Author Archives: Shark

God hates Sweden and vice versa

We all know that God hates Sweden because the Westboro Baptist Church told us so.  But did you know that the reverse is also true: Swedes hate God(s)?  Or at least the liberal-fascist-socialist-communist-god-hating editors at Bonnier book publishing do.  How do I know?  I present to you the book by Elizabeth Gilbert called “Eat, Pray, Love.”  Now this book was so popular they made it into a movie starring Julia Roberts.  As we know when something becomes outrageously popular, like Harry Potter, it’s translated into a million different languages.  Sometimes translations fail, and sometimes they fail because of god(s)-hating atheists and their evil liberal agenda.

Lyckan, Karleken och Meningen med Livet (Swedish Edition)So the original title of the book is Eat, Pray Love.  But the evildoers changed that to Lyckan, kärleken och meningen med livet.  Which re-translated into English means, “Luck, Love, and the Meaning of Life.”  Terrible, terrible, terrible.  There’s no PRAY in there, not even any reference to EATing!  So not only do Swedes hate deities, they hate eating as well.  Of course being liberals they love the loving, so they left that part in.  As for the meaning of life, who knows?

Blondinbella

I’m jealous of Blondinbella.  She’s so pretty, smart, and successful.  She has her own business, book, magazine, and boyfriend.  Her blog is one of Sweden’s most popular websites.  Somehow, despite all this success, she appears to have it all together and dress fabulous.  I think she is probably a genuinely nice young woman, and a positive one at that.  Not like that Kissies chick who is about as self-absorbed and narcissistic as a Jay Gatsby .

I sometimes wonder how I would have turned out had my parents not packed us up and moved to America.  What would have happened had I stayed in Sweden?  Would I have become a liberal, progressive, bon vivant Swede, or a down-to-earth Nils Holgersson?  One thing is for certain, I would not have been the male equivalent of Blondinbella because I was too late for the social media revolution.

Anyhow, reading Blondinbella’s blog is my delicious vice.  Whenever I’m feeling down I read about her fantastic life and I feel much better about myself and life in general.  It also helps keep my Swedish current.  Until next time…

Tired

I am tired and exhausted.  My brain is fried and I am having problems keeping my eyelids open.  I want to sleep but I can’t, another work day has begun.  I have no-one to blame but myself.  I should not have stayed up until 2:30am in the morning.  A reasonable man who has to work the next morning would not have stayed up that late.  A reasonable man would have gone to bed at a sensible hour, like perhaps 9pm.  I wish I was a reasonable man.  Three hours of sleep is definitely not enough.

Still, a lesser man would not have drug himself to work.  A lesser man would have called in sick.  A lesser man would have been reasonable.

Sitting and waiting

I’m sitting and waiting.  Normally I don’t mind sitting, because I can read a book, but I can’t do that here.  I hate waiting.  I think most people hate waiting.  I don’t like getting bad news, I don’t think any of us do, but waiting for bad news is the worst.  Waiting for good news is only recognized after the fact.  Since I don’t know whether or not I will get good or bad news, I find myself sitting and waiting, sitting and waiting.  It’s eternity…  I also just realized that I’m out of beer.

Those people…

Have you ever bought a newspaper and then forget to read it?  This happens to me all the time, especially with my favorite Sunday Editions of The New York Times.   At $6 dollars each, they are as expensive as a paperback novel, and probably contain as much writing.  I enjoy the Sunday New York Times, even though a lot of my peers give me grief for its liberal bias.  So what?  I watch Fox News too, and you can’t say that they don’t have a conservative bias.  You see, there’s two sides to every story, and I enjoy reading, listening, and watching both the liberals and the conservatives.  This entire country was founded on discourse, debate, and heaven forbid, compromise.

At any rate, last night I was cleaning up the man cave and I stumbled across the March 13, 2011 edition of The New York Times.  Good grief, that was a while ago.  The paper is already fading as some papers tend to do under the elements and time.  I’m now catching up on the past if you will.

Turning the pages I come to the Weddings/Celebrations pages in the Sunday Styles section.  I don’t know why, but I read the fabulous wedding announcements and I can’t help wonder, who the hell are those people, or is it, these people?  They look great, and reading their short bios I’m intrigued by how the majority of them come from wealthy families and places, have super awesome jobs, and are genuinely, not like us.  I’m lucky if I find a good deal at an outlet store, and these people are sporting the finest linens.

Not that I’m jealous, I’m just wondering what it would take for my sons to make it to the back pages of The New York Times Style section.  This fills me with a certain amount of dread that perhaps I’m not providing enough for my family in order to have this kind of lavish lifestyle.  I am partially comforted by the fact that I am able to provide for my family, we have clothes on our back, food on the table, a roof over our heads, health insurance, and books, oh yes, lots of books.  And yet I wonder about those people…

Be a man, and take it like a man, dammit!

So lately I’ve been feeling a bit down in the dumps.  Lots of stress coming from everywhere and that led me to be a real unpleasant person to be around.  Nobody wants to be around somebody who complains all the time, and my wife, bless her heart, is an angel for putting up with my ceaseless complaining.  Luckily, something clicked in my head and I now realize that I have got to grow up and be a Man, and act like one too.  Nobody likes a whiner, and losers don’t get anywhere.  I don’t want to be a loser, or a whiner, so I have to pull myself up by my boot straps and quit worrying and complaining about things that I have no control over.  Misfortune, misery, disaster, the Man has to punch through it and carry on.  Carry on without complaining.  Deadwood’s Al has great advice on this subject: