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

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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.