Prelude No. 18 (in B-major) OR academy

December OR theoretikos ökologie

When we last left our hero, he was busy philosophising the theory of science. His philosophising took him everywhere – the zeniths! the nadirs! – all from the comfort of his armchair. In the end, he concluded that nothing worth knowing is worth not knowing, and vice versa. I leave you, now, with our hero, in whose hand the pen lies.

This is how things stood:

pass: Advanced ecology

pass: Philosophy of science

Finally, my toughest challenge: theoretically ecology. Lectures were held in the smallest, remotest room in ecologiehuset. They needn’t have been any larger, though, since only five of us were taking the course. How best to describe my colleagues? I noticed Susannah first - the only girl. She was long and pointed and, I later discovered, of Polish origin. Her prodigious biological and ecological knowledge was revealed by degrees during the course. Arben, who was Swedish, was never without a leather jacket. How can a person own a leather jacket and understand mathematicks and statisticks? I avoided the paradox. Torben, clean and curved, was German. He was my closest friend during those weeks, although I didn’t share his enthusiasm for soil. The fifth member of our quintet was an enthusiastic Norwegian man whose name I have since forgotten. He was excitable – charged like a cation. Jörgen Ripa, our lecturer, was personable and professional. He had a profound forehead, thick brows, and deep eyes – a not inconsiderable dwarf.

Simply, theoretical ecology is not simple. Nevertheless, I resolved to understand it (my Swedish sojourn, after all, was tied by the threads of scholarship). I do not wish to bore you with the details of December and January’s labours, except to say that I have never studies so hard in my life. Ah, but what bliss! Can you imagine – seated at your desk, pen and paper illuminated by the light of candles, walls bathed in red, yellow, and orange, while outside the snow falls. In the final days before my exam, everything fell into place.

Part of my pass belongs to Virginia Diaz-Cerdan, whose room I studied in; part of my pass belongs to Bon Iver, whose love I fell in.

Interlude OR rememories

It is a thrilling tale; I wish to do it justice.

Prelude No. 16 (in A-minor) OR I'm the king of the world!

December 4-7 OR NO-WAY

I can’t remember if I’ve ever been on a cruise. A cruise seems like the kind of thing that I would remember, so I probably haven’t. Although, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve forgotten. For instance, every year I forget that my younger has a birthday. (Fortunately, this excuses me from ever having to buy him a present.) Now, however, I can remember with certainty that I have been on a cruise from Copenhagen to Oslo, and back again.

Marta suggested the idea nearly two months ago. Andy, she said, you are coming with me to the bank. I am? Yes, and bring 1000SEK. 1000SEK! Don’t worry; you’ll get 1 krona change. So, nearly two months later, I was on an ocean-liner. What an impressive ship! I travelled from Lund to Copenhagen in a bus with Can and John*. As our bus pulled into the harbour, we passed a small, pathetic, grubby boat. Like Titanic, my heart sank... No. That can’t be our boat! 1 krona saved for nothing! Then, as the greying sun descended on Denmark, the brilliant lights of The Spirit of Scandinavia illuminated the harbour. Like Titanic II: The Revenge, my heart rose. Later, I learned that the small, pathetic, grubby boat was sailing to Estonia. That seems about right.

Our cabins were on the lowest level—the fiesta deck. I was sharing with John, Marta, and Ulrike. Like gentlemen, John and I shot-gunned the top bunks. Our cabin was deceptively small. Deceptively because it was actually smaller than it appeared, and it appeared really small. Small places are usually a problem for me, because I’m so muscular. Fortunately, John is shaped like a linear equation, so between us we occupied two common or garden persons.

The boat was fantastically excessive, which is my favourite kind of thing. On the first night, Can, John and I treated ourselves to a private viewing of UP in the private cinema. It was a very pleasant man-date until five Danish toddlers seated themselves in the front row. UP is a beautiful film, although it does contain scenes that may frighten young children. During the frightening scenes, the children were comforted by their parents. Similarly, Can and John comforted one another. At least, that’s what I thought they were doing. Later that night, on the dance floor, we kept on with the force and didn’t stop ‘til we’d gotten enough.

The Spirit of Scandinavia pierced its way through the Kattegat Sea. There is nothing quite as frightening as leaning over the stern rail of a ship thinking, if I fell, no one would ever find me. The sea, churned white, dissolves into a cold, black desert. So this is how Kate Winslet felt. The land closed in on us, and suddenly we were in Oslo. We arrived at 9am. We departed at 4pm. Seven hours in Oslo = rain + a tiger + ice dancing + amigos + a royal palace - John + Munch + a scream + walking + statues + Barack Obama + fake Obama - Barack Obama + phone + music + Burger King - 100NOK + cold hands. (Also, Oslo > Copenhagen, but Stockholm > Oslo.)

I don’t recall what I ate for dinner the second night. I do, however, recall learning a new drinking game, although not the actual drinking game. And then... My new camera is amazing; I explore the ship—swimming pool, duty free shops, restaurants, cafes, bars, cinema; Bailey’s, goes down smooth; David ties his shoelace, and a dance is born; outside the wind is how-oo-ling; I am Jack Dawson; DJ lethal plays the same song twice; my head spins; the Spanish inquisition; in my cabin, at last, I close my eyes. A moment later, it is morning, and someone is hammering the door.

During the night, someone stole a pair of shoes from the boutique, and vandalised the cabins. The captain, if that’s what she was, was not happy, so she interrogated us (us = 150 Lund University students). We were detained in the Heaven-11 bar, which is also a gaol in the morning. You will not be leaving until the person/persons responsible is/are held responsible. Fortunately, crime never pays, and an hour later, we were back in Lund.

Incidentally, my new shoes didn't come with a receipt. Crimes never pays, except sometimes.

* Can and John are homophones.

Prelude No. 15 (in C-major) OR winter takes fall

November 3 OR what joy it’ll bring!

I started reading Ulysses today. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed et cetera et cetera et cetera. I’ve always wanted to read, or pretend to read, an impressive book like Ulysses. That is why I read in parks and cafés and buses and et cetera: I wish to be seen. (“Isn’t that Andrew sitting by himself, reading?” “What a loser.”) I was in the Språk och Litteratur centre today, loitering, when it occurred to me that I ought to do something dangerous. We all have our own understandings of words. For others, dangerous denotes something actually dangerous. For me, and James Dean before me, it is borrowing a book from the library (and then returning it a day late).

November 13 - 16 OR Stockholm

Where is the furthest north you have ever been? Bowen? Ayr? Tully? The answer is, of course: nowhere, directions are relative. Nevertheless, I have been to Stockholm. A more beautiful and more northern city I have never seen. No words can describe its wonder or enchantment, except wonder and enchantment, respectively. I especially enjoyed the followings nouns: castle, bridge, alley, valley, gallery, harbour, boat, and brew. Stockholm is a city of islands; http://www.maps.google.com/.

I stayed in a hostel in Södermalm with Lukas, Vasco, and Wally, whom you may recall from my earlier adventures. We drove to Stockholm on Friday and returned on Monday. Actually, Lukas did all the driving—he was doing very well until he turned on the engine. Vasco, bringer of cake, was the navigator. Wally, eater of cake, rarely moves between meals, and slept for most of the journey. I forget what I did, but it wasn’t fun. We stopped by the lake near Jönköping to enjoy the view. We did not, however, predict early fall of night, which occurred on or near the stroke of noon. Consequently, we did not enjoy the view.

We walked the streets of Stockholm. In a Viking bar we mulled a mulled brew; in the Vasamuseet we watched a ship fall, and rise; in the modern art gallery we saw Dali become himself.

November 4/11/18/25 OR nothing left for me to do but DANCE

I’m a party animal. Four weeks in a row, I’ve been to VGs night club. The first three times, I went with my Swiss/German/Belgian friends from Östra Torn. On all three occasions, we said we’d better get there earlier else we’ll have to wait in the queue, and on all three occasions we were the first in the club. There is nothing more embarrassing that being the first person in a night club, except being me on any other occasion. Nevertheless, I come out so the party gets started. So, now, I live only by the night. I live by the day, too, but as Superman.

November 3 - December 2 OR philosophising with a hammer

I am about to complete the second in a trilogy of international courses: advanced ecology, philosophy of science, theoretical ecology. Ipso facto, for the past month, I have been otherwise engaged with the philosophy of science. Most of my colleagues from advanced ecology are now studying evolutionary advanced ecology. When I told them I was studying philosophy of science they gave the same look a mother gives when she finds out her son is stupid. So, now I tell everyone I study super-science.

Actually, philosophy of science is very interesting. I’ve always wanted to be a philosopher, but I’d rather be handsome. Lately, I have taken to questioning morals. My philosophical enquiries, however, take the form of a Seinfeld bit. “So what’s the deal with the categorical imperative? What's so imperative about it? I mean, it’s not like we’re purifying concepts in a moral blender.”

Also lately, I have been reading Nietzsche, which is devastating and beautiful. Mostly, I read Nietzsche for the café effect I mentioned earlier. Which reminds me: I never did finish Ulysses...

Prelude No. 14 (in D-minor) OR ouch, Ron, that was my foot

October 25 - November 2 OR done sorted next

I have, at last, submitted my rainforest ecology report. Generally, I am pleased with it, although I didn’t like the font. Lesson: wingdings is a sometime thing. The hardest part was coming up with a title. No combination of words seemed to work, not even real ones. Not even fake ones. Eventually, I decided the report didn’t need a title and left the front page blank. If this raises suspicions, I thought, I’ll just say it’s written in invisible ink. No, magic ink! Yeah, I’ll just say it’s written in magic ink, which is also invisible. The whole report was fourteen pages (three, without the reference list), which makes it the longest report ever written by a Last. I told dad and he wept. Not even all the bakery treats in the world could make me happier, he said. Not even a Humble Pie? I replied. He stared for a moment and then put his hand on his stomach. I’m hungry, he said.

This week, I spent every working hour in the laboratory, writing another report. It was about rodents, specifically small, food-eating ones. Fortunately, it was a group project. Team Extreme: Bastian, Can, Isabelle, Jonathan, Marta, self. We were each responsible for only a small part of the overall report. I was in charge of the running text, while Bastian, Can, Isabelle, Jonathan, and Marta were in charge of the title and typeset.

Now, with no reports to write in the immediate future, I am without responsibility. That is, I am not responsible, so it’s probably not a good time to ask me to babysit.

October 26/27 OR Fat Wally’s

My neighbour, whose name I have sworn never to reveal, is from Switzerland. He loves to eat. It is not uncommon to see him eating two ice-creams at once, or four ice-creams at twice. He even eats while riding. (I tried this once, but accidentally impaled a pedestrian with my Cornetto.) Lately, whatshisname has been kind enough to invite me to dinner. We have an arrangement: I proof-read his assignment and he feeds me. For every mistake I find, he owes me a meal. Fortunately for me, thingy is an awful speller, so I’ve been dining like a Prince. Often, we will have several meals in one evening: dinner; supper; post-supper; pre-dessert; second dinner. If X ever discovers the spell-check button, all is lost!

Q: If a Swede comes from Sweden, and a German comes from Germany, who comes from Switzerland?

A: Roger Federer

October 28-31 OR say cheese and die

On Wednesday night, I flipped a coin. Then, I flipped another coin and went to a night club. I went with Walter (my neighbour [the one who always eats]) and Jerome. We arrived early to avoid the queue. In fact, we were so early that we had to form the queue ourselves. We waited half an hour for the doors the open; I was first in line. For a few seconds, I was the ONLY person in the club. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Eventually, more and more people arrived.

Dance. Dance. Dance.

Then, closing time; I didn’t have to go home, but I couldn’t stay there.

This is Halloween. This is Halloween. On Friday and Saturday, I weaved some magic. Two Halloween parties in two nights! Egads! I really am the worst costumee of all time. Here is the evolution of my costume: cowboy, gay cowboy, sexually confused cowboy, gay cowboy, teenage mutant ninja turtle, Pingu, gay cowboy, et cetera. Of course, all of those costumes required effort, and money. Also, it seemed like a waste not to use my wand and round glasses. So, I brewed some PP (polyjuice potion) and transformed into Harry Potter! Do-doo-do-do-doo do-doo doo. My friend, John, dressed as a milk carton. If there was a difference, my costume was lactose-tolerant. Two ghoulish nights! It was like being on the set of Thriller, twice! However, at some unfortunate moment, my camera broke. I did a radical jump and landed on my pocket, but it is more likely that my camera destroyed itself when I took a photo of Ulrike.

November 2 OR the worst night

Swine flu.

(This is all speculation.)

Prelude No.13 (in F-major) OR we held those truths to be self-evident

October, 2009 OR so much to tell you

It’s good to be back. Actually, I have been here the whole time, I just haven’t written anything. Also, there really isn’t that much to tell you. If I could only tell you one thing, it would be this. Yesterday, I cleaned my room. Wait, there’s more. When I finished, my rubbish bin was barely full—filled, in a sense, with dust and crumbs. I thought it would be easiest if I simply emptied the bin out the window, so I did. Who would notice? I was listening to Scott Joplin, and was not thinking too much about anything else. As it happens, a passing pedestrian received a shower of acrid rain. That’s entertainment! If only I ate more bananas.

October 14, 2009 OR happy birthday, Lisa

My sister, Emma, is eighteen at last. Just ask her. She really is the most beautiful young lady in the world, but only in certain lights. I much prefer Emma Watson in all lights, least of all because she isn’t my sister. Obvious geographical constraints have prevented me from celebrating Emma’s ability to mark time. If I could have things my way, little sister, we would have lost that $50 together.

? OR for Can, simply

My friend, Can, wanted me to say something about him. He enjoyed my last blog, especially because I insulted Turks. I intend to do as little dying as possible, so I won’t insult Turkish people any further, except to say that Can is one of them.

? OR NBA action

I am all about basketball. Some of my more cherished mmres are about basketball. In Atherton, when I was 8, or perhaps 9, I would watch NBA Action every Saturday. My favourite part was, of course, the top ten plays of the week. After number one, which was invariably M.J. being a wizard, or a bull, I would rush out into the driveway and shoot some hoops. When Channel 10 stopped broadcasting live games, basketball’s popularity waned. It is sad. My mother, who is quite wonderful, brought basketball back to life, twice. In Gympie, she single-handedly established a junior basketball competition. She has never been thanked enough, mainly because it is so difficult to compliment one-handed people. I played basketball socially and competitively until 2005. Since then, it has largely vanished from my life.

Until now!

Who would have thought that biologists could be so good at basketball? Even John, who is as graceful and delicate as a giraffe, is a triple-threat. Can, is phenomenally good, and only misses his shots when he feels sorry for the rest of us. Marta and Nacho are deadly, and Christoph is tall and handsome. My talent lies in my ability to be a nuisance on the court. They call me Marsupial Boy (not to my face).

October 17 EITHER/OR København

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
I think you have me confused with someone else,
But very well, thank you.

You may recall that my first encounter with Copenhagen was limited to the international airport and the inside of a train. Extrapolation, even in the non-scientific realm of touristology (which, as you know, differs from touristonomy in the same way that astrology differs from astronomy), is the cause of much frowning. Nevertheless, I was sure that the surrounding city was at least as nice as the terminal and train combined. I was pleased, then, when Natalia (lately of Ukraine) suggested a little adventure to Søren’s hometown. In no especial order—except alphabetical—Can, Jessica, John, Marta, Natalia, Raquel, Santiago, Ulrike, and my good self caught the A-train from L to C. The initial plan was to meet at the train station at 6:00am, but this plan was quashed when it was made explicitly clear to certain parties that this hour does not exist.

Tivoli is an amusement park in or near the heart of Copenhagen. As part of the lead-up to Hallowe’en, the walls and entrance were decorated with an adjective noun of nouns, mainly pumpkins. This is Hallowe’en, this is Hallowe’en. In the city square, I watched a convergence of birds; in the alleys, I spied a windy man and furry children. Traffic lights in Copenhagen count down from sixty, which is a polite novelty. The numbers from 60 to 21 are red, and green from 20 to 1. I now know it takes me seven seconds to cross the street, depending on the street.

We crossed the river, searching for Kristiana. On the way we visited an ancient, though purple, church. For a small fee, you can climb the spiralling bell-tower. A small fee in Danish, however, roughly translates to a large fee in Swedish, so we passed. I do not want to say much about Kristiana except that it is the most awful place on earth. Imagine a post-apocalyptic world, teeming with pug-nosed dogs, where narcotics are the legal tender, where burning barrels illuminate and radiate, where Bob Marley and the Dalai Lama are brothers; a world of chaos; a world without rules (except no photos). You have just imagined Kristiana.

In the afternoon, we were joined by Bastian, Isabelle, and Jonathan. Bastian, you may recall, inspired A.C. Doyle’s famous Holmes adventure The Red-Headed League. We were all of us hungry, and equally poor. After countless minutes (23) of searching, we finally settled on a small, underground kebab-ery. I will never forget that restaurant, except its name.

In Copenhagen, there is a statue of a mermaid that is famous for being the least impressive statue in the world. For whatever reason, Marta’s mother wanted Marta to see it, which meant that Marta wanted Marta’s friends to see it. So we saw the statue, and, of course, were unimpressed.

Night descended. Cold and tired, we made our way back to the train station. We passed impressive churches and castles. On Frederik Street, we waved to Mary; on Christian Street, we threw maple leaves; on a third street, we mocked L.R. Hubbard’s ‘book’ store. Finally, we found the station. Three trains later, including the one we missed, we were home.

October 19-22 OR further adventures

Ecology camp—again! Camp is misleading. Bastian, Can, Isabelle, Jonathan, Marta and I lived cosily in a little cottage. Cottage is misleading, too; it is actually a field station. We were there for three days and four nights, although not in that order. Our project (habitat preference among small rodents) was a pretense to eat pasta, watch Futurama, and sleep. The Swedish countryside is beautiful, like something you’d see on a postcard. Golden leaves guided the lonely roads. Even the cows, at a distance, were beautiful.

October 20 OR happy birthday, Lisa, again

My brother and I are in a race. I gave him a year and a half head start. Every year, for half a year, I rope him in, and the gap is only one year. But then, like a particle leaping simultaneously to a higher energy level, he escapes from my sights, a whole two years ahead.

What is it about October? Or, rather, what is it about (counts backwards) January?

October 23 OR continued further adventures

The more I write, the later the hour. Soon, I will fall asleep, and then I will wake, and then I will fall sleep again. Night conquers day, but day conquers night; and paper covers rock! Kif, we have a conundrum. Fetch me some paper, and a rock.

Prelude No.12 (in A-minor) OR everything is the worst sometimes

21-09-09 OR the horror at camp jelly jam

Ecology camp! Imagine—five days in Kivig; five days by the Baltic Sea. There were thirty of us, all students of ecology. By the end of the week, after we had become the closest (and farthest) of friends, it seemed like a lot less. Each morning, in the crisp Swedish air, we adventured into the wilderness. We explored; we investigated. Biodiversity, competition, predation, adaptation, evolution: no biological concept remained untouched. Also, in the afternoon, we threw a frisbee, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

In Australia, the movement of thirty-something students requires—at the very least—a medium-sized bus. Also, you have to fill out at least an infinite number of forms just to get anywhere near the bus. Even then, you will probably find that the trip has been cancelled. In Sweden, small vans are the people-mover of choice. (For the mathematicians among you, a common or garden bus equals five small vans.) Best of all, students are allowed to drive—no forms necessary! Jessica was my chauffer for the week. She nearly crashed, twice; she is French-Canadian.

Kivig, as you know, is the apple-growing capital of Sweden. By some miracle, Applefest (literally, Festival of Apples) was nearing its juicy climax and I was fortunate to glimpse the famous Apple Picture (literally, Picture of Apples) before its grand unveiling. Imagine—the biggest apple mosaic in the world! Once again, man has triumphed over fruit, and gravity. I also visited an apple museum. The big barrels of apples at the entrance seemed to say help yourself. Later, I realised they actually said we're for decoration, please don't eat.

For whatever reason, I was not looking forward to the excursion. In my mind's eye, I imagined myself cold and wet and miserable—weeping uncontrollably in a ruined tent, tired and hungry. On the contrary, the weather was perfect, the accommodation was exceptional, and I ate like a glutton.

When I returned on Friday I was pleased to see some familiar faces. Benny, Wally, Vasco... I wonder if they missed me. V: Andy, how are you? A: I'm well. I've been away all week, in Kivig. V: You were away? No, they didn't.

23-09-09 OR shir-leen

For the second time in however long I forgot my mother's birthday. It's a shame, and I am sorry, mother. The first time was in 2004, on my school’s ski trip. I forget exactly what happened but I remember seeing mother through my dormitory window and telling her to kindly go away, but in fewer words. In my defence, I was a teenager, and teenagers are idiots. My defence this time is that I'm in Sweden, which is a long way from Australia. Also, it's a different time zone, so I got confused. Although I may have forgotten to wish mother a H.B. I did sing compleanos felit to Nacho, my Spanish friend. Does that count? I think so. In a way, I'm the best son ever. Also, my phone was out of service and I didn't have internet access. Kivig, if you recall, is powered by apples, and I don't mean Macintosh.

26-09-09 OR the worst day

Twelve years ago I kicked my toe on my grandparents' concrete driveway. I was angry, and sad. Today, I kicked my toe on the bottom of the stove.

What could have been is now not.

(When will the Saints march in?)

30-09-09 OR exactly

Suddenly, Lund is very cold. Worst of all, the wind always blows in the same direction, which is towards me. I rode down a hill today—it was steep, nearly vertical—and the wind stopped me in my place. This evening, when I returned from a quiet drink at Kalmar Nation, I made a cup of tea. But I wasn’t just cold, I was hungry, too. I needed something sweet. On my bedside table, I noticed a box of Turkish Delights. It had been given to me by Can (John), my Turkish classmate, although it is entirely probable that I stole it. The box was covered in white powder—icing sugar. I do not envy the Turks for eating their delights all the time, but when supplies are limited and your tea is losing it edge, you take what you can get. Here's the rub: now I have white powder all over my black shirt.

(Moral: never trust a Turk.)