On audio input

I've developed a new habit/addiction.

I used to listen to Spotify on my way to and from work, but as much as I love music, it would eventually get boring as music frequently works more as a way of shutting out the world than to entertain or otherwise engage me. I've tried reading - while listening to music, even - but it doesn't really work (and the music or lack thereof has nothing to do with it). If I take the bus I will get travel sick from looking down too much, and if I'm on the subway it's frequently so crowded that it is difficult to find a seat, and reading standing up isn't really my thing.

However, a while back a friend told me about "Serial". The podcast. As I'm sure everyone in the entire world has heard of it by now I won't go into details, but if there are anyone left out there who hasn't listened to "Serial" I think they should. Go find it online. It's free. Listen. Get hooked.

Anyway, "Serial" is over (or at least the first season), and I needed more. With little over half an hour travel time each direction, I need more than an hour per day to fill my needs. Hence, I would need a lot of podcasts. I've tried several, and while others such as "This American Life" or "Radiolab" are good, they don't hook me the way "Serial" did, and with all of them there is a quantity problem. I need more. (I really do sound like an addict...)

Thus, I discovered audiobooks. First, I got a free trial one from Audible (which turned out to be "free", as they automatically connected that to my Amazon account, took my credit card details from there and proceeded to charge me monthly without me being aware that I had signed up for any kind of membership... Bastards!). After that, I moved onto an app called "Storytel" [sic - not a typo - one L only].

Storytel doesn't have the greatest catalogue, but for now I am satisfied. I've been through quite a lot of memoirs, which are made infinitely better when the person having written them also is the one reading (so far, I've listened to Lena Dunham, Stephen Fry, Kaitlin Moran and more). Love that! I wish I could find such audiobooks from the politicians I am writing my dissertation on. Would be so interesting (I did buy another book from Amazon, since they had already charged me I might as well make use of my "credit" - but I'm not sure Jimmy Carter reading about something other than the topic I am researching will have the same effect, and at any rate there is no hope to find anything from Nixon or Ford, and I don't think Kissinger is the greatest audio performer - though he is unmatched when it comes to the written word).

I like thematically appropriate listens, so when I was meadering around on a U.S. university campus (specifically University of Michigan in Ann Arbor) this spring, I listened to Stoner by John Williams. The world of academia is more than a mere setting in this novel; it's almost a character of its own. Thus my circumstance made an already interesting book even more captivating, though I am sure I must have looked odd to the people around me - walking around with my ear plugs staring at campus buildings as though I saw them in 1915 rather than 2015.

When I came home I went back to podcasts for a while, having discovered Neil deGrasse Tyson's "Star Talk", where he enter into discussion about topics reaching far beyond the extent of his field of study (which is saying something, seeing as he basically is studying the universe...). Funny and interesting. After having gone through the entire backlog of this podcast, however, I went back to audiobooks. 

This time I've finally settled for something that will keep my addiction covered for a while. After the season finale of "Game of Thrones" a few weeks back I realized I craved more. Thus far I'd been staying far away from the books, or rather, I started reading them, but they did not appeal to me, This was way back when the first season aired, and the show was following the book closely enough for me to feel it redundant to read them. In addition, the books felt "wordy" to me, which is weird, because I normally really look big, fat, wordy books. 

Anyway. Now everything is different. First of all, it's been four years since I saw that first season. Even if the first book is following it closely, it doesn't matter, as I've forgotten a lot. A lot. 

Secondly, it's almost an advantage that the books are wordy. It means they last longer, and seeing as I listen to them during my commute where constant distractions might interfere, it isn't so problematic if I miss a detail here or there. 

Finally, I really like the guy who is reading (which is a BIG deal for audiobooks). He even does different voices, which I adore. I could listen to him forever (a good thing, seeing as each book is about 30 hours,,,) 

Yeah, that's right. Each book is about 30 hours. And there are five of them (with two more in the making, but as everyone knows by now the release dates of those are anyone's guess). 

I'm already halfway into book number two, though, so I'm wolfing them down a little faster than I'd planned. Somehow, my commute time tends to stretch out these days... The way it looks, I'll be hunting for more sustenance to feed my addiction come autumn. (Insert mandatory "Winter is coming") 

Any suggestions? 

On leaving the U.S., again

Let's start at the beginning: what does a pop tart really taste like? I have been in the U.S. long enough that I should have had plenty of opportunities to find out, but honestly, I've never tried one. And never really felt like trying one either. Especially not for breakfast. I have vastly different ideas about what a good breakfast should and should not entail than what most Americans do (judging only from the breakfast aisle in any given grocery store, naturally).

Well, even if I am leaving I have made sure I'll get the chance to figure out this mystery. I've bought a box of pop tarts. I fully expect I won't like them very much, but at least now my expectations aren't too high...

Don't get me wrong, I approve of a lot of breakfast related things here too. For instance the concept of going out for breakfast (even if I normally would choose a different dish than pancakes, but even I get that this only makes me weird...). Or even better, brunch. One of the restaurants in the vicinity of my hotel in Atlanta advertizes that they serve bottomless mimosas* or Bloody Marys for Sunday brunch. Even if that makes me think of Kenny Falmouth of Monkey Island, it does sound like a sweet deal.

My own breakfast routine most days while I've been in the U.S., however, has been quite a bit more sober than that. I've been in two different hotels in two different parts of the country, but I could always find some channel that showed reruns of old shows - especially "Charmed". Interestingly I never really watched "Charmed" when it was a big deal way back when I was a kiddo (many of my friends did, and I can't remember exactly what made me not watch it, though I suspect it might have had something to do with the fact that we didn't have cable or satelite, and thus a very limited range of channels). Anyway, with all these reruns - and not just this time, but last time I visited the U.S. too, as well as when we went to the U.K. for vacation in November - it seems I have the show pretty much covered. But then, yesterday, the seemingly endless string of reruns ended. The very last episode of the show! Now what will I do for breakfast? I suppose it was only fitting as I am leaving today. Also, I am ignoring the fact that they started over again with the very first season this morning, so I really could watch it all if I only stayed a couple of months more - with three episodes per day that should probably cover it...

Even if I haven't watched it religiously in the past, however, I still know the show well enough to have the benefit of rewatching, as the best thing about watching old shows, of course, is that you don't have to pay very careful attention. So I could walk back and forth, take a shower, get dressed, eat, or even work a little while it ran in the background. While this has been a perfect mode for the minial task of sorting through archive documents as afterwork from my visit there during work hours, I am relieved it is over. My back aches from being slumped over my laptop for long stretches at the time, in uncomfortable seating positions in a hotel bed. My eyes are sore and my head hurts from trying to remember archive codes and sorting the files into their right place. My fingers have paper cuts from old documents, and I am sick of working twelve hour days (even if portions of them have been accompanied by "Charmed"). I even missed out on vacation days during my stay here, as most Norwegians take the whole week of Easter off.

Another good thing about ending my TV-meets-work streak now is that I don't have to watch commercials anymore. We have commercials on most channels in Norway too, but first of all I don't watch all that much TV at home (I have Netflix and HBO Nordic, after all), and secondly, last time I checked our commercials were less disturbing than many of the ones here.

What mostly baffles me are the medical commercials. This and this drug will help you with this and that disease. It will have the following side effects: [insert long list of terrible things that almost always ends with DEATH for good measure]. Talk to your doctor today!

Talk to your doctor? Why would I, as the patient, go to my doctor and explain about some drug? Isn't it the doctor's job to tell the patient what the best treatment for whatever disease or ailment they have should be? I realize doctors in the U.S. are frequently sponsored by the medical companies and thus might have preferences for specific drug for other reasons than what works better, but if that's the case you really ought to find another doctor with a better sense of ethics, rather than presenting the one you've already got with a lecture based on a TV commerical.

But that set aside, back to the commercials themselves. Can we all agree that they are pretty disturbing? Listing all those side effects is obviously something they are obliged to do for legal reasons, but I still find it amazing that someone would take them up on the offer of talking to their doctor after having heard all the horrible things this drug might inflict, presented to them in a voice of an actor you can *hear* is wearing a fake smile (how can you hear that, you ask? Well, just listen the next time one of those commercials are on. You can hear it).

Secondly, why are they always walking on the beach in these commercials? Strolling along the shore, or in a forest, or playing in the garden with a pet or child. Always the same setting. Fake smiles. Super disturbing.

Finally, the most disturbing thing to me isn't the medical commercials themselves, but in combination of another type of commercials: the mass lawsuit ones. "Have you or your loved ones experienced [insert terrible side effect caused by medical malpractise]? You might be entitled to compensation!" I realize there isn't a coherent line from people suggesting to their doctors what medicines to take for their ailments to them suing the doctor (or whomever) for having suffered consequences of malpractise. But it seems to me there is something strange about where the system puts liability. The patient is supposed to advice the doctor, while the doctors and other parts of the healthcare system are forced to focus on covering their butts legally rather than providing the best possible option for the patient. I'm not saying it's necessarily different elsewhere or that I have a solution to this, but I am saying the frequent commericals serve to give a creepy reminder of what a nasty world it can be.

I'll miss things too, though. I might have issues with certain parts of commercial America, but I don't think I'll ever stop marvelling at the selection in stores here. Whether it is grocery shopping or browsing for dresses, I keep finding myself enchanted. It's dangerous for my wallet, but it's making my little shopping heart burst with joy. Every time I visit the U.S. I seem to end up with a new wardrobe and don't even get me started on bookstores. When I came here in 2009 the selection seemed wider (I miss Borders!), but give me a good Barnes & Noble any day, and I'll be lost that day. They even have coffee in there! Why would you ever want to leave?

More important than the things I leave behind (good or bad), though, are the things I'm going back to. I miss my home, I miss my friends and family, I miss the regularity of my daily routine (the normal one, not the one involving "Charmed"), Norwegian language, food and weather (!), Oslo, my apartment, all the things I know and love. Most importantly, I miss my boyfriend. Four weeks is a long time to be away from everything, and even though I've enjoyed my stay in the U.S. I can't wait to go home.

Now I'm going to make the hotel cat who has been keeping me company this morning go back out into the corridor so I don't accidentally pack him, and then I'll finish stuffing my suitcase. Somehow, it gained weight during this trip (see section about "shopping" above).











*Huh. When I googled "bottomless" to find the link for Kenny, Google automatically suggested "bottomless mimosas atlanta". Apparently, this is a big deal here!

On midwestern adventures (part three)

Five years ago I went to Ann Arbor, Michigan to visit my friend Tami. Little did I know that I someday would be coming back for work (and to visit Tami again, naturally).

So far it's been mostly work, as you kinda have to put in long days when your job sends you to the other side of the world for a few weeks to gather material for your research project. You don't wanna come home short on material (so, naturally, I bring home way, way, waaaay too much). However, I did get to hang out with Tami and some friends of last weekend, and this weekend we'll get together again.

In the meantime, my only adventures have been walking around on campus, on my way to the archive. They have geese there. And squirrels. On campus. Geese and squirrels in search of an education, no doubt.

Gesse. Because, geese. 

Squirrel. And some nut who didn't realise her mitten-cup-combo was in the shot...

Column. With a certain phallic quiality, as columns tend to have. 

Crocus. And a surprisingly ghost-ish tree shadow for mid-day. 

On long time, no see

People tend to resurface.




I met this girl, we used to know each other. We said "hello". "How are you?" "What are you doing now?" and that was it.

I met this girl, we never really knew each other. We said "hello". "How are you?" "What are you doing now?" and that was it.

We got out before it was too awkward. The first just before. The second just after.

There was nothing there, other than a mutual agreement that we could not pass each other without acknowledging that we had once known/not really known each other.

We met, we talked, we moved on.

As I was swimming, I saw it floating by, and I picked it up.




I made a scheduled appointment to see someone I used to know. I still know him. But I almost never see him.

I tried to make a scheduled appointment to see someone I used to know. I might have known him. I might still know him. But I almost never see him.

We are actively rekindling what we used to have/still have. We are trying not to make it too awkward. The first because it would ruin everything. The second because we already made it awkward, and then we fixed it, and then we made it awkward again. And then we fixed it.

We'll meet, we'll talk, and then we will move around it for a while.

As I was swimming, I dived down to pick it up and hopefully bring it back to the surface.




I am travelling across the ocean to visit a friend I have not seen in five years.

We have stayed in touch without concern for the distances that divide us. Awkward has never been one of those distances.

As I was swimming, I moored it to the shore, and now I am returning to pick it back up again.

On US of (f)A(ll)

Actually, that title should have been "US of A(utumn)", but then it just looked wrong using the British term when writing about the US. (U.S., if I'm being consistent in my AmericanEnglishness. Which I'm not. Of course.)

Autumn/fall (okay, since I'm on the topic. "Fall" is a silly word. It means something else, people. Having it both as the name of a season and "to drop or come down freely under the influence of gravity" makes things unnecessary confusing. "That was a great fall!"). Autumn/fall is for me the season most closely tied with the United States. Partly, it's because when I was there, I experienced fall (of the seasonal and not gravital kind). I saw beautiful foliage in several parts of the country, I tasted fall specialties such as pumpkin pie or candy corn, and I witnessed stores decorate for the most American of holidays: Halloween and Thanksgiving. Even before I visited the US, however, it was firmly established that fall is the "national" season.

Halloween and Thanksgiving helps. So does pictures from the North-East, of tall, gorgeous trees competing for personal bests in the "show your colour"-competition. The idea of fairs and festivals, pies, harvest, gigantic fields - again very much a part of my idea of the US before I went there.

All these things considered, I don't think it's surprising that it is during this time of year I mostly want to go back. I want to celebrate Halloween, the American way (would you BELIEVE that I left the country the day before Halloween?!). I want to hang out with a stereotypical sit-com family that watch football on TV while mom cooks the turkey for Thanksgiving. I want to have more pumpkin pie (even though I didn't like it much). I want to walk along a Minnesota field while admiring the colourful forest ahead. I want to smell stuff like maple and cinnamon and other things comprised into "pumpkin spice" in a Starbucks latte.

On midwestern adventures (part two)

Partly since Tami has reported some (check her blog out, among her posts from the previous week is a BRILLIANT Dr. Seussesque poem you cannot miss), and partly because I sort of outwrote myself on the whole travelogue genre yesterday, today's post will be more of a photo album than anything else. I will write some short comments where appropriate, but don't expect long narratives (and there was much rejoicing).

Lunch at NYC Pizza Depot (is that what it was called, Tami?) with Tami's daughter. Good pizza, and good company :)

A (for Michigan) unusually prude man (clothed and leafed - what was his problem?)

The campus of Michigan university was pretty! Why are all U.S. campuses so much prettier than the Norwegian ones?

Squirrel!

If you are wondering why I have this strange obsession for squirrels (aren't giraffes enough?), I can enlighten you. It's not the squirrels per se, but it just amuses me that they are willing to pose for photographs. I couldn't convince a Norwegian squirrel to let me take a picture of it even if I pretended to be a giant nut (which it might be argued that I in fact am, but that is besides the point).

The Museum of Natural History at the university was in the process of preparing an exhibit featuring "Ida", more commonly known under (the misleading) description "the missing link". This amused me, since "Ida" currently lives at the Museum of Natural History in Oslo. I haven't been to see her yet. Maybe I should?

Every city has a monument resembling a giant phallus. This is Ann Arbor's.

Tami and I debated for a long time whether or not this was Poseidon. Then we gave up and went for cocktails.

Colours! It's fall! :)

Pretty tree. Actually, I believe it's the main attraction of Ann Arbor's Stick Museum.

Pretty Tart (with pretty Hufflepuff scarf) hugging pretty tree

Fairy door! There's a whole bunch of them! This one's from Jefferson Market.

Red shoes! (The store, silly)

There's also a ticket window for the fairies. Why shouldn't fairies get to be cultural too?

I think this is probably my favourite. I particularly like the "subtitles": "Please do not touch. These books are out of circulation. Besides there may be someone living in them."

On my final day we went to the Henry Ford museum, where we saw such curiosities as the car Kennedy was shot in (slightly macabre), the chair Lincoln was shot in (do you see a pattern?), the bus Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat (in terms of historic importance it's interesting, but at least this was less morbid) and the Wiener Mobile (don't ask).

Wooden bike (!)

This image is somewhat misleading since I was the one doing the flying that day. After the museum Tami dropped me off at the airport, and I went back to D.C. where I now only have two weeks left. It's insane how fast time has passed, at the same time as it feels like an eternity since I've seen my family and my fiends at home. I will do my best to spend the remaining time well (there are some upcoming events I'm looking forward to), and then it will be time to pack my bags and prepare for flying again. I am very, very glad I managed to take this trip out to Minnesota and Michigan (I'd be happy to do so again, but it'll have to wait for a potential next stay in the U.S.), and I am so glad I met all the lovely people I did.

On replacements

This post has been reserved for some actual experiences and live blogging from Michigan. If you are reading this it means that my plan to replace this text has failed, and you may safely conclude that:


a) I have been kidnapped by a disgruntled cabaña boy and thus unable to post; or

b) I have been so thoroughly sucked into the exciting plot of Tami’s WIP that I cannot tear myself away; or

c) Michigan doesn’t have Internet access contrary to what Tami has led us to believe.

No matter which one of these scenarios is preventing me from live posting, I promise to do my very best to fight it and be back – live – from Maryland on Friday (though come to think of it, I’m supposed to attend a conference downtown from 9.30 am to 6.30 pm… Maybe the live posting will have to wait until Saturday..?).

In the meantime I hope you’re all having a happy hump day! Tomorrow I’ve scheduled a preview for the upcoming holiday…

On expecting the unexpected

Greetings! This blog is brought to you from Michigan, where I am currently spending time with a certain Watery Tart. Actually, I have a confession to make. This blog was written in Washington, D.C. several days ago (though technically when I am writing it, it’s not several days ago. It’s today, alright. But when you read it… Oh, now I’ve confused myself…) I’m sitting in my lovely office where I am attempting to squeeze out seven blog posts in one day so that I’ll be properly prepared for leaving my laptop for a week. How can I report from Michigan when I haven’t even gone yet, you might wonder. One word. No, two. Actually, three words: the power of imagination (that was four words, wasn’t it?).


When you read this, I’m expecting that Tami and I will already be enjoying our first fruity drink served by a local cabaña boy. Never mind that it is 8 a.m. in the morning (when this is scheduled to post anyway, I won’t pretend to predict when you are reading it, even if Mystic Mari is my alias), possibly freezing (according to the current forecast) or that Michigan might not have that wide a selection of cabaña boys – knowing the Tart, she will find a way to make it happen. Also knowing her, we will be wearing feather boas, stilettos and not much else (which is common in Michigan from what I’ve gathered).

After the cabaña boy has been locked back in the basement, we will probably proceed to track down all the fairy doors in Ann Arbor. After a quick tea with the fairies, I expect we will be ready to get cracking on Tami’s WIP. I am, after all, not just any guest, I am a visiting member of Tami’s writer’s group. After having read Legacy with such enthusiasm that a randomly passing agent immediately signs with Tami, I will insist that he also reads Confluence and before he knows what hit him he has two new books to promote.

You might think this sounds like a long day (especially considering we've just read two books), but for two devoted digressionists it’s only just time for lunch. Cabaña boy is let out again for the purpose of serving us and rubbing our feet, and afterwards we forget to lock him back in because we have gotten carried away in discussing Potterverse.

To make up for the Pottered time, we will rally up the entire population of “the mitten” (I’m already learning Michigan slang) and make them draw giraffes for onemilliongiraffes.com. As a way of showing their gratitude for letting them participate in this wonderful project, they treat us to dinner – and would you know – they’ve invited a team of firefighter strippers too! We finish the night by admiring the gold statue the people of Michigan have raised in our honour, and toasting with the firefighters.

I wonder what we will do tomorrow?

On flying

I am not afraid of flying. Though I can relate to the phobia (I’m terrified of snakes), it doesn’t bother me much to think about the possibility that my airplane might drop to the ground. I know the statistics, and I know that the likelihood for something like that to actually happen is minuscule.


However, I’m not overly comfortable in an airplane either. This all started when I flew to Japan the second time (in 2006). Prior to this I had always enjoyed flights – I love the view from airplanes, I like the buzz of airports (except Newark, but that’s another story), I even enjoy airplane food. I adore travelling, and the airplane part has always felt like a bonus at each end of a journey.

Until 2006.

When you are flying from Oslo to Tokyo (and beyond), it is sensible to fly east. Well, I started by flying west. See, the cheapest tickets I could get my hands on were British Airways (amazing, I know…), and they required a stop at Heathrow. This added several hours to the travel time (flying there and back again, plus the wait at the airport), but the savings were considerable enough for me to ignore this. After all, I liked flying. And I liked waiting at airports. I thought.

The flight to Heathrow was fine, and the wait wasn’t so bad either. Fortunately this time I was not travelling alone, but with my friend, Linette. When we got on the plane that actually was taking us to Japan, however, things started to go downhill. First of all we were not seated next to each other. Annoying, but not to be helped (we tried). Secondly, and more importantly, there was something wrong with the plane. When there is something wrong with a plane, the solution always is to stay on ground. I get that. What I don’t get is why they had to keep all the passengers on the plane, for more than an hour, with no air-condition. By the time we left London I was very hot, very dizzy and I had a terrible headache.

The flight to Tokyo was about 12 hours. During this time, the only thing I could do was concentrating on not getting sick. I was really, really unwell. By the time we landed in Tokyo I could hardly walk, and it is one of the most discouraging things I have ever done to get off that airport, get on a bus for an hour and a half to get to another airport, and from there get on yet another plane. The second flight was almost as bad as the first, but thankfully shorter. When we arrived in Akita (where we proceeded to spend four delightful months), I felt exactly the way you do a Sunday morning after having spent your Saturday drinking 7 cans of beer, two bottles of wine and 5 tequila shots.

After this I developed a certain hesitancy for flying. I have flown afterwards, naturally – for one thing, I got back from Japan, and it’s not like I took a ferry to the US. I have also had a number of shorter flights in the three years between. Most of these are okay, it’s the long ones that really kill me.

When I went to the US it was the same thing all over again. Well, except this time it wasn’t an over-heated plane that was the cause, it was turbulence. A lot of it. For at least an hour before landing the entire plane was shaking heavily, and my face was as green as a European Tree Frog when we finally hit ground. It was possibly the worst way of arriving in a foreign country (followed by a delay in my connecting flight, hence my dislike for Newark airport), and believe me – had there been another way for me to get home than getting back on a plane – right there and then I wouldn’t have hesitated.

Thus I was not entirely happy about the thought of flying to the Midwest this week. I tried looking for train options, but as it took everything from 17 to 29 hours to get to Chicago or Detroit, I gave it up as a bad case. Instead I booked three individual flights between Baltimore, Minneapolis and Detroit. Two of them have stops, meaning I will be on five airplanes within one week. I try to comfort myself with the thought that at least they are all short flights, but I can’t ignore the fact that I am dreading the flying. Fortunately I have some travel sickness pills, and hopefully this will make the flights a little easier. When I get on another airplane in a few weeks – this time to back home to Norway – I think it will be my last flight in a loooong time. There are better ways of feeling hung-over.