Reconnecting with Garth

This is Garth, my buddy from the old neighborhood in L.A. shot during our city-wide, walk ‘n talk in wonderful Copenhagen the week before last. I only got to show him a small portion of all that the Danish capital has to offer, but for what’s it worth, I think Garth thoroughly enjoyed what he saw, drank, and ate.

We had reconnected a couple of weeks prior to Garth’s trip to Europe (via WhatsApp) and even if there might have been a smidgeon of apprehension before seeing each other face-to-face for the first time in almost half a century, once we did meet at his hotel here in our Malmö neighborhood, it was only mere seconds, not even a minute, until we synched seamlessly. And so began a week-long journey full of laughter, reminiscence, earnest conversations covering an astonishingly wide range of topics, and some sightseeing in Copenhagen, Malmö, and Stockholm.

Since none of my old childhood pals could point out Sweden on a map or had a clue about how different things were here (back then, anyway), they were usually more disinterested than dumbfounded from hearing my vivid descriptions and stories about cities like Trollhättan, Göteborg and Stockholm.

I remember daydreaming about renting an entire airplane, filling it with my friends from Los Angeles and flying us all to Sweden so they could see how beautiful it was here. Most of my friends back then had barely been outside of the city, much less the country or continent. I’d guess that I was the only one with a passport back then.

I think my smooth re-connection with Garth was in part thanks to our ancient friendship from the 1970s when we both attended Rosewood Elementary and Bancroft Jr High. But it was also in part due to us having childhoods that were periodically dysfunctional and traumatic.We were raised by single mothers and both Garth and I had fathers that deserted early in our lives. And just like my grandmother Agnes played a significant role in my life whenever I was sent off to stay with her and Grandpa Eskil in Sweden, Garth’s maternal grandparents actually lived with his family on Croft Ave during his childhood and teen years.

I would argue that because we both lacked the father element in our youngest years, the void or absence of a male role model might still have a consequential impact on who we are today as 60-year-old men. Yet, for all our shortcomings and epic fuckups as parents, we both agreed about being much better fathers to our children than our dads ever were to us.

In her brilliant song “Norman Fucking Rockwell“, Lana del Rey sings, “God damn man-child…”. Not when it really counts, but a part of me can indeed relate to the description of being immature, lovable trouble.

Our emotional commonalities, history. love of movies, music, food, and travel all made for a remarkable and memorable reunion that I will forever cherish and keep close to my heart.

Hiking on Kullaberg

As part of commemorating our wedding day on August 15th, Charlotte and I went hiking up to Kullaberg, a peninsula that stretches out from the mainland with several really nice nature trails and panoramic views of the sea and the village Mölle below.

It drizzled for most of our hike but we didn’t let the rain bother us from reaching the iconic lighthouse on the top.

As we neared Mölle on the return, the clouds scattered and a bright, warm August sun came out. We eventually went for a swim in the sea, then sipped on chilled Champagne before a wonderful dinner at the hotel.  After dessert, we went for a walk in the harbor and I took my drone out for a spin above the village.

Those Were The Days!

Sadly, I missed yesterday’s Those Were The Days Reunion in Göteborg. That’s not to say my thoughts weren’t with my old buddies. Especially after each of the near real-time updates I was sent during their evening.

Though we initially met and became friends way back in the 1970s, our bond has withstood the test of time and I’ve only recently begun appreciating that there is tangible comfort in growing older with friends from one’s youth.

Since we’re all inevitably heading towards the final chapters of our storied lives, being in the company of old buddies just might make the ride into Vallhall a little less ominous.

Bback to Health

I haven’t tasted a decent avocado in a long time. It’s as if the avocados imported to Sweden are the least avocado-tasting variant on the planet. Which probably means they are the cheapest to import and by implication the most profitable to sell. Screwed again. The avocado we had as a topping on tonight’s poke bowl was more or less tasteless, despite salt and lemon. The texture was fine, but there was just no flavor.

The giant avocado above is from Vietnam and I bought it for about SEK5 at a local market in Hoi An, a beautiful town in the central coastal part of the country. I’m old enough to remember when it was almost impossible to get a hold of avocados in Southeast Asia. Then came the avocado toast and the rest is history…

We lived on the outskirts of Hoi An for about a month and though we ate our dinners at a few different places around the neighborhood, breakfast was always something we made at the apartment.

I am slowly nursing my way back to healthy living again after what seems to be several months of extensive intemperance (again). It’s been a fun ride, for sure. But at 60, the physical and mental recovery time is increasingly wearing and tearing.

I got up early today and weighed whether or not to go to the gym or take a run along the beach. The weather conditions were optimal, so I chose the latter. It was a super-slow jog, yet I still somewhat miraculously managed to run 12.5k. I’ve been paying the price all day with pain in just about every joint and every limb. But the jog certainly helped disperse the clouds hovering above me and I’ve gotten a lot done today.

Silver Wedding Anniversary
Charlotte and I got married at Brunnby Church on August 15, 1998, and celebrated this with a big, wonderful party at Turisthotellet in Mölle with family, relatives, and friends.

When two seasoned singles unite and continue together at breakneck speed with countless trips, adventures, and wonderful events, not least when our daughter Elle was born and brightened our lives just a couple of years after the wedding, it’s truly worth celebrating! And that’s what we’re doing today on this Silver Wedding Anniversary all the while thinking about all the love that surrounded us 25 years ago. We made it!

If you’re on Facebook, take a look at our collection of wedding photos and videos by joining our little group here.

45 Year Anniversary

Seems like 2023 will be remembered for a string of colorful anniversaries…

Yesterday, someplace along the train route from Stockholm to Malmö, I realized that it was 45 years ago this summer when I relocated from Los Angeles to Göteborg. My mother had just passed away and my father, whom I hadn’t seen or heard from in several years, popped up out of nowhere like a springy jack-in-the-box and in a matter-of-factly kind a way, offered to move into our house and take care of me and my younger brother Tyko. If we agreed (and my father couldn’t see why we wouldn’t), he’d move in from the tiny apartment where he was currently living together with his two young children and their mother Adeline, the woman he’d abandoned my mother for some eight or nine years earlier.

My aunt Lillian and grandmother Agnes had flown over from Sweden to L.A. and took care of us during this turbulent time. Both were adamant about declining my father’s suggestion. Even I remember seeing how cynical the idea was and that nothing good could ever come from reuniting with him. Instead, we, brother Tyko and I opted to move to Sweden. I’d leave first and Tyko a few months later. Before long, I was on a SAS flight to Sweden where I’d begin a new chapter in my life.

In retrospect, with fort-five years worth of hindsight, moving to Sweden was the only reasonable option. It provided a healthy distance and above all, a necessary distraction from a childhood saturated with chaos, calamity, and confusion.

That’s not to say that I haven’t subsequently been forced to unpack, dissect and deal with all those years of turmoil and madness. But I am enterally grateful for having had the opportunity to move to Sweden and start fresh.

Another Glorious Shrimp Sandwich at Lisa Elmqvist

I rarely visit Stockholm without enjoying a classic shrimp sandwich at Lisa Elmqvist, one of the Swedish capital’s best seafood restaurants, nestled deep in the ancient and beautifully renovated food market, Östermalmshallen. Last time I ate there was in March with my daughter and avid shrimp sandwich lover Elle. Today I took my childhood buddy from L.A. Garth Franklin to this institution and the consistently exquisite shrimp sandwiches served there.

There are some that consider enjoying a shrimp sandwich on the east coast of Sweden sacrilegious and even blasphemous. They argue that since the shrimps originate from the country’s west coast, one should only eat them there. I’m clearly not one of those slightly narrow-minded people.

Garth is now as addicted to the shrimp sandwich as I am.

My Books

I put together a new page on this site the other day with images of all of my books. I even added links to where some of them can be ordered. I’ve posted more than 400 clips and short films on Vimeo and Youtube and I’m reasonably sure they’ll be around for a while. But it’s the 21 (and counting) books that I’m hoping will have the longest shelf life (pun intended) of all my creative output. It would be kinda cool if Elle’s granddaughter someday found a dusty old book of mine in an old box and asked Elle if I was somehow related to her.

Maui Memories

About ten years ago, my family and I spent a few weeks on the Hawaiian island Maui. Maui is my favorite of the three beautiful islands I’ve been to so far. Why? Well, mostly because we had such a great time while there. The hiking and surfing were really good on Maui and one afternoon, we enjoyed views of the island’s mountains, dormant volcanoes, and rainforest during an adrenaline-generating helicopter tour.

We stayed ten nights on Napili Beach (where this photo was taken) and another week near Lahaina’s Old Town which has just been obliterated by wildfires fueled in part by Hurricane Dora.

Whenever or wherever there’s a catastrophe, humanitarian hardship, or political unrest in places I’ve visited or lived, I feel a heightened level of relatability and a surge of empathy for the people, plants, and animals impacted
Here’s a website that has aggregated several ways to donate and help folks on Maui



Patrons of this blog will remember that I rented a large retail space in the Dockan area here in Malmö this past spring. For a little over 4 months, I painted and exhibited my work there. I even sold a few pieces.

Every now and then I documented my process in both words and with my phone’s camera (4k/60fps). This short film summarizes that time in that studio and a few reflections on my relationship with creativity and painting.

It’s been a busy weekend. Not as socially busy as last weekend, but creatively speaking, I’ve got a whole lot of stuff done. Like updating this site. I’ve added a painting page and a new book page.


Malmö certainly has its moments. Like last night (and probably tonight as well) during the annual Big Slap Malmö. I’m definitely not a huge fan of crowded spaces these days. But I am drawn to the spectacular and so I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of capturing a few images from above this festival. I’ve got a different version of this image over at my Instagram and a few more on my FB page I Love Västra Hamnen.

Releasing Angst

So for the past couple of months, off and on, I’ve been editing a mini-documentary about painting. Almost every session in my old studio, I shot a scene or two and now all the footage is edited and neatly placed on the timeline in Final Cut Pro. The background music is on the audio track and the stuff I want to say has been spellchecked.

For some reason, I’ve been feeling a little angst about publishing this five-minute film. It might be that I want to savor the experience a little more. Perhaps I’m feeling anxious about what the next project will be. Not that I don’t have umpteen other projects in the queue…

Maybe it’s just simply that since this particular project sums up my transition to, or, return of expressing myself creatively through painting, I’m being unusually sensitive about how it will be perceived. Is there no end to this engulfing self-consciousness?

Dogs in My Life

Since Lennart passed away last year, we’ve been dog-less. And even though Len and I never really clicked, there were a few precious moments in his puppy years when we both felt some kind of affection for each other. Or, maybe it was just respect.

As tumultuous as it was, a dog was always present during my childhood. The first one, Coco, was a beautiful German Shepard that once literally saved my life by gently pulling the inflatable raft I was on back to shore while a current was drawing me out to sea in Malibu.

The second dog in my life was the beagle Ingo, my grandfather Eskil’s stinky hunting companion. Third was Todo, a troubled black Belgian Shepard that relocated to friends in Thousand Oaks, north of L.A. when I moved to Europe in 1978.

Torsten was Charlotte and my first dog, a cute and photogenic Miniature Schnauzer with very little personality. As our work-related travels intensified, Torsten had to be adopted by Charlotte’s parents. Our second dog was Palma, a beautiful Standard Schnauzer now 14 and living the rest of her remaining days with her adopted family near Göteborg.

At some point in the autumn days of my life, I hope to settle down somewhere and once again embrace the love and affection one receives from our furry, four-legged friends.

The dog above was included in the book I produced for HSB Turning Torso to commemorate the skyscraper’s 10-year anniversary.

Kappabashi Painting

I may or may not have mentioned my infatuation with Tokyo’s Kappabashi Street or “Kitchen Town” here before. I probably have. Anyway, it’s called “Kitchen Town” because on both sides of an 800 meter short street called Kappabashi, you’ll find just about everything and anything related to restaurant equipment and food preparation, including two of this neighborhood’s main attractions: serious chef knives and hyperrealistic fake food. However, the vast majority of the close to 200 shops on the street mostly sell kitchenware, cookware and tableware.

Kappabashi is located near the Asakusa (浅草) district in Taitō Tokyo. Among most tourists, the area’s draw is the famous Sensoji, a very popular Buddhist temple.

I’ve spent several hours wandering up and down Kappabashi during my two visits to the Japanese capital and when I return one day, I’m sure I’ll once again dedicate some time there.

What Kappabashi means is somewhat disputed. It could be a derivative of the Portuguese word “capa”, which in turn is Latin for “cape”, as in what Darth Vader and Batman wear. But “kappa” could apparently also be an ancient word for a mythological, amphibious humanoid that lives by Japan’s rivers.

So infatuated with Kappabashi was I that I decided to create the above 50 x 60 cm acrylic painting.  

Final Cut Film Project

I’m currently finishing a film project with the footage captured at the studio space I rented this past spring. I’m aiming for it to be completed and published here and elsewhere by the beginning of next week.

Moving Forward

Accept, embrace, own, and move on. That’s my new mantra and approach to this sixth decade. I’m going to focus on the important creative stuff and navigate away from shallow distractions of which there have been far too many.

I am going to paint, write and travel more with the overriding goal of cranking up real-time life experiences. And instead of incessantly and superfluously sharing what I photograph, I intend to integrate the aggregate of what all my senses record into the flow of my creative output. Whatever the fuck that means.

How I Spent My Birthday

After enjoying the family’s traditional birthday Champagne and strawberries in bed, the girls served up a tasty English breakfast, complete with baked beans, toast, sausages, eggs, and a decent brew of coffee.

Since the rain was pouring down, I went back to bed and took a long midday nap until it was time to go see Chris Nolan’s new epic film “Oppenheimer”.

I knew about the rave reviews but was still blown away by how riveting the storyline turned out to be and how excellent Cillian Murphy, Robert Downey Jr, Emily Blunt, and Rami Malek were in their roles. Brilliant casting.

I’m suffering from a little Matt Damon fatigue, but his acting was nevertheless solid. Had totally forgotten that Gary Oldman, Kenneth Branagh, and Gustaf Skarsgård were also in this explosive movie.

After dinner, we ate a tasty, traditional British dinner at a pub housed in a hotel overlooking a cove where surfers were taking advantage of the evening’s last few swells.

As I’ve begun seeing it, being 60 is a privilege. When I was born in 1963, the average life expectancy of a man was just 66.6 years.

Today, it’s 81. But what’s even more important than living a long life is filling it with stuff that makes it worth living. Like family and friends. And today, my family (and my friends) celebrated me royally. So thankful. Especially for the many thoughtful presents I received from Charlotte, Elle and her grandparents, Allan and Agneta.

Life After 60

Well, I made it. It’s life after 60 from here on. I’m going to own it and then forget about it. It’s just a number (my new mantra). Here are a few questionably interesting milestones that I’ve apparently passed from the moment I was born at 5:55 pm on July 22, 1963, at Saint John’s Hospital in Santa Monica, CA.

• Years: 60
• Months: 720
• Weeks: 3,130
• Days: 21,915
• Hours: 525,960
• Minutes: 31,557,600
• Seconds: 1,893,456,000
• Heartbeats: ≈ 2,000,000
• Breaths taken: ≈ 505,000,000
• Dog Years: 253 🎉

New Amazon book: Re:Surfaced

Re:Surfaced, my third art book (fourth if you count The Art of Penile Photography written under the pseudonym Sebastian T. Armstrong) is now available on Amazon. Having my books available on Amazon is interesting in a couple of ways. My books will hopefully be orderable long after I’ve checked out, so there’s a legacy aspect to the process. And though they are probably not going to reach any best-seller lists, in the long run, they may help supplement my meager retirement plan.

Surfing at Fistral Beach

Yesterday, I surfed the waves at the classic Fistral Beach, south of Newquay here in Cornwall. What became immediately clear to me was that I raised the average age among the surfers around me by at least 3.5 decades. Which was totally fine since it turned out that I still caught the most waves with my 9ft longboard. At the doorstep of 60, anything shorter and it would probably not have been nearly as fun yesterday.

After a few intense hours in the Atlantic, knee and arm exhaustion inevitably set in. A bit hard of hearing from all the water in my ears, but euphorically happy, I finally gave up and staggered up the beach with the board firmly clutched under my right arm. After maneuvering through what seemed like hundreds of English holiday-making families with their colorful tents, fluttering windbreakers, and shrieking kids, I finally reached the surf shop. At that point, I was so physically depleted, that it felt like I needed a defibrillator. I settled for an ice-cold beer instead.

Like a Houdini, I eventually wriggled out of the waterlogged wetsuit and promised myself that after this trip, I’ll only surf in warmer latitudes. Today, I’ll head for the waves at Watergate Bay.

Today would have been Brother Tyko’s 56th birthday. I’ve created a memorial page for him here.

Open & Closed

These old but beautifully aged lockers sit right above the beach near our Airbnb. I like the visual metaphor they represent for this post.

The forcefully shifting tide here in Newquay is not to be messed with. Visually, it’s kinda mind-blowing. Within just a few afternoon hours, what was once a wide, totally packed, sandy beach with hundreds of people, families and an over-abundance of screaming kids, is completely reclaimed by the unyielding Atlantic Ocean. There’s a metaphor to be had in this ebb and flow-thing. But I can’t seem to formulate it without sounding melodramatic.

Getting older.

There’s a lot of fortune cookie wisdom out there with regards to aging. I’ve been reading some of it, and recently, I ingested a piece about how it’s really important to understand that life is constantly evolving, and that as we age, it’s healthy to summarize and appreciate one’s accomplishments, let go of some expectations, accept failures and embrace the physical, mental and emotional changes that inevitably follow with getting older.

In addition to coming to grips with entering my sixth decade, I definitely need to work on accepting my own imperfections and retiring pretentiousness and relaxing unrealistic goals. I might be delusional, but it does feel like I’m getting better at not denying tangible changes in this new era of my life. Not denying is obviously not the same as accepting…but it’s a beginning.

I know all too well that failures are a natural part of life’s journey and that we learn and grow from our blunders and bungles. But because I’ve long had unreasonably high expectations of what I believe is accomplishable, often setting aside (or, just denying) physical, mental, or emotional impediments, it could at times be really hard to accept when flops, fiascos, and fuckups occasionally stared me in the eye.

Historically, when this happened, I would either deflect responsibility when confronted with defeat or, just distract myself as quickly as possible until I was able to move on to the next challenge. If anything, I certainly have an incredible knack for distracting myself. A cocktail of OCD and ADHD? Probably.

Perhaps I’ve been using this “methodology” to even out, or,  conceal the life-long ebb and flow of my self-confidence and self-esteem. Maybe at 60, it’s finally time to be less competitive, less obsessive and more reflective. Maybe now, participation is the name of the game. Not trying to conceal shortcomings by taking on exhaustive challenges and crazy-ass moonshots might just make life after 60 more stable, interesting and memorable.

59 and Counting

The idea of turning 60 on Saturday is slowly settling in. After all, it’s just a friggin’ number, right? And numbers are petty much just made up to keep track of stuff like days, months and years.

The other day, I got an email from a 103-year-old friend of the family in L.A. That kinda put my six-decade short life into a more palatable perspective. And the other day, Esther, my 90-year-old great aunt and cherished pen pal (we communicate mostly via iMessage/SMS) told me not to worry as 60 is now the new 30.

Photo: Charlotte Raboff

Newquay’s Ebb & Flow

Here’s a view of a private islet just off the coast of Newquay. During much of the day, it’s surrounded by sand and not the sea. Apparently, the difference between low and high tide here is on average an astonishing 6.3 meters (≈ 20ft)!

Yesterday, we visited an ancient fishing village north of Newquay called Padstow which was super busy with mostly domestic tourists accompanied by a wide variety of dogs. Cornwall seems to be one of the most dog-friendly destinations I’ve ever been to.

Newquay in Cornwall

After a mostly smooth train ride through an absolutely gorgeous English countryside, we arrived late yesterday afternoon in the picturesque village of Newquay, Cornwall.

British Comfort Food: Fish-n-Chips

Like most countries, England has its fair share of craving-worthy comfort foods. Yesterday evening, a few hours after arriving in the UK for the first time in five years and almost like a rite of passage – yet considerably less ceremonious – Charlotte, Elle, and I happily devoured a huge portion of crispy, fluffily fried fish-n-chips each at a local Paddington corner pub.

Now while the fried texture of the aforementioned vertebrate was far beyond reproach, the fish itself was utterly tasteless and in desperate need of some heavy-handed help in order to reach at least a reasonable level of edibility.

So, with the aid of several table-side condiments, including salt, pepper, several generous squirts of vinegar, and a dab of mayo, the fish dish turned out pretty darn good. Especially with a pint.

Camden Town

We arrived earlier today at Stansted, one of London’s four (!) international airports. Shortly after checking in to the aparthotel, we headed to Regent Park and then straight to Camden  Town, the birthplace of Charles Dickens and George Bernard Shaw.

I hadn’t been to the borough for more than 40 years and so I barely recognized myself. In 1983, I vividly remember walking aimlessly around Camden Market on a sunny afternoon in July and at some point buying a soave, suede jacket off a sidewalk rack in front of a local tailor.

The original market is no more and has been “replaced” with more or less the same lineup of uninteresting shops and chain stores as anywhere else in the city. Only a fraction, a mere hint of Camden’s edginess remains.

Fortunately, many of the beautiful old residential brick buildings and factory structures along the canal are still standing. So even if I sound a tad disheartened for the loss of the old Camden vibe, the visit was nonetheless worth it. 

Vintage Americans

I’ve always been fascinated with the love some Swedes have for all things Americana. Especially in rural Sweden where vintage 1950s and 1960s cars made in Detroit are a common site. It’s Elvis, Marilyn, Rock n’ Roll, burgers, fries with an ice-cold Root Beer, please. I’ve heard from someone that as spares for these old clunkers have become scarcer and scarcer, some thrifty and technically gifted Swedes are even manufacturing and exporting vintage car parts to the USA.

Today, on our way to see friends in Båstad, we drove past a caravan of beautifully restored and maintained Fords, Buicks, Pontiacs, and Caddies, like the above gorgeous Chevrolet Bel Air from 1955. These cars warm my (American) heart. I can’t think of a single modern-day car that comes even close aesthetically. The last time I saw so many antique American vehicles was in Havana several years ago.

New Book: Final Touches & Tweaks

Creating a book is both hard work and a lot of fun. I’m putting the final touches and adding a few last-minute tweaks to my 22nd book today.

And even after so many book projects, there still is a great deal of angst involved in my process. Just like with all the other stuff I create, there are thousands of small, medium, and large decisions that have to be made. At some point, it’s inevitable that I experience “decision fatigue”.

Of the book projects I’ve worked on for clients and our own little “publishing house”, this new book feels like it’s unusually close to heart. Finishing the Re:Surfaced project with a book feels so apt.

I have a bunch of other book projects in the works and hope to spend my time this fall creating a few more before the year’s end.

The Sunset of Swedish Neutrality

Shot this a while ago during either a pre-storm och post-storm sunset. I love Sweden. I love Scandinavia. It’s an incredibly beautiful part of the world where most people are kind, thoughtful, and sensible. Folks are for the most part trustworthy and soft-spoken. But make no mistake about the region’s traditions when it comes to making and selling some really nasty weaponry. I’ve even read somewhere that Swedes were the original Soldiers of Fortune during the Viking era – among other places in today’s Istanbul, no less.

In 2021, Sweden exported weapons and related material to the tune of SEK48 billion/USD 4 billion. Fact is, this ancient country in northern Europe is the 13th largest exporter of military stuff in the world.

So it seems clear now that Sweden’s going to be allowed to join NATO soon. If for no other reason, I think becoming a member will at least put an end to the country’s long-running history of hypocrisy.

Maintaining its neutrality yet exporting deadly weapons to undemocratic nations, with dubious regime leaders has been a part of Sweden’s signature opportunism and a shameful double standard since at least WWII. Winston Churchill once stoutly stated: “Sweden ignored the greater moral issues of the war and played both sides for profit”.

It’s pathetic that in 2023 we still haven’t figured out a way to agree that we sometimes disagree without having to go to war about it. Personally, I think there’s just way too much male testosterone in the bloodstreams of the men in charge. Especially older men that are either trying (at any price) to make it into the history books before they croak or, believe that they’re God’s gift to mankind and can do no wrong, especially if it means they get to line their pockets in the process.

Indian & Tre Amigos

Enjoyed a nice meal at Konstrast, our local Indian restaurant, last night with Michael and Thomas, two buddies from the neighborhood. After 10-12 visits, I can say with some authority that this is by far the best Indian restaurant I’ve been to outside of Asia.

Unfortunately, I don’t eat curry frequently enough to not have a volcanic reaction the next day. Interestingly, whenever I’m in India or anywhere else in Asia, I rarely have any digestive issues after eaten spicy food.

Creating Food

I moved to my own apartment when I was just barely 18 years old. I was the first of all my Swedish friends and so, I had to learn how to cook. Warming up TV dinners was as close to cooking my mother ever got to making homemade meals. Yet somehow, I discovered that preparing and presenting food was fun stuff.

Around the time when I moved from my aunt Lillemor, I eventually found work as a short-order cook frying frozen steaks, flipping burgers, and soaking fries in oil at an all-night diner on the Aveny, the main drag in Göteborg. It was relatively honest work and I stayed there for about a year.

My second cooking gig was significantly more advanced. I worked in a proper kitchen at a place called Jazzhuset (also in Göteborg) where a variety of bands performed New Orleans tunes three or four nights a week. To this day, I’m perfectly fine if I never ever again hear “When the Saints Go Marching In”.

Anyway, in the kitchen at Jazzhuset, I learned a bunch about cooking and above all, worked under a few chefs that encouraged me to experiment, just as long as I didn’t poison guests or staff.

Charlotte’s not very fond of making food, so, for the past 27 years, I’ve had the privilege of making our meals. I’m no foodie by any stretch of the imagination. Instead, I prefer classic, comfort dishes but with a twist, and above all, I really enjoy the process of making and presenting our meals. Particularly if ingredients are limited. That’s when my creativity really kicks in. I rarely follow recipes.

The above image is from last night’s sumptuous salad: chopped romaine, diced cabbage, a few wedges of avocado, some cubes of feta cheese, a dozen or so carrot wheels, and several wafer-thin slices of spring onion. I then doused everything with a vinaigrette made from Greek olive oil, fresh lime juice, a few dashes of apple cider vinegar, crushed garlic, some sea salt, and a pinch of wonderfully numbing Seschuan pepper. Protein: parmesan salmon baked in sesame seed oil.

Re:Surfaced Book: Los Angeles

I had a nice weekend. Shared a tasty Vietnamese meal with an American buddy, walked in a parade and worked on my fourth Amazon book, Re:Surfaced.

Woke up at 05:29 this morning and went for a 5.5k run in our nearby Castle Park. Then a swim in a surprisingly warm sea. Now I’m ready to get going on picking my favorite surfaces from 23 different cities and then placing them in the book’s InDesign template. The image above is from Los Angeles from which I have (unsurprisingly) a plethora of interesting surfaces.


Yesterday was my very first Pride Parade. I don’t know why I haven’t participated before, but I am glad that I finally got around to showing solidarity with people that have chosen to live the way they feel and not the way society dictates. It’s hard for me to grasp that there are still so many, many countries around the world where a parade like yesterday’s in Malmö would not have been legally or societally possible.

Cleaning a Macbook Pro 16″

This is what my 2019 Macbook Pro 16″ looks like inside its shiny aluminum chassis. A few days ago, I noticed how one of the two option keys was glitchy. I assumed that dust or a stubborn grain of sand had wedged its way between the bottom of the physical key and the membrane that performed whatever task the key was supposed to contribute to.

I’m such an old-school Mac user that I constantly use the option key to move active applications to the background in order to get the desktop quickly.

I took my MBP to our Apple Store here in Malmö and a Genius tried to fix it on the spot. He failed. Then he explained that because of the computer’s (industrial) design, to replace a single key on the keyboard, Apple would also need to replace the entire bottom chassis, including the whole friggin’ keyboard and battery.

The Genius also told me that it would cost SEK9000 to have this done. While I totally get that the design makes perfect manufacturing sense, from an environmental perspective, it’s arrogant and shouldn’t be tolerated.

Fortunately, there is an option. On the right side of the keyboard sits the other option key. It’ll surely take some time to get used to using it, but it’s certainly a cheaper option.

I don’t know, maybe the Genius was feeling sorry for me, but he offered to vacuum the inner workings of my now slightly handicapped MBP at no cost. So there’s this story’s silver lining!

New Book: Silhouette Surfers

In no small way thanks to Art Director/KDP Pro David Pahmp), my latest book, Silhouette Surfers is now available on Amazon. In addition to surf images from California, Hawaii, and Portugal (Nazaré), I’ve also added a dozen or so pages packed with stuff related to surfing, some history, a glossary, surf music, and a few suggested surf films. You can of course take a look at my own short surf film here.