This morning, I saw with pleasure that a recent post on the jazz club Smalls had been translated into Swedish, where this blog is called JAZZ LIV. I am very happy when people who live ten minutes away read what I write; to know that I have readers in Tokyo, Istanbul, and Paris is a thrill.
Here’s the link:
Years ago, I was a competent student in Romance languages, so I started to “read” the Swedish text, to see how much Swedish I could pretend to know.
I now understand what the archaic phrase, “He dissolved in laughter” really means, for when I got to the phrase “harda saten” (with a circle over the first A, an umlaut over the second) for “hard seats,” I couldn’t stop laughing.
NOW I have a new way to complain about uncomfortable chairs wherever I am, “Oh, these harda saten are killing me,” I will say.
Thanks so much to my Swedish reader(s) for enhancing my vocabulary: in the name of the Blessed Sid Caesar, I salute you! And to all my readers: may your saten never be harda. May you be pillowed through your days!
