Jeg er ikke sinna, jeg er bare veldig, veldig skuffet

Well, I must agree it would be a very destructive way to wrap up 2008 by being dissappointed, however, there are a few who deserves the finger pointed in their direction:

George W. Bush: you are somehow a regular in this blog, and in your case that's not a positive thing. I can not say how much I'm looking forward to your Last Day in Office, and appearantly I'm not the only one. Not sure how to put it, but "YOU SUCK" somehow explains it.

Isreal: I won't get too much into this conflict as I don't know enough about it, however even I can see that carpet bombing Palestinean civilians should be a big no-no during the holidays.

Firework-selling-Swedes: just because the Norwegian government criminalized fireworks with "steering stick" (styrepinne), doesn't mean you should go all haywire and think you can make up for a weak Swedish Krona by robbing dynamite-loving Norwegians and selling them their beloved New Years entertainment just over the border at Svinesund. My mum's on duty New Years morning, and I'll kick your arse if she get's called in because one of you wankers misjudged the length of the fuse after too many Black Russians and ended up steering the explosion straight into your eye. You should have stayed up on the balcony kissing your girlfriend into the new year instead!

Elixia: you are an overrated, expensive, celebrity-wannabe, customer-ignorant gym chain. My six pack is just as imaginable as it was a year ago.

HiO: it was supposed to be really cool starting a master degree, but so far I've been rather dissappointed. It's not just because of my lack of reading skills or nightmarish dreams about the exam result, but a three year old would have more organizational skills than you. Hopefully University of Cape Town will save your shattered reputation with a kick-arse module on HIV/Aids, Gender and Development after Christmas. Looking forward to it!

It's not like I'm not giving you another go (allright, maybe you Bush, you've outstayed the White House long time ago), but second chances are up for grabs. Just don't go out and spoil it all in the new year!

It's a ring with diamonds, not a diamond ring

And then it was that time of year again. Christmas is all around us, with glimmering lights, sparkling candles and children's eyes shining more than ever. Despite the financial crisis we have gone through millions of dollars in Christmas presents, about the same amount of people being HIV infected every year, or refugees on the run in Congo as we speak. With no resemblence to a refugee camp in central Africa, I've spent the last few days at the in-laws. Being a part of another family gives you new perspectives on things, despite both being from the same country. During a Christmas dinner one of the guests proclaimed he was very happy that we lived in this modern world with 52" plasma screens and the world at his feet, so close he didn't even have to travel to see it. I quite disagreed and went on to help myself to another piece of turkey, thinking about the people who were not quite so fortunate. I realize there is little we can do despite wishing each other a merry christmas and all the best for the new year, hence that's what I'll do as well, but come on, prove Obama right and try to achieve some change in 2009. Where will you start?

Day time television

When I was younger, being sick was almost like a treat. You had a little cold or a sore throath and could spend the entire day in bed, stocked up on cough lollies, magazines, music and dvds. Well, that was then. Now being sick includes having bad concience for all the stuff you miss out on at work, all the housework you don't get done and in general it is nothing like the day off it used to feel like.

My boss is out in paternity leave for a few months, and after just two days of being home with a cold I sincerely hope his little son gives him enough work during the day, because watching day time television must be one of the most timewasting activities you can possible endure. Appearantly you burn more calories sleeping, so it wont even do your abs any good.

I've zapped through the channels for the past two hours and feel deeply sorry for anyone stuck with day time television.

If you are at work and don't have the joy of having a tv close to you I'll let you know what you are missing:

NRK1: will give you a long day with yesterday's news, 2nd rate talkshows from the USA and cooking shows waaaay below Jamie's league. You might learn how to boil water, but it won't get more exciting than that. Come six o'clock and there's Jul i Blåfjell, but untill then, no good.

NRK2, NRK3, FEM and so on: these channels will provide you with so boring stuff you wish they actually showed commercials in between each program. If it's not a re-run of the other channels' news it's soap opera that was taken of the air everywhere else but here in the 90s.

TV3: you might think there was a bit of hope to switch to this channel, but if you don't hit the moment and Sex and The City episodes or similar is on you will get a recounter with Days of Our Lives. This program first went on air when my mum was in primary school and is still running. I saw an episode in 1996 and it was about a wedding, and when I again switched through in 1998 they hadn't even made it to the "I do's". They got back from their honeymoon in 2002, so I can't exactly say it's a show where lots of stuff happens. Of course you shouldn't neglect old episodes of ER with George Clooney strutting his stuff, but, hey, he's not that hot.

TV2: TV2 is supposedly the "family channel" with all the cosy programs such as 7th Heaven and Mac Gyver, and it's also the channel which shows Home & Away. The only reason why I watch this is of course because it's Australian, and it's fun to see how amazing far behind Australia they actually are. Not to spoil the fun but...

TV Norge: this channel also relies on some long-run shows. Today they showed the 5186th episode of Glamour, and I am very very proud to admit I haven't even seen one thousand part of this series. The One Tree Hill episode I was slightly looking forward to was from a season Kristoffer downloaded last summer, so no fun there unfortunately either.

Animal Planet: will show you a fine display of very mystical creatures found in deep, deep caves and Boston Animal Police. Hmm...

BBC, CNN and the like: news from all over the world, nothing more, nothing less, you'll actually waste your time cause you can get a summary of it all tomorrow on NRK3.

Discovery Channel: what would this channel do without mega structures, mega buildings, mega bridges, mega super things? I quite like Mythbusters, but that's about it from this channel as well.

Cartoon Network, Disney Channel etc: should be prohibited!! No wonder this world prosper war and miseducation when you take one look at what screens on these channels. When my kids grow up they are only to watch Jul i Skomakergata and anything made by Astrid Lindgren. Hannah Montana?? Who?

So what has six (well, I'm sick, so haven't written non-stop have I?) hours of day time television taught me? I'm very tempted to say nothing. Ahh, can't wait to go to work tomorrow!

Sisten på nett?

Jeg trodde folk var lei av kjedebrev i posten (husker dere det?!), kjedebrev på mail, kjedebrev på Facebook, men jommen sa jeg smør, nå er den nyeste greia visst kjedebrev på blogg. Jeg velger å tro at dette er en måte å spre ordet om alle de fantastiske bloggene som finnes her i verden, og da er det jo bare å gjøre det. Men jeg sliter enda mer enn Christer å finne fem stykker å videresende den til.

Spillereglene er da ihvertfall som følger:

1. Du må linke til den bloggen som tagget deg.
2. Lag en liste med seks (u)interessante ting om deg selv.
3. Tagg fem andre blogger, la dem vite det ved å kommentere på deres blogg.

Seks (u)interessante ting om meg?

1. Jeg har heller ikke lest ferdig LOTR. Kom godt uti To Tårn og så ble jeg lei. Extended version på DVD derimot skal man ikke kymse av.
2. Min kaffelagingrekord er 118 kopper kaffe på en time.
3. Jeg studerte tre år i Australia uten en engelsk-norsk ordbok. Den glemte jeg for så vidt på eksamen igår også.
4. Hvis jeg kunne velge ville jeg heller startet på jobb 07.00 enn 10.00.
5. Jeg er ikke sikker på om linkingen til de andre bloggene kommer til å funke. Jeg skal ikke si hvor lang tid jeg har brukt på å få det til.
6. Jeg tror virkelig is er lønsningen på alt vondt.

Stafettpinnen går videre til Tonje Camilla for hun skriver faktisk mye festlig, Kent William fordi han holder på med mye festlig, og hvis dere vil kan dere hjelpe han med å svare på spørsmål om dataspill for jenter, og Marte, selv om det er en evighet siden hun har oppdatert bloggen sin, men det er kanskje bare fordi hun er så busy med ny kul jobb etter å ha blitt ferdige med studiene.

Jaja, sånn kan det nå gå! Nå er det ferie! HUURRRRAAAA!!!

Flittig student

flittig
adj. flittig ( a2) ['flitɪ] arbeidsom, driftig, iherdig

student
subst. m student () [stʉˈdent] person som studerer

Hmmm...totalt ukjent. Aldri hørt om.

Lesedag

Last night's dream which involved a super-difficult exam question and getting lost on my way to the examination room should have inspired me to be more productive than the following account, however, as I'm not superwoman, I can't help it.

06.30am: alarm rings. Snooze for 15 minutes is allowed. This will be a super-mega-productive-day.

07.56am: at work. Yes, I know I have the day off to read for my exam, but there was just a few things I had to fix, some e-mails that needed to be answered and stuff.

08.49am: ok, still at work. Will leave soon. Just gotta do this one thing with my students' home exams which are due tomorrow.

09.49am: I'm leaving now!

10.13am: at uni. Stocked up on water, clementines, apples, must certainly be brain food. Found my favourite reading room (being away from the general area where you get murderous looks just for breathing out load), this will be good.

10.15am: books out, food out, computer out. Ok, will just quickly check my personal e-mail.

10.17am: and quickly job e-mail as well, could happen someone sent me an e-mail since I left 20 minutes ago.

10.18am: yeah, there was one there, I'll just reply quickly and I'll get started.

10.25am: Bourdieu. Hmm...apparently this dude writes about cultural capital which is knowledge you acquire through upbringing. It's a bit dull actually, maybe I'll just quickly update my Facebook-status to say how dull this is.

11.15am: what?? Quarter past eleven? I haven't even finished the first page, ok, keep reading.

11.25am: I don't really get much out of this. Think I'll have a clementine.

11.28am: Yummy clementine, might just have another.

11.35am: do you think anyone will notice if I skip the article, as it doesn't really do much for me? Maybe I should look through the rest of the book to get an overview of what I should read in the coming days. Planning ahead is always a good idea.

11.42am: Ah, cool! Found an article I had read (although can't remember, but at least it's highlighted) that I hadn't crossed off the reading list.

11.43am: *cross*cross*cross*cross*

11.58am: Oh, Trond pops by, do I want a coffe? No, it's still a bit early and I have to keep reading.

12.15pm: Ok, consider the Bourdieu article read as it was too dull to actually read. Didn't anything out of it.

12.52pm: Oh, fuck. It's lunch time already.

To be continued...

There's teryaki on Bryman

I am having a deja vu. It's as if this time of year comes around every year. No, not the singing santas and goodilicious gingerbread cookies, but the sweat, nerve and anxiety about exams. Last year I was desperately trying to get my head around anthropology and myself into a red dress. This year I know the dress fits, but I don't have a freaking clue about epistemology nor research methods - the terms which unfortunately constitute the subject I'm taking this semester.

So, now I am work, for the 12th hour running, using my desk as a study place as it's as far as I need to be from little big planets, sack-people and Lara Croft. I've had Chinese for dinner and the teryaki unfortunately spilt onto my beloved book. Nevertheless, I don't think it matters if I can't read whether it's qualitative or quantitative research I'm supposed to conduct.

Normally when you have a 700 page book with a glossary at the back, these few pages usually gives you some kind of wrap-up or summary of the mayhem you have tried to understand for the past hundred hours of lecturing. However, not Bryman, no, he gladly distorts the picture even further by giving you obscure definitions that just emphazises the fact that you are, sincerely lost.

Let me give you one example, as I have problems understanding ontology:

Ontology: a theory of the nature of social entities. See objectivism and constructionism.

Ok, let me see objectivism them as this didn't make it much clearer.

Objectivism: an ontological position that asserts that social phenomena and their meanings have an existence that is independent of social actors. Compare with constructionism.

What? You describe one un-understandable word with another? How about constructionism then? (watch this...)

Constructionism: an ontological (here we go again...) position that asserts that social phenomena and their meanings are continually being accomplished by social actors. It is anti-thetical to objectivism.

Hmmm...nope, nothing, nada, zilch, zero. Didn't get it. Don't effin' knows what it's supposed to mean.

I'm gleaning through the rest of the glossary, hereby re-named confussary, to look for any enlightening stuff, and what do I see:

Missing data: when you are feeling lost in the curriculum and don't see otherwise obvious connections between the different paradigms and theories. Can be influenced by alcohol intake or exhaustion. Not a general indicator of dumbness, however will undoubtly affect the exam result. So basically, you are screwed.

Maria is... hijacked

9:57am Maria
hey
whats up ?
9:57am Christian
hey
hoooola
how r you
9:58am Maria
well im stuck here in africa
9:58am Christian
africaaa? were?
9:59am Maria
west africa ..nigeria
well i had to visit a resort here in africa
9:59am Christian
how , didn't know u were there, having a good time?
9:59am Maria
and i got robbed in the hotel im staying
9:59am Christian
nooooooooooooo
but u are OK?
10:00am Maria
well im luky i still have my life and my passport
10:01am Christian
:-)
wow, so bad.....
so sorry
no cards, no money?
10:01am Maria
but i really need some help now
10:01am Christian
anything I can do?
10:03am Maria
well i got some money wire to me to catch a flight back home
but i still need 300 more for the ticket
and get out of here
can u loan me the 300 till im back home?

I thought it was only moving vehicles that could get hijacked, but appearntly Nigeria is on the front in computer hijacking as some unknown wanker actually managed to take over my Facebook account. I can happily live without the social network, however, don't like the feeling of someone else asking my friends for money because I am stuck in a hotel resort outside Lagos. For the record, if I'm ever in a beach resort in West Africa, let me stay!

While I found the situation slightly stressful, with someone portraying to be me, my friends found this quite amuzing. I sent out an email letting people know I hadn't gone haywire, nor crazy, and urged them to ignore any Facebook-contact from me in the near future, however, got some answers that completely disrespected the seriousness of the situation:

From Morten: Kræve så gæli å få tilbakebetalt kroner 15 som æ sporenstreks sendt nedover te Nigeria! Ellers e det bare fint med mæ, håpe det e det med dæ å kjære maria philippa!

Thanks, I'm good!

From Solfrid: Hahahaha, ikke i Nigeria--ennå ;-) Vittig, men dårlig gjort...

From Trude: La meg istemme i et rungende hahahahahahahahahahahaha. fantastisk! Jeg har dessverre ikke fått noen forespørsel fra deg, men vil forsikre deg om at en slik forespørsel ville blitt mottatt med en avdempet entusiasme med en påfølgende klage om hvorfor jeg ikke var invitert med. Og så lo jeg litt til... hahaha

Don't worry, I'll invite you if I ever go to West Africa!

After countless e-mails, and almost spamming Facebook central urging them to disable my account, I finally got a reply from Daisy, asking me about my mother's maiden name, to then grant me my rightfully own account back with a new, more complicated password. I logged on to do some damage control, only to find out the bastard hadn't been tagging unsolicited photos of me, nor written rude comments on my friend's walls. Most people had just ignored the begging requests and lived happily on in their virtual networks. Good for you! Only two people deleted me as friend as a result of the hijacking, one being my boyfriend. Not quite sure what I should read from that, but what tha', all is good now!

Thanks for nothing

On this day you kinda have to pay a little tribute to some of the leaders that have taken office in various countries during the years. Or you might not be paying tribute but you can acknowledge how you feel about them (about the same feeling as when taking out the trash).

You have a number of country leaders; the Marcos, Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, Mao, Castro (debatable if you are a Communist), Mugabe, Pinochet, Hussein, Idi Amin, Omar al-Bashir who have caused absolutely nothing but mayhem for their countries. Yet, they have for a number of years, and sometimes decades had the chance to spend their country's money or foreign debt on questionable projects, shoes, concubines, unsolicited wars and arms. I will happily include George W. Bush on this list, and cannot wait til he is finally out of office and hopefully out of control with a democratic president on board in the White House.

Despite Obama currently being nearly 100 votes up I can at this moment not jump in joy just yet, as you never know what's going to happen in the weird country of US of A, but I sure hope the world and USA has taken to its senses and will elect him. I have to this moment not met one person under 30 who says she will vote for McCain, and just a quick warning, if YOU'D vote for the bastard I'd ask you to stop reading this blog. But have McCain no faith in youth (or the other way around)? How can such a large part of the population and in the rest of the world not have any faith in this guy who after all "could" become president? Is it because he is pre-historic? Because he support pre-historic, anti-women politics? Because he agrees to a war with no end? Hmm...I dunno.

Sarah Palin was just on CNN giving a little speach after casting her vote in Wazilla, Alaska. She rocked up casually in jeans and a fleece jumper, looking just like the soccermum she is. I'm slightly conflicted not supporting a woman more than I do in this situation, but after all, she's in with McCain, and somewhere one have to draw the line. She talked McCain up and above and said how much he was looking forward to go to work tomorrow as the new US president, and was lastly asked who she voted for. With a smile she said "Ohh, that's one of the great things about America, here everyone can vote freely and won't get punished for it," and she then declined to reveal who she voted for. My little faith in womankind kicked in here, and I'm convinced she deeply inside herself realized what would be the best for her children and the rest of us and voted for Obama.

Battlestar Galactica

You must be blind if you haven't noticed the financial mayhem going on in a bank near you during the past few months. I e-mailed my bank yesterday and asked if they please would stop my fund saving as I've been losing about 90% of what I've saved during the past 18 months, only to be phoned up by the bank lady within three minutes, and she urged me to keep the saving going to avoid becoming a "typical" Norwegian who buys on top and sells on the bottom. Ok, well, I didn't want to be a typical Norwegian, did I, and agreed to continue my savings and for unknown future - losing money to big moneydrains in no-mans-land.

We discussed it during lunch today - where do the money go? Who gets the money I, you and your grandma loose? Appearantly no-one. Your shares are only worth what people would like to buy them for, and at the moment that's pretty close to zero, zilch, nada, nothing. I logged into my funds account, saw the red numbers that are exceeding a monthly salary and the interesting use of words: "Unrealized loss". Meaning at the moment on paper, heck, yeah, I've lost the money, but in theory this is not a fact until I sell at this ridiculously low price. So all I got to do is wait.

As someone without huge loans this might not be the end of the world, however if you as a Prime Minister have to tell the world that as a country you are bancrupt and up for grabs, I'd call that a lousy start to the week. Monday or not. So, any bidders for Iceland will get a small nation state with blonde girls and plenty of hot springs - maybe something for Richard Branson when he gets sick of his West Indies paradise.

Lurking through the disinspiring newsstories about the world's ragnarok, I suddenly see a small notice on page 22 of the economy section. It's the spokesperson for the "Give us Christmas back"-campaign, which each years combats xmas-marzipan in October and Sunday-openings in Decemeber, who admits defeat. The organisation want Christmas to be about traditions and values, not a spending delight for Mattel, but he says that it is impossible to fight capitalism in a country that year after year breaks new spending records.

Maybe the spokesperson hasn't read the news lately, because as the Dow takes another blow below the belt line plummeting to new lows, I'd say it's your time to shine!

Snows of Kilimanjaro

If Hemingway was alive today and about to write a new novel, he'd probably be sitting a bit like me know. He'd probably have had a 16 hour work day, starting before seven by handing in a draft assignment. Then he's be polishing the floorboards in the kitchen so he could paint it later in the day. He'd have müsli for breakfast and two cups of tea. Then he'd be off to work, where he'd make a cake for his colleagues. Hemingway would have been a great environmentalist, so of course he would have bicycled home from work. There he'd clean the bathroom (about time!) and start cook dinner for his wife. He'd make a delicious meal and serve Argentinean wine to it, before he'd go back upstairs and paint the kitchen. He'd be very thorough until the last few square centimetres inside the cupboard that nowone would see anyway, because now he'd start to become rather tired. He'd then walk downstairs to his wife, hoping for some action, but she would with a grunt reject him and play the headache-card. He'd sigh, as there's nothing else he could do, and he'd sit down in a comfy chair in front of the fire, with the rest of the Argentinean wine from earlier. He'd start to write some fabulous novel with only the light from the candles and his brand new superdupercool Macbook Air to enlighten him. Hell, yeah, that's what Hemingway would do if he was alive today.

Prekær situasjon

I normally enjoy the English language due to its many words to choose from, something I sometimes find difficult in Norwegian. However when it comes to the word "prekær", the English word "precarious" just doesn't do it.

Så, hvor var jeg? Jeg var på vei til Posten med, naturlig nok, dagens post da en mann med grønnmalt jakke, hatt og sovepose stoppet og gestikulerte at han ønsker å si noe.

"Unnskyld, jeg håper jeg ikke forstyrrer deg, men jeg har kommet i den prekære situasjon at jeg har blitt hjemløs. Jeg er ikke narkoman eller noe sånt."

Jeg avbrøt mannen med et beklagelig smil og sa at jeg dessverre ikke hadde småpenger på meg. Jeg ønsket han en god dag, og han likeså og jeg gikk tilbake på jobb. Vanligvis tar jeg ikke så veldig stor notis av folk som sitter på gata og spør om småpenger (jobber jo faktisk på Grünerløkka), men det var noe med denne mannen som gjorde at jeg ønsket å møte han igjen da jeg var på vei hjem fra jobb, denne gangen med en lommebok med kontanter.

Jeg tror ikke det var selve fyren som gjorde at jeg la merke til han, han var helt gjennomsnittlig, kanskje litt mer velkledd enn vanlige hjemløse (kanskje på grunn av at han nettopp var blitt det og dermed ikke rukket å bli skitten enda?), men jeg tror rett og slett at det var ordvalget hans jeg falt for. For man kan jo absolutt si at hjemløshet er en prekær situasjon?

For de av dere som sitter og nikker, men som innerst inne er litt usikre på hva prekær betyr (ordet kunne tross alt vært med i Det Bestes "Kan du betydningen") skal dere få en forklaring her:

prekær prekæ'r a1 (gj fr fra lat., eg 'oppnådd ved bønner') vanskelig, usikker, pinlig, være i en p- situasjon

Fyren var altså i en pinlig eller vanskelig situasjon der han måtte tusle rundt i nattpysjen (strengt tatt) og spørre om penger. Forståelig nok.

Hva slags andre prekære situasjoner har vi opplevd i det siste? Jeg var i en litt prekær situasjon i kollokviegruppen tidligere idag da et gruppemedlem kom og sa at hele møtet ville være "fruitless" for henne siden resten av gruppa ikke hadde lest den samme teksten som henne. Myggen var jo i en prekær situasjon da hele Norge fikk lese om hans rusmisbruk på førstesida av Dagbladet og dattera til Palin er jo helt klart i en prekær situasjon. NSB er ofte i litt prekære situasjoner på grunn av sviktende lysanlegg på Skøyen og når Oslo Børs rasler 90 milliarder i løpet av formiddagen kan man også kalle det en prekær situasjon. Hvis amerikanerne skulle finne på å velge McCain som deres hundreogørtende president i november må man jo bare innrømme at hele verden er i en prekær situasjon. Da er det nedenom og hjem for alle sammen. Forskere driver og spår jordens undergang etter stjernekollisjoner og annet styggedom, men McCain får løpe fritt som en elg i solnedgang. Nei, fysj, skatte-lovende, abortmotstandende, krigsforkjempende, våpenhandlende, gråhårete, smågamle McCain: jeg håper du taper presidentvalget så vi alle slipper en ytterst prekær situasjon.

Wonderwall

I wonder:
- Why I put the gym schedule inside my lolly cupboard?
- Why so many Africans are named Hope, Faith, Charity?
- Why we have to check Fronter every day?
- What I'll do my master thesis on?
- If Cape Town is anything like Melbourne?
- How much a person can do before it says stop?
- Why mums always worry?

I said maybe
You're gonna be the one who saves me
And after all
You're my wonderwall

What the fuck is Mat.Nat?

Øltelt (beer tent). It has the same wonderful associations as "utepils" (beer in the sun), "jentekveld" (girls' night in/out) and "hjemmebrent" (moonshine). When you hear it you smile, first with your eyes, because you remember something fun happening on a previous occasion where beer tent/girls night/moonshine was involved, then with your mouth so the whole world can see you have good memories of beer tent/girls night/moonshine too.

Today I had my first day at the master program at Oslo University College and this year's first beer tent experience at Oslo University Blindern. And unfortunately I was hit by the one thing I thought my appearantly eternal student-status would cover up. My age. Because yes, at 24 you are no longer 18 (daah), and whether you wan't it or not, times change. First of all I study a course that mainly attracts girls, secondly the only boys I met tonight where out-own-town master students, which for obvious reasons where out of bounds. Thirdly, universities, especially the ones focusing on social scienes and humanities, overall attract more girls than boys, so I was stuck at a place with bitchy teeny poppers fresh out of puberty, and no fun in sight. As a master student, this uni stuff is freaking serious. No more mucking around not showing up for class. No more ignoring to buy the recommended books because they are too expensive. No more three-days-in-a-row-drinking-sessions, because you have to go to work tomorrow. I visited two new Blindern-pubs tonight, Uglebo and RF, and I wanted to run out of there screaming, pulling my hear and being a kid again. That's a great start to a master program.

Shit, I miss Australia.

Den som hvisker lyver

technology is fantastic. I am sitting on the bus to Grimstad, writing this blog on my iPod with the bus' wireless internet well connected. No wonder China cheated a bit during the opening ceremony, when it's that bloody simple to amend people's impressions. But footsteps in the sky, really, are we that gullible?

Miseducation

For the second night in a row I've put on my new running shoes and ran (aka jogged/walked) around Songsvann which is a lake close to my house. It is next to the Top Athletic Center in Norway (Olympiatoppen), so naturally I wasn't among the fastest around the lake, but I definitively wasn't the slowest either. I ran past at least two 95-years olds, a toddler and a woman on crutches.

My mind went racing back to the good times with Ivy at Melbourne City Baths, our local gym in Carlton. We'd gone from super-cool Fitness First to this old charming building, with even more charming personal trainers and spent about half the time at the gym in the sauna. Sweating in a hot sauna is good, Ivy said, it's like anaerob exercises or down that road. The rest of the time we spent in the pool, being close to drowning due to laughing attacks discussing past weekends' atrocities and escapades. Here we came to know "Trappetullingene", "Puster'n" and Andrew, and it was mighty good really.

But for a short time now, until the snow kicks in, I will actually try to call myself a jogger. Not only because I quit Elixia and haven't joined Domus yet, but I'll try to see what all the fuss really is about. Yesterday with Trude was quite entertaining, but it took us over an hour (including dinner shopping). Today I was down to 41 minutes (wonder if it helps my motivation by posting lap times here?) (Better laptimes will be deleted from the comment box, so don't try bragging). But it definitively was more fun jogging with someone. Today I was on the last stretch of concrete next to the train line, having just started walking to cool down when an old man in biking shorts came up next to me, screamed through Maria Mena on my iPod "KOOOM IGJEN!!" Well, I couldn't give up then could I, so jerked the headphones out, and started running after him. "Breath in on three, out of two" he said, before adding his wife sucks at running as well, but this breathing-technique was something he learned from his gymnastic teacher back in the old days. I followed him the last 400 meters before he went straight and I went left and I yelled a thank you after him. Bright red, and out of breath I reached home, only to conclude I can do 11 lousy full push ups and can't reach my toes with my legs straight.

But how did this frenzy start? The bikini season is over, 11 months til next time my belly button have to face the world. Well, I was visiting my 6-year old cousin last week, and she wanted me to play Barbie with her. I got an undressed doll and eagerly picked out a cool outfit which I surprisingly couldn't get on. I asked Filippa what was wrong, if I had to pull harder or something, but she looked at me with innocent eyes and said "That's for Barbie's friend. She's thinner."

Bruc'ern, I løv ju!!

We spent last night at a Bruce Springsteen concernt. The tickets for Valle Hovin concert arena was sold out in an hour back in December, but luckily we still managed to get some tickets and went along in the rainy summer night.

The only vague memory I have of the Boss as a kid was my dad having him as one of his favourite artists, Bruce and Kim Larsen that is, and we definitively played more of Kim Larsen when we drove across Europe in the 90s. But, whenever you have the chance to "rocke foten" with 40 000 others you'd be stupid to miss the opportunity.

By the time we'd reached Helsfyr it was easy to understand we weren't the only ones going, the train was packed by 40-somethings who'd gotten a babysitter for the night and was ready to re-live the youth of their own. The weather was gloomy and the Stormberg-jackets plenty, but the spirits were high - high. We found a nice spot to the left of the stage, next to a couple named Sissel and Rune. Sissel was probably 55 at least, and she'd been to every Bruce concert she could remember, and she was going to both concernt Springsteen had in Oslo this time around, a true fan. She had her five Hansa-beers in a handy carrypack, who only let her down by spilling the last beer on top of her shoes in the middle of Atlantic City, but that didn't matter, it was Rune's beer anyway. Sissel and her friend Helle in bright green jacket went on a long trip down memory lane and could come up with some quite intricate stories about their previous encounters with Bruce. Now they'd settle for just seeing him and there was no fighting to be invited back to his hotel room. Though I'd doubt you'd have to ask them twice if they got the chance.

The arena went to a standstill when The River was on its way and you could see teary-eyed mums remembering back to the times of no dirty laundry or noisy kids. Half of the audience probably made their offspring to this song, and you could see more than one pair of hands grasping for its better half.

The papers had all forecasted rain and storm, but as Brucie got onto the stage it was like the skies cleared just over Valle Hovin, not even the weather god(esse)s could stand the charm of the Boss and as the summer had to come to Oslo at one stage, why not now?

Jonas and the whale

I had a dream last night about Norway's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Jonas Gahr Støre. He was sitting at a bench in a park and I was standing right in front of him trying to say something, but was constantly being interrupted by a derelict walking around with an old cup of coffee and a paper plate with sigarette butts on it. I had a lot of things I wanted to say to Jonas, he's a cool man, one of the tabloids just gave him the best grade of all the politicians in the current government. If Norway were to become a republic he'd be one of the few suited for a president. Jonas was just sitting there smiling at me with kind eyes, as if to encourage me to say what I wanted but I didn't manage. I know it was something important, and I know he'd help me with what I had on my heart, but before I got any further I woke up. Now I've spent half the day thinking about what I would actually have said if I'd met him one day.

Freakin' moose

Oslosommeren var akkurat like kjip som alle forventet den skulle være. Det hadde gått fra lette regndråper til mer øs-pøs, himmelen var mørk blå, nesten sort og jeg var lei. Lei fotball, lei av å rydde, lei usikre planer og kaldt hus. Jeg hadde tilbragt de mer regntunge delene av helgen inne og hadde gnagsår fra den turen jeg tok dagen før, da det faktisk var sol. Så nå måtte jeg ut. Lenge til middag, får ikke puste, klamt, EM venter. Jeg kastet det jeg hadde i hendene fra meg innenfor døra, hentet sykkelen. Kjørte på med girene, det er digg å måtte jobbe litt, smilte til naboen, opp bakken ved trikkestasjonen. Ikke et menneske å se, bare våte postkasser. Songsvann ligger ikke langt unna, det er deilig, men jeg har aldri syklet hit alene før, det har ikke vært nødvending. Nå var det absolutt nødvendig. Hadde dammen ved enden av vannet som mål, men det gikk så fort, og jeg var der for raskt. Måtte fortsette, trengte mer tid. Møtte flere folk på veien, fortsatt ikke alene. En jente kom tuslende ganske langt fra Songsvann, med lyseblå jakke og musikk i ørene. Hun smilte og jeg smilte tilbake og lurte på hva hun gjorde uti skogen i regnet. Samme som meg? Fortsatte. Kom til en bakke og tenkte, nei faen, jeg snur ikke bare fordi jeg møter en bakke, tyngre gir, tråkket oppover, kjente jeg ble varm, men regndråpene var kalde og kjølte ned kvadratmillimeter for kvadratmillimeter i ansiktet. På toppen kom to gutter joggende, nordmenn er helt sprø, skal på død og liv leke friskuser i drittvær. Tråkket på litt ekstra da de passerte. Så var det bare meg og skogen. Sykkelen min liker seg på grusvei, og skogen lukter så vakkert i regnet. Kjente lykke. Kom rundt en sving og der så jeg henne. Elgkua. Midt på stien. Jeg løp sekstimetern på under 10 sekunder i mine glansdager, tviler ikke på at elgen ville klart det samme. Bråbremset. Så stille det går ann. Klemte inn forbremsen, vippet opp bakhjulet og snudde sykkelen i en lekker kombinasjon av raskt/stille. Så meg en siste gang tilbake før jeg dundret nedover bakken igjen. Hjemover.

Anthropological wreck

This post is written slightly hungover after I've scrubbed the livingroom floor clean for Jameson 'n' apple. I'm done with my exams and haven't had anything anthropology-related course literature in more than a year, yet I can't stop thinking about anthropological phenomenons when I see one - and last night I was in one.

I hosted my work's annual Summer Party and although Malinowski preached field work in woob woob locations, I believe you can do field work right here. Or so my boss reminds me so I won't go eloping too much. But I am sure I was at the centre of an anthropological study last night, as people acted so abnormally correct within the boundaries of their social groups.

Muchachas rubias: Our Argentinean friend couldn't stop smiling when he saw the theme for the party - Hawaii. Hibiscus flowers, colourful balloons and a matching swimming pool all gave away the desired destination, and the matching blonde girls matched the interior perfectly. By chance all the girls at work are blonde, and with no reference to intelligence (I got into both master degrees), blonde girls are quite interesting if you start stereotyping. 1) If someone takes a photo, all girls drag out their camera and want the exact same photo to be taken with their camera. Because no-one shares photos on Facebook anymore appearantly... 2) When the food is ready everyone continues sitting polite at the table, waiting for someone else to go for the food tray. We all need food, for crying out loud, and I know you're hungry, so just help yourself! 3) Soccer is a big no no. Everyone loudly condemned the soccer watching guys, yet snuck in to get a quick Ronaldo-fix during a wee-break.

Yummy mummy: MILF is a term everyone learned off American Pie, yet "yummy mummy" is something girls strive to be (one day in the far far future) and all guys wish they could have (just wait). Yet having a three month old baby and still looking gorgeous just oozes respect.

WAGs: my job is owned and run by two cool guys and naturally they both have fantastic wives. Far from the Beckham/Rooney craze of Bvgari boobs and Vuitton vaginas, these ladies are supportive of their men, dedicated to family life and career women of their own. Think there's someone else who deserves some respect.

Socceroos: Yes, the Euro Cup is on. Yes, Italy lost, but we won't talk about that. Yes, there's four hours of football on every night, yet this didn't stop some of the party people from spending time in front of the telly, ignoring the sun outside to cheer on goals by Portugal. The interesting part is that the blonde chicks often snuck in to get an update on the score, and crammed together on the floor in their high heels and airy dresses.

Old boys: I won't mention names here, but someone did fit into the description "old boys." The war was discussed, these people actually remembered Paolo Rossi and his 1982 soccer career, and was old enough to watch the game in a pub with accompagnying beer. They were not the centre of the party, and probably hadn't been for some decades, yet gave it a delightful twist and shifted the focus away from the latest Sex and the City movie.

And where am I in all of this? Well, appearantly a good anthropologist should mingle with the locals and try to observe without obstructing. I did my best. I handed over my camera and smiled to the "Cheese". I'm far from a yummy mummy (due to lack of baby, not yumminess of course), yet looked in admiration on the parents nurturing their offspring. I'll be the first to admit I did watch the soccer, Helga even sent an e-mail around this morning stating why we should barrack for Portugal (his name starts with an Rrrr and I think he was topless in the photo). I got a book from one of the old boys, Everything you should know about Norway, and it was great, because it was probably one book I would never consider buying myself.

I always look abroad for experiences and destinations, but it seems like you don't always have to go overseas - neither for holidays nor field work.

Look both ways in a one-way street

I've lost my take-home-exam. Not mentally lost it, like I now know nothing about sacred spaces in India (though plausible), I'v misplaced, I think the right word is, the USB-stick the paper was on. The worst thing about that is that I'm not freaking out which obviously says something of the quality of my last two days of work. Instead of bicycling back to work where I think it is despite no one in the office managing to locate it, I'm calm at my desk at home, books in front of me, the introduction which I geniously e-mailed myself Tuesday night and ready to continue over again.

If it's one thing I've learned it's that everything happens for a reason, and you can't fight karma. I hope this is the Hindu gods' way of telling me that I should apt for slightly higher quality in my writing and be nice. Alternatively I was just unlucky and lost the damn stick.

Where I don't want to be:

- in a Bolivian jail, being charged for having attempted to smuggle 22 kilos of heroin out of the country.
- below one of the many Chinese dams threatening to let go.
- on the North Pole (the weather is nice and sunny in Oslo, I want to enjoy it).
- on the first row at the Euro Vision Song Contest 2008, not on the last row for that matter.
- on the South Pole (see above).
- at the gym, it's expensive, overrated, sweaty and crowded.
- riding an South African bus.
- at university. I don't want to sit with six books and a course reader in front of me, this time being prepared and aware of printer locations, doorways and entrances, stocked up on ice coffee, energy bars and my mobile on silent, writing a text on sacred spaces in India by Friday.

That's really the last place I want to be.

Blindern

Jeg har vært ganske lite på Blindern gjennom tidene. Selv med 40 studiepoeng derifra har jeg fortsatt ikke lært meg om dørene på SV skal skyves eller trekkes når jeg går inn på fakultetet. Jeg visste ikke hvor printerne var, noe som skapte problemer igår da jeg skulle printe. Så fant jeg ikke ut av at det automatisk printes et omslagsark med mitt navn på, så jeg fant ikke oppgava mi og printet på nytt. Heldigvis har jeg vært såpass lite på Blindern at jeg hadde masse igjen på utskriftskvoten. Jeg knota rundt på biblioteket også. Fant ikke søkemaskinen. Fant ikke utlånsmaskinen. Fant så vidt utgangen. Fant ikke inngangen, stod og banka på nødutgangen helt til noen slapp meg inn. Unnskyldte meg flaut og løp videre, håpet de hadde gått idet jeg kom ut. Bygningene er så store og du føler deg så liten. Kjenner på kunnskapen som sitter i veggene, føler eksamensnervene som dirrer i luften. Føler deg litt dum, men med potensiale. Det er jo derfor du er der. På pc-salen igår var det fullt, ikke så stille som det burde være, knatring i tastaturene, slafsing med tyggis, men jeg fikk stygge blikk da jeg spurte sidemannen hvor printeren var. Skjønte det til slutt da. Første gangen jeg var på Blindern var på et infomøte før jeg skulle til Australia. Da fant jeg frem til slutt og møtte Shabana. Vi endte opp med fet leilighet i Sydney. Etterpå kom Kristine og hentet meg. Hun fant ikke frem og mobilen min holdt på å gå tom for batteri. Vi dro hjem på henne og ble invitert på fest. Vi drakk oss dritings på hjemmebrent jeg hadde fått av Christopher og så gikk vi hjem til Jar. Fra Smestad. Midt på natta. En tirsdag i juni.

The answer my friend is blowing in the wind

Antall eksamener: 1
Antall leste pensumbøker: 1
Antall burde leste pensumbøker: ihvertfall mer enn 1
Antall sider på semesteroppgave: 10
Antall skrevne sider: 183 ord (ca en kvart side)
Antall mastergrader søkt på: 2
Antall svar: 0
Fremtiden klar: erru morsom eller!?

Billettkontroll

There are some things in life that are expected of you, of your surroundings, of society. There are consequences for all actions, and, also for inactions. Whatever you decide or not decide on has some minor or major effect on yours or someone elses life. In Hinduism the ultimate goal for most believers is moksa - salvation from reincarnation. You achieve this by being a good person, praying many prayers or dyeing in the vicinity of Varanasi. But if you have the choice of fullfilling someone elses moksa or not being able to fulfill your own, it is better for you not to fulfill your own. So much for nestekjærlighet.

If you don't buy a ticket you might get caught in a ticket control.
If you don't say "I love you too" you might end up single.
If you don't ask you might not get answers.
If you don't read the course literature you are screwed on the exam.

Ja til norske flagg og felles ekteskapslov

We are getting close to the best and wettest month in the Norwegian calendar year. It's best because it's May and it's lots of public holiday, our national holiday among others. It's wettest because of the unreal consumption of beer associated with russ, outdoor barbeques in the park, exam parties, and yes, the national holiday.

But a national holiday can never go down in history as just a national holiday, there are always emotions attached to it. This year, the big dilemma is whether foreigners should be allowed to walk up and down the main street of Oslo celebrating their new country by waving flags of their old. And according to 34 387 members of Facebook, they should not.

Facebook has gone from being the naughty lunch-time occupation hazard to becoming the fjerde statsmakt. Everything people can have an opinion about is truly documented by groups, anti-groups, anti-counter-groups and the like. "Melbourne is better than Sydney". "Melbourne is the best city in Australia". "Melbourne REALLY is cooler than Sydney!!!!!". These are examples of innocent groups stating the obvious, but it is no problem getting your opinions ousted on everything from marriage law, right to abortion, free Burma, Tibet, Zimbabwe, Luxembourg or another small, deprived country, the true opinions of Staff, boicot the Olympic Games, no to fur or yes to foreign flags on 17th May.

For most people joining these groups cause no harm, but to let Facebook be the only place where you show empathy, compassion or opinions can be a bit dangerous. What if Jens Stoltenberg couldn't be bothered giving a statement because he had already written on the wall for "Stop killing of the whales" group on Facebook? Or if Mugabe declared his victory by joining "Mugabe is the new president." People go out and join groups, often with the best of intentions, and of course a group will benefit more from 30 000 than 18 members, however it is also deceptive. I bet nearly all my friends have joined groups like "Stiftelsen organdonasjon." However if you read under the news section of the group it says that you should remember to tell your loved ones that if you die before you should, your organs should be donated. And I wonder how many of them have done that? So if you can't put your actions where your mouth is, you may not bother at all, as it sure won't help the depressed people of Tibet.

For your information, there will be foreign flags on my 17th May celebration. I'll leave it up to you if you want to come or not.

Suddenly it's like we're women and men

Everyone giggled as I braided my friend's hair, we'd all look similar tonight, lots of tiny plats, makeup, lip gloss, red pants, beer in a backpack. The aim for the next four weeks was many late nights, new experiences, aquaintences, use of the condoms in the inner pocket, being loved, good grades, a good party, a worthy celebration of twelve years of school. The first of the "russeknute" we all would try to complete was staying up for 24 hours, and as I crawled back to my friend's place at 8am the next morning I felt successful and happy.

It's six years ago our since the kick off for our "russetid". I was at a birthday party last night and the group of girls there had changed remarkably since 2002. Two were lawyers, two more to finish their last exam in the next month. One civil engineer, one marketing consulant and myself, and the conversations around the table were so grown up. As girls we are destined to bitch a bit about our fellow sisters, and some of my friends' fellow students were described in not all positive terms, often involving silicone implants, orange fake-tan and disastrous dress codes, and this probably haven't changed since high school, but the rest - it was so picture perfect. We were seven girls, ALL with successful boyfriends on the side (I grew up in Singletown, so not used to such a coupled athmosphere), but it was "Ahh, how's Richard going in his job application process?" "Will you buy a place together or prefer living seperately for a while?" "Big wedding are so out, I want a small intimate one, and rather spend the dough on a smashing honeymoon." Our jobs has also progressed and suddenly we are in charge of the nation. "Næringsministeren har ikke peiling på politikk." "University of Bergen handled that scandal so poorly." The change from being just 18, working at a café with, really, no worries in life was remarkable.

The four boys on the tram were loud. You could hear the clinging beer bottles in their plastic bag, and you could see the innocent smiles on their faces. Sure, they were up to wrongdoing, but they didn't know better, hence the innocence. On the last tram home I walked past them, feeling slightly jealous I am no longer 18 and at a party - waiting anxiously for someone to rock up. Feeling jealous I can't handle hangovers as well as I once did, jealous anti-ageing cream has become a part of my vocabulary and not that of their girlfriends. Then I thought about the possibilities we have as young, upcoming, educated, well-travelled, money-earning globetrotters, something they won't be for years. We have the world at our feet and can help ourselves. Our jobs gives us power and possibilities, experiences and relationships, and suddenly I didn't feel so jealous after all. I mean it's not like I'm 30 or anything.

And so we talked all night about the rest of our lives

Where we're gonna be when we turn 25

I keep thinking times will never change

Keep on thinking things will always be the same

But when we leave this year we won't be coming back

No more hanging out cause we're on a different track

And if you got something that you need to say

You better say it right now cause you don't have another day

Angkor, do you want more?

Spent an absolutely fabulous short week in Hoi An. Both Solfrid and me fell in love with the town (or at least its tailors) and it was very sad to leave. For your information no postcards were sent from Hoi An, we were way too busy getting dresses and skirts, tops and kimonos. Nevertheless, after a few too many hours at Danang Airport Restaurant eating something that could have been chicken, but just as likely dog, frog or cat we ended up in Siem Reap, Cambodia. Here we had 72 hours getting to know the country, the people and the temples of Angkor Wat. Most tourists spend more time just around the temples than what we did in the country as a whole, but it was still a marvelous sneak peak of a disturbed, yet so wonderful country. And despite the magnitude of Angkor dazzled in sunshine, real beauty comes from within.

Good morning, VIETNAM!!

I left Pondicherry on Thursday after Sudha had told the taxi driver in tamil to drive slow on his way to the airport. Five minutes later we were overtaking a Ferrari.

It was a long and tiring trip to Ho Chi Minh City. I arrived in Kuala Lumpur at 5am and tried for more than two hours to sleep over four seats on a bench. It would have been possible as the cushions were quite soft, had it not been for the "non-quiet-airport"-policy and flight announcments every 90 seconds. I got pretty sick in the end of "Mr. Ngyen, would you please come to gate 42 immediately as the gate is closing."

I landed in Vietnam and was met by Solfrid and two of her friends. They had worked out the currency already and happily paid 160 000,- dong for the ride into the city. I withdrew 1,2 million yesterday and another three million today. HCMC was like Chennai without the tikka masala and felt a bit like any other China Town in a world metropol. Yet, it was just a bit crazier than anything else I've seen before, and crossing the streets here are even more of a nightmare than in Pondy. At least in India you were faced with five tuk-tuks you could count, in HCMC there were fifty motorbikes for every car, which are just slightly more difficult to keep track on.

We visited the War Remnants Museum which was a brutal and honest portrayal of the war. I'd been sitting in on a lecture in Peace & Conflict Studies the day before on Afghanistan, and it wasn't hard to realize there is so much we don't know about conflicts in other areas than our own. After two very hot hours, Solfrid and me had seen enough war crimes, at least for this country (still hoping to see the land mine museum in Siem Reap).

This morning we got up at 3.30 am after the guy outside our second floor window had been testing all his different ring tones all night. We caught a taxi to the airport and had noodle soup for breakfast. We landed in Hoi An, were told our hotel room wasn't ready yet, and have been at the tailors since. There are more than 200 tailors in this town of about 70 000 inhabitants, so plenty for me and Solfrid to spend our easy earned dong on. Anyway, after a combined total of less than ten hours of good sleep since Wednesday it's time to go to bed.

Good night, Vietnam!

Work for all

Normal shops in India are a great example of how communism still has some kind of stronghold over the country. One thought or strain of ideology remains - work for all! You may not get paid a decent salary you'll be able to live off, but no one should come and tell you that you can't work for it if you want. I have an hour left in Pondy and since my views on material things have changed since my visit to Auroville (alternatively because I'm saving space for the shopping in Hoi An), I decided against buying tacky souvenir Ganesha statues and on exchanging my last 900 Rupees into a more stable (LOL) currency instead, the greenback. I went into Western Union last week and was escorted out as I had neither passport nor flight details, and naturally, only terrorists come to exchange dollars without a passport, so today I had learned and had both with me. I enter and tell the lady that I want 900 Rupees worth of US dollars. She guides me on to her colleague who I also explain my request to. Then a third guy comes up, and I'm standing there in the afternoon stinking heat explaining I don't want to pick fights or get married, I just want US dollars.

Ok, ok, whatever the white madam wishes. I give them my passport and itinerary. "You leaving today, mam?" "YES," I reply, frantically looking at my watch. He starts going through my passport, admires the multiple entry ten-year visa I have to the US, then starts scribbling down the passport details. I have to sign at least three times to say I promise not to buy drugs or fund Al-Qaeda activities with the 21 dollars I eventually will end up getting. I wonder if there is a clause for chocolate or Coca Cola there as well, as both are major threats to homeland security.

Now that the formalities are over the money needs to be counted before I can get it. The third guy counts them, six $1 notes and three $5 notes. Then he turns them up side down and count them again before he gives them to the second guy who repeats the procedure. I didn't bring a bag because it's packed and I had the intention of stuffing the dollars into my pocket when I got them. The second guy screws this up by putting them in a large envelope. "I don't need one!" I say several times, but he still gives it to me. I demonstratively take out the money, stuff them in my pocket and leave the envelope on the counter. I say I'm in a hurry and don't need the receipt either. He still writes it, pausing to think of today's date (it's on my ticket!!) and makes me sign the receipt as well. I leave it along with the envelope (hoping they will recycle) and hurry off.

Saigon next stop!

A place for trying to find one's consciousness

I'm on the probably nicest paved road in all of India, yet the only thing I can think about is whether my body would survive a crash on this beautifully paved road better than one on the dirt road I was on just ten minutes ago. I'm probably the only person wearing a helmet in all of India as I am sitting on the back of our field manager's motor bike going 40 mph in the dusky rain. I so know my mum would kill me if I died in a motorbike accident in Southeast Asia.

Anyway, I am on my way to Auroville, a very special community just north of Pondicherry. Here, 2000 people from over 40 countries have for 40 years lived (supposedly) in harmony. I feel it's a mix between Nimbin in Australia and the movie The Beach. Minus the surfers and a topless Leo. It's a surreal place, created on the idea of sharing and inner health instead of material wealth. Children are educated, not to pass exams or tests, but to connect with their sould and become citizens of a community who works together for the divine and superior truth. I can't really say I believe in it either.


Nevertheless, our field manager has some cool contacts and I was invited into the Matrimandir, the soul of the city. The Matrimandir is a massive golden globe (29*36 meters) in the middle of a large open space called Peace. There are meditation rooms all around and the world's largest crystal inside. Its construction started in 1970-something after visions of the Mother (their "leader", it is otherwise a place free of religion, discrimination etc., doubtfull), and is still ongoing today.

After a introductory movie we were divided into groups and given yet another talk, then told to be absolutely quiet as the room of the spiritual crystal is constructed so even the smallest sneeze will sound like thunder, and were led into the Matrimandir. I immediately felt as I entered a spaceship, Will Smith would have been happy if he flew one of these babies in Independece Day. We walked around a large spiral before entering the holiest of the holy, a massive crispy white room with 12 twelve-meter tall pillars with a hole in the ceiling to let the sunlight in and the massive crystal ball in the middle of the room.

I was one of the last to enter as I had daydreamed my way up the spiral and by then nearly all my companions were heavily into meditation already. I politely sat down for the compulsory 10-15 minutes absolutely flabbergasted by the surrender to the spiritual by the people around me, before I, as the first, got up and out. I didn't work out the closing mechanism on the door, so as the guard opened the door from the outside he jammed my finger, resulting in a large AUUU! I could hear the loud echo behind me as I walked back into real life.

Contrasts

This morning when I walked out on the street two men sitting on the sidewalks shouted after me: "Happy Women's Day!" I smiled and said "Happy Women's Day" back and kept walking. I turned the corner and three rickshawdrivers were loitering, as I think the term is, ("drive dank"), waiting for their next customer. One asks me if I want a rickshaw and I politely say no.
"All right bitch, good bye bitch."

India has grown on me, the culture shock was gone by Tuesday, but still there is lots of things that are frustrating, confusing, downright silly or just stupid. The traffic is one example. Here you have to keep walking. The drivers of two-, three- and four-wheeled vehicles are all completely mad, and if you want to cross the street you have to walk semi-fast and determined. Don't run as you will be in a spot the driver did't expect you to be in soo soon, and he will most likely run you over, don't stop as the driver behind the one who maybe will run you over will run you over as he thought you'd kept walking and don't just stand there as you will never cross the street.

India has some of the absolute richest and absolute poorest people on the earth. 23 of the world's 700-something dollar billionaires live in the country, yet so many countless of millions live on really, less than $1 a day (and not any of that PPP-dollar-svada we had in human geography, these are real people making no money for a lot of work. Yet I find it hard to give money to people who I know are bullied into begging, children are forced into the "trade" by gangs, women by their husbands of fathers. If they have a baby on the arm it is especially cruel, so you definitively have a chance to re-think your perpectives in life.

Then there is the male chauvinism I was faced with earlier today. In general, as us Westerners don't believe in the beauty of arranged marriages, some Indian females look at white women as promiscuous tarts who should be dressed up. Fair enough, and we do get told to cover knees and shoulders, which is fine and we happily do it in respect for them. Then however is the Indian males who think any white women who is against marriage and pro all sorts of explicit fun and every Tom, Dick and Harry over the age of 12 thinks a white woman means an easy shag. There are so many dissapointed men out there, but for crying out loud, don't make pussycat sounds when we walk past, it's pathetic!

Nevertheless, India is an absolutely beautiful country, the people are gorgeous, the children who are not used as slave labour by their parent adorable and the food is delicious. Enjoy!

Sidewalks are not for walking, cutlery not for eating

It is hard to know where to start. India has blown my expectations to pieces (along with the generator opposite my lunch cafe which also went up in smoke), it is everything, and nothing of what I expected, or whatever I expected was succeded enormously. The generalisations are easy: the trafic is chaotic, extremely dangerous and quite entertaining. The food is not as Indian in Norway, you really do eat with your fingers, and a dinner easy costs less than 30 NOK, drinks included. But the general feeling of India?

Pondicherry is by many dubbed "India light" with its French and Indian quarters, religious plurality and foreigners, but I can't in my wildest imagination foresee what the "the real" India then must be like. Chaotic is an understatement, that's all I can think of. Nevertheless, it is a fantastic diversity of culture and people, and I've several times "understood" my religion readings better, even after just 36 hours in the country, because you really must experience this first hand, and the people are easy to get along and enjoy that you come for a visit.

With that in mind I leave you wondering what this country will bring next as I go to bed after establishing that the cricket outside my door has only moved 20 cm the last two hours, meaning it won't reach my pillow until the morning, and I can live with that. After all, I'm in India!

Alien vs predator

For years my idea of a perfect Valentin’s Day was a few chick flicks, Reeses Peanut Butter cups, Oreos, lollies and family sized blocks of Cadbury’s all consumed in the near proximity of close friends, mostly female. My general views on the day have not changed, I still don’t think “Kjærlighet kan kjøpes” but my preferances have slightly changed and I’ve come to the simple conclusion: SINGLE LIFE SUCKS. I might be slighly biased, sitting alone in a hotel room north of the polar circle due to work, but over the past year I’ve come up with some good reasons why a relationsships aren’t as bad as I once thought them to be:

- There is someone to say goodbye to when you leave for work.
- There is someone to greet you when you get home for work.
- There is someone to appreciate your cooking.
- There is someone to laugh at your failed attempts for new fancy dishes. I won’t mention the coffee-Baileys-chocolate-pudding-with-sugared-glasses-and-passionfruit-topping I tried for my birthday.
- There is someone to give you a hug when you need one.
- There is someone to hug when you think they need it.
- There is someone to laugh with and at.
- There is someone to teach you stuff you never thought you would be good at (Portal/Caraccassone/snowboarding).
- There is someone to admire your new outfit, underwear or haircut.
- There is someone who misses you when you are gone, and that one little thing actually makes you want to come back.

That was all the gooey stuff, so if my single friends haven’t puked yet, I’ll just give you a quick reminder of all the other benefits as well:

- You get two-for-one discounts.
- You don’t have to book single rooms at hotels which are at least 2/3 the price of a double, never half.
- You always have a buddy whilst diving.
- You never have to walk home alone.
- You get **** whenever you want. Almost.
- You don’t have to watch Disney Channel because there is nothing else to do.
- You have someone to say goodnight to, and aren’t crazy if you don’t get a reply, the other person has just fallen to sleep already, while a pillow would never give you a reply and your craziness could be discussed.
- You have someone who unconditionally will back you up in arguments.
- You have someone to plan fun stuff together with; holidays, bike trips, next week’s dinner.
- You have someone to care about, and who cares about you in return.

I could probably have written a similar entry about the wonders of singlelife, and have recently been inspired by a junk mail who’s been highlighting the benefits of a cucumber vs a man, but hey, I’ve been enough sarcastic and hypocritical about this topic, enough for a lifetime, and it’s only 51 weeks til Valentin’s.

I can’t wait to come home.

No, not me, not I

Ærlig talt

One of the national telecommunicators are running a funny ad series (along with Ikea's urge to keep people in the sack) where two people are talking on the phone and saying what they truly mean to each other. Depsite being brutal and quite cruel at times, they are also honest and quite entertaining.

Leietager: Hei! Jeg ringer for å høre om du fikk mailen min fra idag morges, der det står at jeg ønsker å si opp kontrakten, selv om jeg vet at du vet at jeg ønsker å si opp kontrakten og har ventet deg denne samtalen i hele dag.

Utleier: Da sier jeg hei tilbake og høres forundret ut og spør om du ikke vil bo i leiligheten min mere, selv om jeg vet at du har tenkt å flytte ut.

Leietager: Jeg forklarer situasjonen og ber om å få flytte ut lenge før kontraktsperioden utgår, selv om jeg vet at dette er et skudd i blinde, og at jeg antageligvis ender opp med å betale hele husleien pluss at du tar depositumet for de to hullene i veggen jeg lagde da jeg skulle skru opp en Ikealampe.

Utleier: Jeg overser herværket du har forårsaket leiligheten og prøver å høres fornuftig ut og ramser opp innholdet i kontrakten selv om jeg vet du nettopp har lest denne og vet at du ikke har en sjanse mot det du selv har skrevet under på, så høres det bedre ut når jeg får det til å bli din skyld at du er stuck.

Leietager: Jeg smiler pent inn i røret, puster dypt for ikke å bli sint og prøver å tvinne deg rundt lillefingeren. Kjære deg, jeg vil da bare hjelpe, og dette må jo kunne ses på som en vinn-vinn situasjon, du får ikke sure leietagere og jeg får penger til sommerferien.

Utleier: Jeg sier at jeg må snakke med de andre involverte partene, men dette er egentlig bare for å få deg til å legge på. Jeg har egentlig bestemt meg, og her skal det betales.

Leietager: Da begynner jeg å be, og nevner igjen at jeg gjerne vil være behjelpelig med å finne nye leietagere, at dette skal bli enkelt for deg. Det jeg mener er at det blir enkelt for deg hvis du går med på mine premisser, og at jeg absolutt ikke har noen planer om å hjelpe deg hvis jeg møtes med minus tre i samarbeidsvilje og ingen forståelse for en ung, nyetablert og fattig student.

Utleier: Jeg gidder egentlig ikke høre på fjaset ditt, og har middag i ovnen.

Leietager: Jeg sier at jeg er snart ferdig og håper vi kan komme til en løsning på dette, da alternativet blir at bandet til sjefen min får låne rommet til øvelser og det i det hele tatt kommer til å bli ganske surt.

Utleier: Jeg sier at jeg forstår, men jeg forstår det egentlig ikke.

Leietager: Nå har jeg stanget hodet i veggen de siste fem minuttene og må vel egentlig bare se meg slått. For denne gang. Siden jeg ikke har lovens lange, usympatiske, trangsynte og irriterende arm på min side, må jeg bare kjøre på med det jeg har. Sjarm og pupper.

Utleier: Siden jeg er dame har det absolutt ingenting for seg å henvise til utrigningen din. Nå legger jeg på og kommer til å glemme alt om denne samtalen til du ringer neste uke og maser.

Leietager: Jeg ringer igjen neste uke og maser! Vi snakkes!