Finally! A new toy!

I did promise a Christmas gift list, but seeing as I got "only" very sensible and practical stuff, I didn't want to bore you with it. If you are, however, immensely curious (and maybe a bit weird); here goes:

Thermal underwear and a bunch of thermal socks
Cooking pots
Gift card for curtains for my bedroom
iPod-charger for my car
Outdoor clothing (fleece underwear, soft shell jacket and pants etc)
Money

See? All very sensible, grown up and practical stuff. And of course I am very grateful for it, it is stuff I need and don't want to spend money on, but I did feel that I lacked a good toy for the Christmas holiday. I thought about what I wanted to buy with some of the money I got, thought long and hard, considering possibilities like a new pc, new pc components or even an XBox 360. But I finally landed on what I've wanted for a long while, something that would make me, if not more active, at least less likely to become stationary. I bought a camera! I've always been annoyed by the limitations of a point-and-shoot, you have no control over focus, depth and such, and therefore wanted an DSLR. I am, however, not interested enough to buy the more expensive ones, and went for an "entry-level", the Canon EOS 1000D. I still feel I have more than enough configurative possibilities, though, and I am still learning.



Of course I am such a child that I have to have some extras, and immediately went online to search for a battery grip, and found a relatively reasonable one in the UK, which I've already ordered... The money I got for Christmas is running out fast, and I still need a camera bag of some sort, can't keep carrying around, I freely admit that I am such a numpty I won't trust myself with carrying it around very long without some sort of protection. Even considered buying camera "armor" for it, to give it the best possible chance of a long life.



Tomorrow is new years eve, a night I've always hated. People always talk about welcoming a new year - and the new possibilities it represents. I always end up thinking about all the stuff I still haven't gotten around to do, studying, travelling, moving away, loosing weight, whatever it might be. All in all I tend to get rather emo and weepy, and probably not very pleasant to be around. So either I need to get drunk and have some fun, or crawl into a chair with a blanket and my laptop, and just relax like I do on every other night. Might end up shedding a few tears either way. But never mind me - Happy New Years!

It's raining pianos!

My title underlines what my life has been about these past few weeks: it's generally been a few weeks of weird. They've been so weird it's actually the reason for me not writing much: I've haven't had the time, or I've been to tired.

It all kicked off with my lovely and - up until now - very healthy but prematurely born niece Jakobine, getting sick. And not just slightly, she got a virus called RS, stopped breathing several times and got sent to a major hospital in Oslo and put in a respirator. My brother and his wife followed her, of course, and my dad and I had to help each other out with watching my nephew. This in turn resulted in me having to sleep over at my brothers house for a while, getting very little sleep both because I was worried, and because my nephew was also sick and I was just waiting for him to cough up a lung.

The day after this happened I went to a christmas party at work, where I was told that one of our cows had died. If you'd asked me three months ago I would've told you that I am not a fan of cows - all right, thank you for burgers, cheese and milkshake, but they're not my favorite animals, but the ones we have at work, however, are actually sort of cute - all black and fluffy, and shy creatures. The cow who died had tried to give birth, but something went wrong and both she and her calf died, and to my surprise this made me feel really bad - I imagined how painful her death must've been. "You do realize you're sympathizing with a cow?" a mate asked me. "Yes, I do!" I was even more horrified when I realized that we would have to move said cow away from the field, and the only way to move a huge cow (a cow and a half, actually), is by tieing her to a tractor and pull her out of there. Furthermore - the people who come to collect dead animals couldn't make it until after christmas, resulting in the poor having to lie under a plastic wrapper behind the barn for weeks. Just... uch. This just goes to show that I could never have been a farmer tending to animals - I would've given them all names and cried every time something went wrong. I'll just settle for a pack of dogs, thanks.

Speaking of dogs - mine is behaving rather wierdly. I'm afraid she's sick - she's suddenly refusing to eat the food she was happily munching a few weeks ago. Maybe she just suddenly decided she didn't like if after all. Which figures, seeing as I just bought a 7,5kg bag of the stuff.

Another proof of this being weird times must be what I've been listening to the past weeks. Usually I listen to stuff like Tool, Depeche Mode, Arcade Fire - Yes, it's varied, but I do feel I keep to certain standards. Lately, however, I've been stuck on songs by Pink and Dido, of all people. Oh, and this song, which makes me really happy these days.


My title for this post comes from the last Top Gear episode, of which a (grand?) piano gets dropped on a Morris, supposedly by accident. Go download the 7th episode of the 12th season, even just to watch the news segment. I laughed out loud for the entire thing.

Today I suddenly realised that there's only 6 days left until christmas, which made me sort of panic, even though I am not quite sure why. I've finished all my gift shopping, I've finished all of my dad's gift shopping, I've got my hair fixed, shopped most of my food, I should be all set. I guess it's just the uncertainty of it all - I still don't know wether my brother, his wife and my tiny niece will be home by Christmas Eve, although I hope so, even only for their own sake , but the fact remains that they will be in the hospital for days still, and all the preparations will have to be done on the fly and under what I can only guess will be sort of stressful conditions. Good thing tomorrow is the last day - after that I have over two weeks of holiday, which I am going to spend doing as little as possible!

Wuss

Last week I recieved the "O-Glorious-Great-Shiny-Black-Box-With-All-The-X-Files-Episodes" in my mail. Didn't have to pay customs or anything - what a glorius for the postal service to cock up. Which means I only paid about 66 quid for the bloody thing. Joy!

I can't even remember how old I was when X-Files first started airing in Norway, but safe to say I shouldn't have been allowed to see it. And it did scare the begeesus out of me. This coming from a girl who grew up watching films inappropriate for her age (because I stole them from my older siblings), like Jaws at age 5 and the Excorcist at age 6 or 7 (that one did scare me back then, though...). I don't think I'm a very squeamish or easily scared: the only two films I can ever remember freaking me out a tad was the Blair Witch Project, and the pyjama-clad chinese girl crawling out of the telly in The Ring. I don't find pyjamas, the chinese or tellies particularily scary, but there you go. Woods in the dark, on the other hand...

But I have to admit that some of the episodes I've seen up until now has actually made me feel a bit unnerved. Perhaps watching X-Files in the dark, alone in a big house in which your mum died, a wooden on that creaks at that, isn't the brightest idea I've come up with. But, those episodes on Eugene Victor Tooms... I really don't like that bloke. Another episode was about a parasitic worm-thing that came into your blood stream, grew into a maggot-thing, crawled around under your skin and wriggled its way into your brain, where it fed off something and made you rather... tetchy. I.e really flaming agressive and trigger-happy. Just the idea of something maggoty crawling under my skin makes me wretch and shudder all over. I still haven't finished that episode.

The career conundrum

As some of you might've picked up, I'm currently working at the local library, doing what most "librarians" do: I scan books in and out of the system, order books from elsewhere that we don't have, organize them and stuff them back in their shelves. Might sound like a rather systematic and tedious job, but frankly I love it. It might have something to do with my love of books - I suspect my mom started reading to me even before I saw the light of day, she left us a rather big book collection too, and I feel that I spent way more time in the library growing up than any average kid. I also suspect that because I learned to read early, I could watch english movies with subtitles ( which I strictly wasn't allowed to watch, like Jaws at the age of 6 or 7) and learn english more quickly. But that's just my theory.

Claiming that I've wanted to be many things, might be a bit of an understatement. The first things I remember wanting to be was either a fighter pilot, a native-American Indian or a police officer. My poor eyesight and wonky corneas ruled out the first, my strictly Norwegian and Swedish ancestors quickly ruled out the second, and my innate laziness ruled out the third. Then it was the space-age. Imagine working with space launches and shuttles, or on a telescope station... Oh, I need to be a maths genius for that? No deal.

So logically I moved on to archeology. Somehow, brushing dust of old ruins, pots and pans or bones seemed unbelievably exciting to me, probably because I've always liked history, I even tried studying it, but 6 months studying it at university sapped the joy out of academic history to me - I'll stick to books and movies, thank you.

When I went to high school some years earlier, I studied medias and communications, and I loved those three years. Learning about design, photography, journalism, filming, text composition and advertising was incredibly fun, but sadly I didn't magically discover any huge talent in any of these areas - the closest would've been the journalism, but I'm not curious or interested enough for that. And I hate the idea of having to go around with a portfolio and "sell myself" like a product, I just don't have that kind of self-confidence in me.

After a month in Africa, all I wanted to do was go back and work, and my first thought was to study development and the 3rd world. Of course I didn't get in at the study I wanted, that was why I ended up with history for 6 months, and when I researched it a bit more I figured that the place I'd most likely end up after studying that, would be some Ministry of Foreign relations office, or an embassy. Swimming around in papers? No thanks.

"It doesn't have to be that hard, stop waiting for some voice from the heavens or finding your calling. You like computers, no? Well, there you go. Study computer science!" My sister said. All righty then, sounds fair enough, she's older and naturally more wise then me. I took a pre-course in mathematics (a field we've already established I'm not exactly a genius in), passed, and started. Programming with C++ was all jolly exciting, I loved the "problem solving" of it, right up until the point where I didn't understand it anymore. Then we got engineering and abstract mathematics on top of it all, and combine that with my thousandth depression, and you have a crash and burn situation. I acknowledged my limitations and left after three months.

After that I haven't tried my hand at studying, I decided I had to clear my brain out before I would be able to function at school, so since then I've been working part time and going through therapy and treatment. For a while I worked at a senior citizens home, which I believe is the political correct term. I sort of liked it, I'm a caring person, I liked helping people who need it and I felt a sense of accomplishment. "Stop fooling around, you've been nagging about going back to Africa for years, become a nurse, then you can go back. And you have plenty of options in Norway too." That was a friend of mine trying to kick some sense of direction into me. I listened, and thought I'd decided. A nurse. I didn't want to work with old people, I wanted to be in a real hospital. Then I could go back to Africa and help kids with malnutrition and AIDS, give them food and shots and do something for humanity. If everyone says "There's nothing you can do about it, why bother?", naturally nothing would ever happen. And when I came back I could specialize. Maybe the intensive care unit? Cancer? Oh, or kids! I love newborns. Maybe mid-wife? The options seemed endless, and I finally calmed down for a year, concentrating on getting better.

Then I got this job. I feel I was sort of environmentally destined to be here. My mom loved books. My sister wanted to be a librarian (but didn't become one, weirdly enough thanks to mom). I've grown up around books, partly in this very library. And for the first time I like going to work. I don't monitor the clock every 15 minutes (like now, for instance, I was finished 38 minutes ago), I don't feel the need to sit down in a quiet area every hour just to catch my breath, the people I work with has a sense of humor and actually gives me praise for the work I do. So, what does that mean? Should I become a librarian? And there I go again...

'Scuse me... What?

Read a few articles online this morning that made me stare vacantly into space, blink, then going "Wait.. What?" And not because I'm tired.

The first article could inform me that a girl from Rwanda in her twenties was brutally raped and beaten up for over 2 hours at a refugee center in Rjukan, Norway, by a iraqi man. Bleh. What's wrong with people?! There were no employees at the center, because it was a weekend, and they didn't even arrest the guy, just moved him to another facility: the police thought there wasnt' any risk that he would do it again... Yes, clearly, he isn't liable to do anything like that.

Slightly less seriously was the story of a 28 year old who got his car deliberately crashed three times on European Highway 6 in northern Norway. A BMW came from behind at high velocity and crashed into him, and when he pulled over to call the emergency, the BMW also came to a halt and backed up straight into his car again. The clearly annoyed driver jumped out screaming "aren't you afraid to die?", jumped back in and backed into him yet again before taking off. Clearly an extreme case of road rage? Well, maybe, but one sentence in this article made me puzzled: "Greger got a bit of a surprise when he looked into he rear-view mirror after overtaking a BMW in a 80 kilometre an hour zone yesterday." Anyone stop to think that the 28 year old Greger might have done a very dangerous overtaking maneuver? A reckless maneuver that was the final poke at another mans already frayed mental state, a move that just really ticked the bloke off?

Finally I want to mention an article which deals with a case that is very explosive and sensitive. And because no one ever can be sure what happened, it's impossible to ever prove anyone wrong or right, but that didn't prevent me from reacting. 17 years ago we had something called "The Bjugn-case" going on in Norway - Ulf Hammern who was working at a kindergarten was accused of "alleged sexual abuse" against the kids at his work place. The whole thing blew totally out of porportions in an instant, eventually involving over 36 named kids, and leading to the arrest of 7 people, including the police chief in Bjugn itself, along with Hammerns wife and two employees at the kindergarten. Only Hammern ended up in trial, and was eventually acquitted of all charges. A horde of so called "competent people" had concluded that the children had been molested, but the court felt it couldn't trust these statements. Ok, fine, the case was a witchhunt, and no one can ever prove it one way or the other. What bothers me now is the article I read today, where a 20 year old girl who was one of the 10 kids Hammern was charged of molesting, says she's going to sue Hammern for "offending her honor". He had said in an interview that he thought the kids involved in the trial 17 year ago might've been "brainwashed" by their parents and all the professional people (psychiatrists, doctors etc) who had interrogated the kids (the art of suggestion can work wonders on a childs mind). She found this statement so offensive to her and her family that she, after much consideration, has decided to sue. First of all: let sleeping dogs lie? Come on people, this many years later no one can prove anything, why go poking at it with a stick? And that goes for both the young girl and Hammern. Secondly I have to ask myself what's the worst: Publicly being accused of being brainwashed when you went to kindergarten, or being accused of molesting 10 kids? If anyone has the right to be offended and generally pissed off, it surely should be Hammern?

All in all - three articles that made me question human kind that much more.

Missus Nifty is back!

Earlier I've admitted that I'm a real sucker for anything slightly nifty, stuff that can make my every day life, or certain situations, that much more bearable and easy. You might claim that it's rather weird that I can get excited about such things in the first place, but I'm a practical girl: I hang my own pictures, build my own furniture and change my own tires. Practical stuff is always good in my book.

The first thing I want to mention is Drizabone. I don't know about you, but I have an irrational hatred against rain clothes, especially rain jackets. Frankly, I find that any type of clothing which claims to be remotely waterproof and usually is made of some synthetic scratchy fabric, inevitably comes with the feeling of your skin being slowly suffocated in your own sweat. "Breathable fabric", my bum. And if there's something I hate, it's being cold, wet, clammy and sticky. A couple of years ago I really wouldn't have bothered much about this sort of thing, since any kind or rain/hail/snow was just another perfect excuse to stay inside with my trusty laptop and my tea. But now, I have a dog, and I've always said that if you take on the responsibility of having a dog, you better well make it a hobby and take it for walks. I can appreciate that I do live in Norway, which tends to have water falling from the sky in one form or another rather often, hence I need to find something to wear outside that won't cause my skin to drown in it's own sweat.
One day I read the word Drizabone somewhere, and from the context I could gather that it was something wearable, but that was it. In an uncharacteristic fit of curiosity I google'd it, and ended up on this site. Apparently it's a 100 year old Australian company who makes coats and gear out of oilskin, originally they made long riding coats intended for the Australian "cowboys" in the outback, and they were intended for tough wear in rough weather. Nowadays "Drizabone's" are very popular in Australia, obviously, but also with the ranchers and cowboys in the US, and with the country bumpkins in the UK who match them with their Wellies. They're not exactly fashion items, but the coats are made of natural materials, which breathes, and they're relatively cheap, at least compared to the supposedly "good" brands of foul weather clothing which is quite... Pricey. I'm getting one!

But what about the dog, you say? Nothing makes me more annoyed then seeing pooches being pimped out in biker jackets or gangsta hoodies, clothes are for humans, not for dogs. But the fact of the matter is that I own a small poodle, which leaves me with two choices whenever the temperatures down here drop below +5 C (which they do quite often): I can either let her fur grow, which means I have a lot of work to do to keep her fur untangled, or I can have her fur cut like it is now, but that would result in her freezing her tail off. And if she gets wet, she's even more of a wuss and starts to shake uncontrollably. It's only fair that she gets one too.

Earlier this evening, and I can't remember how, I ended up on a site called Joe Bananas. It's British and they specialize in selling "festival gear", and this site immediately made my gadget-radar go whoop-whoop! Here's a few of the things I found.
- Travel John: It's a bag. Which you can wee into. It contains crystals that solidifies your wee instantly, so you can close it up. Imagine lying in your underwear in a sleeping bag, realizing (very hungover) that you have to get out of the bag, get dressed, get out of the tent, walk three miles and then stand in line to wee, a thing you should've done three hours ago if possible. They claim it should work for both men and women, but I'm not so sure about the latter.
- Urinelle: A disposable cone through which women can wee standing up. Might come in handy on day 5 of the festival, when the port-a-potty looks more like the gateway to the seven circles of hell. Maybe it could be combined with the Travel John?
- Readybrush: Prepasted toothbrush!
- Solar camp shower: Pretty much self explanatory, fill it with water and leave it in the sun, it heats up the water quickly. Of course, requires both sun and water being available. I won't recommend stuffing it with beer and hanging it over the disposable grill.
- Festival pod tent: Single skin instant pop-up tent for one person, waterproof of course. How brilliant is that? "Oh dear, I have to put up my tent..." *FWOOOSH* "There we go! Nighty!"
- Wellingtons: Not exactly a gadget, but they do fit nicely under the category "nifty" when the campsite looks like a mudbath.

But I've saved the best for last. Because, in addition to the waterproof clothes, I also nurture a deep hatred for sleeping bags. Some call them cozy, I call them a torture device. They're clammy, they're too tight, I can't sleep in any of my usual spread-eagle positions, and I can't turn around in it without it going all wonky. But NO MORE! I have found the solution! The Lippi Selk'Bag. Fantastically stupid name, I agree, but the concept is brilliant. It basically looks like an overgrown thermal jump suit with extra zippers, which you can close around your arms and legs. Or, if you want to be pedantic about it, call it a body-shaped, wearable sleeping bag. You can walk around in it, sit in it, and when you turn around, it doesn't attempt to strangle you! If I don't get this for Christmas I'm buying one myself and not stepping out of it the entire winter. Maybe I should get the tent too, then I can pitch up in my living room, turn off the heat to save money, and stay in there with my Selk'Bag and the wee bag, and never leave. Uhm. On second thought, maybe not... Ew.

Gee, thanks...

Last night I stumbled over yet another one of those articles that makes me go "d'oh" and then proceed to *headdesk* (explained as "Unification of ones forehead with a computer desk as a means to vent frustration, often forceful.")

"An 18 year old boy robbed and killed a 54 yeard old taxidriver in Bangkok, Thailand this weekend. He claims he was inspired by the popular computer game Grand Theft Auto 4, reports Reuters. - He said he wanted to find out wether it is as easy to rob a taxi in real life as it is in the game.

The 18 year old risks being sentenced to death."

Yes yes, I'm sure it's a tragedy, but no matter how deep I dig I can't seem to find any sympathy for this boy. You have to have a rather twisted view on reality, or be exceptionally receptive against the art of suggestion, if a mere video game can prompt you to try and steal a cab. He claims the killing was "accidental", but he did stab him with a knife when the taxidriver tried to express that he didn't fancy getting his car stolen. "Well, gee, I did stab him, but I didn't know knife stab wounds could kill a man!" It's morons like this guy that gives us gamers a bad name! Yes, I have played GTA4, or at least tried it.

But more importantly, I grew up playing Duke Nukem 3D and Doom, which was pretty hard core stuff back then: guns, blood, gore and boobs. (Yes, I was a wierd girl, sitting at home as a 11 year old trying to complete Duke Nukem). I progressed to Quake and Half-Life, which basically was more of the same: Walk around, pick up guns and ammo, shoot everything that moves or even thinks about moving. Just about every game I've ever played to any extent involves kililng: CS, Starcraft, Warcraft, Red Alert, Tiberian Sun. And I turned out ok? Right? Eventually I grew out a bit .. well, not out of games, but a bit bored, maybe. Besides, new games are horribly expensive, and I've spent the past 3 years playing just one - WoW.

...

The only difference I can see between the games I've mentioned, and GTA4, is that the latter is placed in a somewhat realistic environment. But still, what on earth are you thinking if stealing a car seems like a fun thing to try. I'm going to steal what a mate of mine said last night: Video games doesn't increase violence, it just adds creativity. It gives people ideas.

Queen of Hearts

In my previous attempts at blogging, I sometimes posted bits and pieces of music lyrics, mostly because whatever they expressed suited me or touched me in some way or the other. And yes, these lyrics tend to be rather emo-ish, in the past I've quoted Nine Inch Nails and Tool. I've just been listening to Lars Winnerbäck, a swedish singer/songwriter I first heard when I stumbled into a live show he did at Arvika festivalen 2000, when I was about 14. My eleven year old sister liked him instantly, and as I grew older and wiser (but not taller), I did too, he has beautiful simplistic lyrics about life and love, often with a bitter-sweet undertone. This is the bit of lyric I got caught up in this time, it's from a song called "Tanken som räknas":

"Det är somliga dar som man vänder sig om
Och känner hur allting försvinner
Hur man jagar och far, hur man snålar och spar
Hur man lever så mycket man hinner.

Jag är inte fångad och frälst, jag har sålt mina enda maximer
Jag kan leva som vem som helst om jag tar mine mediciner.

Hjärter Dam, hur är du, har du samlat dig nu?
Har du funnit din mening i livet?
Lite mat och ett hem, et glas vin och en vän
Allt annat känns så överdrivet."

I'll try to translate into English, this rhymes in it's original language, but I'll at least try to get the meaning of the lyric right.

"Some days you turn around and feel like everything is disappearing.
You're on the go and chasing, you're saving and being stingy
You live as much as you have time for

I'm not caught or redeemed, I've sold my only aphorisms
I can live like anybody if I take my medication

Queen of hearts, how are you, have you gathered yourself?
Have you found your meaning of life?
Some food and a home, a glas of wine and a friend
Everything else seems so overstated."

Me - a future leader?

I just found an interesting article online which actually come from an online business/economy site. How in the name of all that's holy can anything on that site be remotely relevant to my interests? Well, this Professor from a college called NTNU in Norway claims that WoW-players of today are the leaders of tomorrow. Quite disturbing, actually, considering the amount of numb nuts I've encountered in my soon-to-be 3 years of playing. Anyways, this is what he said:

"-At high levels in WoW you're forced to coordinate various players and their competence towards the goals you seek to achieve. People from all over the world are then communicating with each other, the professor says. He also thinks that our future leaders must be far better at multi-tasking than they are today.

-Those who are digitally competent will have more possibilities then those who are not. That's what signifies the so-called "digital natives", their ability to multi-task."

Quite a few professors around the world seem to agree with him. adding that "leadership is something that can't be easily learned through theory. These web-based games give its players valuable practice in leadership and I think there will be a demand after this. These games are a safe platform for learning through trial and error."

Amazing. One day, WOW is an evil thing that should be outlawed or at least come with an age restriction of 30+, a game that causes kids to rot away in their dungeons, living off pizza and coke, neglecting education, friends and personal hygiene. The next day, it's a wonderful thing that helps evolve the multi-tasking and leadership skills of the leaders of tomorrow.
So what are they saying? The next generation of leaders will have smelly pits, no friends and no formal education, but they'll be brilliant at multitasking and leading? I'm not sure I want that boss. Unless it me.

Link to original article - in norwegian.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?"

Yes! I did it!
I got my bum out of the comfy chair, and went to see "The Dark Knight".
Y'know... The Batman film?
If you shrug at this point, go hide in shame. Because the amount of kerfuffle this movie has made is unbelievable - mostly due to the fact that this supposedly is a rather good Batman-flick, and because the actor portraying the villain supposedly gave such a good performance the Oscars should be renamed the Heath Ledger award.

Whenever a movie gets this amount of press coverage and praise, I react instinctively and jack my expectations down to bottom level. I hate disappointments, and things that gets built up too much usually tends to fall flat on it's face - whether it is a game, a book or a film. One book everyone claimed I had to read was the Alchemist, the reviews spoke of life-altering reading, so I bought it on vacation, read it, and was bored half to death. I just didn't see the appeal, and I was more moved by the disappointment than by the book itself.

Another reason for me being cautious is that the only Batman-film I've actually seen (yes, it's embarassing), is "Batman and Robin". George Clooney said some years after this was made that he blamed himself for killing Batman. And he's damn right. It really was appallingly bad, even Uma Thurman didn't manage to help this one out. I should've seen the other ones, I know, don't have a go at me for it.

So, I was rather low on expectations but loaded with candy when I sat down in the cinema to watch all three hours of it. My first thought was a rather skeptical "naaah, I'm not so sure". This was very early on, mind you, and my next thought was "you have to take this for what it is; a movie about a superhero". And that changed everything, because this isn't like your standard version of the genre. It has real guns'n'knives, real blood, (mostly) real cars (even a Lambo Murcielago!) and real explosions. No lasers, no funny ice cannons, no gentleman fighting that doesn't look like it really hurts. Simply, it doesn't try to be a movie that can be seen by everyone from 7 years and up, it has an age restriction of 15 (in Norway at least), and a modicum of reality, and I like that. Superhero's are often portrayed as exclusively good, their violence is always accepted and marked as just being "the means to an end", their actions are never doubted or questioned. This isn't the case in The Dark Knight - it's not just the bog standard good vs evil dilemma. And that makes the plot actually rather interesting, for a change.

As far as Batman goes, I think Bale did a damn good job. What I liked best about him was the way he turned his voice into a low growl whenever he donned the anatomically correct spandex. He uses it to mark a distinct difference between Bruce Wayne and Batman, and of course this voice-change makes it more difficult for people around him to "guess" who he is. It also works as a good contrast to the Jokers nasal, high pitched and psychotic voice, where as usually you should think it's the other way around; the mean has the dark, evil voice, the good guy has at least a normal voice. And lastly, it was kinda sexeh.

Well, what about the Joker then?
I'm... stunned. Got no words.
I'm not the one for jumping on the bandwagon every opportunity I get, but on this one I have to agree with the general public, and I'm happy to report that the praise isn't just a result of the fact that this was his last role before he died; he portrayed the best fucking villain, ever! Yes, give his daughter the Oscar her father should've received. The thing that I find really sad is that he didn't get this kind of credit for his acting when he was alive, and frankly I don't think many of us paid much attention to what he did while he was still alive. We never do until someone tragically dies way too young. I know I didn't, I've seen Brokeback Mountain, and I really liked it, but never thought of the incredible acting he did. He had such an attention to detail, and he showed that in The Dark Knight too; the twitches and body language, the voice, facial expressions, the eyes.

Even if you hate superheros, hate Batman, hate action movies: Go see it. Just for the Joker.

All ranted out...

I've run out of things to rant about. Perhaps it's because nothing special has happened lately, and I'm not very good at making my every day life sounds exciting. I work, walk and play with the dog, eat, read, write, waste my time on the mighty intarweb and try to do something fun on the weekends.

One thing I can blame for my recent lazy blogging, or absence of same, is the heat. The past week Norway's climate has gone tropical, reaching about 35 degrees Celcius in the shade this weekend when I was at my dad's cottage (or, his girlfriend , strictly speaking). Thank god it's by the sea. I wouldn't mind the heat if I could creep into an icebox to sleep every night - the problem with Norway is that we're used to very cold temperatures, but when it gets hot around here, it gets utterly unbearable for a week or so. And just when you've started to acclimatize, the rain sets in, along with the wind. Three years ago I spent a month in Kenya and Uganda in February, and as you might know these countries are right on the equatorial line. I.e it's damn fucking hot. December through February are summer months, with temperatures averaging 27C, but combined with the humidity and the sun being in constant zenith it feels horrible to a pale viking. But one morning, a few days before I was about to go back home, I woke up early and felt absolutely freezing in my thin silk sleeping bag. I tiptoed through the house and found a wool blanket, and as I crept back into bed I checked my phone, which had a thermometer on it, and it read 23C. So, in a bit more then three weeks I'd gone from being a puddle of sweat to actually feeling cold in 23C. But we never get the opportunity to do that here - as soon as we've become accustomed to the summer, we're 8 feet deep in snow. (I've always said I should move somewhere that has more constants then Norway: a more constant climate, and a more constant amount of daylight. Swinging from -35 to +35, and from having 6 hours of daylight during winter and 19 in the summer. All of this is messing me up horribly!)

And now for something completely different.
Today I was complaining about the fact that my dog generally likes to lie as close as possible or on top of me whenever I'm on the computer, and I normally am in bed when doing so. Seeing as Norway has had a rather balmy climate lately it gets rather hot lying with a laptop AND a big ball of white poodle-fluff on your lap. "Well, I guess she's feeling cuddly," said a mate of mine. "She get's more then enough cuddles as it is," I replied. The response I got is a sentence I am going to copyright right here and now: "Snuggle has no boundaries." Damn right.

The truth is out there...?

One thing I remember loving when I was ... younger ( I was about to say little but realised I still am), was sitting down every Thursday night with some crisps or other unhealthy stuff, and watch X-files. Sometimes it literally scared the wits out of me: I can still remember an episode where a man had a shadow that made you disappear if you stepped on it, freaked me out royally. I've always been a bit of sucker for the supernatural, fantasy and general mysteries. X-files was right up my ally. And Mulder was one of the first characters on the telly who I sort of fancied. In an innocent way. Yes, I do agree that X-files sort of lost me when it all became about the conspiracy theory, tobacco, bees and human cloning, the early episodes who had more or less one case per episode was by far the best. But I still liked it.

Safe to say I've been wanting the box set for ages now, and have been drooling over it for quite a while. But with 9 whole seasons on 61 discs you can claim that it is sort of.. pricey. But today, as I tend to do on the day I get my pay check, I had another surf around trusty Amazon. And EUREKA! The whole shebang, 61 dvds, for £ 60! (€75 or 615NOK). SOLD!

This fall, as it gets darker, colder, windier and eventually icy and snowy, I'm going to snuggle up in my couch with my tea and my unhealthy crisps, and the dog, and enjoy.

Tømmerfløtivalen 2008

(The following post is in Norwegian - it explains about a very local festival I attended this weekend. I tried to write it in English, but it just wouldn't work )

Denne posten må skrives på norsk. Fordi i helga har jeg vært med på noe såpass norskt og såpass lokalt at å beskrive det på engelsk var helt håpløst. Jeg prøvde, og ga opp.

Spetakkelet jeg var med på heter Tømmerfløtivalen, en lokal liten festival som arrangeres på Finnskoga ca 2 mil herfra. Arrangørene er unge "fælk" fra distriktet, og bandene er en blanding av lokale, gode band med "kjinnsfælk" og noen få større navn. Jeg har hatt lyst til å dra dit i flere år nå, men det har aldri blitt noe av. Men nå måtte jeg! Selvsagt var hele familien min bortreist denne helga, så jeg måtte også ta med meg bikkja. Hadde helst ønsket at hun fikk være hjemme med noen, men må man så må man. Og heldigvis gikk det bra, hun fikk masse oppmerksomhet og taklet folkemengden bra; under konsertene fikk hun være i kassebilen som sto et stykke unna.

Apropos konsertene; det var tre av dem jeg virkelig likte. De som hadde æren av å åpne kalaset i år var FJOS, Finnskogen Jakt og Strengelag; en samling karer som er noen år eldre enn meg, et par av dem var jeg gode kamerater med på barne- og ungdomsskolen. De har gått tilbake til "gamle dager", og synger for det meste om jakt, brennvin og livet på Finnskogen - selvsagt på så brei "solung-dialekten" som overhodet mulig. For utenforstående kan nok denne dialekten virke ganske... uforståelig. Men det er også noe av moroa - herlig internhumor med slagordet "Vi er itte frå Flisa fær moro skull".

Høydepunktet på fredag var uten tvil Dunderbeist; det er utrolig hva litt svart sminke, en rå vokalist og mye energi kan gjøre. Det hele ble nesten litt voldsomt (det nærmeste fløtivalen har kommet en mosh pit?), men det er vel prisen man må betale for å være så sta at man skal stå lengst fremme. Noen blåmerker ble det, men det var verdt det!

Det siste bandet jeg vil nevne er Grand Island - jeg hadde ikke hørt noe av dem på forhånd (som jeg var klar over), og normalt sett kjeder jeg meg utrolig på konserter hvis bandet er nytt for meg, men ikke denne gangen. Variert, skiftende og "uforutsigbar" musikk med bra trøkk førte til at jeg faktisk ble stående hele konserten (mer eller mindre). Dagen derpå hørte jeg de på P3, og ble kanskje litt skuffa, men noen band er og blir bedre live.'

Bortsett fra musikken har Tømmerfløtivalen en fantastisk konkurranse hvert år; rævkrok. Jeg har prøvd å finne et annet navn på denne øvelsen, men jeg ga opp det også (Ambitious but rubbish you know). Kort forklaring: 2 deltakere legger seg på ryggen på bakken med hodene i motsatt retning. De tar et godt armtak med albuene. Deretter strekker begge den nærmeste foten i været og prøver å huke den andres fot slik at motstanderen slår ufrivillig kolbøtte. Høres kanskje barnslig ut, men det er blodig alvor og underholdningsverdien er stor!

En annen årsak til at jeg er så fornøyd med årets festival er at alkoholinntaket også var relativt vellykket. Jeg ble ikke dårlig, tryna ikke og sa ingenting dumt. Men jeg lærte at når man skal beregne alkoholmengde til en festival må man alltid doble den - jeg gikk tom for øl på et veldig ubeleilig tidspunkt på lørdag, og endte opp med å måtte ty til kaffedoktor. Eller, doktor latte faktisk - hjemmebrent, kaffe og h-melk. Det holdt meg gående til 7 om morgenen, og alt jeg hørte i løpet av den natta var ordet "brenn'vin". For det kom brennvinsregn så vi måtte holde brennvinsbålet i gang med brennvinsved, og en vakt lånte brennvinsparaplyen min mens det sto på som verst. Det ble også arrangert en uoffisiell konkurranse i brennvinsrævkrok, som om mulig ble ennå mer absurd enn den offisielle.

Jeg prøver alltid å lære noe når jeg drar på festival. Dette er hva jeg må notere meg bak øret etter årets spetakkel:
1. Ta alltid mengden alkohol du tror du kommer til å trenge og doble den.
2. Ta alltid mengden røyk du tror du kommer til å trenge og doble denne også.
3. Ta også mengden myggspiraler man tror man trenger - og doble den.
4. Drit i telt og sov bak i kassebilen - ta med madrass så sover du som en unge.
5. Aldri la noe ligge utenfor teltet - jeg fant halvparten av ene sekken min på et bål. (Ingen store tap, bare noe inni granskauen irriterende).
6. Hvis man har tenkt å rote noe jævlig så er ei rive en effektiv måte å rydde på.
7. Paracet. Ta alltid med paracet.

Bilder kommer!

Went fishing!

In a fit of restlessness my brother took my aunt and her daughter, me and le poodle out fishing today, we live near a bunch of rivers and he conveniently owns a boat. Nothing spectacular happened, we didn't tip the boat over, crash into anything or drown. But we did catch something! One tiny pike... And my big, manly 35 year old brother who fixes cars for a living, whipped out his not so manly gloves and killed it in a very unmanly fashion. I haven't laughed that hard in months. And my exceptionally well behaved dog didn't even notice the fish, and sat quietly for 2 hours while in the boat. That animal is incredible.

Photos: First one of me with a silly grin and Chania, who clearly has discovered something on land. Second one is of my aunt and Chania. And my brother's leg.

Don't leave me!

I was horrified and scared out of my wits when I discovered an article online today (which apparently is over a week old, I'm not always up to date.) UK's Telegraph reported on July 5th that "the future of Top Gear has been thrown into doubt after reports that James May and Richard Hammond may leave the show. They were said to be arguing that they deserve a pay package similar to that enjoyed by Jeremy Clarkson, their co-presenter."

Yes I understand that Jeremy Clarkson is a well known and liked celebrity in the UK, and has been for longer than May and Hammond has, but I don't think he deserves a bigger wage than the two others, fact of the matter is that without any of them he and Top Gear wouldn't have reached the level of popularity it has anyways. I've been trying to imagine the show without either of the three presenters, and that just wouldn't work, it'd be like.. like... beer without having a fag, or pizza without cheese. And yes, I'm horrible at analogies. You could argue that none of the probably has any money issues, seeing what cars (and other transport) they all have between themselves (Porsches, Morgans, Ford GT40, several motorbikes.) I think the issue might be the unfairness of it all; Why should Clarkson get a bigger salary for this specific job when they all do just about the same? Which hardly could be called work anyhow, I mean come on, I want to drive a Pagani Zonda or a Bugatti Veyron through Europe too! Hell, I'd even settle for a new Porsche!

So, BBC, listen up: Give them whatever they want, all right?

Edit:
I just read another article in the Telegraph by Gill Hornby, in which he tried to comment on Top Gear. And I quote:
"Leaving aside Top Gear's inherent old-school blokiness - and while it's nice to dream, that will probably never go out of fashion - the programme is a celebration of, and a laugh about, everything that was recently thought to be ok, but soon won't be: thirsty cars with whopping engines and stonking price tags; Richard Hammond's near-fatal accident while travelling at 288mph; Clarkson drinking a gin and tonic at the wheel.

With the price of oil rising, the environment falling to bits and more than half the world shrouded in poverty, we are all going to have to change our habits and opinions.

The values of the Top Gear blokes are values that belong to what soon will be a bygone age."

Seriously, are they still on about that damn Gin&Tonic at the wheel? They were in the arctic driving to the North Pole for christ sake, no roads and no other people to hit! As for the environment - they have spoken about "green" cars and miles to the gallon quite often. And isn't there enough car shows and magazines out there who takes care of the boring bits about new low-range Skodas and Toyotas? That's the whole point of Top Gear - silly blokes cocking about in silly cars that you can only dream about. This has nothing to do with values or habits- of course many of us would've liked to drive around in Ferrari's and Lambo's if we could, but our pockets don't allow that anyways. They've never claimed to be politically correct, and if they ever became that, I'd stop watching. Stop trying to suck the fun out of everything!

Learned my lesson...

I've always said that if you get a dog you have to turn being with it into a hobby - I don't have the conscience to shut an animal in my small apartment for 24 hours a day. The goal is to spend about an hour a day walking her, taking her to places that are a bit exciting for us both, not just wander up and down the street right around where I live. And in spite of me feeling utterly knackered and having no energy I thought "Get up, get out, you owe it to the dog".

I live in a tiny town nestled between a large-ish hill/mountain and a river. Sounds idyllic, no? Anyways, this hill has a rather pleasant view and a number of trails running up and down it. So, I got out, stuffed the dog in my car and drove a bit up the hill, parked and found one of the trails. Naturally the dog is 10 times more fit then me, so after a while I let her loose so she could spend up a bit of her energy. After a while she disappeared around the corner, and when I came huffing and puffing around said corner, she was on the ground. Rolling around. In sheep's poo. Oh, good. I did mention I have a white poodle, no? There was nothing for it but to turn around, stuff her into the dog cage in the car without totally ruining the car's interior, drive back home and stuff her in the shower.

So what did we learn? Dog leash? Good. Sheep's poo? Bad.

I'm still here!

Been quite a few days since my last post, but I do have a valid excuse.

My wish about getting a dog became true much faster then I thought - on sunday a lady from a nearby town called me and said she wanted someone to take over the daily care of one of her small dogs. So the next day I went to see her, and more importantly the dog, and returned home with a dog carrier in my back seat. I am now the proud caretaker of a ... poodle. And haven't had much time for blogging.

Yes, you can stop laughing now. It may not be the most macho of breeds, but luckily she doesn't have the silly poodle haircut, just a little bit of an afro on top. And as long as she's with me she never will have one. I admit I had a few concerns at first. "Will I be able to love a poodle?" In it's defense, the breed is suitable for me; she doesn't shed a lot of hair, she doesn't require 4 hours of walking a day, she's as kind as a dog can be and she's a bit of a couch potato, which suits me fine. And lovely old ladies keep coming up to me to exclaim how cute she is.

I have to admit I was very nervous when I took her home, it all happened a bit too fast, and I didn't quite get to adjust to the idea of having an animal to take care of 24/7. And I'm still adjusting - the first few days having her around me I didn't relax at all, and nor did she I can imagine. I'm still scared that something will go wrong - that she'll get bad habits, that she'll eat too much or too little, that I don't give her enough exercise, that I someday will deceided that I'm not suited for having a dog after all. She is a pure breed, and I know she's worth a lot, which makes it even more scary. The owner pays insurance for her, so if anything happens I won't be ruined, but still there are the costs of food, grooming and cutting of her fur and one jab a year.

But I do admit that the past few days I have enjoyed taking her for a walk. Which is something I hate doing alone, and something I know both my mind and body would benefit from. And I love letting her loose and watching her go berserk on a field, running around with a happy look on her face.

Now I just have to get rid of the guilt I have for putting her in a cage for three or four hours the days I'm at work. I hate doing that, but I don't have any other options. And the majority of dogs spend many more hours in cages then my dog does.

Wruff?

I think I've wanted a dog since I was about 3, but of course my mum was allergic to anything non-human. And I do mean everything, dogs, cats, horses, rodents... I wanted to ride horses, I wanted cats, dogs, rabbits. But no. When my mum died, I finally talked dad into getting a cat, and that worked out well for a few years. Inevitably I had to move to go to school, dad got engaged and moved also. And I feel like I've been moving ever since.

I had a session with my psychiatric nurse the other day, and we talked about getting some activities into my life that does not involve work or books, movies and my laptop. She suggested walking. Which I loathe doing on my own. "You should get a dog," she said. That reminded me that I actually really want a dog, and now is as good a time as any. Yes, I do have a very small apartment, but in return I work 9 hours a week and have way too much spare time on my hands, and my social network is a tad on the small side - I could do with a friend.

My family hates dogs, my sister's allergic to them (but she lives 7 hours away), and my dad's secretly scared of them. I admit, I've never had a dog because I've never had the opportunity. But you have to start somewhere. I've had a poke around the mighty internet and found a few dogs, and today I made the leap and sent an email to a place 2 hours from here who wants to relocate a long coated dwarf dachs. Very cute. Now I'm sort of curious about the response I get - being unexperienced and living in a small apartment can't be the best selling points. But who knows?

Yes, I have to take it with me if I go somewhere. Yes, they shed hair. Yes, I have to walk it two-three times a day. Did it ever occur to anyone that this actually might do me good?

Saw a movie!

Again!

Yesterday I downloaded "Arn - The Knight Templar", the movie based on the Jan Guillou books. I saw it when it hit the cinemas, and have since read the books (again), so now I wanted to see it! Again.

I am aware of the fact that the movie got a bit of mixed reviews when it came out, but I actually liked it. Maybe I'm not inclined to be very objective, but none the less. I love the period it is set in, the clothes they wear, the intricacy of how religion, politics and kinship worked back in those days - and I dig a good sword fight. I remember when I saw it the first time the actor who portrays Arn Magnusson really didn't sit well with me, might be mean to say so but in just kept occurring to me that he looked a bit... daft. But now that I've seen it again that vacant, slightly lost expression really was in it's place, when he was let out of the convent after being there his entire upbringing he was bound to feel utterly clueless in the "low world".

Some has also whined about the movie being too "simple" and straightforward in contrast with the books - but this is the case in almost any film based on a novel. It might be especially obvious in this case, because in the novels people, clans, squabbles for honor and the crown, religion and politics are so intricately woven together that it's sometimes hard to keep up. But that one of the reasons why I love the Knights Templar series. It is one of the best books I've ever read, because I love historical novels, and I do genuinely care about the people involved, which to me is a crucial thing - if I don't sympathize or am intrigued by the characters involved I simply give up on them.

And I don't really care how historically incorrect they are, either - Guillou himself classified them as fiction, not pretending at that any of his characters were real. But some of the characters in the books are based on people who they know lived back then, and there are many references being made to key persons. Even thought the details and the plots of these novels are fiction, the general story of how Sweden originally were three kingdoms with kings chopping each other's heads off left and right, are based on reality. I for one feel I learned quite a bit about the general outline of the creation of Sweden.

It's definitely a movie worth seeing either you like epic battle scenes or a good love story. But I do suggest to anyone who doesn't flinch at the thought of picking up a book to read it instead. It's got everything; history, humor, politics, love and war.

Read a book!

For the first time in ages I have been able to read a book, and complete it, without it being an audio book. Safe to say my lack of focus and concentration has been horrible for ages. The book I chose isn't much of a surprise, but when you do have an interest for something, or someone, you have to go with it. So I decided to read Hammond's book "On the Edge" out of curiosity really. I knew he'd crashed a jet car and sustained brain injury, but that was about it - and it's not a secret that I like the man, so reading his book would be a way to find out what he's like as a person. Of course the book had to be co-written with his wife since he spent a few weeks in a coma and another few weeks with the 20 second goldfish memory.

I read in another review that the book maybe was written too soon, and I can agree with that, a little more time and perspective might have made it even better. Neither are any of the authors "professionals", and that shines through, but I think they did a great job. I'm not sure I would've been able to write so openly, honestly and candidly about such a private and vulnerable time in my life. This book actually learned me a great deal about suffering a brain injury; it does sound like one of the scariest experiences imaginable. And it touched me much more then I initially thought, it was great to read about the love between Hammond and his wife, about their two girls Izzy (now 8) and Willow (now 5) and especially how Izzy coped with her beloved father being very ill and in a hospital for a very long time:

(Mindy Hammond writing)
"The second the lift doors closed, Izzy collapsed on to my legs and burst into uncontrollable sobs. I was on my knees with her in an instant. I swathed her in love, praised her bravery and was completely astounded by her. She instinctively knew how to help her beloved daddy. She was giving all her tiny body could muster for him, solely for him. At just six year old, she had been more thoughtful and caring than many adults would ever manage. She even composed herself, without any encouragement, so that by the time we reached the back door, some two minutes later, she would walk out and raise a hand to the windows high above, knowing hat Daddy was watching and waving as she walked to the car, encouraging her little sister to do the same.
... She's from a tough stable, that little girl, nurtured by love and honesty. And she believed me (that Richard would get better), and she believed in her father. She made Willow her responsibility, and I believe she determined to stay strong for her little sister, who didn't understand.
One day she'll know what she went through, marvel at her own journey and perhaps understand how she became the person she became. I only know this: a little girl decided of her own volition to become more then a daughter - if there could ever be a greater gift - she became, as Richard describer her, 'his mate'. She was understanding and strong, gentle and funny, mature yet childlike and, above all, completely our Izzy."

Road rage.

I have for a while now been trying to deny that I'm a bit temperamental while behind the wheel. And if I do occasionally get a bit cross, it's because everyone else on the road are knobs who don't know how to drive.

I've had a car since before I even got my driver's license almost 5 years ago, a BMW 316i Sedan from 1991, it has a name which I'm not going to reveal, and I love her dearly. My brother who is a mechanic was very helpful with digging up a suitable car for me, and since I had inherited a bit of cash I could pay for it too. Yes, I know she's rusty, I know she "only" has a 1,6 liter(ish) engine with about 102 break horsepower. And I'm too aware of the fact that she's rear wheel driven and heavy, making her less then ideal for every day use during Norwegian winters, which lasts about eleven and a half months. But that makes it all the more fun to find somewhere deserted and go bonkers.

Another thing my car lacks is air condition - I got a sun roof, granted, but that really doesn't help that much on a very hot day like today. (Norway is having one of it's two weeks of summer). So I asked my dad to borrow his company car, a VW Touran, one of those compact, slightly taller MPV's without the extra 5 seats. Not exactly my dream car, but sometimes change is nice, and more importantly it has air condition and cruise control. I knew I had to drive about an hour each way to a neighboring city to meet my laid back, scruffy psychiatrist, a road I'd driven a thousand times since I unfortunately had lived in said town. And it is one of the dullest roads in all of the northern hemisphere. But I was armed with my iPod stuffed with music and audio books. And my phone. I was prepared.

... Or so I thought. But nothing can prepare you for being stuck behind two polish lorries for an hour. Who consistently drives at 10 kilometers per hour below the speed limit. And whenever I had a gap to take them over, there would be cars coming in the opposite direction. I quickly went from being "quite cross" to having a full blown tantrum all on my own. And all I could hear inside my head was Jeremy Clarksons dulcet tones as he was screaming at a lorry on a motorway: "Get out of the way, Polish lorry! Why are you cluttering up our roads with Latvian milk!?!" After what felt like half a century we drove into town, the two lorries and me in tow. Thankfully they took a left at the roundabout and headed for Sweden. "There you go, Swedes, now they can clutter up your sodding roads in stead."

And subsequently I spent the ensuing hour of counseling hearing Clarkson's voice echoing in my ear, and feeling the adrenaline subside.


Road rage? Me? Nooo.

All I know today is that sleep is a blissful state, and a place I go to when I want to escape. And that's all I care about knowing today.

It's over!

"Mart'n" is finally over. That local "beerfest" thing I told you about earlier, remember? And seeing as I live right smack in the middle of my tiny town, I can't help but notice that it's over. For over three days I've been hearing a thousand sounds coming through my windows, people chattering, cars, screams and yells from the amusement park, live music from three or four different stages scattered along the street, horns honking. But now? ... Nothing. Utter silence. And I don't like these sudden changes, I can't cope with them very well for some reason.

About 5 years ago I went to a music festival in Sweden, I stayed at the festival camp site and were constantly drunk. And even though you have a selective way of hearing and are able to block out most noises, your brain can't help but pick up on the fact that you haven't heard nothing but very loud music and people screaming, talking and laughing around you for almost four days. If you combine that with the fact that your completely broken after equally many days drunk, and that everything you own is covered in beer-sodden mud, the results can't be good. And the first thing I did when I was back in my apartment, was to sit down in my couch, listening to the silence, and proceed to completely break down. My body and mind just couldn't cope with that sudden transition from noise, music and lots of people to being along in my tiny little apartment listening to the deathly silence. I get this terrible feeling of being utterly lonely and alone.

But I do have to say that I had real fun this year. I had people coming over on Thursday and Friday, and we had a real nice time. The whole point of Mart'n is to go out to any of the 4-5 beer tents pitched up in town and talk to people, but this time I spent a total of an hour inside these tents - it was just more fun at home. I do wish I'd been in better shape last night so I could've gone out then and be a bit more sociable. But there's always next year.

I WANT

... Richard Hammond.


So badly.

I chickened out.

Yes, I admit, I chickened out. After some thought I decided that my body would not take another night of heavy alcohol consumption. But more importantly I don't think my psyche could've taken it. If I'd stretched it and gone out tonight, I'd wake up tomorrow really hungover, and as it progressed my mental state would crash into a ball of flames, and I'd get another day or two of heavy anxiety. At best. And considering how bad my anxiety has been the past weeks, I thought it best to stay in. So, instead of a noisy night full of alcohol and cigarettes, I've snuggled up in bed with my laptop, and will probably proceed to watch the rest of series 3 and 4 of Top Gear.

I'm getting to old for this shit..

This weekend is Mart'n. It's sort of a local festival type thing, there's music and beer everywhere, every store has a sale, there's an amusement park, and absolutely everyone is out in the street (yes, my town only has one long street), talking to people, eating barbecue food, drinking beer. You get the idea.

Needless to say that this is just an excuse for most of us to get very drunk. Three days in a row. And I have been drunk for the past two. Weirdly enough people have chosen to come to my place for a vorspiel, warming up to go out. And both night's I've gone out for 30 minutes, decided there are a lot of stupid drunk people around that I don't know, and we've gone back to my place. Which is very nice, having fun with people I know and love. But the downsides are many. Empty beer cans and bottles everywhere, cigarette ash covering the couch and the table, smelling like a brewery when you wake up, not being entirely sure where you've been the previous night or what you said to whoever you spoke with, the panic you feel when you can't find your wallet and think "oh god I lost it", the insane hunger you get for fatty, expensive junk food. You see where I'm going?

So of course, with my perfect sense of logic, I went outside today to get myself some of that greasy junkfood, and ended up with two beers for breakfast. I said that I wouldn't be able to handle another day of drinking, but right now it seems that I'll be doing it anyway. Cheers!

Urgh....

Last night I said the famous last words: "I'll just have a few beers, have a good time with my friend, take it easy, not get too drunk..." Well, I did have a good time, wonderful actually, but that was the only thing in that sentence that had any root in reality. Yes, I did it again. I got plastered.

Today I woke up with skateboard grip-tape on my bookshelf, a plant in one of those hanging flowerpots dangling from my curtain hangers (and I think we stole it) and lots of wierd stuff written on my calendar on the fridge. And a general feeling of shittyness otherwise known as a hungover of epic proportions.

And don't you come here with that "oh you did this to yourself"-rubbish! Do you go around to car accident victims who're paralyzed from the nose down and say "oh you did this to yourself"? No. The person was probably trying to get from point A to B, and might've had very bad luck, or run out of talent when it came to driving. Or he/she was driving a tiiiiny bit fast to try and spice up his life, which all people do. Same thing goes for drinking. I was trying to be social, which is as basic as getting from A to B, and during the evening I just run out of talent when it came to drinking. And I had way too much fun. Like the guy in the car probably had before the tree made him "suddenly go stationary". So, don't come here with that "oh it's self inflicted"-rubbish, because that's plain mean and evil!

What made me laugh today

Oversteer vs understeer - easily explained.
"Now, this is really quite simple, ok? Understeer works like this: [moving a model of a Ford Focus in a straight line] you drive down the road, turn the [steering] wheel, but the car goes straight on, crashes into a tree and you die. OVERsteer works like this: [moving a model of a BMW series 3] you drive down the same bit of road, turn the wheel, but the back of the car comes round like this [showing how the car fishtails 180 degrees], and you go off the road, crash into a tree and you die. Now, oversteer is best, because you don't see the tree that kills you."

James May on the 1953 Jaguar C-type racing at du Monde.
"So now we have the world's lairiest car, on the start line at the world's most gruelling endurance race. At the wheel is the world's most plastered racing driver. And guess what happened? He won."

Sorry, I'm being a bit of a Top Gear geek again. But it makes me laugh.

Advice of the day!

Spam rules!

No, I have not gone more bonkers then previously claimed. I have just found a new use for e-mail spam. Usually I never even glance at where these mails come from or what the subject says, but for some reason I did today. And what I read on the 2nd one really gave me a laugh.

Subject:
"Natural fertilizer for your cucumber."

Maybe it's just my humor. Maybe I'm just tired. Either way, I laughed out loud.

For those of you who didn't see the humor I'll try to explain: Spam mails are 99% of the times mails from people who claim they have the solution for those who want bigger... er.. willies. I thought that "nude carmen elektra pics xxx" would be more successful for luring people (men) into opening these spam mails, but apparently there are more blokes wandering around with complexes out there than I originally thought. And since more modern spam blockers try to stop emails with foul words like viagra or penis in them, spammers have to be clever. And this bloke had a real bright moment and thought up this line to bypass the blocker: "natural fertilizer for your cucumber".

So there you see. Spam are utterly rubbish, but they can give you a laugh. Just don't open them. That's me, giving utterly useless pieces of advice. Ambitious, but rubbish.

Quote of the day.

"Speed has never killed anyone. Suddenly becoming stationary, that's what gets you, that's the killer."

Ofcourse it was said by Jeremy Clarkson, the man who has gone about most of his life shouting and asking for "more power".

I've had yet another useless day. I am having a real high level of anxiety these days - nothing new to me, but usually it builds up, I proceed to have a nervous meltdown of epic proportions, and then it just disappears. But this time it's completely different and constant, it's just not getting any better. So that's why I've spent most of my last week jumping between the telly, world of warcraft, audio books, music, Top Gear and surfing the net. Usually any of those things work; they distract me from myself, and lets me relax. At least for a good while. But now it's just stopped working, and I can't focus on anything. I just... fall out of it. "What did I just hear on that audio book?" *rewinds* I can't follow a train of thought that's more then one sentence long, and I can't do anything for more then 30 minutes at a time. The only thing that's remotely worked is Top Gear, but after over 4 seasons even that is loosing it's magic. Right now I'm not ambitious, I'm just rubbish.

Crikey!

For all of you wondering why I classify myself as "insane.. sort of", I can enlighten you. I was for a while ago diagnosed with a few minor personality disorders. Sounds more horrible than it is, I do not have eyes pointing in different directions (most of the time), I do not drool or bite, and I do not attempt to mow the lawn in mid-January. It just means I have bad periods and am generally a bit harassed by my own brain.

Due to Michael Moore we all know that the government of Norway buys you a trip to Mauritius if you feel a bit iffy. But today, as I went to the pharmacy to pick up my new dru-- I mean, medication, I got a wee bit of a shock. The exact medication the doctor had prescribed to me (which should last me about 3 months), would cost me about 2200 NOK, or €270! Oh, spiffing! Thankfully there is a cheaper version of the exact same medication produced by some other company, and if I picked those my prescription would fill out a bunch of complicated rules, and I didn't have to pay anything. Which is kinda neat. But I have to admit I was a bit sweaty before I found this out. "So this is my punishment for having a sadistic terrorist of a brain? Paying an arm and a leg for some stuff that might help? I bet I could get them cheaper in some back alley in Oslo!"

Me and the English language

I was told rather early that I had a knack for English. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I learned to read early, and then proceeded to steal my brother and sister's video cassettes and watched Jaws and other movies I probably shouldn't have seen at all at the age of 7 or 8. I'm convinced that I learned English by watching foreign movies subtitled in Norwegian. The past 5 years I've been reading books, watching movie's and tv-shows, and listening to audio books in English. And since I do still play World of Warcraft, I write (and occasionally talk) a lot in this language. Lately it's become so bad that my brain actually forms sentences in English which I then have to translate into Norwegian when talking to other people online. And since I've done nothing else but watch Top Gear the past week, my internal voice now sounds like a British middle-aged nutter who says "oh, cock" a lot.

But I do have some problems with the English language. Some specific words, actually. The first one I'd like to point out is "grin". To me, that act of "grinning" really doesn't sound like a friendly, happy smile. It sounds like what a dog does when it blot it's teeth, or when someones makes an angry face. It just doesn't sound happy!

Another one is "snogging". Just try the word out, slowly. "Snogging". This does -not- sound like the word to describe affectionate, passionate, long term kissing. It could be used as a .. threat. "Watch it or I'll snog your face off!". Or like a word used to describe jogging in snow. Snowjogging. Snogging. See? Logic.But it's not a romantic word.

I realize that it probably isn't the brightest idea to have a go at this particular language, since it's fairly popular and used by quite a few people. In my defense these are more specific, British words. And the words are just wrong. Replace them, please. Not that I think anyone would. But that's me, ambitious but rubbish.

Questions of the day:

To round off my first day back in the world of blogging, I have a few questions.

Can there possibly be a better job than being a librarian? Well, besides working in Top Gear, but that's a given. Shuffling around with your cuppa, tidying up a few jumbled books, sorting 300 cd's and take half of them home to listen to them, stamp some newspapers and shuffle home?

Why does the elevator in my building suddenly smell clean and fresh, like newly laundered clothes, when it's smelled like a well used suspensory since I moved in over two months ago?

Can there possibly be anything more annoying then having road work done next to your building?... For months!

And lastly, will I wake up tomorrow and find my livingroom and kitchen magically cleaned, tidied up, organized and hoovered like James May had gone berserk on ecstasy in it?

I know some of these questions have the answer "no" or even "hell no". But I ask anyway. That's me. Ambitious but rubbish.

And...

... as proof of my obsession: I just realized what LastFM revealed to be my latest played tracks on iTunes: Part 1 of Richard Hammonds book "On the Edge" on audio book, a song named "No Cars Go" and the BodyRockers, supposedly Hammonds favorite driving song.

Oh, spiffing!

So, after a long, long period of silence, it's finally time for an update on my status of life.

These days I'm going through the wierdest sets of emotions I've ever experienced.
I'm bored out of my wits, suffer constant anxiety, barely manage to eat more then once or twice a day, and trying to distract myself from... well, me. My brain has gone into survival mode, and been through a thought process that went something like this: "Oh god, you are now so bored that I will make you go into a unhealthy obsession about Top Gear, just to save you from certain death by boredom." And there you have it; I've developed an obsession with Top Gear and Richard Hammond and have now I've watched over 3 seasons these past 4-5 days.

Me and obsessing isn't anything new, I tend to get one or two of these periods a year. Past subjects of my obsessiveness has been Michael Jackson, Lord of the Rings (and Elijah Wood), Harry Potter books, trying to learn the Elvish language, Viking age clothing, Depeche Mode (and Dave Gahan), and the latest - Top Gear.

It all started innocently enough with me discovering that I had season 8 hidden away on my external hard drive. "Ooh yay, something to watch when I get bored, which I am!" So I plowed through it in a couple of days, laughing myself to tears. 2 middle-aged and one short bloke cocking about, bickering and swearing in posh English is apparently my cup of tea. Disturbingly enough.

And somewhere during these 7 episodes my mind started to wander a bit. "That Hammond really doesn't hurt your eye, does he? And he's short, like me. And he's funny. And charming. And has really big puppy-eyes. And has sexy hands..." And there we are: I had managed to find someone new to obsess about IN the show I was already.. rather fond of. In the words of James May: "Permission to say oh, cock."

So - how and why can a 22 year old lass from Norway possibly be interested in a motoring show? Well, I blame my upbringing. My dad and brother owns a garage together, so I'm sort of used to being around cars. I've helped my brother (more like watched him, really) strip and rebuild a MGB and a VW Beetle (probably to the disgust of Clarkson, Hammond and May if they'd known about it or could be bothered to care). And consequently I feel that any family who owns less than 2 motor vehicles per person is weird. I can't say I know much about cars, or any sort of motor powered engine whatsoever, but I do think I might know more then the average 22 years old female. I know that a car having a V8 means that it has an engine with 8 sylinders originally placed in such a way that they formed a V shape, and that it is the only engine worth putting in anything. Sadly, my BMW doesn't have one. But I know where it's alternator is. I've learned that I'm not the only person in the world to name my car - Richard Hammond does it too ( I do love "Oliver"). I know that when your car makes that horrid screeching sound when it runs and/or starts up, you need to tighten your fanbelt. I can change my own tires and check that my car has enough oil and water, and I want to learn how to change the oil myself. ...But my brother won't let me. I know a rear wheel driven German car really isn't any good for anything during the winter besides practicing figure skating and giving me grey hairs at the age of 22. I know the difference between understeer and oversteer: if your car does a smaller turn then the actual road, it oversteers, if it does a wider one, it understeers . I actually know what WRC means (I went to watch Rally Norway), and I actually watched Petter Solberg win it in 2003, standing in my living room, waving my arms and being on the brink of tears. Oh, and I know one more thing, but this is probably more of an opinion: The 1967 Shelby GT 500 is sex on wheels. "Gone in 60 seconds" taught me that. - Enough showing off. Some of these tidbits of knowledge really isn't very useful, but not much of the information I've accumulated during the years actually are.

The other reason I can think of is the "3 blokes cocking around"-bit. My sister introduced me quite early to british humor in the form of Monty Python and Fawlty Towers. And I still to this day cannot see John Cleese without imagining him doing the Silly Walk, or see any member of the Monty Python without reliving the fish slapping dance in my head. So, from an early age I was taught to like middle aged British men who were aggressive, lacked all sense of logic and generally went about their day cocking about.

So, in short: I blame John Cleese and my brother and father's choice of careers for now being totally obsessed with Top Gear. Logical, innit?