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.)

Prelude No. 11 (in F-minor) OR melting pot

10-09-09 OR talar du engelska?

Ostra Torn is filled with international students. Actually, inhabited by, not filled - if I have created the impression of Monkeys in a Barrel then I have failed. There is a healthy representation of students from each and every continent: Oceania, Eurasia, Eastasia - everywhere except Antarctica (although I could have sworn I saw a dancing penguin the other day [although it may have been a midget in a tuxedo]). Many of the students/penguins/midgets have come to Sweden to improve their English. My neighbour, Wally, can speak three languages. I have another friend, X (I forget her name), who can speak seven! Imagine that! I feel so uncultured. I can barely speak one language, let alone any other positive integer.

I'm in the middle of a race war. There's the Spanish quarter, the French quarter, the German quarter, the South-East Asian quarter... Then there are the rogues: Australia, Switzerland, UK, US, Canada, India, Kazakhstan, elsewhere. Unofficially, the Cosmopolitan quarter. How many quarters is that? It is a case of the sum of the parts being greater than the whole. 25% greater, in fact. Ironically, there are no NZ'ers, so it's not really a race war at all.

The layout of Ostra Torn is fairly simple. There are three main clusters of low-rise apartments: North, West, and South. In the centre of the open-ended rectangle thus formed is a grassy area that, with the careful positioning of a few spare shoes, can be transformed into a football field. There is also an adventure fort, but you must be under this height _ to play.

Every other afternoon, there is a football game. Teams are improvised, or in my case, the interchange is improvised. If there's one thing I've never been good at, it's soccer. My foot skills are woeful, and don't even bother explaining offside. I am, however, good at chasing balls and being a general nuisance to opposing players. I have a feeling that, before long, I will become a dangerous footballer. (I am reminded of the monk-like scientists in Danum Valley who played badminton every night - what else is there to do in the middle of the rainforest?)

Today, I played a game of football. It was a lot of fun until the ball exploded.

12-09-09 OR toothpaste sandwich

Do not worry, mother, I am eating well. Actually, I am feeding well. For this, I have Walter to thank. This evening, for dinner, I prepared a delicious meatball pasta with lemon-scented potatoes and peppered-onions, delicately countered by a bowl of marmalade gelato. I had finished perusing my lecture notes and was wearing my legalise gay shirt - it was time for bed. My bedtime ritual is something like: 1) brush teeth 2) floss teeth 3) rinse mouth 4) fall asleep. There is also an intermittent step between 3) and 4) where I move, with the grace of a slender possum, from basin to bed - very rarely do I fall asleep in the bathroom. So, there was I, in bed, teeth radiating, when the doorbell rang. It was Wally. Andy, you must join us for dinner. It will be ver' special. Who am I to refuse! Two dinners in one day, or however the Crowded House song goes. Wally and Vasco had prepared a real dinner with real ingredients. Beans, tomatoes, capsicum, onions, potatoes, spinach, extra-virgin olive oil, the lot. If there was a difference between the two dinners, it was that mine came from a packet. I forgot to mention that earlier.

Tonight, we dine like Princes!

Prelude No.10 (in Bb-minor) OR rhinoceros beetles and their allies

04-09-09 OR Where's Wally/Lloyd?

I have a new favourite word: pre-lash. Perhaps you have heard it before. I hadn't. Ben Roberts, lately of the United Kingdom (the English bit), introduced it to my vocabulary. Lasty, fancy joining us for a prelash?

Pre-what?

The easiest way to arrange a prelash is on the old Skype network. Where would I be without Skype? Lund, Sweden. Skype and location are not causally related - you're a fool for even thinking it! Incidentally, before I tell you about prelashes and how wonderfully exciting they are, I'd like to share a little story with you. Don't worry, it's not very long. In fact, I'll even write it in italics...

Often, when you are on a bus, or in a bus, you overhear conversations. John and Jan might be discussing how terribly inconvenient university is ("... it's the attendence that I really hate! And can you believe I have to write a report...") or perhaps Michael and Fiona are comtemplating classic literature ("... do you love Jodie Piccoult as much as I do? She's the best... it's like she says exactly what I'm thinking, but with words..."). In any case, there's usually a dense cacophony of bus banter. Sometimes, people simply make noises. Not words, just sounds. Like whistling. I like to whistle, do you? No? But anyone can whistle - just ask Sondheim! Today I heard a boy whilsting the Skype ring tone. There was a moral to this story, but it has since evaporated...

So, to set the scene, I am in Ben's apartment. Lloyd, lately of the United Kingdom (the Scottish bit), is also there. I am not sure about prelash etiquette, so I have brought crisps. I ask Ben if Wally is coming? Ben turns to Lloyd: aren't you Wally? To cut an awkward story short, Lloyd has a new nickname (Wally 2.0). Ben brings out the liquor, "Lasty, prepare to get prelashed!" Or words to that tune. I try my hardest to endorse the time-honoured icon of Australian-as-beer-drinker. If I were made of stronger stuff, or had a few extra (let's say 50) kilos under my belt, this would not be so difficult. However, I am, as the locals say, en rädd, konstiga, lilla kille , so the drinks go right through me. Later, Ettienne creeps by the window, wearing a raccoon-skin hat. We invite him in, even though he is dressed like a procyonous ruski. Then Volker arrives, escourted by the real Wally. Honestly, I don't know why Martin Handford looked so hard, they're ev'rywhere!

Meanwhile, the crisps have worked a treat.

And that was my first prelash. The actual lash, however, was quite different. I had a vision in my mind of some pathetic hag, imprisoned in the stocks, being whipped by a deviant arch-executioner. It turns out you just go to a nightclub and dance.

09-09-09 OR occasionally, you will learn something

Billy Anachronism. The most exciting thing about being in a master level course is that I have fast-tracked my studies. Today I read an article about Rhinoceros Beetles in South-East Asia. It's all happening, I tell you! Also, Gabriela (whose cousin, by the way, is Nadia Comaneci) has adopted me as her son. In fact, she has invited me to dine with her family next week. If Bram Stoker has taught me anything, it's that Romanians are undead creatures of the night that feast only on the flesh of the living. Usually, I wouldn't go for that, but I'll probably be hungry in a week. Dilemmas...

Prelude No. 9 (in G-major) OR Pat thinks he's a really lucky man

02-09-09 OR Avada Kedavra!

What is a man if he is not busy?

Idle.

The same is true for women and other stationary objects. In any case, I'd rather be an idle man than an idol god. No, wait... that can't be right. I'd rather be a wizard.

I received a parcel today from the other side of the world. It was my first international mail experience, except for when I was sconced by a copy of Lund, Tisdag! What's in the box, in the box? (What's in the box today?) It was very exciting, like opening your brothers' presents at 11:59pm on Christmas Eve. Actually, it was more like when I opened my Hogwarts letter. Speaking of witchcraft and wizardy, I now own an actual wand. Holly, 11", with a phoenix core (made in China).

Avada Kedavra!

Dream: I am on my death bed, old and wrinkled. I am a prolific writer. I have written poems, novels, plays, scripts, ballets, operas, but it is my blog that keeps me going. I have kept the same format for 60 years... Prelude No. x OR y. Meanwhile, the doctor tells me I have minutes left. I write my final blog: Lude No. 1 OR tacet. I write it in comic sans. Not even the nurse laughs.

(Themes: beauty, truth, freedom, love, fonts)

Death is the ultimate form of procrastination. Kierkegaard was wrong, by the way: one may as well case the Acasta Gneiss the philosopher's stone because it has given us so much thought for 4.03 billion years.

Prelude No. 8 (in A-minor) OR yes, but do they dance like THIS where you're from?

01/09/09 OR first day of school, first day of school

For me, the most difficult thing about living in Sweden is opening and closing doors. In Australia, doors are fairly homogenous. That is, when you see a door, it is very difficult to differentiate it from others doors you have seen. And they are always easily opened, even when they are locked (or especially when they are locked).

But in Sweden, each door is a new door; no two doors are the same. In fact, no one door is the same. What looks like a door is actually a window, and what looks like a window is actually a door. And what looks like a door with a window in it is actually neither. On my first day I made the error of pushing a door when I should have pulled. The next day I made the error of pulling when I shoud have pushed. The next day I made the error of pushing and pulling a door that opens automatically. To be sure, I have given up opening doors. Instead, I wait outside them until they are used by someone else, and sneak through them a'la Indiana Jones (I've even had a hat tailored). There is a possibility that I will be left waiting outside a door for hours. There's also a possibility that I might one day choke on a butter menthol. Such is life.

Swedish lecturers are fond of their coffee breaks. So are Swedish students, especially Gabriela, even though she is from Romania. A typical university lecture will last for three hours. A not-so-typical university lecture will last for several days, and is conducted in complete silence, but attendence is usually very low. The least typical lecture of all time was given by Jorgen Nilsson in 1934. Entitled Uranium-235! Why not?, it was presented in total darkness in an abandoned mineshaft near Lomma. As far as I am aware, it is still going.

Steph, if you read this, there are too many Australians in Lund (even if you don't, there are still too many). And that's not even including UK Ben, who really does the worst impression imaginable.

Prelude No. 7 (in G-major) OR I don't like the Time Warp, let's not do it again

25-08-09 OR 31-08-09

Felix, Lloyd, Jun-Sen, Holly, Walter, Volker, Vasco, Ettienne, Marie, Davysh, Lionel, Karolina, Max, Verena, Marena, Carmen, Can, Ignacio, Gabriela, Amenesh, Oliver, Aha, Daniel.

One name is fictitious.

Strangers become friends so easily in Lund, especially when the strangers are international students. Ostra Torn is a cosy residence. I have my own apartment. I feel a bit like Jerry Seinfeld, except not as Jewish, or funny. Who will be my Kramer? My Newman?

Am I jet-lagged? Is this what it feels like, when the doves fly? I have a week to settle into my new home, or at least I did two weeks ago when this actually happened.