Rest in peace.

"Were you at Michael Jacksons last concert in Norway?" This is the header of the top article in the online version of one of Norways largest newspapers. Not a surprise, perhaps, considering that "MJ" past away on June 25th, every newspaper, TV-channel and radio show are talking about it, playing his music, etc etc. The big surprise is that I can actually answer "yes" to that question.

I was there
Michael Jacksons last concert in Norway was at Valle Hovin Stadion on the 19th of August 1997. Back then I was 11 years old, heavily affected by my sister and by result a total and utter MJ-nutter. Already then he was white as a sheet and had a nose so pointy it could stab your eye out if you got too close, but I didn't care about that, or all his "eccentricities", to use the political correct term. It's amazing how many flaws and defects you can ignore and overlook when you're in love. Or obsessed. And I felt like I was both; I listened to the music, saw the movies, wrote a paper on him, read the books, you name it. Naturally, going to this concert was probably the event of my life, as far as I was concerned, up to that point anyway. The stadium takes 40 000 people, and I would hazard a guess that it was sold out. We were stood on the right side, in what felt like the middle of the stadium, it was a sunny, hot day, and we actually sat down on the floor of the stadium and sat in our bikinis for a while. I remember I was annoyed at the damn sunlight, which ruined all the lights and special effects of the show, but that was just about my only complaint. It's beyond me how I managed to see anything at all, I am now 23 years old and measures in at 156 cm. Safe to say I wasn't any taller at 11. But I think I sat on the shoulders of my sister and her friend. Twelve years have gone by, and sadly I can't remember much, I have some vague recollections of tanks on the stage, a gangster theme on Smooth Criminal and some tommygun shooting that gave me a fright. I'm sure it was excellent, the reviewer in the newspaper I mentioned gave the concert a 5.


Where were you...?
Ever heard the question "where were you when "insert random important event" happened?" I am ready to bet that this will be one of those moments. "Where were you when you heard he had died?" And I will always remember where I was; sat in a tractor on a horribly hot day, listening to the radio, hearing one of his songs (which one I can't remember), and when it faded out the person talked about it being her favorite song, and that his music would always live on. "Odd thing to say... Wait, has something happened? Has he died? How can I not have noticed? I read the papers online every day? Did they say something on the radio this morning?" Thoughts ran through my head quickly, but i Had to sit there guessing for 20 minutes before someone actually said the words.



Michael Jackson is dead. This weird, ingenious man, is gone. He's been a natural part of my life since I was born, and due to my older sister's obsession I had easy access to books, articles, LP's, videos, I grew up with his music around me, he's been a big presence in my life and I never tire of his music. Allthough I doubt he ever would've made as good music as he once did, or reached the same level of stardom as he once had, it is a fact that the biggest pop artist in the world to date, is dead. And I'm actually kind of sad about that. Rest in peace, man. And thank you for the music.

My mates are back!

Seeing as we're officially into june 24th I've had to face the fact that I didn't get Top Gear tickets for this year, and probably never will. I won't say that I'm not a bit bummed, because I am, but the chances are minimal at best to get them, so I didn't have such high hopes to begin with.

But in stead of frowning and being in a pissy mood I'm just happy my mates are back on the telly. Every season start I sort of wait for them to slip up, not be funny anymore, or just seem to be running out of ideas. Should seem like an inevitable thing for a TV show (no matter how popular and huge) about such a "small" topic as cars. I can very happily report that I don't think this will be that season, if it ever comes. They're still doing what they do best, bickering, cocking about and being each others best play mates, and they still make me laugh out loud. And there aren't a lot of TV shows that does that. Not while sober, anyway.

Not going to reveal much if anyone who reads this hasn't seen the first episode, but they have one of their races again, and Hammond (as per usual) ends up with the bad end of the deal, even though it usually doesn't seem like it, at least initially. And boy that man really live in his own little fantasy world sometimes, I'm not sure there are many blokes who can get so excited and rile themselves up that much over a 60 year old bike. He even hummed his own imaginary theme music. Repeatedly! Note to self: When I'm 40 and have two kids, I'm going to be just as imaginative and childish. On the other hand he does need to snap out of that midlife hair crisis ASAP, he's starting to look like... Bon Jovi. And not in a good way. Hammond, darling, I love you dearly, but get a bloody haircut, before those bangs make you walk into a wall or something. And about the spraytan: Careful, you're balancing on a thin line...

Great Garlic Girls!

Things are slow going, especially in the blogging department, and I blame a combination of summer, laziness and an unusually busy schedual. These days I find myself running between work, hospital, my apartment (which I'm moving out of), my dog sitter, my friends and family. And some days I just demand to have a few hours to do absolutely squat, otherwise I'll go mad. Generally I shouldn't complain about having lots to do, usually it's quite the opposite, and most of the things in my calender are very optional, and things I want to do.

This Saturday I was invited to a girl's night complete with tapas. The nice chickadee hosting this was an old school friend of mine, we even lived together for a year or so, and she's one of the few people I've managed to stay in touch with. Seeing as she is studying to become a nutritionist, this mountain of food shouldn't surprise me, but it did: focaccia bread, aioli, red pesto, salmon rolls, potato "boats", chicken meat balls, feta cheese, tomatoes, salad... My friend, and everyone who knows me, can testify that I'm even more of a picky eater than Richard Hammond "he won't eat anything unless it's come from a burger van on the A38." She was, therefore, mildly surprised that I ate most of what was on that table, apart from the salmon thingies (because I really don't like fish, either). I did, however, rediscover aioli, and I discovered red pesto, which is made of sundried tomatoes. Hate that other green stuff. My breath still reeks of garlic, three days later. For the first time in years I'm actually quite OK with being single, this way no one can complain. My dog probably would, if she could...

Miss Gadgeteer strikes again
The Arvika Festival is approaching quickly (luckily), and mentally I've been packing and preparing for weeks. I'm starting to get the basics covered, I have a new sleeping bag (not the funky one I wanted, sadly), some new clothes, I've dug up me tent, air bed and camping chairs, my purple wellies, the sun lotion, basically I'm preparing for anything. I decided right away that I'm not bringing my digital SLR, it's too expensive, too big, and I'm too scared it'll be broken or stolen, which will just ruin my festive mood. In a box somewhere I have an old, ancient Ixus II, which came out in 02/03 and has a staggering 3,2 megapixel resolution, along with a LCD display the size of a fingernail. My particular Ixus also has it's own "acid trip" function, resulting in wacky colours on any picture I try to take. In short, it's broken and outdated, I inherited it from my dad when he was bored with it and wanted a new one anyway, and I would guess that 7 years is just about the maximum life span on things like these anyway. That's going in the bin, in other words, and I promptly decided I want, if not exactly need, a new compact camera. I quickly rifled through about 10 of the online electronics stores I know about in Norway, and after a bit of thorough research I ended up buying a Kodak Easyshare (I hate those names) C913. 9,3 megapixels, 2,5" lcd screen, lots of nifty foolproof functions (like all these have). It even runs on AA batteries, and while you can argue it's not the most enviromentally friendly, there is such a thing as rechargeable ones, and AA batteries are very nifty when you're at a festival with no possibility of charging it for 3-4 days. And the thing didn't cost me more then €82! Add a 4GB SDHC card and a little case to put it in, and I'm set! In this hi-tech day and age I shouldn't be surprised at stuff like this, but when I discovered how tiny this thing is I really was exactly that: surprised! It's 9 x 6,2 x 2,5 cm. Basically it's the size of a fag packet. Seeing as I have a huge, shiny digital SLR to play with at home, I shouldn't get excited by this, but I am, and can't wait to get it in the mail.

Sweet summer stench.

I am one of those individuals that base a lot of my memories, moods and situations upon smells. Some old perfume can remind me of some certain period in my life so forcefully it seems like time stops, the smell of lavender makes me sleepy, wet grass reminds me of festivals and the smell of a fresh ice cold beer makes me really, really happy. People who know me, Erc for instance, can vouch for the fact that I open up and sniff about anything, from lotions to yoghurts to teabags. Supposedly I do have a rather finely tuned nose, too; I often smell things that no one else can.

These days I'm all about summer, and smells play a big part in making me go into a summer mood. The beforementioned beer is one of them, freshly mown grass is another. I could probably spend a good hour or two sniffing lilac bushes in full bloom (luckily I'm not allergic to it), along with fresh sea air, food cooking on a barbequeue and a good cup of coffee. As I'm writing this I'm slurping on a self made mango/passion fruit/kiwi smoothie of sorts (not pretty looking, but very very good). Passionfruit is rarely found in Norwegian grocery stores (not that surprising, really), so when I do stumble upon some I have to buy it. 'Tis a weird fruit, very hard and dry on the outside, filled with seeds and very little else on the inside, apart from a few droplets of juice. But those droplets... Hubba hubba. When I went to Uganda in '05, I quickly discovered that fruit really is in abundance down there, and I lived on pineapple, oranges, mangos, bananas and, particularily, passion fruit. We did a few experiments with it too, resulting in pineapple/passionfruit tea, ice cream and a very successful pineapple/passionfruit/orange and vodka drink which didn't taste of vodka at all, dangerously enough. And now, as I sliced open the passionfruit and scooped out the stuff inside I was transported back, and it almost made me cry.

Stuff I buy are more often than not decided by smell; different kinds of teas, fruits, shampoos, lotions... So was the case of the Soap and Glory stuff from Boots, the Moringa stuff from Body Shop, and the latest addition; Raspberry Puree Body Lotion. This stuff smells so good you want to eat it. Take my advice, thought: Don't. Stuff that smells like heaven doesn't always taste like it.

Right. I am going to go outside and smell the freshly mown grass, my passion fruit smoothie, the raspberry lotion on my arms, the neighbors lilac bushes and hopefully, later, a beer. It's offical: Summer's here!

Unwelcome change...

Lately I've become aware of some startling new changes happening to me. So startling, in fact, that I cannot deny it any longer. I fear that I am turning into a woman, as it were. No, I'm not referring to raging hormones, lumps on my chest, blood coming from places it didn't come from before, or hair growing in unusual places. That transformation ended (thankfully) years and years ago. I'm speaking in more symbolic and wider terms.

Those who know me, or have followed this blog for a while, know that I am not your typical female. Apart from the obvious physical traits of womanhood (ie the boobage), my femininity mainly expresses itself through a big pile of shoes, and they're all flat, comfortable shoes, mind. And I do have an above average amount of scarves and jackets.

Last weekend I was, rather unusually, putting on some makeup, a thing I only do when I go out to the pub, if I'm in the right mood. As I was putting some eyeshadow on, I remembered where I'd bought said box of eyeshadow. It was for my brothers wedding. Over five years ago. And I haven't really bought that much of anything since that. Make up is said to have an expiration date of 1-2 years. Safe to say I'm well past that on just about everything I have in my rather poorly stocked make up bag.

This realization matched with a growing concern for the redness on my cheeks, and a general desire to look better when I go out the door, I marched downstairs (yes, downstairs) to my beloved Boots pharmacy. Unbelievably I ended up buying a face cream, mineral foundation and blush, shelling out almost €60. Which, by my standards, is... A lot.

There are a few things I've told myself that I will not buy. Mineral make up is one of them. Those big baggy harem trousers is another. Now I have both. And my collection of shoes and scarves are growing at a steady rate. The only comfort is, there's still no heels in sight...

My apologies

Sorry for lack of posting lately. I have no excuse. I've just had a period of plain lazyness.

So, anything new happened since I last posted? Well, I can happily announce that I AM going to Arvikafestivalen, a friend of mine has decided that she is coming with me, and I can finally relax and just look forward to it, instead of brooding over the gloom outlook of possibly having to go to a festival alone. You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to it. I've just spent the past 15 minutes rummaging around in the basement and storage cupboards, pulling out camping chairs, tents, air mattresses and sleeping bags. Yes yes, I know I'm about a month early but that's how much I'm looking forward to it. Now, if only the weather will be sunny and the camp site not a mudlake where grass used to be, I'll be a happy camper. And, if all goes to hell, I can always pack up after Depeche Mode on Friday and go home.

These days I am frantically trying to find an apartment in Elverum, the town where I'm starting my studies this fall, and so far I've had little luck. The Student Union went mean on me, and made me believe that I'd gotten an apartment, but of course it turned out that the lodging I had gotten was just a big room, basically, where I'd have to share kitchen and bathroom with someone else. Don't quite know how that's possible when all I applied for was a 2 room apartment, especially when they confirm via a text message that "You have been assigned lodging according to your first choice". Good thing I read the contract properly and spotted it before I signed it and chucked it back in the mail. It had to be too easy. Have spotted a few ads online for apartments, have also sent a few emails to the posters of said ads, but haven't gotten any responses. Am going to pucker up on monday and make a few calls.

Next weekend I am going to Kristiansand to visit my sister, her husband and her daughter. I do this about twice a year, and I love going down there during the summer, she lives in the very southern tip of Norway (well, almost), and more or less on the coast, which is a brilliant place to be when it's sunny and warm. Not so brilliant in november when the wind is coming in from north, south AND west, together with rain and sleet. One of the reasons I moved out of that city.

Am going to post something half interesting soon, waiting for a brainwave or inspiration to come soon. Maybe I'll find it at the pub in an hour or two...