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.