Rug-colored dog on a dog-colored rug

Now that I'm back home, it's time to tally up the statistics from when I was at home:

Number of rug-colored dogs communed with during trip: 1. Please note, the rug-colored dog has given me permission to post her photo on the internet.

Number of close family members communed with during trip: 6. So all the main ones.

Number of books (bought, given or foraged) brought back home from home: 17. About half academic and half not-so-academic.

Number of books left at home due to lack of space in luggage: 13. The Complete Wreck to be exact.

Number of sneezes, coughs and nose-blowing incidents: too many to count. Was it the local dust mites? Rug-colored dog dander? Am I allergic to California?

Number of boyfriends Skyped while on trip: 1. Total number of people Skyped while on trip: 2.

Number of bloggers met over lunch: 1. And it was very cool. Please note, I'm not counting my brother on this list, although we did go to lunch (more than once), and he is a blogger.

Number of A Series of Unfortunate Events books read during trip: 6. I had read the first 7 books before.

Number of kilos (yes, kilos) gained during trip: almost 5...so about half a kilo per It's-It.

Amount of work done during trip: not as much as I had wanted. But almost enough.

Number of belated Christmas/Chanukah/Yule/Winter Solstice wishes to all: infinite.

Yep, still Christmas

Taken on two separate occasions in the past month at Tivoli.

Supermarket Adventures

Or, how I discovered that I am very much an expat, and getting more so all the time.

Admittedly, I was jetlagged, but even so, yesterday, for perhaps the first time in my life, I got truly lost in a supermarket. Yes, I couldn't for the life of me find the cream cheese which I had set out to get, quickly, while my Mom and stepdad got the lox (to the Danes in the audience, yes that is salmon, but only the smoked kind is called that), so that we could all meet conveniently in line at the end of it all. I took so long to find the cheese, and then to find the line, that by the time I finally made it, I found my Mom loading food on the conveyor belt on her own, my stepdad having been sent on a mission to find me. My mistake? I tried to look for it by the other cheeses. It took a long time to find the cheese section. Then I tried to look for it by the milk. It was not easy to find this section either. The stuff was in the milk section, but as I envision cream cheese as a box of Philly (which is a very recognizable silver color), and as we were in a Whole Foods, which doesn't sell that kind of stuff, it took me a while to find it.

My excuse (other than jetlag) is that I was still recovering from produce-inspired sensory overload. Denmark doesn't have much in the way of produce. At Whole Foods, before even entering the store, I was confronted with grapefruit the size of melons, pomegranates the size of the grapefruit, and, well, I couldn't possibly name them all. A veritable plethora of fruit. And don't get me started on the vegetables. Or the deli section. Or the salad bar. And then just the size of the store. The largest supermarket I have been to in Denmark couldn't be more than a third of the size of Whole Foods. It perhaps didn't help that I was encouraged to chose whatever I wanted, anything I'd been craving, no holds barred...and I was so overwhelmed with choice that I simply couldn't choose anything at all.

So, as an ending to the adventure, I got lost. I, the mistress of supermarket wandering, former queen of 2am shopping adventures. I know my way around a market, any market, big or small. Don't I? Well, perhaps not anymore.

Just a bit of bureaucracy

In Lisbon, I got to do it twice a year (towards the end, only twice every other year), and it took at least 4 or 5 hours each time. In London, the one time I tried it, I arrived at around 5 in the morning, in the cold, in the dark, and in Croyden, and left shortly after 2 in the afternoon after being told that I didn't have all the documentation I needed. Here in Copenhagen, it has taken me up to 5 hours before, but today, it took only about 2 hours, for which I am extremely grateful.

I am speaking, of course, about the immigration experience, and waiting in line to either turn things in or to get things renewed. I am also thrilled that I only had to wait 6 and a half months for the renewal, as I had heard rumors of waiting times of up to a year. This means that I was only without a valid visa in my passport for about 5 months, though of course could still live where I am and work and so on because of my previous visa.

When I write these things, it occurs to me that my sense of timing is becoming extremely warped. Two hours is a long time to wait. Six months is a long time to get a renewal on something where none of the conditions, addresses, incomes, housing size, nothing has changed. And yet, for the countries I've lived in, they seem like remarkably short time spans to me.

So, I ask you...please help me readjust my sense of bureaucracy. Tell me your horror stories, the horror stories you've heard from your friends and family, horror stories you've seen or read or heard on the news. Because I'm afraid this will spread to the rest of my life. And because at the rate this is going, soon I'll be overjoyed at being only the 27th person in line at my local Fakta.*

*A discount supermarket, known for inordinately long lines, and only one cashier working at any time of the day or week.

Tarot time

You are The High Priestess

Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.

The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

This tarot quiz, which I couldn't pass up, was found over at Daphnewood's, soon after finally clueing in to podcasting. Yes, it takes me a while to get hooked on new technology. My favorite podcast so far is the Skeptic's Guide to the Universe, which is very informative and entertaining. And, this being me, and the opportunity being there, I'm listening to them all in order. Sad, I know. So, I'm on episode 23 (from last December). They're up to episode 71. After several days of at least two or three episodes a day, the skeptical viewpoint is pretty firmly in the forefront of my mind.

I can't help but feel that the two topics, of skepticism and tarot, are a strange juxtaposition. I don't actually know why I should feel that...I have, at times, read tarot before, and see absolutely nothing paranormal or spiritual in them. They're wonderful for contemplating possible future action, or for inspiring discussion. And I would like to think that I am a skeptic, especially with regard to scientific issues (as opposed to social science issues, where my stance diverges a bit).

I don't think that there is a contradiction. But yet, I forever feel the need to defend my tarot history anyway. I'll stop myself from doing that more, and instead just post the quiz. This card has always been one of my favorites, and was one of the cards I most identified with when I got my first deck (a Rider-Waite, when I was about 12). I don't know if it reflects the real me in any way, but I wouldn't mind. I'm curious to know what you get as your card, and if you feel it represents the you which exists, or perhaps the you which you would like to become.

Eating, drinking, being merry

Here ye, here ye! Let the Christmas festivities commence! In fact, let them commence last week, there's no rush. The opening Christmas salvo? A julefrokost (in English, a Christmas lunch), sort of like the Norwegian julebord which Scholiast describes, except...well, pretty much like the Norwegian julebord which Scholiast describes! It's common for people to have multiple Julefrokosts each year, for example, one with the work as a whole, another for each department or project group, one for each circle of friends, one with each section of their family, one with each social group or club, you get the idea. As a result, the julefrokost season starts in mid-November, and continues well into January, just because everything gets booked up for December.

As I'm a social isolate (well, no, but it can seem that way on occasion) with a rather tangential relation to my employer, I only have the one julefrokost, with a section of Thor's family. We met up, as is the custom, at about 2pm, and spent several hours together eating and drinking and, well, being increasingly merry. This went on a surprisingly short time, until about 8pm, and the general level of sobriety was relatively high. This is comparing to last year, where we were not at all the last ones to leave, at around 11:30, and where at least one participant had to be held upright so that she could say goodnight to us without falling over. This may be just that it was in someone's house last year. This year, we were more traditional, and met in a small, candle-lit (and therefore very hyggelig) restaurant. I've taken some very badly-lit pictures (did I mention the restaurant was dark?) which I will share with you. As I have no one's permission to post their photos on blog, I'll make do with unattractive pictures of very tasty food and drink.

Eating: You can see the overall spread (it was a buffet) at the top of the post. Basically, the traditional Christmas thing, which means smørrebrød. The herring is in the front, along with some other fish dishes. After one has one's fish, then there are the meat dishes in the back. There is also some cheese for the third round, and risalamande with kirsebærsovs (cherry sauce) for dessert.

The star of the show is the flæskesteg, or roast pork. No, I lie, the star of the show is the crackling (flæskesvær in Danish), which is the crispy, incredibly fatty skin of the beast. I'm not kidding about it being fatty. I find the first bite of svær is sublime, the second one is not bad, the third bite is like eating a spoonful of lard. That's when I start offering the rest of mine to others at the table, and that's when I become the most popular person in the room. Until I run out, that is. Those Danes are serious about their crackling.

More eating:Why is it that the best foods look so intrinsically bad? This is the risalamande with kirsebærsovs. It's a rice pudding, with generous addition of slivered almonds. Traditionally, there should be a whole almond thrown into the pudding; the person who gets this whole almond is then given a 'mandelgave' or 'almond gift'. Thankfully this is not done by restaurants. It sounds a great idea for competitive people, but my one experience with it is that you can't enjoy your food, as each and every almond sliver could be 'the one', meaning that you spend several seconds with each spoonful gumming each and every almond to make sure you don't accidently mangle the winning token. Not that any Dane would admit to finding the almond at any point, to let everyone off the hook. Of course, any self-respecting Dane will have a whole almond in their pocket anyway, to show at the end of the pudding course, along with everyone else at the table showing their almonds brought from home...it's amazing anyone can ever actually prove that their's was the real thing. However, take away the needless competition, and what's left is one of the world's classic desserts.

Drinking:Snaps and beer. That's about it. If you're odd like me, and don't like either of these things, then other drinks may be provided. Not drinking alcohol is also perfectly acceptable, though it is harder to get into the spirit of things (pun intended) if everyone is pissed except you.

Being merry: It was the spirit of things that got the 'gående pik' (or walking dick) put in the above photo. This would be the category of being merry...there were different shaped packages waiting for all of us when we got to the table. They all contained a tiny pair of folding scissors, except for Thor's Dad's package, which contained this cute toy. There was also the singing portion of the evening, which was blessedly brief. Though the verse where we were wearing fake buck teeth (made with brown sugar cubes with a line drawn down the middle, surprisingly effective in the dim light) was highly amusing (and too embarassing to even keep, much less post, photos of).

So, that's the opening of the Danish Christmas season...what about you? Has your Christmas begun yet, and if so, how?