunately there were no public restrooms, not that it really matters if you're drunk. So I climbed up a hiking trail, went about 30 feet into the woods, and prepared myself for relief. I didn't notice, however, that I was actually 5 feet from another trail and currently exposing myself to an old man. When I met his icy glare, I did the classy thing: I put it away and ran.
When I got back from peeing, we played some cards, ending with a game of Go Fish. We agreed that the person who came in last would have to go in the cold water. I came in last. I pounded a beer and then headed towards the lake.
In the back of my mind, I kept thinking that drunk swimming in cold water was probably a bad idea, but as a man I would never break a vow made over Go Fish. Lucky for me, there was a rope swing. You just swung down an embankment, over some rocks, and then let go over the water. Again, in the back of my mind I was thinking this would be a real shitty way to die. I'd never been on a rope swing before, so I just grabbed as high as possible, swung out and let go! Splash!
This is nothing! Gilford Beach. Not even coast-of-Maine cold, and I don't think that was because of the beer. And, being the trendsetter that I am, about 6 other guys came up and asked me about the water, to which I replied coolly, ''Do you speak English?'' They all did, and 3 or 4 went in and thought it was cold. We all left soon after and watched Sweden own Iceland 5-0 before I headed back to Timor's house.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Weird Swedish Stuff
1. All the dishes are smaller than American silverware, especially the glasses.
2. Almost all the music and television is American. Seriously. TV shows aren't even dubbed in Swedish, they just have Swedish subtitles.
3. Teenage girls eyes light up if I tell them I've been in LA the past 3 years. One started singing the theme song from the OC, and actually, all the younger girls who talk to me usually ask about it. If I only I were, say, 5 years younger.
4. There's this goddam black cat in Timor's house that scares me almost every day. Whenever I leave a room, it's usually staring at me. A couple times I've opened this wardrobe to get my clothes, and all of a sudden there are these two green eyes staring back at me. I think it threatened me once too. I was seated, eating at the dinner table, and I felt something brush against my upper thigh. I look down and see the cat between my legs, with one paw on my family jewels. Of course, the cat is in heat now, so maybe it wasn't threatening me. I am from LA after all. The cat is currently meowing like a crying infant, while lying prostrate beneath my chair. At least now I can hear it coming.
2. Almost all the music and television is American. Seriously. TV shows aren't even dubbed in Swedish, they just have Swedish subtitles.
3. Teenage girls eyes light up if I tell them I've been in LA the past 3 years. One started singing the theme song from the OC, and actually, all the younger girls who talk to me usually ask about it. If I only I were, say, 5 years younger.
4. There's this goddam black cat in Timor's house that scares me almost every day. Whenever I leave a room, it's usually staring at me. A couple times I've opened this wardrobe to get my clothes, and all of a sudden there are these two green eyes staring back at me. I think it threatened me once too. I was seated, eating at the dinner table, and I felt something brush against my upper thigh. I look down and see the cat between my legs, with one paw on my family jewels. Of course, the cat is in heat now, so maybe it wasn't threatening me. I am from LA after all. The cat is currently meowing like a crying infant, while lying prostrate beneath my chair. At least now I can hear it coming.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
First Night Out
Last night was a bit of a bust. I didn't find Anton and his friends until 10:30 pm, and they were already pretty hammered by then. We went to a couple clubs, although it was still early, and I had a 56 KR Heineken (about $8.50). Needless to say, I have to figure out some sort of system if I ever want to get drunk. We met up with more of Anton's friends around 11:30pm, including one girl who was incredibly excited that I had lived in Los Angelos. Maybe Swedish girls do love Americans.
Of course, that girl became a little...under the weather, and Anton took her home. I went with another friend named Nikolas to a different club, which was a Rock and Roll bar. There was a giant American flag there, so I gained more confidence in my Americaness. We went up to the bar, and there were two gorgeous girls right in front of us. Nikolas nudged me to say something, but I got nervous and couldn't think of anything to say. I stood behind them awkwardly for about a minute, until Nikolas said, ''I'm not yoking (joking) you, but the blond one literally just said, ''I'm so fucking horny right now.'' I finally came out with, ''Do you two like American music?'' What kind of lame conversation starter is that? The blond one turned her head slightly, said yes, and then went off with her friend. Guess I'll have to be more than just American, but I'm confident I am up for the challenge.
Of course, that girl became a little...under the weather, and Anton took her home. I went with another friend named Nikolas to a different club, which was a Rock and Roll bar. There was a giant American flag there, so I gained more confidence in my Americaness. We went up to the bar, and there were two gorgeous girls right in front of us. Nikolas nudged me to say something, but I got nervous and couldn't think of anything to say. I stood behind them awkwardly for about a minute, until Nikolas said, ''I'm not yoking (joking) you, but the blond one literally just said, ''I'm so fucking horny right now.'' I finally came out with, ''Do you two like American music?'' What kind of lame conversation starter is that? The blond one turned her head slightly, said yes, and then went off with her friend. Guess I'll have to be more than just American, but I'm confident I am up for the challenge.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Swedish Girls
First off, I definately approve. There are certainly many beautiful women here. Stockholm reminds me of USC a little--there are drop dead goregeous girls, but most wear a shit-ton of makeup. With some girls I could stick my fingers in their cheeks, grab some makeup, and mold figurines. And apparently, Swedish girls love Americans.
I haven't figured out how true this is, but I do know all the young girls love me. Specifically, I mean Lolita and Victoria and their 7 year-old friends. They barely know any English and haven't talked to me until about an hour ago, so I thought they didn't like me. Today, I had to watch them for a little bit while everyone else was out. I tried to talk with them, but they just smiled shyly. Then their father came home with a friend and the friend's daughters. I was doing my laundry and they came up to me, and then ran away giggling. Then they came up and ran a way again. The third time, they counted to three and in unison said, ''Hi Tom. How are you?'' In my surprise, I responded, ''Good. How are you?'' ''Yes.'' they all said emphatically, and then ran away again. I laughed for a couple minutes.
I also visited a school to help teach 11 year-olds baseball. They all knew English, and all the girls wanted my attention. Hopefully I can carry over all this attention to the girls that are my age. I do get looks occasionally, mostly when I'm speaking. I'll find out more tonight, as I'll be going to a university party with Anton and his friends.
I haven't figured out how true this is, but I do know all the young girls love me. Specifically, I mean Lolita and Victoria and their 7 year-old friends. They barely know any English and haven't talked to me until about an hour ago, so I thought they didn't like me. Today, I had to watch them for a little bit while everyone else was out. I tried to talk with them, but they just smiled shyly. Then their father came home with a friend and the friend's daughters. I was doing my laundry and they came up to me, and then ran away giggling. Then they came up and ran a way again. The third time, they counted to three and in unison said, ''Hi Tom. How are you?'' In my surprise, I responded, ''Good. How are you?'' ''Yes.'' they all said emphatically, and then ran away again. I laughed for a couple minutes.
I also visited a school to help teach 11 year-olds baseball. They all knew English, and all the girls wanted my attention. Hopefully I can carry over all this attention to the girls that are my age. I do get looks occasionally, mostly when I'm speaking. I'll find out more tonight, as I'll be going to a university party with Anton and his friends.
2nd Game vs. Stockholm
We were in downtown Stockholm and running late. Joaquim's driving exam was taking longer than expected and I was waiting at the car with Alexis and Timor. Joaquim finally arrived and after a couple traffic jams we made it to the field...at 6:30pm, so the game was just starting. Considering the 1 through 4 hitters from the last game were sitting in that car, the rest of the team was somewhat upset.
Joaquim and Timor subbed in for the second inning, while Alexis and I waited on the bench. I was only allowed to pitch six innings in this game because of the Swedish rules regarding American players, so Sergio was pitching the first 3 innings for us. When he left the game we were losing 3-2, but it was my time to show my teammates why they brought me here.
Since I got here a week ago, all anyone's ever said to me is, ''Oh! You throw 80! That's really fast! Great heat! You'll be great!'' I assumed this meant Swedish hitters couldn't hit that speed, so I decided to throw more fastballs than usual. I throw a fastball, and the first hitter is behind it and fouls it off. I'm dreaming of 20 strikeout games. I throw another fastball, and the lefty singles between third and short! What? Must have got lucky. The next guy I start off with the fastball for a strike, then a curve ball for a strike. I'll just finish him with a fastball. Single over the second baseman's head. I can see the looks the rest of the team is giving each other. Okay, time to get serious. The next hitter gets on by a fielder's choice, but we get the runner at 2nd, one out. Then I struck the next guy out, swinging at a curve ball. That's better. The next kid is a righty with a slow bat, so I shake to an inside fastball. I jam the crap out of him, but he somehow pops it just over the 2nd baseman's head for a hit. God dammit. I get the next guy to ground out, but I'm a little pissed.
The next inning, a left-handed hitter leads off. I throw a curve ball for a strike, and then a fastball inside. HE PULLS IT!!! He pulls it down the line for a triple. WTF. Well, I hope these guys like not-fastballs, because that's what they're getting. Oh course, the next curve ball I throw bounces off our God-awful plate, scoring the guy from third. All I can say is : . For the next 15 outs, though, I gave up 2 hits and there wasn't a single ball that left the infield. So much for my heat. My team scored 1 run in the 6th, and 3 in the 8th, to win the game 6-5.
I struck out the last guy to end the game, and what ensued was both sad and funny. Everyone on the team started jumping around like we had won the league title, and everyone hugged me after the game. There were lots of hugs, actually, most in the ''We made it!'' style. I guess things get pretty bad when you don't win for a month. Everyone liked me before, but let me tell you they love me now. And that's despite going 0 for 3 on three ground outs.
Joaquim and Timor subbed in for the second inning, while Alexis and I waited on the bench. I was only allowed to pitch six innings in this game because of the Swedish rules regarding American players, so Sergio was pitching the first 3 innings for us. When he left the game we were losing 3-2, but it was my time to show my teammates why they brought me here.
Since I got here a week ago, all anyone's ever said to me is, ''Oh! You throw 80! That's really fast! Great heat! You'll be great!'' I assumed this meant Swedish hitters couldn't hit that speed, so I decided to throw more fastballs than usual. I throw a fastball, and the first hitter is behind it and fouls it off. I'm dreaming of 20 strikeout games. I throw another fastball, and the lefty singles between third and short! What? Must have got lucky. The next guy I start off with the fastball for a strike, then a curve ball for a strike. I'll just finish him with a fastball. Single over the second baseman's head. I can see the looks the rest of the team is giving each other. Okay, time to get serious. The next hitter gets on by a fielder's choice, but we get the runner at 2nd, one out. Then I struck the next guy out, swinging at a curve ball. That's better. The next kid is a righty with a slow bat, so I shake to an inside fastball. I jam the crap out of him, but he somehow pops it just over the 2nd baseman's head for a hit. God dammit. I get the next guy to ground out, but I'm a little pissed.
The next inning, a left-handed hitter leads off. I throw a curve ball for a strike, and then a fastball inside. HE PULLS IT!!! He pulls it down the line for a triple. WTF. Well, I hope these guys like not-fastballs, because that's what they're getting. Oh course, the next curve ball I throw bounces off our God-awful plate, scoring the guy from third. All I can say is : . For the next 15 outs, though, I gave up 2 hits and there wasn't a single ball that left the infield. So much for my heat. My team scored 1 run in the 6th, and 3 in the 8th, to win the game 6-5.
I struck out the last guy to end the game, and what ensued was both sad and funny. Everyone on the team started jumping around like we had won the league title, and everyone hugged me after the game. There were lots of hugs, actually, most in the ''We made it!'' style. I guess things get pretty bad when you don't win for a month. Everyone liked me before, but let me tell you they love me now. And that's despite going 0 for 3 on three ground outs.
First Game against Stockholm
First, I should mention that Timor's house is a good 45 minute drive from the field. It's an hour and a half by public transportation. So Timor and I rode the subway for about 4o minutes and then got picked up by 2 Cuban ballplayers, Alexis and Joaquim. Both are great guys. During the car ride. The two Cubans talk to each other in Spanish, talk to Timor in Swedish, and me in English. I try to talk to Joaquim and Alexis in Spanish, but unless they speak to me like I'm a retarded baby, I have a hard time understanding them. Joaquim is going to help me with my Spanish, and I'm excited about that.
So we got to the field late and didn't have time for batting practice, and we only had time to stretch for 20 minutes! Anders, our 40+ year old first baseman/pitcher/coach greets me, and tells me I'm going to DH, and hit 2nd. Poor decision, but I'm thinking, ''Maybe the pitching is really that bad.'' Anders goes on to tell me that a lot of Americans just try to hit home runs, and it'd be fine if I just got on base. Again, I should mention that I haven't hit in over 2 years, and wasn't enjoying these great expectations.
We're the home team, so our pitcher, Pedro, goes to work. I really can't describe what I saw. Pedro is left handed, and threw like a homosexual shot putter. The ball went about 50 mph. Apparently he has a change-up that's even slower. This is Swedish baseball??? Am I going to be hitting .700 and striking out everyone on fastballs? I'm thinking, at least I get to visit Sweden for an entire summer, even if the baseball is awful. Then their pitcher started warming up.
Apparently Stockholm's pitcher plays for the Swedish national team. He throws around 75 mph, and has four different pitches. Timor is the lead-off hitter, and he walks. Now it's time for my Swedish debut. The first pitch comes in: fastball, ball. The next pitch is thrown: slider, strike. I nod, like I know what I'm doing. I'm all geared up for the next pitch. It's a fastball and I swing. I foul it off, but am behind the ball as much as I could possibly be, and decide I shouldn't be using a 33-30 bombat (it's a wood bat league). The next pitch comes in: fastball, inside, that backs me off the plate. STRIKE THREE!!! At least I wasn't trying to hit a home run. I took some batting practice in the cage before my next at bat.
Great, they want me to bunt. I hope I don't get hit in the face. That's probably the worst thing to think before bunting, but whatever. I turn to bunt and it's a fastball. Fuck! It's coming right at me! I turn away and it hits me right in the left forearm and swells up immediately. I test my arm and hand, and they still work! Awesome! I didn't strike out!
For my third at bat, I decided to be more aggressive. The first pitch comes in and I take a huge hack. Unfortunately, it's a fastball at eye level, strike one. The next pitch comes in, and I take another big hack. Crack! Oh my God! I hit the ball in play! And by ''in play,'' I mean the guy jammed the shit out of me and I hit a dribbler towards third. The third baseman threw me out by three steps.
I can't tell you how excited I was to ground out weakly to third! It was a blast! And I'm really not being sarcastic. After a pitching and positional change, the DH was removed. We ended up losing 3-6, and fell to 0-6 as a team. I was very happy to have taken a baby step towards a hit, and to have an On Base Percentage. I was looking forward to the next day, when I'd get to show my actual talent: pitching.
So we got to the field late and didn't have time for batting practice, and we only had time to stretch for 20 minutes! Anders, our 40+ year old first baseman/pitcher/coach greets me, and tells me I'm going to DH, and hit 2nd. Poor decision, but I'm thinking, ''Maybe the pitching is really that bad.'' Anders goes on to tell me that a lot of Americans just try to hit home runs, and it'd be fine if I just got on base. Again, I should mention that I haven't hit in over 2 years, and wasn't enjoying these great expectations.
We're the home team, so our pitcher, Pedro, goes to work. I really can't describe what I saw. Pedro is left handed, and threw like a homosexual shot putter. The ball went about 50 mph. Apparently he has a change-up that's even slower. This is Swedish baseball??? Am I going to be hitting .700 and striking out everyone on fastballs? I'm thinking, at least I get to visit Sweden for an entire summer, even if the baseball is awful. Then their pitcher started warming up.
Apparently Stockholm's pitcher plays for the Swedish national team. He throws around 75 mph, and has four different pitches. Timor is the lead-off hitter, and he walks. Now it's time for my Swedish debut. The first pitch comes in: fastball, ball. The next pitch is thrown: slider, strike. I nod, like I know what I'm doing. I'm all geared up for the next pitch. It's a fastball and I swing. I foul it off, but am behind the ball as much as I could possibly be, and decide I shouldn't be using a 33-30 bombat (it's a wood bat league). The next pitch comes in: fastball, inside, that backs me off the plate. STRIKE THREE!!! At least I wasn't trying to hit a home run. I took some batting practice in the cage before my next at bat.
Great, they want me to bunt. I hope I don't get hit in the face. That's probably the worst thing to think before bunting, but whatever. I turn to bunt and it's a fastball. Fuck! It's coming right at me! I turn away and it hits me right in the left forearm and swells up immediately. I test my arm and hand, and they still work! Awesome! I didn't strike out!
For my third at bat, I decided to be more aggressive. The first pitch comes in and I take a huge hack. Unfortunately, it's a fastball at eye level, strike one. The next pitch comes in, and I take another big hack. Crack! Oh my God! I hit the ball in play! And by ''in play,'' I mean the guy jammed the shit out of me and I hit a dribbler towards third. The third baseman threw me out by three steps.
I can't tell you how excited I was to ground out weakly to third! It was a blast! And I'm really not being sarcastic. After a pitching and positional change, the DH was removed. We ended up losing 3-6, and fell to 0-6 as a team. I was very happy to have taken a baby step towards a hit, and to have an On Base Percentage. I was looking forward to the next day, when I'd get to show my actual talent: pitching.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)