This is the day people all over Scandinavia – and most especially in Sweden – celebrate St Lucy’s Day. Even though I used to be light blonde as a kid and therefore got to be Lucia at least once (my memory fails me), I’ve thought the tradition of choosing the girl with long blonde hair over any other kid a strange one. I’m not going to claim any laudable insightfulness for my young self, most probably – and therefore an apt theme for this blog, which is, after all, supposed to be about books – I read a book where a dark haired girl – or even a boy – was devastated because they were not even in the running for the part.

In Sweden, apparently, there is a tradition to vote on who gets to be the «leading lady». I can’t remember that ever being an issue with us, but again, my memory may be faulty. In any case, it’s a method fraught with problems. The obvious being maiking it a popularity contest and probably sending signals about looks being more important than anything else. Precisely for that reason, it is likely to be highjacked, especially as the voters get older. Here is an image from a Swedish newspaper a few years ago, from a story that a school voted for a beaver for Lucia:

Two of my favourite bloggers have also written about St Lucy’s Day and the various problems with the «tradition» thereof, which is what brought on this post: Ketchupmamman and Antibloggeren (in Swedish and Norwegian, respectively). You should read them both.

(Late, late, late.)

We FINALLY saw the second part of Deathly Hallows. And, yeah.

So today, here are a few pictures to mess with your brain:

There are a few more pictures in the Tumblr post being reblogged, you should go check it out.

It’s time to really get into the Christmas spirit.

Etter 20 år eller deromkring i Trondheim er jeg miljøskadd, så nå for tiden må jeg høre denne for at det skal bli jul.

Today I will make the suggestion that you consider not buying a gift for that person who «has everything». Seriously, if you’re looking through the helpful lists in the media and the catalogues for an idea – ANY IDEA – for a gift for Uncle Oswald or Aunt Jean or Cousin Francis:

Stop!

I know Christmas is all about giving and shit, but, really, if a person falls into the category «has everything»:

THIS is what you get them.

Or something from HERE.

Or, you know, go with the charity of your choice. Almost every charity provide something in this vein nowadays.

And I know it’s not easy. I keep thinking «but what if this person is really offended and there’s an awkward silence and I ruin Christmas for everyone?» Well, ok, maybe not quite as bad as that, but I do tend to think of worst case scenarios. But this year? This year, fuck it, I am going to go with it. If I can’t think of a meaningful gift that conforms to William Morris’ maxim (which is, actually, quite a good rule): Have nothing in your house that you do not either know to be useful or believe to be beautiful (quoted from memory), well, then.

And, yes, absolutely: If you feel like you ought to buy me a gift because you expect I’ll get you one, or even if you just want to buy me a gift because I’m a swell person and all, then go ahead and follow my advice. Because I’d so much rather have 10 square meters of mine-free soil in Afghanistan than another thingamabob that I have to keep because Aunt Sally gave it to me. REALLY.