Betsy Devine: Funny ha-ha and/or funny peculiar

Frank Wilczek with Stockholm singing group, Riltons Vanner

In Stockholm, I seem to have stepped through the looking glass into a sensible world where journalists have better things to write about than “Is blogging journalism?” For example, a bunch of new Nobel laureates with good things to say about more interesting questions.

I’ll say this for real journalists–how many bloggers would jump out of bed early enough to interview my husband at 7:15 a.m.? Well, some nice young man from Swedish radio did.

Later, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences fed the science laureates breakfast in their tower, interrupted by a rare astronomical event–an occultation of Jupiter. (Alas, the sky was too bright for us to see it, though we could all see the slender crescent moon.)

Another press conference and a rehearsal later, the President of Stockholm University treated us to a delicious lunch in “Spökslottet”, a 17th century mansion said to be haunted–hence its name “Ghost castle.” 

Lars Bergstrom, the Stockholm University physicist who gave such a good explanation of the strong interaction,  told me that Ingmar Bergmann got the chess-playing-Death motif in Seventh Seal from a mural in the church in his small home town. Even scarier, he told me that the final decision about physics Nobel Prizes, can be reached as late as the morning of the announcement! 

David Gross, on my other side, gave me some Nobel-worthy wisdom about the festivities. (I had asked him if one of the laureates ought to propose a thank-you toast to our host.) David said, “This whole event is so well-planned that if we were supposed to do it, someone would have told us. And if nobody told us to do it, we probably shouldn’t.”

Frank and David are now on their third or maybe fourth interview. But I think bloggers blogging about journalists is even more boring than journalists journalizing about bloggers, don’t you?

In Stockholm, I seem to have stepped through the looking glass into a sensible world where journalists have better things to write about than “Is blogging journalism?” For example, a bunch of new Nobel laureates with good things to say about more interesting questions.

I’ll say this for real journalists–how many bloggers would jump out of bed early enough to interview my husband at 7:15 a.m.? Well, some nice young man from Swedish radio did.

Later, the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences fed the science laureates breakfast in their tower, interrupted by a rare astronomical event–an occultation of Jupiter. (Alas, the sky was too bright for us to see it, though we could all see the slender crescent moon.)

Another press conference and a rehearsal later, the President of Stockholm University treated us to a delicious lunch in “Spökslottet”, a 17th century mansion said to be haunted–hence its name “Ghost castle.” 

Lars Bergstrom, the Stockholm University physicist who gave such a good explanation of the strong interaction,  told me that Ingmar Bergmann got the chess-playing-Death motif in Seventh Seal from a mural in the church in his small home town. Even scarier, he told me that the final decision about physics Nobel Prizes, can be reached as late as the morning of the announcement! 

David Gross, on my other side, gave me some Nobel-worthy wisdom about the festivities. (I had asked him if one of the laureates ought to propose a thank-you toast to our host.) David said, “This whole event is so well-planned that if we were supposed to do it, someone would have told us. And if nobody told us to do it, we probably shouldn’t.”

Frank and David are now on their third or maybe fourth interview. But I think bloggers blogging about journalists is even more boring than journalists journalizing about bloggers, don’t you?

Spin a “tippe top” on its hemisperical base–it wobbles until it flips over to spin on its stem. (Animation with better explanation )

Physicist Anders Barany (Nobel Museum) is one of the world’s top experts…on tippe tops! Frank and I first met him in 2003, and within minutes Anders and Frank were on the floor taking a bunch of tippe tops out for a spin. It was with great pleasure we saw him again today at a Nobel Museum reception for the newest prizewinnners.

The reception was part of a long, topsy-turvy day, that began at 8 a.m. with the arrival of Frank’s aunt and uncle. Their hotel room wasn’t ready, but the Grand Hotel kindly furnished them with a “resting room” until it was. We strolled off into some glorious Nordic sunshine and found a small ice-skating rink already open for business. Sanity and jet lag soon led us home again to the hotel.

A few more fragments:

• Frank looks handsome in a tailcoat, and the people who rent them can tell just by looking at you what coat will fit you.
• Stockholm looks lovely from the top of a television tower, but cellphone reception is surprisingly bad there.
• The Nobel Museum store sells beautifully detailed “Nobel medals” made of gold foil with chocolate inside.
• Lots of people here ask Nobel laureates for autographs.

Our day ended with great pleasure and some more sanity at the hotel’s Franska Matsalen, where we managed to have a wonderful family dinner that included Frank’s “Nobel attendant” Cecilia Ekholm ( in her real life, a foreign service officer) and Roland Zuiderveld of SVT 2. (Remember Roland, the Swedish-cultural-television interviewer whose arrival at our house I live-blogged?)

Frank needs the computer and I need some sleep. (I’m luckier than Frank here.)

And tomorrow’s schedule is even more of a whirl.

Stockholm’s beautiful Grand Hotel is full up with Nobel laureates and their gene pools. David Gross and his kids arrived with baseball caps that say Gross: The Strong Force. Edward Prescott’s cute grandchildren were in the lobby when we arrived. I haven’t seen Kydlands or Politzers or Axels yet, but it’s just a matter of time…er, scratch that, yes I have.

And we’re all drinking metaphorical lingonberry juice. All day long.

Swedish hospitality involves lots of lingonberry juice. It’s a kind of a national “welcome to Sweden” beverage. The Nobel officials who meet jet-lagged travelers at the SAS gateway whisk you away to drink lingonberry juice. The Ice Hotel brings hot lingonberry juice to guests waking up on a fur-covered ice bed. And so on–IKEA dispenses it by the imperial gallon.

Sweden is so lovely and everyone is so kind that my tongue will be metaphorically blue for a while. Now I have to get off this computer so that Finn Kydland can use it.