[Disclaimer:

If you look closely you'll notice "seeing someone" on my profile. So I'm not seeking a second in the romantic or sexual department. If you're interested in hanging out on a just friends basis, shoot me a message and I'll write you back. Cheers.]

"If only this new dodge for talking along a wire had been a bit nearing perfection I might have told you all this from town, and been toasting my toes before the club fire at this minute, instead of tramping after you through the snow."

I prefer words to images. Coffee shops to bars. I'd like to live in a place with autumn 7 months of the year.

I have soft hands and am rarely argumentative. I'm highly patient though I find myself swearing occasionally at machines, usually in a non-English tongue.

I miss the recycling programs in Oly, WA, the quality of light in Sweden, Thanksgiving in Paris, and snow.

I'll walk most anything less than 20 blocks. Over that, within a city, I'd take a bus. Of the few dozen times I've driven in my life, half were trips of at least 100 miles.

Il fut un moment ou les français crurent vraiment qu'ils allaient s'aimer les uns les autres. Jean Renoir à propos du Front populaire

Jag pratar inte så bra men jag förstår lite. Jag har bott i Lund i två sommar. Jag ska återvända på juli.

I am calm, sensual, and overly-intellectual

In limbo, if pleasantly.

Friendship, romance, eating, spinning music, being really calm. I like an engaging poetry and odd occurrences for the reader to impose their own reflections.

I'm not a very jealous guy. Except for Steve Martin. He got to star opposite both Bernadette Peters and Tina Fey. And didn't he kiss them? Oh, I don't wanna know.

My hat.

Top 5 podcasts: The News Quiz (always disappointed when the Now Show comes on instead, NYT's The Ethicist, WFMU's Too Much Information, WNYC's Fishko Files, This American Life.

I'm thinking of reworking the line "Have we not built ourselves enough history to be declared a culture?" into a sequel. It really shouldn't be written as a question.

I still love a good John Newlove poem:

"The Weather

I'd like to live a slower life.
The weather gets in my words
and I want them dry. Line after line
writes itself on my face, not a grace
of age but wrinkled humour. I laugh
more than I should or more
than anyone should. This is good.

But guess again. Everyone leans, each
on each other. This is a line
without an image. But only
because nothing does much more
than just resemble. Do the shamans
do what they say they do, dancing?
This is epistemology.

This is guesswork, this is love,
this is giving up gorgeousness to please you,
you beautiful dead to be. God bless
the weather and the words. Any words. Any weather.
And where or whom. I'd never taken count before.
I wish I had. And then
I did. And here
the weather wrote again."

Lately I've enjoyed "Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris, Including Books, Street Fashion and Jewelry" by Leanne Shapton Though my own romantic detritus is contained less in artifacts then poems and mixed CDs.

I have to leave that last paragraph in as I need a place to go when I want to recall that title. My last favorite reads were "Reason, Faith, and Revolution: Reflections on the God Debate" by Terry Eagleton and "Wish Her Safe at Home" by Stephen Benatar.

Last FM says I've played 14,447 individual artists since I joined them, though that number would include podcasts and audio books. Lately I've been wanting to listen to Finnish, Estonian, Okinowan music or Chumbawamba's "Ulrike".

Jens Lekman and Yves Daoust hint at a general idea (ie clever pop and musique concrete). Though, I liked Billy Squier a lot when I was younger. If all that could be interpreted in the right way, you'd have a complete understanding of me.

Television seems more interesting when they stop making new episodes. Lately I've been checking out Northern Exposure. Heard good things about Seinfeld, might have to see what all the fuss is about.

Current culinary obsessions: Indian, lox, chicken and waffles.

Det är höst i Göteborg
Jag passerar Kortedala torg
Regnet faller hårt över natten
Över alla hemlösa katter
Låt mig få sova en stund
Bara en liten, liten blund

För hon sa att allting var lönlöst
Men jag tyckte hon sa lönnlöv

Så vi pratade i timmar
Dina tårar i mina lakan
Du sa att du tyckte du var ful
Jag fatta’ ingenting
För det där är skitsnack, och det vet du
Du är det vackraste jag har sett ju
Jag har förlorat mig själv i dig
Förlorar jag dig, så förlorar jag mig

Hon sa att allt var lönlöst
Men jag tyckte hon sa lönnlöv

Och när hon sa att allt var över
Såg jag henne gå där bland löven
Det enda minne jag behöver
Hon sa att allt var lönlöst
Och när hon reste sig för att gå
Gick mitt hjärta aldrig sönder

Du kommer aldrig förstå
Aaaaah
Du kommer aldrig förstå
Aaaaah
Jag kommer aldrig förstå
Det kommer aldrig att förstås

1. My shorter Oxford English Dictionary
2. Cheap BIC ball-points
3. Someone to obsess over
4. Dark Chocolate
5. The semi-colon
6. Libraries
7. Great DJ gigs (generally the unpaid ones)
8. Random old friends who show up again in my life
9. Warmth in internal places
10. A certain amount of hope

Why don't I ever end up at a party where the DJ is spinning Maximum Joy?

Why am I always the minister and never the best man?

Why do computers keep getting more and more visual? I miss words.

Friday just doesn't seem worth it. All the best vernissages are on Thusday. There's always some funky interesting thing going on on a Tuesday or Wednesday.

But if you know of something interesting on a Friday, I'm open.

I keep thinking I should overhaul my profile here and then find it represents me well and I just tweak little things on it.

Tommy Tucker - High Heel Sneakers

Put on your red dress, baby
Ya know we're goin' out tonight
Put on your red dress, baby
Lord, we're goin' out tonight
And-a bring along some boxin' gloves
In case some fool might wanna fight

Put on your high-heel sneakers, lordy
Wear your wig-hat on your head
Put on your high-heel sneakers, child
Wear your wig-hat on your head
Ya know you're looking mighty fine, baby
I'm pretty sure you're gonna knock 'em dead

Put on your red dress, baby
Lord, we're goin' out tonight
Put on your red dress, baby
Well, we're goin' out tonight
And bring along some boxin' gloves
'case some fool might wanna fight

Put on your high-heel sneakers, child
Wear your wig-hat on your head now
Put on your high-heel sneakers, baby
Wear your wig-hat on your head
Ya know you're looking mighty good, really
I'm pretty sure you're gonna knock 'em dead

"S'il existait un moyen de rejoindre quelqu'un dans la vie -- ce dont je n'étais pas certaine --, la traduction allait peut-être me permettre d'y arriver." -- Jacques Poulin

You're on the move. You've got chutzpah. You can teach me Yiddish. You're willing to message me first as I spend a lot of time considering whether to message someone and it might just move things along.