On the rag (I'm sorry, I couldn't resist)

I read the newspaper every morning. When I say read, you understand that I mostly mean browse. For my Swedish, I do try to read-read at least one article everyday (right now I'm enjoying the series on the problematic notion of 2006 as "The Year of Multiculture" here in Sweden). Some days, though, I bend the definition of article. On bad mornings you can find me flipping right past the news to the TV listings and calling the paper read.

Other days, even when world events do not demand my grappling with difficult Swedish, I can get lost in the paper. If you see me with the sheets spread open, on my second cup of tea, you can bet I'm studying the announcements. In a few lines, these often give me more to think about, a better glimpse into the minds of Swedes, than any lengthy article would.

The wedding announcements have taught me that many people have taken the idea of "simple" and "classy" (think Carolyn Bessette and Jennifer Aniston) and turned it into "boring" and "dull." Come on girls, this is the day to look like hot stuff, not like you're graduating from a prestigious prep school. More importantly, the weddings section has revealed to me how the Swedes are once again on the cultural cutting edge--this time when it comes to the debate surrounding taking the man's name. In these parts it isn't unheard of for the groom to take the bride's name. Interesting enough, but really more of the same, no? Yet there is another solution for those who want to share a name without one person "winning." Hyphens schmyphens--just take a third name. Here is an example of how a wedding announcement might read:

Erika Eriksson and Johan Johansson
were married on January 1 in Limhamn Church.
We are now both named Andersson.

I'm sorry, what? Andersson? This never fails to give me pause, teacup halfway to my mouth. Now, chances are that Erika and Johan did not pull Andersson out of thin air. But I find the idea that they might have very amusing. Erik and I will one day be named . . . um . . . let's see . . . Jones!

While poring over the obituaries, I've got an eye out for tragedy, and instead learn that people in Skåne tend to live a long time. Reason number 10,453 to stay put.

And the birth announcements? Well, this week I discovered the name Hampus, and while it didn't get immediately written down for possible future use, it's good to know it exists.

These sections, and sometimes the personals and classifieds, are read and enjoyed every weekend, when the announcements are thickest. But on Sunday I came across a section that I had never noticed before. Sandwiched between ”births” and ”deaths” it deals, fittingly, with celebrations. Or, as it happened, lack thereof. There were 84 announcements in this ”Uppvaktning,” or "congratulation" section. A few announced birthday open-houses, complete with addresses and times (Can we go and said we read about it in the paper? I wondered). But the vast majority expressed the birthday girl’s/boy’s desire for no celebration, no birthday wishes. Some were simple: ”All uppvaktning undanbedes” (All celebrations are declined). Some were depressing: ”Gör som jag, glöm min dag” (Do like I do, forget my day). All were very decided.

After Erik told me what undanbedes meant, I looked at him, shocked. ”Explain!” I said. Tell me why so many people want to avoid their birthday and why, if they hate it so, they choose to remind everyone that it is coming up.

Now I know there are people who don't like their birthdays--fine. But there is not liking your birthday and then there's putting a warning in the newspaper, forbidding people from giving you a freaking card. And what about those unfortunate acquaintances who unlike me, do not spend their Saturday reading such a section? Will they be scorned when they give you a birthday pat on the back?

Erik didn’t know what to tell me. He left me and my confusion at the table. I read on—through every person’s no-fuss wishes. I'm no anthropologist but I think there's something here. What does it say about a group of people that they take over what should be a celebratory section of the newspaper and turn it dour? I have no insights, but I'll keep thinking about it, and keep looking to the paper for clues.