I came back for the moose.

November 22nd 2007

Pretty much black. Only the moon, the biggest I've ever seen it, coming down on me. I tell Carl to stop. I take a picture. It doesn't look as big on the screen of my camera. Nonetheless it is a beautiful moon and it's big.

Stockholm is a wonderful city. Dark by 3:30 but that's ok. Everything else makes up for it. It rained every day, but one night was ominously clear with an even clearer day to follow. Let's just say it was a long weekend away from Germany and a long time coming.

My flight was delayed and I was stopped by customs too boot. The guy there waved me in to the little quarantine area.

"Woar koomst du?"
"Uh....Germany?"
"(something crazy in Swedish)"
I followed him in to the little room with a dog tied to the sink, as I watched him go through my bag.
"What brings you here?"
"I'm meeting a friend, holiday."
"His name?"
"Calle Uglia, (I pronounced it Uglyia when its Uggla)"
"Ugglia.....ugliaa..." he said to himself

I thought, oh man what the hell is going on. I didn't have any drugs or anything, but I started to think maybe I had something that was bad. Or at least he was going to make it so. No matter what I said, I was guilty. He was going to take me in. It didn't matter. I had some drugs or he was going to plant my drugs or something. The dog in the corner got a little erection and sat there panting with his mouth open. That dog is for sure going to take me down if I run.

He continued to take every single article that I packed out of my bag. My camera. My boxers. My moleskin. He begin flipping through the pages. Sketches of penis', random frequent flyer numbers, a list telling me to shred my bills, call my aunt janet to thank her for a graduation card, and to buy a digital SLR camera, which I didn't buy, but was crossed off from the list anyway.

Taking everything from the bag he checked the walls of the bag to make sure there was no cocaine stuffed in between. (ohp, no cocaine in there he was thinking.) Everything was checked. Even zippers I had never opened before. A relentless check.

"So 'Carl' is waiting for you outside?"
"He's here?" I thought to myself, maybe Carl had called in! I was late and maybe Carl was here and they got suspicious because Carl asked about me and maybe there was an important drug deal or something and once he asked about me then they knew that they had to check me.
"He's here?" split second goes by, "uh, he's HERE, I have to meet him by train."
He looks at me again like I'm the shadiest person that had come through Stockholm.
"Do you have his number or something with his name on it?:"
"I have his number if you want it." I say, starting to get bored.

I don't give him anything and he continues to search every single zipper and article of clothing. Soon there is nothing left to do and he starts to put everything back into my bag.

"Is there someone you are looking for? Is this just standard procedure," finally comes out of my mouth after restraining any sort of obstinate American style indignance.
"Oh no, it's a new bag."

It was new bag. But still, can't people have new bags? I guess my stature and hair style combined with a new bag warranted a search. He let me go, no doubt feeling defeated, and opened a James Bond door at the end of the room. It slid open and I went for the exit.

My flight was delayed, I was stopped by customs, I had no more minutes on my phone and I was sure Carl was wondering where I was. I went down the escalators through the James Bond Moon Raker cave tunnels which is the Swedish Train stations and found my way onto a train. (There is a lot of things that are James Bond in Sweden.) As the train is pulling up, I get out to see Carl who is almost getting on my train to head back to the airport to find me. I throw him my big bag of heroin and we vanish into the central station.


Well it is 3:30 in the afternoon and it's pitch black outside. Sweet. I drop my bags off at Carl's house and since it is mid afternoon we decide it's time for dinner and a little drink.


We stop by a garlic restaurant. Outside it says, "Garlic and shots." You can get garlic beer, garlic everything. The inside is decorated like an American Rock-a-billy bar. The waiter comes over in tight greaser jeans and t-shirt that has an American flag on the back that says, "USA tour 2005," in faded print. He's a little over weight, but has the skinny legs and no butt that fit into the tight pants. His hair is greased back and he has black rimmed glasses. You know.

We're the only ones there, but the place starts to fill up quickly. I order the classic swedish meatballs with some sort of sauce that's like cranberry sauce, but it's different berries. Carl gets the same. It was the day of Thanksgiving and I can't think of a better meal while I was in Europe.

Outside the window are cars covered in dirt with black rims. We talk about how nobody washes their cars here. Nobody cars about what rims they have. The whole place gave me a nice comfortable feeling I hadn't yet felt in Germany or europe. The rock-a-billy crowd. The guys with tattoos and plugs. The tight jeans. I mean for once, for once! it was nice to see some style.

Carl gets a call from one of his friends not to far away. It sounds like they're having a little get together. We head over there for a couple drinks.


One nice thing about Stockholm is the 70s interior design that has been left in so many apartments. We get to his friend Axel's place and there is a spiral stair case running up the middle with full size wall prints of Autumn scenes. I'm talking like the whole wall.


We get in just as everyone is finishing up a nice pasta dinner. Shortly there after came a whole bunch of Tequila. Axel
is a musician and he just got back from Mexico. I told him I miss burritos and that I am from LA. He gave me 140 pesos.


We messed around on some drum machines, drank too much tequila and box wine and sat in 70s ikea chairs. Carl's other friend Victor worked in motion graphics and we got to talking about the world I was now involved in. It was nice to meet other creative types who had spent time abroad and are well cultured. I was beginning to forget about the rest of the world. A box of wine has four bottles in it and is much more practical to through around and drink from. I was skeptical at first but became convinced as the night rolled on.


Carl looks on approvingly of the box wine.


We ended up walking to 7-11, yup, 7-11. I had to take a picture. 7-11, Mustaches, tequila, pesos, tight jeans? It was the closest I had been to LA in a long time.

Since Victor didn't live to far away we decided to go to his place and drink more tequila. I guess tequila is the thing over there. It was good, I just can't remember giving so much love to the agave plant outside that of margaritas since one night long ago when my car blew up.


At Victor's place we just looked up some old cars and wished that we had them. Everything from '71 Mustang Mach 1 to the Lincoln MK III to the Trans Am to the actually nice cars like the Chevelle's and pretty much every single old car from the late 60s to the 70s that you could think of. One more sign that I was pretty much in LA.


The next morning came quickly. We woke up around noon or so and because it got dark so early there we didn't have much daylight, but it was raining, and we didn't care anyway. Carl took me to an awesome cafe close to his house. The whole place was done up in second hand furniture that was for sale as well. I really don't know why this place doesn't exist in LA. It was perfect. Everything there. I wouldn't change a thing.


Downstairs was another haven from the light. Dressed up in more 60s IKEA garb than one knew what to do with. Carl remembers playing down here when he was in a band back in high school. He told me he used to play with all the kids I met the other night. Not bad I thought.


Having drank a box of wine and a couple tequila bottles, we decided to go back to the apartment after a little shopping spree. I couldn't last much longer. I needed to lie down. I did although pick up my own pair of authentic Cheap Mondays which are from Sweden for 400 Kronors! Oh yeah. That is about $60. So I had my new jeans and I was ready to go out in what I liked to think of as the closest thing to home so far, only cold and dark and an island.

Our first stop that night was actually some hipster pinball competition. It was in the bottom of some tiny pub and they even had the little window that the man behind the door slides open to see who you are. They let us in and I watched the competition.


It was fierce. People were getting angry. A girl was doing really good. And when a girl does good at anything that has already been predetermined as a boys activity, tempers flare. Guys were shaking the machines, tilt everywhere. I wondered how someone arrives at this conclusion. In the basement of a pub with 30 other people competing in pinball. I asked Carl and some other people and they seemed to think, what? Don't you have pinball competitions?

"Um, yeah for sure," I said. Maybe that's coming next, who knows? I better get my skills up.


We finished the beer. I counted the mustaches and we headed off to another bar before we went to, what had been being called since the last night, as the, "Architecture Party." There was a school there in Stockholm that basically did architecture. And there was a party in one wing of the school. Hence the name, 'Architecture Party,'


We showed up and there was a huge line outside. I didn't understand this. It was like they needed a line to look cool. Usually there is a line outside clubs that are around other clubs and it gives everyone this since of exclusivity. I thought, man it's cold, we're next to a church and we're in some sort of residential neighborhood for the most part.


As we got closer to the front and finally managed to get our way in, I realized that the line had formed essentially due to the fact that there were two people checking everyone's coats. Inside they sold drink tickets which would get you four tall boys of Scandinavian brew. I thought this was quite fine.


In Sweden you get your own bathroom.


The party was fun. It was interesting being in the school. You would walk to the bathroom and see the stairs which led up to the classrooms. You could imagine some of these kids just thinking that they had to go to school here. ArtCenter style. I thought it was cool though. For once I tried not to think about what it must be like spending endless nights finishing projects and being told you weren't good enough only to come to the same place that creates those anxieties to get drunk with your friends.


My favorite kind of picture, the American Apparel shot.


And of course, the Billy Joel.


"It's 9:43:," Carl said, "We have to get up in 7 minutes."

Carl had checked the times of the bus leaving from outside his house the night before. We had to catch the bus at 9:55 to get to the train on time to meet his brother who was going to take us up to his parent's place.

"It's 9:50, we have to go,"

I roll over on the couch not wanting to move. I had only just passed out 4 hours ago. I opened my eyes and Carl is standing outside the door with his hat and scarf on. Fuck, I think. I push my morning wood down and jump into my new skinny swedish jeans. Carl is literally out the door.

It's not like when you wake up late for work and think, 'Man, i guess it's no shower time, well I'll just put on my clothes, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth and head out the door. It'll just take a minute. No need to rush. I'm already taking a huge chunk out of my 'getting ready time' today and I'm already late, so I'm going to at least brush my teeth and think about what clothes to wear. That should be fine. That's like 2 minutes versus 30. I'm totally ok.'

Yeah it wasn't like that at all, It was more like put your toothbrush in this bag and put your shoes on while we run down the stairs, bust out the door, with your high waist low crotch skinny jeans saggin and belt buckle flopping, creating it difficult for any running or leg movement of the running sort in general, chucks kinda on your feet, not really, putting your coat on, feet flopping down the street as you see the bus you want take off from the stop and head down the street. See that there is a stop up ahead and of course the bus has come to a red light. So then start running down the street to the next stop about a quarter mile away after only being awake for 45 seconds to start considering that this is now the worst hangover of your trip compared to the morning before, but due to the moment at hand, it has now edged its way ahead of the competition to take first place. It was more like that.

The bus is getting caught at every red light as we run down the street. 'We're going to make it!' I think.

My jacket is falling off, my pants are around my knees, i have my toothbrush in my hand and my shoes are similar to flip flops. I've been awake for almost 2 minutes now not really grasping the goal of what's going on, I'm just going with it. We manage to get on the bus.

"In Stockholm, you ride free if you have a stroller," Carl points out to me as a lady steps on behind us with her baby carriage.

I start to speculate how I could move to Sweden and ride the bus for free pushing stroller around all day.




The morning is beautiful and clear. We meet up with Carl's brother and we drive up to Yxlan where his parents have a house and a couple cottages. Everything is frozen and the sky is wide and the sun is laying on the horizon. We pull onto a Ferry which takes us across to the long island.

I can't get over how desolate and beautiful it was up there. It was quiet and the inlets of the sea create what you think are little lakes, but you remember your on an island. The houses are all classic Swedish red with white trim. The water is like glass and well you get the picture. I have all the picture uploaded here



Upon arriving at the house, Dad wastes no time putting us on assignment. He explains to Carl what he wants us to do.

"Well, I thought I would have some designers take a look at the place and give me some ideas and where to build," his Dad tells us.

Hmm, designers I thought. I had almost forgotten where I went to school. I had almost forgotten about design in general. It was nice to hear that or be regarded in that way again.

"I was thinking after that you guys can go get a christmas tree."

It felt nice to come home to a home away from home and have little chores to do. I didn't mind. It was brisk and Carl and I walked around the property leisurely checking things out.



Everyone's pretty relaxed up there. The quality of life has more to do with how much time you spend with your family and whether or not your happy in your life instead of how much time you can dedicate to your job. The country cares about the people and some of the TV stations are still government owned without commercials. From being politically neutral to having some of the best style I've seen in Europe, I was starting to imagine my own permanent vacation home shared with the intimate (only 9 million) people of Sweden.


Although it was nice to see it in the winter time, Carl told me about the different celebrations they had in the spring and summer. You could sleep in your little cottage, walk outside naked, go in the sea and wash up, lay out in the sun and i guess get drunk. I'm not sure what else you do besides sail from one island to the other docking and meeting people and sharing stories.


Small cozy 1 Bedroom on the Water! Must see to appreciate!


For rent. A cozy 1 bedroom cottage right on the water. Water, trash, parking included! A slight fixer upper for the creative type! Bathroom can be remodeled if not adequate for needs.


We thought of ways to remodel the cottage, but mainly just had fun checking out the "toilet," and the "shower." The place had a charm of it's own. No doubt it will receive a little Uggla design charm for the summer.


There are so many great pictures. Later that night, at 4 pm, the moon was a big as a baseball. A baseball's not that big and well, you get the idea. We came home from our Christmas tree adventure and ate some real Swedish cooking. Mainly bacon and sausages and meatballs. It was a good meal. Just what I needed. I hadn't had a real home cooked meal since I had been out here. We drank a beverage similar to a ginger style sassafras soda that they drink during the christmas time. We sat around the table and joked. It was dark outside and I was ready to go to bed after a day of hard work. It was only 4:30 so we said goodbye and returned to the city.

That night we watched deal or no deal in swedish which wasn't as exciting as the US version. People didn't get crazy and the set wasn't very friendly. The girls weren't as cute which surprised me because every single girl in Sweden is a super model and the hottest girls do live here. I just assumed that the real Swedish models probably had better jobs than Deal or No Deal. We flipped between that and some Christmas Nicolas Cage movie about trading places or something.

We started up on the box wine again and got side tracked because the government owned channels like to break up the movies with a half hour report about what's going on, aka, "the news." Before the movie came back on we took off to a bar to meet up with some more friends. I'm thinking Nick Cage learned a valuable lesson that Christmas about family and his Ferrari. I think the movie was called, Nick Cage and his Ferrari at Christmas time. I'll have to rent it when I get home.