Wallin Means "Valley Dweller" in Swedish

Yesterday, I went "Beyond Blond" by drinking wine and listening to a panel discussion presented by the Swedish Consulate and PEN USA on outsider-dom and literature. The Swedish consulate puts on a month long celebration between March and April every year celebrating All Things Swedish. The event yesterday was quite posh, though as always, just when you're feeling cool and hip at the Swedish Consulate General's awesome pad on the top of a Santa Monica hill overlooking the Pacific, something happens to knock you on your reality again.

Yesterday, that something was twofold. The winds were blowing so hard that my hair, which I actually spent a good amount of time fixing, was quickly whipped out of shape and ended up looking like a bad Jennifer Lopez nightmare. So shaking hands with the Swedish Consulate General and literary who's-who lost some of its charm when I caught a reflection of myself in the glass, with hairs going every which way. Then later on, after two glasses of wine (Was it two? Hmm.), I was sitting out on the front porch with Chad, Hale, and Lee, and this very cool L.A. singer named Lola Stenger (I think), and while trying to make room for her on our writer-outsider bench, I dropped my wineglass. It shattered on the ground, just when the poetry reading started inside the house and everyone was quiet. I didn't look, but I could imagine everyone staring, wondering who the uncouth yokel on the porch was. And it was me: writer, frequent literature discusser, slight tipsy wine glass breaker.

All embarrassments aside, it made me want to fully embrace my Swedish roots. I was waiting for the parade of Swedish foods that I was sometimes subjected to around Christmas in my youth in order to get myself on the fast track of this re-Swedenization. Sadly - or maybe thankfully - there were no meatballs, akvavit, or Lutefisk for hardcore Swedenization. Instead, I ate my Ceasar salad and remained a valley dweller only on the East side of L.A.