Expat Jon takes on the world (well... Sweden)

Sometimes things from the past belong just there.  In the past.  I was recently smacked in the face with this fact.  My friends and I regularly reference memories of our childhood.  We talk about things that were awesome and shaped our lives.  On most occasions those references include clothes, games or movies.  When it comes to movies, I'm obsessive.  I want everyone to see the movie.  I love dialog, so I memorize the cool quotes and then use those quotes in real life situations.  Normally I do this with popular movies so I don't look like Rainman.  But here, I look like Rainman anyway because movies that were popular back home might not have been popular here. My movie-watching prime was from the late-80's to early 00's.  I still watch movies regularly, but I must say I'm not quite the repeat watcher that I used to be.  The last movie I obsessed over was "There Will Be Blood".  You can't really go around quoting that movie.  Instead of Rainman, you

Sometimes I can feel Swedish culture seeping into my bones.  It's a conscious thing that I try to fight, but I know it's inevitable.  Living anywhere you'll pick some things up.  One thing that I've picked up is that longing to go out to the summer house.  Whenever there is good weather here, Swedes with access to a summer house high-tail it to said summer house.  It's like an addiction.  The sun comes out and reminds you that you need your fix. Bag packed, ready to go! The summer house doesn't belong to us.  We don't have keys or anything.  I don't even know if there are keys to the place because the doors are always opened.  But whenever we want to go, we can go.  Why?  Because Swedie's aunt and uncle (that own the place) are ALWAYS out there.  Any the hint of nice weather or a long weekend they're there.  That's a comforting thought for me.  I've been out to the summer house (also known as the "country house") four or f

My dad told me when I was a little kid that giving compliments are important.  Once at a drive-thru, he took his bags from the cashier and right before he drove away he said:        - Keep smiling, you look good. I only saw her for about three more seconds as we drove away, but she was beaming.  All I could see was flushed cheeks and teeth as I looked out of the back window.  My dad handed me the bags of food and dropped some knowledge as I waited for an opening so I could ask for a french fry.  He told me that giving compliments is a small thing that means a lot.  According to him, that one sentence took a second for him to say, but it made her day.  She could have been having a bad day, but him telling her to smile made it better.  Compliments were important.  I was amazed at this gem of wisdom.  I would definitely start saying nice things to make people's day.  It would be awesome if everybody remembered me!  I nodded in complete understanding.        - Can I have a f

The bed has always been a special place for me. As a kid I was a professional boxer beating up my opponent (pillows) and then not letting him fall so I can beat him up some more for my fans.  Or a running back in the NFL trying to continue my streak of NEVER being tackled.  EVER.  Just laying sideways with my pillows as attempted tacklers and the wall as the ground I sprinted across at a lighting-quick pace. I can recall checking to see if my brother was asleep yet so we could whisper about... girls.  I used to see the men on TV shows get in arguments with their wives and end up sleeping on the couch.  I vowed at the tender age of six that I would never be that guy.  The bed was mine.        - If she's mad, then she should sleep on the couch! I still feel this way.  If I sleep on the couch it's because I dozed off while watching the game or a movie.  Not because Swedie's mad.  Maybe I'm lucky because we don't have arguments like that.  Our spats are done wi

My experience with soccer is very limited.  I vaguely remember playing in P.E. as an elementary school kid, but that had to be less than four total times.  I tried to watch on Univision a few times because I loved the way the guy yelled "Gooooooooooooooooaaaaaal!!!" whenever a goal was scored.   Crazy, right?!  He was so excited.  It would be so exciting to see the goal and then hear the call.  Unfortunately for me, I would never see a goal scored live. I would lose interest after a few minutes and change the channel.  Or, even worse, I would lose interest while the game was on and find out that a goal had been scored by hearing the announcer yelling "Goooooooooooooooaaaaaal!!!"  Then the replay but the magic is gone by then.  Just my luck.  The few times in my life that I did see a goal scored live, I would go crazy.  Even as an adult.  It is one of the better feelings in the sports-watching experience.  Right up there with a devastating knockout (boxing/M