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!
Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label USA. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2015
Sunday, April 12, 2015
On people I meet
Sometimes you meet people who make an impression.
This week I met one of the Presidents I am writing my PhD on. Jimmy Carter, even at 90, is still working hard, and thus spends a fair amount of time at the Carter Center in Atlanta. However, for a researcher to catch a glimpse of him is still a rare treat. I didn't speak to him, but must admit I was rather starstruck by his mere presence in the cafeteria where he, like everybody else, queued to have a 4 dollar lunch.
Despite the central role Carter plays in my current work, however, he was only one of the people I've met recently that I will remember for life.
Today I met some guy whose name I didn't catch. I frequently don't catch names here, even when people introduce themselves. The Southern accent is foreign to me, and it often takes me a while to figure out what I understood from what people were saying - a lot of it gathered from context rather than a direct comprehension of the actual words uttered - and names tend to disappear in this process (besides, I am notoriously bad at names. Faces, I remember. Names, never held much importance to me anyway).
Anyway. I was trying to catch a bus. At the bus stop, I was approached by Some Guy. Had it been in Norway, I would have shied away from a conversation. But having been in the U.S. for a few weeks, the last of which in the South, the local social code is starting to rub off on me. I've progressed from small talk to conversations with random strangers (side note: Random Stranger at a zebra crossing the other day - he commented on my t-shirt. It's a Harry Potter shirt, with a big, Hogwarts logo on it. He asked me where I'd bought it, and I said London. He was all impressed that I'd been to London - not yet having realized that I wasn't American, presumably. "You speak any French at all, then?" he asked. I could have pointed out to him that this was a rather strange question to ask after having learnt that I had visited the British capital, but instead I just shook my head, wished him a good day upon the turn of the lights and our departure to the other side of the street, and made a mental note that it was far more important to appreciate the fact that we had this nice little talk than to point out to him his obvious lack of geography skills).
- so conversations with random strangers - and with this new social code guiding my conduct I've talked to everyone from grocery store clerks to the hobo in the park I pass each morning (he just wanted to know if there was a fee to go see the Jimmy Carter museum. I told him I believed it was, but that the grounds were free of charge, and beautiful, so well worth the walk).
Thus, talking to Some Guy at the bus stop wasn't all that strange for me anymore. And I am glad I did.
This was a man with a storage of stories, and the key to open them all at once was simply being an active listener. I learnt all kinds of interesting things about the city of Atlanta, the specific area of Atlanta I'm staying in, African-American history, the Democratic party, and about Some Guy himself. He gave me pointers about things I should see before I leave, showed me a picture with him and Obama (who recently visited the area, apparently), and even shared his hotwings with me. When the bus finally arrived (it was very late, due to a lot of traffic over a Barnes & Noble booksigning with Google later informed me was a YouTube phenomenon - there were crying teenage girls queuing all around the block for YouTube Guy), he told me to pay attention to the driver, as she was a character all of her own.
She was. Talking to herself, yelling at traffic, and making conversation with the passengers made for an entertaining bus ride as well. "What's that guy doing in the Mustang?? Oh, noooo, you didn't!!!" I probably would have given up on the bus without Some Guy, It was worth the wait.
When I go home in less than a week I'll be glad to retract back into my Norwegian shell, where we don't make conversation with strangers unless absolutely forced to, and where the only small talk you make on a bus would be to ask the passenger next to you to let you out if they haven't already noticed all the subtle non-verbal signs you've given them the last minute or so (most do. In all my years of using public transportation in Oslo, I've probably only had to ask about five to ten times, if that).
Until, then, however, I am glad to have been let out of my shell for a while. It makes for good stories. It makes me appreciate the world. It makes interesting things happen, and it makes me learn things I otherwise would have never known.
I was startstruck when I saw President Carter, but most of my time here I've been struck with awe of the extraordinariness of ordinary people.
This week I met one of the Presidents I am writing my PhD on. Jimmy Carter, even at 90, is still working hard, and thus spends a fair amount of time at the Carter Center in Atlanta. However, for a researcher to catch a glimpse of him is still a rare treat. I didn't speak to him, but must admit I was rather starstruck by his mere presence in the cafeteria where he, like everybody else, queued to have a 4 dollar lunch.
Despite the central role Carter plays in my current work, however, he was only one of the people I've met recently that I will remember for life.
Today I met some guy whose name I didn't catch. I frequently don't catch names here, even when people introduce themselves. The Southern accent is foreign to me, and it often takes me a while to figure out what I understood from what people were saying - a lot of it gathered from context rather than a direct comprehension of the actual words uttered - and names tend to disappear in this process (besides, I am notoriously bad at names. Faces, I remember. Names, never held much importance to me anyway).
Anyway. I was trying to catch a bus. At the bus stop, I was approached by Some Guy. Had it been in Norway, I would have shied away from a conversation. But having been in the U.S. for a few weeks, the last of which in the South, the local social code is starting to rub off on me. I've progressed from small talk to conversations with random strangers (side note: Random Stranger at a zebra crossing the other day - he commented on my t-shirt. It's a Harry Potter shirt, with a big, Hogwarts logo on it. He asked me where I'd bought it, and I said London. He was all impressed that I'd been to London - not yet having realized that I wasn't American, presumably. "You speak any French at all, then?" he asked. I could have pointed out to him that this was a rather strange question to ask after having learnt that I had visited the British capital, but instead I just shook my head, wished him a good day upon the turn of the lights and our departure to the other side of the street, and made a mental note that it was far more important to appreciate the fact that we had this nice little talk than to point out to him his obvious lack of geography skills).
- so conversations with random strangers - and with this new social code guiding my conduct I've talked to everyone from grocery store clerks to the hobo in the park I pass each morning (he just wanted to know if there was a fee to go see the Jimmy Carter museum. I told him I believed it was, but that the grounds were free of charge, and beautiful, so well worth the walk).
Thus, talking to Some Guy at the bus stop wasn't all that strange for me anymore. And I am glad I did.
This was a man with a storage of stories, and the key to open them all at once was simply being an active listener. I learnt all kinds of interesting things about the city of Atlanta, the specific area of Atlanta I'm staying in, African-American history, the Democratic party, and about Some Guy himself. He gave me pointers about things I should see before I leave, showed me a picture with him and Obama (who recently visited the area, apparently), and even shared his hotwings with me. When the bus finally arrived (it was very late, due to a lot of traffic over a Barnes & Noble booksigning with Google later informed me was a YouTube phenomenon - there were crying teenage girls queuing all around the block for YouTube Guy), he told me to pay attention to the driver, as she was a character all of her own.
She was. Talking to herself, yelling at traffic, and making conversation with the passengers made for an entertaining bus ride as well. "What's that guy doing in the Mustang?? Oh, noooo, you didn't!!!" I probably would have given up on the bus without Some Guy, It was worth the wait.
When I go home in less than a week I'll be glad to retract back into my Norwegian shell, where we don't make conversation with strangers unless absolutely forced to, and where the only small talk you make on a bus would be to ask the passenger next to you to let you out if they haven't already noticed all the subtle non-verbal signs you've given them the last minute or so (most do. In all my years of using public transportation in Oslo, I've probably only had to ask about five to ten times, if that).
Until, then, however, I am glad to have been let out of my shell for a while. It makes for good stories. It makes me appreciate the world. It makes interesting things happen, and it makes me learn things I otherwise would have never known.
I was startstruck when I saw President Carter, but most of my time here I've been struck with awe of the extraordinariness of ordinary people.
Friday, March 20, 2015
On the transvisual transgressions of the transatlantic tranquilizer trajectory.
I spent all my creative energy on that title, so now all that is left is for me to pretend I really meant to and compose a short text devoid of any creativity whatsoever.
It shouldn't be too difficult.
I am, after all, trying actively on a daily basis to subdue creativity to get non-creative things done (insofar there exists such a thing as a non-creative anything). I am getting good at it. Well. Not necessarily at getting the non-creative things done, but at subdue creativity, at least! Hooray!
Now, let's not be bleak. This is a good thing.
Creativity is overrated.
Well, no it's not. I don't actually mean that. I already revealed that I at least on some level believe creativity takes a part in most anything human beings do (not that this belief necessarily demonstrates the importance of creativity, though).
And it's not even true. I don't subdue my creativity. It just feels like a natural part of the process. A process of "growing up", "having a job", "writing a PhD-thesis", "being a normal human being" (except for my belief that "normal" "human beings" actually are "creative" all the time. Except everything, really).
This text turned bleak despite my intentions not to let it. I meant to have it cheerful and happy, in order to present a joyous view on the world (of which there are too few, generally, I think), exemplified in the fact that it's spring (yay!); that I get to go abroad for a month, tomorrow (yay!); that there exist such a thing as semicolons (yay!); and that today we had a solar eclipse (though I didn't see it due to clouds and general indoorness, so yaaeii?).
I'm going to the U.S.
For a month.
I have in the past been eager to travel.
I have in the more recent past been less eager to travel.
I have this time again found that eagerness, but then also, the less eagerness lurking behind.
I get to travel but I have to travel.
I get to see lots of interesting documents but I have to see all these documents.
I get to be all by myself but I have to be alone.
But there are more redeeming factors this time around. I get to hang out with an old friend. I get to visit a new part of the U.S. that I have been eager to see. I get a preview of summer before returning home to full spring. And when I return home I get to stay home. I can travel more, but I don't have to.
Away, away, o'hoi and away!
It shouldn't be too difficult.
I am, after all, trying actively on a daily basis to subdue creativity to get non-creative things done (insofar there exists such a thing as a non-creative anything). I am getting good at it. Well. Not necessarily at getting the non-creative things done, but at subdue creativity, at least! Hooray!
Now, let's not be bleak. This is a good thing.
Creativity is overrated.
Well, no it's not. I don't actually mean that. I already revealed that I at least on some level believe creativity takes a part in most anything human beings do (not that this belief necessarily demonstrates the importance of creativity, though).
And it's not even true. I don't subdue my creativity. It just feels like a natural part of the process. A process of "growing up", "having a job", "writing a PhD-thesis", "being a normal human being" (except for my belief that "normal" "human beings" actually are "creative" all the time. Except everything, really).
This text turned bleak despite my intentions not to let it. I meant to have it cheerful and happy, in order to present a joyous view on the world (of which there are too few, generally, I think), exemplified in the fact that it's spring (yay!); that I get to go abroad for a month, tomorrow (yay!); that there exist such a thing as semicolons (yay!); and that today we had a solar eclipse (though I didn't see it due to clouds and general indoorness, so yaaeii?).
I'm going to the U.S.
For a month.
I have in the past been eager to travel.
I have in the more recent past been less eager to travel.
I have this time again found that eagerness, but then also, the less eagerness lurking behind.
I get to travel but I have to travel.
I get to see lots of interesting documents but I have to see all these documents.
I get to be all by myself but I have to be alone.
But there are more redeeming factors this time around. I get to hang out with an old friend. I get to visit a new part of the U.S. that I have been eager to see. I get a preview of summer before returning home to full spring. And when I return home I get to stay home. I can travel more, but I don't have to.
Away, away, o'hoi and away!
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
On LBJ
We meet again, old vague acquaintance.
I never did get the hang of you last time.
Your entry into the White House was sudden, unexpected, tragic. It was inevitable for you to end up in Jack's shadow. History didn't change that.
Your domestic experience gave you no credit among students of diplomatic history. Whatever foreign policy you led, we usually accounted to your predecessor's memory. Besides, your foreign policy = Vietnam.
You are little more than a footnote in books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, and he only thing really worth mentioning is your strong support for the State of Israel (but then this isn't exactly unique among American presidents).
You are said to be one of the main inspirations behind Kevin Spacey's character in "House of Cards" (along with King Richard III of England). Good for you.
Your name. Lyndon! It sounds like a character from a 1950s superhero comic (though no the hero. Not the villain either, I think. The jury is still out). The only U.S. politician sounding more like a superhero comic character is Spiro Agnew. You can't beat that.
You did leave a legacy in domestic politics. But I don't study domestic politics.
You're from Texas. Which called for another footnote in the books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, as you were already accustomed to deal with oil companies. So no need to mention that part of your foreign policy either.
Your wife is called Lady Bird. That is all.
You share initials with your wife (and your daughters, and your dog), though I think it would be much more entertaining if you also shared her middle name. Lyndon Bird Johnson makes you sound even more like a character from a superhero comic (though still not the hero).
We were never friends. I don't think that will change this time either. But perhaps I might get to know you a little better, at least?
I am not sure how I feel about that.
I never did get the hang of you last time.
Your entry into the White House was sudden, unexpected, tragic. It was inevitable for you to end up in Jack's shadow. History didn't change that.
Your domestic experience gave you no credit among students of diplomatic history. Whatever foreign policy you led, we usually accounted to your predecessor's memory. Besides, your foreign policy = Vietnam.
You are little more than a footnote in books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, and he only thing really worth mentioning is your strong support for the State of Israel (but then this isn't exactly unique among American presidents).
You are said to be one of the main inspirations behind Kevin Spacey's character in "House of Cards" (along with King Richard III of England). Good for you.
Your name. Lyndon! It sounds like a character from a 1950s superhero comic (though no the hero. Not the villain either, I think. The jury is still out). The only U.S. politician sounding more like a superhero comic character is Spiro Agnew. You can't beat that.
You did leave a legacy in domestic politics. But I don't study domestic politics.
You're from Texas. Which called for another footnote in the books about U.S. policy in the Middle East, as you were already accustomed to deal with oil companies. So no need to mention that part of your foreign policy either.
Your wife is called Lady Bird. That is all.
You share initials with your wife (and your daughters, and your dog), though I think it would be much more entertaining if you also shared her middle name. Lyndon Bird Johnson makes you sound even more like a character from a superhero comic (though still not the hero).
We were never friends. I don't think that will change this time either. But perhaps I might get to know you a little better, at least?
I am not sure how I feel about that.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
On wobbly walking while waffling windwards...
...or something...
Meanwhile, in the Burrow, there is an actual post with words in it. I can only justify observing Wordless Wednesday so many places, after all...
Meanwhile, in the Burrow, there is an actual post with words in it. I can only justify observing Wordless Wednesday so many places, after all...
Sunday, February 27, 2011
On Starbucks
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| Mmmmmm.... |
We don't have Starbucks in Norway. It's a hopeless market. Oslo already has a large number of coffee shops - many of them serving high quality coffee, for more affordable prices than what Starbucks would land on if the price regime follows that of other countries. Norwegians are used to paying much for their coffee, but then they are also used to getting quality coffee back. As it is, there is a question whether Starbucks is needed, wanted or even possible in Norway. We have long coffee traditions; we're used to thinking we do certain things best at home (or at least "in Europe"); and there is a latent skepticism towards consumerism(/Americanism?) that often surfaces in Norwegians when faced with the potential introduction of new products. We don't have KFC or Dunkin' Donuts either.
And yet. The fact that we have a lot of money and drink a lot of coffee in Norway, is bound to make us interesting for the American chain. Thus they are looking into the Norwegian market, aiming at establishing some customer recognition by selling their pre-produced iced lattes and such in stores and kiosks. Gradually, they are going to open stores, first at airports, and then eventually (possibly) in Oslo. Or so is the strategy as of today (as far as I know. I should probably mention that I don't have a direct line to the people in charge, and thus cannot say for sure whether this is the actual strategy. But this is the strategy our newspapers report, and that is good enough for me).
One major risk, in addition to the competition and the tough market, is that the Starbucks business model might be more difficult to promote in Norway than elsewhere. Because of the many established coffee houses in Norway, where the "sit-ins" are far more established, it is likely that Starbucks will have better chances of competing with the more recent take-away market (which today largely is handled by 7-11 and the likes of it, especially outside of the major cities). Usually Starbucks coffee shops have many employees, which allows for a speedy making of the coffee suitable for the take-away segment of the customers. In Norway, however, where salary costs are quite high, it is unlikely that Starbucks will be willing or able to have as many workers on the same shift. Thus, they risk slowing down the coffee making process, which in turn will make Starbucks a less attractive alternative for the take-awayers.
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| From one of the many Facebook groups... (guess which side) |
In the end, however, if and when Starbucks does open a store in Oslo, I think it most likely will be a success during its first week, and then it is completely in the blue. Will people stay true to their old habits and pick the coffee they think is the best when they have time (aka not Starbucks), and the coffee they think is the fastest when they don't (aka not Starbucks, again)? Or will they be willing to accept the Starbucks concept of vanilla/cinnamon/caramel/lazy-Sunday-heaven, occasionally transformed into semi-fast take-away (since there is only financial justification for one person at work per shift)?
Time will show. I have my doubts, though. I'm not convinced Starbucks will conquer Norway.
Thus, don't judge me. If I want to spend my non-Norway Sundays in Starbucks, I feel entitled to do so. Whether I'm in Japan, the United States, or any of the other 55 countries where the it's currently located. I might not feel the same way if and when I get the chance in Norway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
And yes - I am aware of the irony of posting this on the same week as I spoke so grandly on fair-trade. That is another issue about coffee and/or Starbucks...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
On Halloween, sort of
Halloween is coming up. So what? I'm Norwegian, we don't really do Halloween here. Well, we have started to celebrate it the last few years, but when I was a kid, there was no such thing as trick or treat. The only I knew about Halloween, I got from American movies and the annual Halloween card sent to me from my American relatives.
Halloween is a commercial wet dream, though, so the retail business have done a considerable job of adopting it the last few years. We now have kids running from door to door (though nowhere near the amount they have in the US), we have Halloween parties, and the larger grocery stores even stock up on pumpkins for carving (a very un-Norwegian vegetable).
Personally, I like the idea of Halloween even if I think that the commercial aspect of it (especially here where we don't really have the tradition) is a bit silly. Though, it's not entirely true that we don't have the tradition - we do have the church holiday Allehelgensaften which originated (like Halloween, I believe) in the Catholic church, and somehow stuck as one of the minor celebrations in the Norwegian Lutheran church after Catholicism was abolished in the 16th century. Or something. My knowledge of the subject is limited, because even if this technically is a church celebration it isn't one of the big ones (and I'm not much of a church-person).
Anyway. Halloween is here to stay, apparently, and I think that in the future I'd like to celebrate it more. Dress-up, scary movies, pumpkin carving (and -cupcakes, or something pumkinish pastryish), lanterns, decorations - I'm all for it. Next year. This year, I probably won't even remember to celebrate my own birthday (which is on Allehelgensdag, the day after Halloween)... Instead, I intend to "celebrate" Halloween here on the blog. For the last week of NaBloWriMo (and probably the last week of everyday/regular blogging for me for a while), then, there will be a Halloween themed post up. Most of them will be just pictures (though funny pics, if I say so myself), some of them might contain more. We shall see...
Halloween is a commercial wet dream, though, so the retail business have done a considerable job of adopting it the last few years. We now have kids running from door to door (though nowhere near the amount they have in the US), we have Halloween parties, and the larger grocery stores even stock up on pumpkins for carving (a very un-Norwegian vegetable).
Personally, I like the idea of Halloween even if I think that the commercial aspect of it (especially here where we don't really have the tradition) is a bit silly. Though, it's not entirely true that we don't have the tradition - we do have the church holiday Allehelgensaften which originated (like Halloween, I believe) in the Catholic church, and somehow stuck as one of the minor celebrations in the Norwegian Lutheran church after Catholicism was abolished in the 16th century. Or something. My knowledge of the subject is limited, because even if this technically is a church celebration it isn't one of the big ones (and I'm not much of a church-person).
Anyway. Halloween is here to stay, apparently, and I think that in the future I'd like to celebrate it more. Dress-up, scary movies, pumpkin carving (and -cupcakes, or something pumkinish pastryish), lanterns, decorations - I'm all for it. Next year. This year, I probably won't even remember to celebrate my own birthday (which is on Allehelgensdag, the day after Halloween)... Instead, I intend to "celebrate" Halloween here on the blog. For the last week of NaBloWriMo (and probably the last week of everyday/regular blogging for me for a while), then, there will be a Halloween themed post up. Most of them will be just pictures (though funny pics, if I say so myself), some of them might contain more. We shall see...
Sunday, October 17, 2010
On spruces
When I visited the National Zoo in Washington D.C. last August, most of my pictures were of animals. As it should be. One of my non-animal pics, however, look a little (actually, a lot since I am posting the actual picture and not a drawing of it...) like this:
+At+the+Zoo+137.JPG)
I am sure we can all agree this hardly is a spectacular motive that deserves a prominent place in a photo album, but I still was very eager to get the shot. Why? Well, duh - the NAME of course. Prior to this, I had no idea that this tree was called "Norway Spruce". We don't call it that here - in Norway, it's just a regular spruce. Well, actually, it's a regular gran, but that's beside the point.
The point? There isn't much of a point, but the fact that I could read the name of my country way over in the big US of A felt like a little piece of fame for my home right there and then.
Speaking of fame and spruces, did you know that the world's oldest living tree is a Norway Spruce? It's called Old Tjikko, it is located in Sweden (but it's still called Norway Spruce - hah!), and it is - wait for it - 9,500 years old! That means that this tree already was 8,500 years old when actual vikings roamed its forest. When a bloke named Jesus was born (though not in Sweden, I should add) some 2010 years ago, this spruce still had been around 7,480 years (or so). The spruce had been around for more than 4000 years when the ancient Egyptian civilization formed as well. In fact, the first humans were just settling down for a life of agriculture as opposed to just hunting and gathering when this spruce was born.
So it's a really old tree.
+At+the+Zoo+137.JPG)
I am sure we can all agree this hardly is a spectacular motive that deserves a prominent place in a photo album, but I still was very eager to get the shot. Why? Well, duh - the NAME of course. Prior to this, I had no idea that this tree was called "Norway Spruce". We don't call it that here - in Norway, it's just a regular spruce. Well, actually, it's a regular gran, but that's beside the point.
The point? There isn't much of a point, but the fact that I could read the name of my country way over in the big US of A felt like a little piece of fame for my home right there and then.
Speaking of fame and spruces, did you know that the world's oldest living tree is a Norway Spruce? It's called Old Tjikko, it is located in Sweden (but it's still called Norway Spruce - hah!), and it is - wait for it - 9,500 years old! That means that this tree already was 8,500 years old when actual vikings roamed its forest. When a bloke named Jesus was born (though not in Sweden, I should add) some 2010 years ago, this spruce still had been around 7,480 years (or so). The spruce had been around for more than 4000 years when the ancient Egyptian civilization formed as well. In fact, the first humans were just settling down for a life of agriculture as opposed to just hunting and gathering when this spruce was born.
So it's a really old tree.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
On recycling
Since I am still lost in the Norwegian mountains, I have decided to take the advice of blogging buddy DL Hammons. He suggested that we all start a blogging recycle station, where we can repost posts (you have no idea how long I struggled with that phrase. "Repost posts" isn't exactly the height of elegance, but what to do? I already spent ten minutes trying to figure out a better phrasing, and I failed. I'm doomed!) from way back when we were blogging nobodies. Many of the blog posts I wrote when I was in the US, for instance, would probably entertain many of my US readers who didn't even know I existed back then. So, since I am away and not writing anyway (or at least not writing blogs. I'm fairly sure I will be writing about trolls. There is just something about those mountains that make it completely impossible to fend them off), I'm taking this opportunity to recycle one of my early posts. Ironically, I am choosing one of the posts that has the most pageviews (according to the Blogger stats, anyway). I don't think the reason it has so many pageviews is because it's been read so many times, though. See, my hit counter occasionally informs me of google searches that lead to visits on this blog. One of the top hits is someone searching for pictures of fraggles...
With no further ado (after all, there was quite a lot of ado in the previous paragraph), this post was originally posted (there we go again! Post posted! If I die of shame, please make sure to do a post-mortem on me!) on September 5th, 2009, and I was trying to make sense of living in the US of A:
Remember the Fraggles? I used to love that show (dubbed to Norwegian, of course). I knew the songs, I loved the characters, and I dreaded every visit into the Gorgs’ garden. One of my favourite parts of the show (apart from the Doozers), was the recurring event of the postcards Gobo receives from his Uncle “Traveling” Matt.
These postcards are video-clips from “Outer Space” – aka our world. They show “normal” human activities or items, seen from Matt’s outsider perspective. It always amused me how the creators could make something everyday and normal so exotic and foreign, and I enjoyed Matt’s interpretation of the situations he observed. What I didn’t realize, though, was that someday I would feel just like him:
With no further ado (after all, there was quite a lot of ado in the previous paragraph), this post was originally posted (there we go again! Post posted! If I die of shame, please make sure to do a post-mortem on me!) on September 5th, 2009, and I was trying to make sense of living in the US of A:
Remember the Fraggles? I used to love that show (dubbed to Norwegian, of course). I knew the songs, I loved the characters, and I dreaded every visit into the Gorgs’ garden. One of my favourite parts of the show (apart from the Doozers), was the recurring event of the postcards Gobo receives from his Uncle “Traveling” Matt.
These postcards are video-clips from “Outer Space” – aka our world. They show “normal” human activities or items, seen from Matt’s outsider perspective. It always amused me how the creators could make something everyday and normal so exotic and foreign, and I enjoyed Matt’s interpretation of the situations he observed. What I didn’t realize, though, was that someday I would feel just like him:
Dear Gobo (aka everyone at home),
The Silly Creatures have really outdone themselves. Outer Space is just so BIG! The cars, the roads, the shops… It’s a miracle they don’t all get lost.
In addition to being big, Outer Space is also very, very different. It started the minute I stepped off the plane – the driver who was supposed to take me to my lodging was blabbering in this strange tongue of theirs (I must say I’m starting to get the hang of it now). He continuously asked me about something he called “the AC” – I still have no idea what he was talking about, but I wish he would have opened a window, since the car was sweltering.
The next thing I noticed about the Silly Creatures is their fondness for cinnamon. Everything either tastes or smells cinnamon. Bagels – a little unusual, but actually delicious. Coffee – I can get behind that, sometimes. Chewing gum – on this they lost me. Public bathrooms – that’s just weird.
A possible explanation to this is that the Silly Creatures have developed different taste buds than us. This would also explain why they have yoghurt that tastes sweeter than sugar. How that is possible – since there is bound to be something else besides sugar in the yoghurt – I have yet to figure out.
Now I must run to the shops which I’ve heard are crazy this weekend. The Silly Creatures are talking about preparing for “Labor Day”. I don’t know what they mean by that, but it sure sounds like hard work.
May this postcard not be intercepted by Sprocket.
All the best from your Uncle
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
On good days and bad days
I have a great memory when it comes to bad things. And by “great”, I mean terrible. Let me clarify…
For a while now I’ve been kind of blue. The main reason was the disappointment for not being able to finish my thesis as planned this spring. That one got me good. The second, almost as important reason was the stress I was under to finish something thesis-related, even though I almost had no time to do it in between all the other stuff going on in my life. The third reason is the accumulation of many smaller things that individually affect my mood on a daily basis. They can range from the disappointment I feel in myself when I haven’t done the dishes, to instant low self-confidence for some reason or other. Fortunately, are usually forgotten the next morning. However, I don’t deal too well with these things if too many of them hit at once or too often, or if they are combined with other factors such as stress or disappointment. (You can see where this is going, yes?)
The result of all of this was that I have been feeling overall bad, with certain bright spots in between, as opposed to my usual feeling overall good but with certain darker spots every now and then.
At least I think that is how I usually feel. The thing is, you see, I have a very selective memory when it comes to these things. If I look back on my childhood, I think of it as exclusively happy. My teen years? Happy. The semester I lived in Japan? Happy! My time in the US last fall? You guessed it – happy again. Clearly, I must be missing something. No one is happy all the time. And if I think real hard about it, I do remember certain not-so-happy memories. I was as stubborn as a goat’s left hoof when I was little, and as a result I got into big arguments with my parents. As a teenager I had all the normal puberty issues and growing-up angst. When I was in Japan I was at least on one occasion so homesick that I seriously considered spending 30,000 kroner (about $ 5,000) on an immediate flight back home. And the first thing I did in the US was to cry my eyes out in public because I felt so very, very lonely.
But those aren’t the things I remember. It is as though my memory deliberately preserves the good times and erases the bad.
I think it’s a survival technique. If I had remembered just how homesick I was in Japan when I started planning my trip to the US, chances are I wouldn’t have left Norway at all. My terrible memory for all things dreary gives me the strength to go on (and because of that it is great).
When I woke up yesterday morning I was rested (for the first time in a while). I was smiling. I was ready to tackle the challenges the day would bring. What had changed since Monday? A few things:
First of all, I had decided to stop giving a damn about the stupid Chapter Five (you may remember it from yesterday’s post as “Or How I Lost The Will To Live”), and just write whatever came to mind. Turns out all my procrastinating and wailing and cursing of this chapter haven’t entirely ruined the work I have done in between. There is something there. It is a meager start, and it is still the crappiest draft made in history (and I am slightly worried that my supervisor will have a heart attack when she sees what her once so promising student is capable of producing), but it is that, at least: a start. And because I stopped caring, I managed to get some serious work done. What a relief!
The second thing that changed from Monday to Tuesday is that the Burrow blog, which was launched with astonishing success, no longer felt like a burden. This is one of those little things that typically don’t give me much stress, but because of the timing I was in no shape to handle the extra excitement it provided. Once launched, however, it is not out of my hands (urk, I have NO idea what I shall write for my first post there, scheduled to appear on Monday…), but somehow it is out of my mind (*snort* Okay, pun not intended, but hey… It works…).
Finally there were some other non-major things that resolved themselves, and all together this makes for a MUCH happier Cruella than the one banging her head into the wall all weekend. At least I think that is what I did. Strangely enough, it feels as though I was happy then as well. In fact, I think I have always been happy. I’m just never blue! Happy! (See how great my memory is?)
Currently listening to: Good Days and Bad Days by Kaizer Chiefs
Currently reading: The Sea of Monsters: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Book Two (This was my treat for sending away the draft. Friends have recommended these books to me for years, and I saw the movie a while back, but I never got around to actually picking up the books. When I finally did bring the first one back from work one day, I loved it every bit as much as everyone said I would.)
For a while now I’ve been kind of blue. The main reason was the disappointment for not being able to finish my thesis as planned this spring. That one got me good. The second, almost as important reason was the stress I was under to finish something thesis-related, even though I almost had no time to do it in between all the other stuff going on in my life. The third reason is the accumulation of many smaller things that individually affect my mood on a daily basis. They can range from the disappointment I feel in myself when I haven’t done the dishes, to instant low self-confidence for some reason or other. Fortunately, are usually forgotten the next morning. However, I don’t deal too well with these things if too many of them hit at once or too often, or if they are combined with other factors such as stress or disappointment. (You can see where this is going, yes?)
The result of all of this was that I have been feeling overall bad, with certain bright spots in between, as opposed to my usual feeling overall good but with certain darker spots every now and then.
At least I think that is how I usually feel. The thing is, you see, I have a very selective memory when it comes to these things. If I look back on my childhood, I think of it as exclusively happy. My teen years? Happy. The semester I lived in Japan? Happy! My time in the US last fall? You guessed it – happy again. Clearly, I must be missing something. No one is happy all the time. And if I think real hard about it, I do remember certain not-so-happy memories. I was as stubborn as a goat’s left hoof when I was little, and as a result I got into big arguments with my parents. As a teenager I had all the normal puberty issues and growing-up angst. When I was in Japan I was at least on one occasion so homesick that I seriously considered spending 30,000 kroner (about $ 5,000) on an immediate flight back home. And the first thing I did in the US was to cry my eyes out in public because I felt so very, very lonely.
But those aren’t the things I remember. It is as though my memory deliberately preserves the good times and erases the bad.
I think it’s a survival technique. If I had remembered just how homesick I was in Japan when I started planning my trip to the US, chances are I wouldn’t have left Norway at all. My terrible memory for all things dreary gives me the strength to go on (and because of that it is great).
When I woke up yesterday morning I was rested (for the first time in a while). I was smiling. I was ready to tackle the challenges the day would bring. What had changed since Monday? A few things:
First of all, I had decided to stop giving a damn about the stupid Chapter Five (you may remember it from yesterday’s post as “Or How I Lost The Will To Live”), and just write whatever came to mind. Turns out all my procrastinating and wailing and cursing of this chapter haven’t entirely ruined the work I have done in between. There is something there. It is a meager start, and it is still the crappiest draft made in history (and I am slightly worried that my supervisor will have a heart attack when she sees what her once so promising student is capable of producing), but it is that, at least: a start. And because I stopped caring, I managed to get some serious work done. What a relief!
The second thing that changed from Monday to Tuesday is that the Burrow blog, which was launched with astonishing success, no longer felt like a burden. This is one of those little things that typically don’t give me much stress, but because of the timing I was in no shape to handle the extra excitement it provided. Once launched, however, it is not out of my hands (urk, I have NO idea what I shall write for my first post there, scheduled to appear on Monday…), but somehow it is out of my mind (*snort* Okay, pun not intended, but hey… It works…).
Finally there were some other non-major things that resolved themselves, and all together this makes for a MUCH happier Cruella than the one banging her head into the wall all weekend. At least I think that is what I did. Strangely enough, it feels as though I was happy then as well. In fact, I think I have always been happy. I’m just never blue! Happy! (See how great my memory is?)
Currently listening to: Good Days and Bad Days by Kaizer Chiefs
Currently reading: The Sea of Monsters: Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Book Two (This was my treat for sending away the draft. Friends have recommended these books to me for years, and I saw the movie a while back, but I never got around to actually picking up the books. When I finally did bring the first one back from work one day, I loved it every bit as much as everyone said I would.)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
On 4th of July
I wasn’t going to post at all today, and especially not on this topic as I feel it isn’t mine to tackle. But then I read this wonderful post over at Confessions of a Watery Tart. I started writing a comment to her post, but before I was done typing I realized I had accidentally written a post of my own. So, since today is a special day (did y’all know it was the Norwegian queen’s birthday? I bet you didn’t. Most Norwegians don’t… But that is hardly the point. It is Independence Day in the US, and frankly, that is more important – even in Norway):
The United States of America is probably the one country in the world EVERYONE, regardless of whether they have been there or not, has an opinion about. Add that it is one of the most diverse countries in the world, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that the images floating around about the US are varied and often misunderstood or plain wrong.
Personally I have gone through several phases in how I have seen the US. During the Clinton years I was too young to know the meaning of the word "critical", but it wouldn't have mattered all that much anyway, since the world was still recovering from decades of Cold War-ness, and since we (in the West, at least) mostly agreed with the US, it was difficult not to still see the Americans as "the good guys".
I grew up, became a little more aware and a little wiser, and along came Bush. Regardless of whether you liked his politics or not, Bush definitely had one quality that made him collide with many people in other parts of the world. Everything he said was black & white. "You're with us or against us." "You're right or wrong." I think Norway mostly fell into the "with" and "right" categories, but we still felt queasy about it. Many Norwegians disliked Bush, then by extension the US, and eventually, Americans in general. (Which is ironic, because that meant that we saw the world in black & white, just like Bush...)
What turned me around again, were two things: first, I got to know some actual, real, flesh and blood Americans (since I, after all, can't be said to *know* Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp even if I've seen many of their movies). Through the online community, and through my studies abroad, I started to learn that Americans were as different, and as human, as the rest of us. Many of them became close friends. Some of them agreed with the Bush government. Some of them didn't. All of them were much more than their political and religious beliefs.
Secondly, Obama came to save the day. Please note that I am not saying that he is right or wrong, that I agree or disagree, or that you should agree or disagree with his politics. But the message he sent to the world – "we are willing to talk to you again" – definitely made a whole lot of difference. Let me just add that the jury is still out on whether this is a lasting difference or if it merely was a temporary after-effect of the reintroduction of grey zones in world politics.
By the time I finally got to visit the US last fall, my mind was filled with any number of ideas of what this country would be like. That is where I made my first mistake. As I said, the US is probably one of the most diverse countries in the world. It is nearly impossible to say what it is “like”, because it is like everything and nothing all at once. Mysteriously silent cowboys? Sure. Loud-mouthed rednecks? Absolutely. Clever and intelligent academics. Definitely. Sweet old ladies with the Bible close at hand? Yes, ma’am! Emo teenagers, stay-at-home moms and donut-munching police officers? All of the above. There is hardly a stereotype you cannot find in real life in the US. But in addition there are hundreds, thousands, probably millions more.
I only got to see a small part of the country when I was there. And yet this was enough to make me realize that I had been gravely underestimating the variety of the country. In Europe we tend to get offended when people refer to our vast and diverse continent as just “Europe”. You’re not European, you’re Italian or Swedish or Estonian or Hungarian. When Americans say they’ve been to Europe, we roll our eyes and count to ten before we ask them to specify the countries they visited. And yet we never do the same about the US. Whenever I talk about my stay last fall, I say I visited the US – I never say “I lived in Maryland”. Even if I now know that Maryland is a whole lot different than for instance Minnesota (which I also visited).
I remember writing a school report once, I’m guessing fifth grade or so. It was supposed to be about a country. I thought I’d be clever and ask my relative, Darlene, to give me some inside information about the US. So I wrote to her, asking what the main characteristics of the US were. I remember being slightly disappointed at her reply – which was something along the lines of “I don’t know where to start, can I perhaps tell you some of the characteristics of Minnesota specifically?”
I now know what she meant.
There probably isn’t any day as well-suited to celebrate the American diversity as Independence Day – the commemoration of the Declaration of Independence. In this declaration lay the foundations of the rights and freedoms that make the US the country it has become. Using these (at the time) new ideas stemming from the Enlightenment created a unique cornerstone for political thinking, both in the US and in many other countries. These are ideas that we still hold to our heart, and they have continued to play an important role in the development of international Human Rights for instance.
So, regardless if you agree with the politics of the US or not; regardless if you love or hate whatever it is you perceive as “American culture”; regardless if you yourself is American – I encourage you to take some time today to consider your opinions about the US. Are you absolutely sure they are all correct?
Happy “birthday” United States of America, and queen Sonja of Norway ;)
Personally I have gone through several phases in how I have seen the US. During the Clinton years I was too young to know the meaning of the word "critical", but it wouldn't have mattered all that much anyway, since the world was still recovering from decades of Cold War-ness, and since we (in the West, at least) mostly agreed with the US, it was difficult not to still see the Americans as "the good guys".
I grew up, became a little more aware and a little wiser, and along came Bush. Regardless of whether you liked his politics or not, Bush definitely had one quality that made him collide with many people in other parts of the world. Everything he said was black & white. "You're with us or against us." "You're right or wrong." I think Norway mostly fell into the "with" and "right" categories, but we still felt queasy about it. Many Norwegians disliked Bush, then by extension the US, and eventually, Americans in general. (Which is ironic, because that meant that we saw the world in black & white, just like Bush...)
What turned me around again, were two things: first, I got to know some actual, real, flesh and blood Americans (since I, after all, can't be said to *know* Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp even if I've seen many of their movies). Through the online community, and through my studies abroad, I started to learn that Americans were as different, and as human, as the rest of us. Many of them became close friends. Some of them agreed with the Bush government. Some of them didn't. All of them were much more than their political and religious beliefs.
Secondly, Obama came to save the day. Please note that I am not saying that he is right or wrong, that I agree or disagree, or that you should agree or disagree with his politics. But the message he sent to the world – "we are willing to talk to you again" – definitely made a whole lot of difference. Let me just add that the jury is still out on whether this is a lasting difference or if it merely was a temporary after-effect of the reintroduction of grey zones in world politics.
By the time I finally got to visit the US last fall, my mind was filled with any number of ideas of what this country would be like. That is where I made my first mistake. As I said, the US is probably one of the most diverse countries in the world. It is nearly impossible to say what it is “like”, because it is like everything and nothing all at once. Mysteriously silent cowboys? Sure. Loud-mouthed rednecks? Absolutely. Clever and intelligent academics. Definitely. Sweet old ladies with the Bible close at hand? Yes, ma’am! Emo teenagers, stay-at-home moms and donut-munching police officers? All of the above. There is hardly a stereotype you cannot find in real life in the US. But in addition there are hundreds, thousands, probably millions more.
I only got to see a small part of the country when I was there. And yet this was enough to make me realize that I had been gravely underestimating the variety of the country. In Europe we tend to get offended when people refer to our vast and diverse continent as just “Europe”. You’re not European, you’re Italian or Swedish or Estonian or Hungarian. When Americans say they’ve been to Europe, we roll our eyes and count to ten before we ask them to specify the countries they visited. And yet we never do the same about the US. Whenever I talk about my stay last fall, I say I visited the US – I never say “I lived in Maryland”. Even if I now know that Maryland is a whole lot different than for instance Minnesota (which I also visited).
I remember writing a school report once, I’m guessing fifth grade or so. It was supposed to be about a country. I thought I’d be clever and ask my relative, Darlene, to give me some inside information about the US. So I wrote to her, asking what the main characteristics of the US were. I remember being slightly disappointed at her reply – which was something along the lines of “I don’t know where to start, can I perhaps tell you some of the characteristics of Minnesota specifically?”
I now know what she meant.
There probably isn’t any day as well-suited to celebrate the American diversity as Independence Day – the commemoration of the Declaration of Independence. In this declaration lay the foundations of the rights and freedoms that make the US the country it has become. Using these (at the time) new ideas stemming from the Enlightenment created a unique cornerstone for political thinking, both in the US and in many other countries. These are ideas that we still hold to our heart, and they have continued to play an important role in the development of international Human Rights for instance. For this I admire the United States. There are many other reasons for me to admire this country (most have to do with the Americans I have met). In additon, there are a lot of things I don’t admire, and a lot of things about the way the US presents itself and is presented by others to the world that annoy me, or sadden me, or disappoint me. But those are issues I don’t feel the need to get into today. Because according to the American way of thinking (I am generalizing again, I know…) I am at liberty to believe what I want to believe, and I have the right to disagree. For that I am thankful.
So, regardless if you agree with the politics of the US or not; regardless if you love or hate whatever it is you perceive as “American culture”; regardless if you yourself is American – I encourage you to take some time today to consider your opinions about the US. Are you absolutely sure they are all correct?
Happy “birthday” United States of America, and queen Sonja of Norway ;)
Friday, June 11, 2010
On how we are
How are you?
When I left for the United States last summer, I was warned that I might be shocked in the frequency I would be asked to assess my current status; that is, being asked “how are you?”. Despite being prepared, though, it still felt weird when I was addressed by the staff in the store or random passersby on the street that innocent yet terribly personal question. Think about it. A sincere answer to “how are you?” implies a personal ransacking where you clarify for yourself and the person asking how you are feeling, whether you are healthy, if you’re warm or cold, hungry, thirsty, sleepy or just a little bored.
Only that’s not the reply most people expect. I was warned about this too. When you’re asked “how are you?” in the US, the proper reply isn’t a total estimate of your current status. A mere “good, thanks – how are you?” suffices. The reason isn’t just that the clerk at the postal office couldn’t care less about whether you are suffering from a toothache, but that “how are you?” is a greeting more than an actual question. One might even go as far as to claim that it is a rhetorical question, because the answer really is given. If you’re not feeling good, then you’re still expected to claim you are.
There is a fine line, though, between the greeting “how are you” and the question “how are you?” Because occasionally, it is a question. When you meet someone you haven’t seen in a while, someone you actually do care about, it is entirely possible to ask them the very same question and expect them to reply it with a sincere “I’m pretty well. My wife and I just had our second child and he is such a joy in our family.”
As you may have gathered from the above, we don’t employ “how are you?” as a greeting in Norway. That is, we didn’t use to. It’s catching on, though. You still won’t hear it from a total stranger. I don’t think you’ll find a lot of shops where you’re asked this upon entering. However, when you meet someone you know, or someone you know only a little, it’s becoming more and more common to start a conversation (or avoid one) with a simple “how are you?”
The problem is that it remains somewhat unclear what the proper answer should be. In many cases, like the one where you pass someone you barely know on the street and you’re both in a hurry, most people take the easy way out. “How are you?” “Good! You?” But then there are all the other instances, such as when someone you see every day or at least frequently asks this very question. You can say “good” and leave it at that, but they are probably expecting you to say a little something about your work life, or your love life or whatever aspect of your life it is they are interested in. These are the kind of people that might even be inclined to ask follow-up questions if you don’t give them a little something.
Personally, I think I prefer the US version. I don’t always feel like telling people how I really feel, mostly because these days (and by “these days” I mean ever since I started writing my thesis) how I feel fluctuates like a pendulum on crack. One moment I’m on top of the world because I feel that my thesis is the BOMB, while a few minutes later I realize that it was crap all along. The same thing goes for fiction writing – I can love my characters, find myself chuckling at the jokes, and secretly envision my name on every bestseller list in every country there is when the writing flows smoothly (or perhaps the writing flows smoothly because I feel good?). The second the creativity reaches a dead end, however, I hit rock bottom. This is when I question why I bother putting anything in writing at all.
So, I’ve had instances these last few months where people have asked me how I am, and I just didn’t know what to reply. Telling the truth (“Had you asked ten minutes ago, I would have said I was terrible. Ask me again in an hour, and I’ll give you a big smile and tell you I’m brilliant. Right now I have no idea.”) felt like oversharing. Thus I frequently opted for the short version: “I’m good – how are you?”
How are you?
When I left for the United States last summer, I was warned that I might be shocked in the frequency I would be asked to assess my current status; that is, being asked “how are you?”. Despite being prepared, though, it still felt weird when I was addressed by the staff in the store or random passersby on the street that innocent yet terribly personal question. Think about it. A sincere answer to “how are you?” implies a personal ransacking where you clarify for yourself and the person asking how you are feeling, whether you are healthy, if you’re warm or cold, hungry, thirsty, sleepy or just a little bored.
Only that’s not the reply most people expect. I was warned about this too. When you’re asked “how are you?” in the US, the proper reply isn’t a total estimate of your current status. A mere “good, thanks – how are you?” suffices. The reason isn’t just that the clerk at the postal office couldn’t care less about whether you are suffering from a toothache, but that “how are you?” is a greeting more than an actual question. One might even go as far as to claim that it is a rhetorical question, because the answer really is given. If you’re not feeling good, then you’re still expected to claim you are.
There is a fine line, though, between the greeting “how are you” and the question “how are you?” Because occasionally, it is a question. When you meet someone you haven’t seen in a while, someone you actually do care about, it is entirely possible to ask them the very same question and expect them to reply it with a sincere “I’m pretty well. My wife and I just had our second child and he is such a joy in our family.”
As you may have gathered from the above, we don’t employ “how are you?” as a greeting in Norway. That is, we didn’t use to. It’s catching on, though. You still won’t hear it from a total stranger. I don’t think you’ll find a lot of shops where you’re asked this upon entering. However, when you meet someone you know, or someone you know only a little, it’s becoming more and more common to start a conversation (or avoid one) with a simple “how are you?”
The problem is that it remains somewhat unclear what the proper answer should be. In many cases, like the one where you pass someone you barely know on the street and you’re both in a hurry, most people take the easy way out. “How are you?” “Good! You?” But then there are all the other instances, such as when someone you see every day or at least frequently asks this very question. You can say “good” and leave it at that, but they are probably expecting you to say a little something about your work life, or your love life or whatever aspect of your life it is they are interested in. These are the kind of people that might even be inclined to ask follow-up questions if you don’t give them a little something.
Personally, I think I prefer the US version. I don’t always feel like telling people how I really feel, mostly because these days (and by “these days” I mean ever since I started writing my thesis) how I feel fluctuates like a pendulum on crack. One moment I’m on top of the world because I feel that my thesis is the BOMB, while a few minutes later I realize that it was crap all along. The same thing goes for fiction writing – I can love my characters, find myself chuckling at the jokes, and secretly envision my name on every bestseller list in every country there is when the writing flows smoothly (or perhaps the writing flows smoothly because I feel good?). The second the creativity reaches a dead end, however, I hit rock bottom. This is when I question why I bother putting anything in writing at all.
So, I’ve had instances these last few months where people have asked me how I am, and I just didn’t know what to reply. Telling the truth (“Had you asked ten minutes ago, I would have said I was terrible. Ask me again in an hour, and I’ll give you a big smile and tell you I’m brilliant. Right now I have no idea.”) felt like oversharing. Thus I frequently opted for the short version: “I’m good – how are you?”
How are you?
Thursday, April 8, 2010
On getting out of bed on the wrong foot
[Å stå opp med det gærne beinet først]
I’m aware that the English equivalent of this saying that I conveniently translated from Norwegian, is “to get off on the wrong foot”. That is, it’s not really equivalent, because while the English one more generally covers a “bad start”, the Norwegian one quite specifically is used to explain a bad day. If you’re having a bad day, the theory is that you put the “wrong” foot down on the floor before the “right” one that morning.
It is a silly explanation, of course, especially considering that most people tend to get out from their bed on the same side each day (either because their bed is standing next to a wall, or because there is a partner on the other side of the bed). And if you’re getting out of bed on the same side each morning, it takes some skill and a level of concentration most people don’t have when they have just woken up, to put down another foot than the one you always do. One can, of course, assume that you’re always putting down the “wrong” foot first, but this also diminishes the meaning of the saying, because no one has a bad day every day, right?
However stupid the saying is, there is no escaping the fact that every now and then we all have days where it feels like everything works in your disfavor, from the second you get out of bed.
Like the other morning, when everything seemed to go wrong right from the very beginning. Fortunately, it wasn’t my morning.
When I was in the US (slight digression here, but I do have a point), one thing I really appreciated was the US way of eating breakfast out, or at the very least take a coffee to go on the way to work. The latter is quite common here too, actually, but that’s beside the point. What is also beside the point is that I didn’t really appreciate it all that much (the breakfast part of it – the coffee thing I love, even if it is environmentally unfriendly. Sigh. All the good things are) because I’ve grown up with always, always eating breakfast at home before leaving the house. So not doing that makes me feel like I’m not really awake. Or starved. Or something. I had a point? Oh, right…
The point, if you ignore all the “besides”, is that it is possible to eat breakfast out. They do it in the US. I’ve started doing it sometimes after returning to Norway, mostly because I’m in a rush to get out of the house in the morning, and thus don’t have time to eat. But then I don’t eat “out”, I eat at the break room at the university. Which isn’t the same at all.
A few weeks ago, however (still no right or wrong foot on the floor, sorry), I impulsively went off the tram five stops early because I had an urge to go to a coffee shop I’ve been eyeing from the tram (I struggled with writing “tram” two times within the same sentence, but I couldn’t be bothered to figure out a better way to put it. If I were to say streetcar instead, for instance, that would have been such a horrid mix of American English and British English within the same sentence that I couldn’t stand it. I do mix a lot, but I try to avoid doing so within one sentence). This is a very American-like coffee shop (in fact, it’s the most American-like we’ve got in Oslo. Norway must be the only developed country without a Starbucks), and it took me right back to the US.
Nevermind that I didn’t actually eat breakfast out all that often while in the US (nevernevermind that I didn’t even like it all that much) – eating breakfast in a coffee house before work (uni, whatever) was bliss! What a lovely start of the day! (I am totally failing on the “bad start of the day” anecdote…)
As an added bonus, I had my laptop with me, and with no distracting internet (if that coffee shop has a wifi, I don’t want to know about it!), I managed to get a whole lot of work done!
Consequently, I decided to repeat the experience.
I chose a different coffee house (in fact, it is a bakery), but otherwise I had the same basic approach. Take the tram as usual (so I am close to the university for when I am ready to leave), have a cup of coffee and something to eat, and then – work.
This is where I ran into that poor soul who definitely must have put the wrong foot down on the floor first thing that morning.
The girl working in the bakery (alone, in a bakery, early in the morning, when the major rush of the day – apart from lunch – is taking place) was all smiles. Which was about to impress me.
The first thing that happened was that she ran out of milk. Have you ever tried making a latte without milk (soya drinkers not included)? Not that easy. And seeing as Norwegians have become rather continental in their coffee taste the last few years, at least half of the coffees ordered were lattes. Or other types with steamed milk. Which she didn’t have.
Well, she handled this professionally, and politely excused to each customer that she didn’t have any milk. But then the coffee machine started crashing. You could practically see her blood pressure rising. Still, she kept smiling. The customers were behaving relatively well, and after a while the worst rush was over. She then decided to run out to buy milk. I was the only customer there, but she asked me if it would be okay if she ran out for a minute. Half wanting to offer to buy the milk myself (I felt really bad for her by now), I was more than happy to sit idly by and look after the shop.
Unfortunately the grocery shop wasn’t open yet. Still no milk. When she got back, another customer had come by. He accepted regular coffee instead of latte, and things were looking okay until the register crashed. I surely thought she would lose it then. But no, she was still standing, and more incredibly, she was still smiling!
I could go on. The regular coffee is kept in huge containers, and she was unfortunate to drop one of them and both spill all the fresh coffee and break the container. One of her coworkers called in sick. The register crashed a second time.
Talk about having a hopeless morning! And here I was sitting comfortably, observing the whole thing (working was a lot harder that morning than the first, I can assure you), feeling slightly bad because I was having a positively super morning. And yet, she was the one smiling.
I think the next time I get out of bed on the wrong foot I will try to follow her example!
I’m aware that the English equivalent of this saying that I conveniently translated from Norwegian, is “to get off on the wrong foot”. That is, it’s not really equivalent, because while the English one more generally covers a “bad start”, the Norwegian one quite specifically is used to explain a bad day. If you’re having a bad day, the theory is that you put the “wrong” foot down on the floor before the “right” one that morning.
It is a silly explanation, of course, especially considering that most people tend to get out from their bed on the same side each day (either because their bed is standing next to a wall, or because there is a partner on the other side of the bed). And if you’re getting out of bed on the same side each morning, it takes some skill and a level of concentration most people don’t have when they have just woken up, to put down another foot than the one you always do. One can, of course, assume that you’re always putting down the “wrong” foot first, but this also diminishes the meaning of the saying, because no one has a bad day every day, right?
However stupid the saying is, there is no escaping the fact that every now and then we all have days where it feels like everything works in your disfavor, from the second you get out of bed.
Like the other morning, when everything seemed to go wrong right from the very beginning. Fortunately, it wasn’t my morning.
When I was in the US (slight digression here, but I do have a point), one thing I really appreciated was the US way of eating breakfast out, or at the very least take a coffee to go on the way to work. The latter is quite common here too, actually, but that’s beside the point. What is also beside the point is that I didn’t really appreciate it all that much (the breakfast part of it – the coffee thing I love, even if it is environmentally unfriendly. Sigh. All the good things are) because I’ve grown up with always, always eating breakfast at home before leaving the house. So not doing that makes me feel like I’m not really awake. Or starved. Or something. I had a point? Oh, right…
The point, if you ignore all the “besides”, is that it is possible to eat breakfast out. They do it in the US. I’ve started doing it sometimes after returning to Norway, mostly because I’m in a rush to get out of the house in the morning, and thus don’t have time to eat. But then I don’t eat “out”, I eat at the break room at the university. Which isn’t the same at all.
A few weeks ago, however (still no right or wrong foot on the floor, sorry), I impulsively went off the tram five stops early because I had an urge to go to a coffee shop I’ve been eyeing from the tram (I struggled with writing “tram” two times within the same sentence, but I couldn’t be bothered to figure out a better way to put it. If I were to say streetcar instead, for instance, that would have been such a horrid mix of American English and British English within the same sentence that I couldn’t stand it. I do mix a lot, but I try to avoid doing so within one sentence). This is a very American-like coffee shop (in fact, it’s the most American-like we’ve got in Oslo. Norway must be the only developed country without a Starbucks), and it took me right back to the US.
Nevermind that I didn’t actually eat breakfast out all that often while in the US (nevernevermind that I didn’t even like it all that much) – eating breakfast in a coffee house before work (uni, whatever) was bliss! What a lovely start of the day! (I am totally failing on the “bad start of the day” anecdote…)
As an added bonus, I had my laptop with me, and with no distracting internet (if that coffee shop has a wifi, I don’t want to know about it!), I managed to get a whole lot of work done!
Consequently, I decided to repeat the experience.
I chose a different coffee house (in fact, it is a bakery), but otherwise I had the same basic approach. Take the tram as usual (so I am close to the university for when I am ready to leave), have a cup of coffee and something to eat, and then – work.
This is where I ran into that poor soul who definitely must have put the wrong foot down on the floor first thing that morning.
The girl working in the bakery (alone, in a bakery, early in the morning, when the major rush of the day – apart from lunch – is taking place) was all smiles. Which was about to impress me.
The first thing that happened was that she ran out of milk. Have you ever tried making a latte without milk (soya drinkers not included)? Not that easy. And seeing as Norwegians have become rather continental in their coffee taste the last few years, at least half of the coffees ordered were lattes. Or other types with steamed milk. Which she didn’t have.
Well, she handled this professionally, and politely excused to each customer that she didn’t have any milk. But then the coffee machine started crashing. You could practically see her blood pressure rising. Still, she kept smiling. The customers were behaving relatively well, and after a while the worst rush was over. She then decided to run out to buy milk. I was the only customer there, but she asked me if it would be okay if she ran out for a minute. Half wanting to offer to buy the milk myself (I felt really bad for her by now), I was more than happy to sit idly by and look after the shop.
Unfortunately the grocery shop wasn’t open yet. Still no milk. When she got back, another customer had come by. He accepted regular coffee instead of latte, and things were looking okay until the register crashed. I surely thought she would lose it then. But no, she was still standing, and more incredibly, she was still smiling!
I could go on. The regular coffee is kept in huge containers, and she was unfortunate to drop one of them and both spill all the fresh coffee and break the container. One of her coworkers called in sick. The register crashed a second time.
Talk about having a hopeless morning! And here I was sitting comfortably, observing the whole thing (working was a lot harder that morning than the first, I can assure you), feeling slightly bad because I was having a positively super morning. And yet, she was the one smiling.
I think the next time I get out of bed on the wrong foot I will try to follow her example!
Friday, October 30, 2009
On two three – take off!
I’m writing my final blog post in the U.S. Next to me there are two overfilled suitcases (one remaining to be closed – I’m preparing to sit on it for a few minutes before trying – one which is closed, and it couldn’t take as much as a toothpick more if I wanted it to). I also have two carry-on items – a backpack which as soon as I’m done writing this will contain my laptop (it already contains a lot of other things, like a lifetime supply of disinfecting wipes – swine flu I will not let you get to me), and a huge bag (“purse”) that I will try to convince the flight attendants is my “personal item” that I get to bring along on the plane with my one carry-on item. Basically, I am packed to the brim, and I couldn’t bring more if I had any (luckily, this was about it).
The annoying thing about having a lot of luggage is that you have to carry it. The checked stuff is fine – I’ll have a ride to the airport, and then a ride back from the airport in Norway, and I (hopefully) won’t have to worry about my suitcases until I have to open them again at home. Having heavy carry-ons, however, is a drag – especially when you have six hours to kill at an airport. I imagine I will try to find a restaurant of sorts, and sit there with my books and my laptop most of the time. It might give me a chance of getting a head start on my NaNo challenge (which I don’t consider cheating at all, since I’m missing all of November 1st, so this is just making up for future lost time). Thus, if you happen to be at Newark International Airport today between 2pm and 8pm, spotting a person with too much to carry, frantically trying to type while ripping out her hair and chewing motion sickness pills – chances are it’s me. Say hi, will you?
Once again I am not looking forward to the flights (especially the long one), but I’ll drug myself to oblivion, and there is free movies on board, so all things considered, it shouldn’t be too bad. And when I step off the plane on Norwegian soil once more (promising myself never to fly again, no doubt), I shall be very happy to see my family (waiting at the gate, naturellement) and to speak my language (if I still remember how) and to not have to worry about a thing for a few days (overhanging novel writing challenge not counted).
Now, I bid my goodbyes – I’ve had an absolutely amazing time in the U.S., and I’m looking forward to coming back someday (assuming I’m willing to get on a plane). Next time I tune in on this blog, it will be from Kongsvinger, Norway (I’m sure you’re all super-excited…)
The annoying thing about having a lot of luggage is that you have to carry it. The checked stuff is fine – I’ll have a ride to the airport, and then a ride back from the airport in Norway, and I (hopefully) won’t have to worry about my suitcases until I have to open them again at home. Having heavy carry-ons, however, is a drag – especially when you have six hours to kill at an airport. I imagine I will try to find a restaurant of sorts, and sit there with my books and my laptop most of the time. It might give me a chance of getting a head start on my NaNo challenge (which I don’t consider cheating at all, since I’m missing all of November 1st, so this is just making up for future lost time). Thus, if you happen to be at Newark International Airport today between 2pm and 8pm, spotting a person with too much to carry, frantically trying to type while ripping out her hair and chewing motion sickness pills – chances are it’s me. Say hi, will you?
Once again I am not looking forward to the flights (especially the long one), but I’ll drug myself to oblivion, and there is free movies on board, so all things considered, it shouldn’t be too bad. And when I step off the plane on Norwegian soil once more (promising myself never to fly again, no doubt), I shall be very happy to see my family (waiting at the gate, naturellement) and to speak my language (if I still remember how) and to not have to worry about a thing for a few days (overhanging novel writing challenge not counted).
Now, I bid my goodbyes – I’ve had an absolutely amazing time in the U.S., and I’m looking forward to coming back someday (assuming I’m willing to get on a plane). Next time I tune in on this blog, it will be from Kongsvinger, Norway (I’m sure you’re all super-excited…)
The above picture, to be found at www.onemilliongiraffes.com, sums up the D.C. part of my stay pretty well
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
On bookstores
I love bookstores. I always have, having been a lover of books since before I could read (which my father taught me when I was four. Books and I go way back). Bookstores not only provide me with books to take home and actually read – it’s more than that. The feeling of walking along shelves loaded with books of every kind is unique to me. I don’t even want to read all of them, but somehow that isn’t the point. Even when I lived in Japan I loved going into bookstores, looking at the books. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t read a single title (to this day I only know two Japanese signs – the one for tea and the one for the currency, yen. Handy ones to know, but it won’t let you read many books). Just holding a book in my hand, smelling it, knowing that it contained words written for others to read. Bookstores contain endless possibilities.
Thus, when I got my first job, the choice was inevitable: the local bookstore. I worked there for three years, and returned for summers for a while. Then I went on to work in another bookstore, and then a third while at university. So far all my jobs have been in bookstores. I know the business; I know how a bookstore is organized. Also, I never tire of them. I can do eight hours in my “own” shop, and then happily go on to spend another couple of hours in other bookstores as a customer. There has been many an occasion where I’ve ended up in minus at the end of the day – spending more money on books than what I earned.
I always enjoy visiting bookstores in foreign countries (not just in Japan). When I went to the UK for the first time, I ended up buying a new suitcase to bring back all the books I’d bought. Did I mention I was only there for an oval weekend..? Pretty book covers have always appealed to me – I know it’s shallow, but you’ll rarely find me even looking at a book whose cover I don’t like (and I know many others who are like me – something certain publishers ought to consider more carefully). The UK ones were heavenly – even the paperbacks are wonderfully pretty.
Therefore, when I first came to the US, I had high expectations. However, it took me a while to adjust. US stores are – different. Even the really good ones, like Barnes & Noble, which I really like interior-wise (trust me, that is important too), took me a while to feel at ease with. I expected another shopping spree, finally getting my hands on many a book that isn’t available in Norway. However, there is something about the design of American books that didn’t appeal to me at once. I couldn’t figure out what was so different, but somehow I didn’t like American bookstores.
It is safe to say that this feeling wore off. I still don’t know what caused it in the first place – perhaps it was just that the books looked different, or perhaps it was the foreign organization of the stores that had me confused for a while? Either way, I am no longer affected by it. I’ve long since lost count of how many books I’ve bought during the last three months.
This time I already have the max amount of suitcases filled. I have donated some books to friends after having finished them (the books, not the friends…), but there are still many left (books, and fortunately, friends). Thus, I’ll be shipping books home (wish I could do so with friends). It’s probably not terribly economic of me to do this – most of the books I’ve bought here I could have gotten at home too (though some of them probably not for a long time yet), and it’s not that much cheaper here (sometimes not at all). However, that is not the point.
Each and every book I buy here and take home with me (and even the ones I don’t take home with me – some of which I will replace once I have a bookshelf again), will have a special history. I will forever know that I read most of Pandora in the Congo in my (sometimes extended) lunch breaks at the archive, and that I visited five different bookstores to find it. I will look at The Gates and remember that I first discovered it in the original Borders in Ann Arbor while I was there with Tami, but that I decided not to buy it since my suitcase was full. Instead, I ended up buying it in D.C., where I mainly read it on the metro (which earned me lots of strange looks, since I couldn’t stop chuckling). Likewise, I can look at my beautiful, illustrated collector’s copy of several Mark Twain novels and novellas, and I’ll smile fondly as I remember that crazily packed store in Salem where Leanne took me when I visited her in Boston.
All these books contain stories, but in addition they (together with the bookstores I buy them in) generate stories. This is probably why I loved books even before I could read them. I was born a story-lover (and -teller, I believe).
"Shakespeare and Company" is one of the many bookstores I've visited that really captured my heart. It sits at the bank of the Seine, occupying several floors of a lovely, old Parisean building. Inside, there are books EVERYWHERE. From floor to ceiling, on tables, in hooks and nooks, on a piano (it takes a while to identify it as a piano because of all the books), over arches and under cloths and drapers. There are spaces for those who come only to read (an entire section is devoted to "borrow only"), though very little space for moving about. It's crowded, but it is well worth a visit.
Thus, when I got my first job, the choice was inevitable: the local bookstore. I worked there for three years, and returned for summers for a while. Then I went on to work in another bookstore, and then a third while at university. So far all my jobs have been in bookstores. I know the business; I know how a bookstore is organized. Also, I never tire of them. I can do eight hours in my “own” shop, and then happily go on to spend another couple of hours in other bookstores as a customer. There has been many an occasion where I’ve ended up in minus at the end of the day – spending more money on books than what I earned.
I always enjoy visiting bookstores in foreign countries (not just in Japan). When I went to the UK for the first time, I ended up buying a new suitcase to bring back all the books I’d bought. Did I mention I was only there for an oval weekend..? Pretty book covers have always appealed to me – I know it’s shallow, but you’ll rarely find me even looking at a book whose cover I don’t like (and I know many others who are like me – something certain publishers ought to consider more carefully). The UK ones were heavenly – even the paperbacks are wonderfully pretty.
Therefore, when I first came to the US, I had high expectations. However, it took me a while to adjust. US stores are – different. Even the really good ones, like Barnes & Noble, which I really like interior-wise (trust me, that is important too), took me a while to feel at ease with. I expected another shopping spree, finally getting my hands on many a book that isn’t available in Norway. However, there is something about the design of American books that didn’t appeal to me at once. I couldn’t figure out what was so different, but somehow I didn’t like American bookstores.
It is safe to say that this feeling wore off. I still don’t know what caused it in the first place – perhaps it was just that the books looked different, or perhaps it was the foreign organization of the stores that had me confused for a while? Either way, I am no longer affected by it. I’ve long since lost count of how many books I’ve bought during the last three months.
This time I already have the max amount of suitcases filled. I have donated some books to friends after having finished them (the books, not the friends…), but there are still many left (books, and fortunately, friends). Thus, I’ll be shipping books home (wish I could do so with friends). It’s probably not terribly economic of me to do this – most of the books I’ve bought here I could have gotten at home too (though some of them probably not for a long time yet), and it’s not that much cheaper here (sometimes not at all). However, that is not the point.
Each and every book I buy here and take home with me (and even the ones I don’t take home with me – some of which I will replace once I have a bookshelf again), will have a special history. I will forever know that I read most of Pandora in the Congo in my (sometimes extended) lunch breaks at the archive, and that I visited five different bookstores to find it. I will look at The Gates and remember that I first discovered it in the original Borders in Ann Arbor while I was there with Tami, but that I decided not to buy it since my suitcase was full. Instead, I ended up buying it in D.C., where I mainly read it on the metro (which earned me lots of strange looks, since I couldn’t stop chuckling). Likewise, I can look at my beautiful, illustrated collector’s copy of several Mark Twain novels and novellas, and I’ll smile fondly as I remember that crazily packed store in Salem where Leanne took me when I visited her in Boston.
All these books contain stories, but in addition they (together with the bookstores I buy them in) generate stories. This is probably why I loved books even before I could read them. I was born a story-lover (and -teller, I believe).
Monday, October 26, 2009
On leaving things behind
I’m getting started packing early this time around. When I left for the U.S., I booked my flight only a week prior to departure, and I packed my suitcases the night before I left. It was unintentional and stressful, but not a terribly big risk. After all, if I forgot to bring something along, it would hardly be the end of the world – it would either mean that I had to live without it for three months, or I would have to buy a replacement when I arrived. Packing to go back, however, is a little different. Anything I don’t find a place for or forget will have to be left behind.
This inevitably makes me think of the things I have to leave behind, whether I like it or not. I might be able to fit my new clothes, shoes and books in my luggage (and I also plan on sending a box per mail), but there are things I will miss that I cannot bring along. This close to my departure, it’s becoming very clear to me that there are a number of things I wish I did not have to leave when leaving.
10 things I will miss when I leave the USA
1. Linda, Brian, Nick, Sam, Kenny, Tina and Precious. (Technically they are 7 different “things”, but that would make a short and boring list…) The people (and people-like animals) that took me into their home, generously treated me like a family member and have been great company for me these past months certainly are the number one on this list. My stay in the U.S. would have been a lot less fulfilling without them. I will be really sorry to say goodbye to them, but I do hope that we’ll be able to keep in touch (and they are more than welcome to visit me in Norway).
2. The trees. The tall, green, wonderful, amazing, lovely trees. Trees that have nuts in them, and squirrels, and vines climbing up the stem. Those trees.
3. Washington, D.C. It’s a lovely city, and I don’t expect to see it again anytime soon. I’ll miss the possibility of going to a Smithsonian if I feel like it, or seeing one of them many monuments. I’ll miss walking up and down the mall, and I’ll the numbered streets with the impressive, power-shouting buildings along them. Hing, I’ll even miss the metro!
4. The crazily grand selection of everything candy, snacks and food. And the freedom of knowing I only have three months to try them all, so I don’t have to put the normal restraints on myself.
5. Shopping. The selection is better, everything is cheaper and no one cares if you’re carrying your coffee around. (Actually, I’m glad this isn’t as common at home yet. Working in a store and all…)
6. Speaking of coffee… Starbucks. It’s about time Norway joins the club of developed countries and imports Starbucks! We need Starbucks! Why don’t we have it? (I miss you already!)
7. Borders. And Barnes & Noble. And Borders. And Barnes & Noble.
8. Television. There is ALWAYS something on here. Always. And the shows run at least a season ahead of those at home. It makes me want to cry just to know that I won’t be able to see the rest of the season of “Glee”. I’m NOT going to miss all the commercials, though.
9. Having an office four blocks from the White House. I might not have used said office all that much, and the actual location might not have mattered that much either, but man – how awesome it feels to be able to say that!
10. Living in a foreign country. It is not given that this is something I will do again (though I hope I’ll have the chance). Weighing positive and negative factors of spending time abroad – the latter mainly being what I miss from home – the positive in my opinion outweighs the negative. When you live in a foreign country you stumble across a lot of situations you never would have at home. You meet people and you get to experience cultures that teach you more than what you could ever read in a book. You grow as a person, and when you do return home, you find yourself both appreciating what you do have more, while at the same time you’re able to enrich your life there with the experiences and memories from abroad.
I will miss all of the above. As mentioned these are things I cannot bring back home. What I will bring, though (at the risk of sounding awfully sappy), are the memories of all of these (and more) things I have experienced. Fortunately, I don’t have to fit the memories in my suitcase…
This inevitably makes me think of the things I have to leave behind, whether I like it or not. I might be able to fit my new clothes, shoes and books in my luggage (and I also plan on sending a box per mail), but there are things I will miss that I cannot bring along. This close to my departure, it’s becoming very clear to me that there are a number of things I wish I did not have to leave when leaving.
10 things I will miss when I leave the USA
1. Linda, Brian, Nick, Sam, Kenny, Tina and Precious. (Technically they are 7 different “things”, but that would make a short and boring list…) The people (and people-like animals) that took me into their home, generously treated me like a family member and have been great company for me these past months certainly are the number one on this list. My stay in the U.S. would have been a lot less fulfilling without them. I will be really sorry to say goodbye to them, but I do hope that we’ll be able to keep in touch (and they are more than welcome to visit me in Norway).
2. The trees. The tall, green, wonderful, amazing, lovely trees. Trees that have nuts in them, and squirrels, and vines climbing up the stem. Those trees.
3. Washington, D.C. It’s a lovely city, and I don’t expect to see it again anytime soon. I’ll miss the possibility of going to a Smithsonian if I feel like it, or seeing one of them many monuments. I’ll miss walking up and down the mall, and I’ll the numbered streets with the impressive, power-shouting buildings along them. Hing, I’ll even miss the metro!
4. The crazily grand selection of everything candy, snacks and food. And the freedom of knowing I only have three months to try them all, so I don’t have to put the normal restraints on myself.
5. Shopping. The selection is better, everything is cheaper and no one cares if you’re carrying your coffee around. (Actually, I’m glad this isn’t as common at home yet. Working in a store and all…)
6. Speaking of coffee… Starbucks. It’s about time Norway joins the club of developed countries and imports Starbucks! We need Starbucks! Why don’t we have it? (I miss you already!)
7. Borders. And Barnes & Noble. And Borders. And Barnes & Noble.
8. Television. There is ALWAYS something on here. Always. And the shows run at least a season ahead of those at home. It makes me want to cry just to know that I won’t be able to see the rest of the season of “Glee”. I’m NOT going to miss all the commercials, though.
9. Having an office four blocks from the White House. I might not have used said office all that much, and the actual location might not have mattered that much either, but man – how awesome it feels to be able to say that!
10. Living in a foreign country. It is not given that this is something I will do again (though I hope I’ll have the chance). Weighing positive and negative factors of spending time abroad – the latter mainly being what I miss from home – the positive in my opinion outweighs the negative. When you live in a foreign country you stumble across a lot of situations you never would have at home. You meet people and you get to experience cultures that teach you more than what you could ever read in a book. You grow as a person, and when you do return home, you find yourself both appreciating what you do have more, while at the same time you’re able to enrich your life there with the experiences and memories from abroad.
I will miss all of the above. As mentioned these are things I cannot bring back home. What I will bring, though (at the risk of sounding awfully sappy), are the memories of all of these (and more) things I have experienced. Fortunately, I don’t have to fit the memories in my suitcase…
On time travelling
I’ve always been fascinated by time travelling. Actually, it’s probably more my fascination for history that makes me appreciate time travel as well – since the idea that we somehow could find a way to experience events of times past is, well, fascinating (my friend, also a Mari, will by now have told me that I have used the word fascinated too much in this introduction, which is true, but as it’s an old joke of ours, I won’t edit it out…).
There are of course elements with history that makes me aware that after all I am more comfortable in the present. Modern hygiene standards come to mind as something I would be hesitant to give up. Human rights is another (though ironically a second. I appreciate the freedom of speech, but I appreciate toilets and soap even more). Also, the fact that I am a woman probably makes the present a far more comfortable century to occupy than any in the past (thank you suffragettes!).
Still, there is so much I wish I could have experienced from the past. Much comes down to romantic impressions of beautiful dresses, buildings and manners. And this is probably why it is so popular to engage in the only means of time travel we have (until science finds a way of opening the can of worms endless books and movies has described real time-travel to be): pretending.
Today I went, for the first time in my life, to a proper, American Renaissance Festival. I must emphasize the Americaness of it. I have in the past visited similar events in Europe – the Medieval Festival in Oslo, for instance; and my entire visit to Tallinn, Estonia, last year was like an extended “costume festival” – but let me assure you, they are nothing like the American version.
First of all, what struck me was the way the term “Renaissance” was generously applied even though many (if not most) of the costumes, activities and sighs hardly looked like they belonged in what I conceive as “the Renaissance” (the 14th to 16th centuries cultural movement, which originated in Italy). Some might suggest this is because America as we know it today did not exist at the time, so that Americans are happy to adopt whatever history they can get their hands on and that it does not seem to be of fundamental importance whether they do it accurately or not. I am not entirely disagreeing with this point of view, but at the same time I consider a further reason that the festival included so many un-renaissansesque elements could stem from another American trait – the individual spirit and general acceptance for people’s desire to express themselves. I therefore though it not just amusing, but also somewhat inspiring that no one seemed to mind that Elvis and the Blues Brothers were walking around among Harlekins and Fairy Godmothers (there also seems to be a lot of mythical creatures in the American version of the Renaissance).
The enthusiasm and creativity behind the costumes amazed me. I would roughly estimate that about a third of the people I saw had some costume of a kind, though this includes people being normally dressed except for wearing devil horns (why is this renaissansesque, I ask?) or having their faces painted by some of the talented artists at the festival. The elaborateness of the costumed varied enormously. Some wore a simple dress, but were still carrying their iPhones and wearing sunglasses. Others were 100% in character.
In total I had a lot of fun at the festival. I enjoyed the people-watching, I enjoyed the activities, and I enjoyed the entertainment. And I really enjoyed the fact that since we got there early, we did not have to sit and wait in the 2-mile plus queue of cars that had formed by the time we left. Apparently, I’m not the only one who is fascinated by time travelling.
There are of course elements with history that makes me aware that after all I am more comfortable in the present. Modern hygiene standards come to mind as something I would be hesitant to give up. Human rights is another (though ironically a second. I appreciate the freedom of speech, but I appreciate toilets and soap even more). Also, the fact that I am a woman probably makes the present a far more comfortable century to occupy than any in the past (thank you suffragettes!).
Still, there is so much I wish I could have experienced from the past. Much comes down to romantic impressions of beautiful dresses, buildings and manners. And this is probably why it is so popular to engage in the only means of time travel we have (until science finds a way of opening the can of worms endless books and movies has described real time-travel to be): pretending.
Today I went, for the first time in my life, to a proper, American Renaissance Festival. I must emphasize the Americaness of it. I have in the past visited similar events in Europe – the Medieval Festival in Oslo, for instance; and my entire visit to Tallinn, Estonia, last year was like an extended “costume festival” – but let me assure you, they are nothing like the American version.
First of all, what struck me was the way the term “Renaissance” was generously applied even though many (if not most) of the costumes, activities and sighs hardly looked like they belonged in what I conceive as “the Renaissance” (the 14th to 16th centuries cultural movement, which originated in Italy). Some might suggest this is because America as we know it today did not exist at the time, so that Americans are happy to adopt whatever history they can get their hands on and that it does not seem to be of fundamental importance whether they do it accurately or not. I am not entirely disagreeing with this point of view, but at the same time I consider a further reason that the festival included so many un-renaissansesque elements could stem from another American trait – the individual spirit and general acceptance for people’s desire to express themselves. I therefore though it not just amusing, but also somewhat inspiring that no one seemed to mind that Elvis and the Blues Brothers were walking around among Harlekins and Fairy Godmothers (there also seems to be a lot of mythical creatures in the American version of the Renaissance).
The enthusiasm and creativity behind the costumes amazed me. I would roughly estimate that about a third of the people I saw had some costume of a kind, though this includes people being normally dressed except for wearing devil horns (why is this renaissansesque, I ask?) or having their faces painted by some of the talented artists at the festival. The elaborateness of the costumed varied enormously. Some wore a simple dress, but were still carrying their iPhones and wearing sunglasses. Others were 100% in character. In total I had a lot of fun at the festival. I enjoyed the people-watching, I enjoyed the activities, and I enjoyed the entertainment. And I really enjoyed the fact that since we got there early, we did not have to sit and wait in the 2-mile plus queue of cars that had formed by the time we left. Apparently, I’m not the only one who is fascinated by time travelling.
Friday, October 23, 2009
On focusing on the RIGHT thing
It’s often easier to focus on what one misses out on than what one actually does or accomplishes. The famous last words (of someone smart, I am sure) “I only regret what I didn’t do” says it all – in hindsight it is not the paths we walked, but those we didn’t get to explore that haunt us.
Having now spent close to three months in the USA, I find myself discovering new things every day that I “should have done”, while I frantically try to utilize my last week here. Naturally I want to make sure I don’t miss out too much, but at the same time, it is important to take a step back and consider all the things I have done. Counting accomplishments and experiences I find plenty, both on a professional and on a personal level (and I am sure several other levels as well).
• I have successfully gathered plenty of sources for my master’s thesis. Sure, I could have done more, I could have consulted other resources and I could have been more efficient at doing so, but in all probability what I now have already exceeds the limitations of my thesis. It will simply have to do.
• I have spent (less than desired, yet some) time at my office in the heart of Washington, D.C. I may not have struck gold there, but it’s been a nice experience nevertheless. The walk to and from the metro each morning and afternoon among suits and motorcades, passing the buildings where the fate of the world is determined, makes it worth the effort alone.
• I have met a lot of interesting people. This includes some good, old friends; some good, new friends; random discussion partners; friendly passersby; and president Obama (the last is a joke. I haven’t met him, even if my office is only a few blocks away from his).
• I have gotten to see a new part of the world, a new country, and several parts of that country. The USA is no longer a vague mix of impressions from movies, books and television. I’ve had expectations and prejudices both confirmed and contradicted, and in total I can say with my heart that when I return to Norway it will be with a wider understanding of the USA and the people living here.
• I have been able to explore one of the world’s most interesting cities (says the history/international relations geek), something I’ve been wanting to do for years. There is of course plenty left to see, but no one visits all the museums when sightseeing here, right?
• I have made some potential contacts in terms of networking, in several respects (meaning both personal, professional and blog ones – the blog ones being something in between). And speaking of blogging…
• I have blogged almost every single day since I started in August (wee!). It has become a habit of sorts, and even if I am not sure I will continue blogging every day once October (NaBloWriMo) is done, I intend to keep the blog up also after I go home.
• I have contributed to http://www.onemilliongiraffes.com/ with 100+ giraffes (with more to come). Just another friendly reminder to check out the project and make one of your own ;)
• I have successfully managed to survive my second longer stay in a foreign country, all on my own, before I am 24 (my 24th birthday is coming up just after I land in Norway). It is a test of sorts to be far away from your home, your family and friends, in a foreign culture, speaking a foreign language; and I believe I’ve passed.
In the long run I am determined that these are the points I will remember. I refuse to allow myself to regret what I didn’t do, because what I did do was also significant. So all in all, it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t a social butterfly or that I probably haven’t made connections that someday will make me Secretary General of the United Nations. I’ve grown as a person with this stay, and that is more important than what I possibly missed. Finally, if I should discover that the things I did miss were significant, there should be plenty of opportunities in the future to come back.
Having now spent close to three months in the USA, I find myself discovering new things every day that I “should have done”, while I frantically try to utilize my last week here. Naturally I want to make sure I don’t miss out too much, but at the same time, it is important to take a step back and consider all the things I have done. Counting accomplishments and experiences I find plenty, both on a professional and on a personal level (and I am sure several other levels as well).
• I have successfully gathered plenty of sources for my master’s thesis. Sure, I could have done more, I could have consulted other resources and I could have been more efficient at doing so, but in all probability what I now have already exceeds the limitations of my thesis. It will simply have to do.
• I have spent (less than desired, yet some) time at my office in the heart of Washington, D.C. I may not have struck gold there, but it’s been a nice experience nevertheless. The walk to and from the metro each morning and afternoon among suits and motorcades, passing the buildings where the fate of the world is determined, makes it worth the effort alone.
• I have met a lot of interesting people. This includes some good, old friends; some good, new friends; random discussion partners; friendly passersby; and president Obama (the last is a joke. I haven’t met him, even if my office is only a few blocks away from his).
• I have gotten to see a new part of the world, a new country, and several parts of that country. The USA is no longer a vague mix of impressions from movies, books and television. I’ve had expectations and prejudices both confirmed and contradicted, and in total I can say with my heart that when I return to Norway it will be with a wider understanding of the USA and the people living here.
• I have been able to explore one of the world’s most interesting cities (says the history/international relations geek), something I’ve been wanting to do for years. There is of course plenty left to see, but no one visits all the museums when sightseeing here, right?
• I have made some potential contacts in terms of networking, in several respects (meaning both personal, professional and blog ones – the blog ones being something in between). And speaking of blogging…
• I have blogged almost every single day since I started in August (wee!). It has become a habit of sorts, and even if I am not sure I will continue blogging every day once October (NaBloWriMo) is done, I intend to keep the blog up also after I go home.
• I have contributed to http://www.onemilliongiraffes.com/ with 100+ giraffes (with more to come). Just another friendly reminder to check out the project and make one of your own ;)
• I have successfully managed to survive my second longer stay in a foreign country, all on my own, before I am 24 (my 24th birthday is coming up just after I land in Norway). It is a test of sorts to be far away from your home, your family and friends, in a foreign culture, speaking a foreign language; and I believe I’ve passed.
In the long run I am determined that these are the points I will remember. I refuse to allow myself to regret what I didn’t do, because what I did do was also significant. So all in all, it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t a social butterfly or that I probably haven’t made connections that someday will make me Secretary General of the United Nations. I’ve grown as a person with this stay, and that is more important than what I possibly missed. Finally, if I should discover that the things I did miss were significant, there should be plenty of opportunities in the future to come back.
The Jefferson memorial - taken on my (for now) final sightseeing in Washington, D.C.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
On a pedestrian's agonies
Even though I do have a driver’s license, I don’t have a car. At home I rarely need to drive (and even more seldom do I want to). Therefore, to make absolutely sure I wouldn’t have to drive in the US, I left my license at home. Of which I am happy. However – and I knew this before I left – it can be a pain to not have a car in the US. (I sense a lot of rolling eyes.) Because when you don’t have a car, you’re either left to explore whatever public transportation your area can offer (and it isn’t always a given that there is any), or, you’re stuck with what you were born with: your legs.
So I walk. I walk to the metro station, I walk to the grocery shop, and I walk to the ruddy archive. I like to walk. It is my transportation of preference at home too. But the experience of walking is slightly different here than at home. As long as you’re in the city, you’re fine. D.C. is a pedestrian’s city in many respects (one-way streets, parking challenges and an easily navigatable metro system being excellent reasons for leaving your car at home). It’s when you stray out of city limits you face the real problems.
First of all – the roads are so much bigger than at home (I’ve yet to see one that in Norway wouldn’t be defined as “highway”...), and everything is adjusted to the driver’s need, not the pedestrians’. Pedestrian crossings are few, they are only occasionally regulated by lights, and if so, these lights only stop traffic for a few seconds. I walk relatively fast, but more than once I’ve found it difficult to cross the street on time. I wonder how an old lady with a cane would manage?
Secondly, when walking you’re free game. It appears that the drivers consider me part of the roadside entertainment. At home, I have never, ever, been honked at. Ever. Here, it appears that is common. Am I wearing a bumper sticker that says “Honk if you’re horny?” No! And yes, I did notice that you checked my “bumper” just to make sure… I don’t know if it is my striking beauty and obvious charm, but I have a feeling that it’s not. Just because I’m there, walking, doesn’t mean you have to eat me up with your eyes!
Some don’t even stop there. Again, at home I have never been randomly offered a ride from a stranger (unless you count the time I was eight... It sounds worse than it is. Long story...)*. Here, it happened three times during my first month. How stupid do they think I am? I might be blond and blue-eyed, I might look (and be) naïve, but seriously – I don’t accept rides from strangers! I could have been walking with broken legs and a concussion, and I would still have turned down the offer to take a ride from a stranger. (Call it Norwegian tight-assedness, call it healthy scepticism, call it a principle. Not gonna affect my firm belief that I am safer sticking to it as a rule.)
Finally, (and I realize this isn’t a U.S. thing – this is more a me-thing,) when you’re walking carrying your camera (which I have been doing a lot – my camera having been my tool of choice for my archive work, and when I’ve been touristing about I also brought it along), you stand at risk of creating the strangest situations. I have mentioned some already (my SWAT encounter, my near-death tree photographic episode and of course the squirrels, the show-offs). But in addition, let me tell you a little story. This happened about a month ago, when I was, as usual, walking home from the archive. It was a beautiful day – the sun was about to set, but it was still light out. Suddenly I saw a big bird sitting at the top of a building. It looked an awful lot like an owl, but since it was daytime, I doubted this could be it. Cautiously, I approached it, camera ready. When I got close enough to see that, yes, it definitely was an owl, I snapped a shot just to make sure I had this documented. As the bird did not appear to be scared at all, however, I went even closer to get a better shot.
This was when I realized why it didn’t move. It was made of plastic.
Needless to say, I put my camera back in my bag and left quite quickly. The owl, I believe, is still there.
So I walk. I walk to the metro station, I walk to the grocery shop, and I walk to the ruddy archive. I like to walk. It is my transportation of preference at home too. But the experience of walking is slightly different here than at home. As long as you’re in the city, you’re fine. D.C. is a pedestrian’s city in many respects (one-way streets, parking challenges and an easily navigatable metro system being excellent reasons for leaving your car at home). It’s when you stray out of city limits you face the real problems.
First of all – the roads are so much bigger than at home (I’ve yet to see one that in Norway wouldn’t be defined as “highway”...), and everything is adjusted to the driver’s need, not the pedestrians’. Pedestrian crossings are few, they are only occasionally regulated by lights, and if so, these lights only stop traffic for a few seconds. I walk relatively fast, but more than once I’ve found it difficult to cross the street on time. I wonder how an old lady with a cane would manage?
Secondly, when walking you’re free game. It appears that the drivers consider me part of the roadside entertainment. At home, I have never, ever, been honked at. Ever. Here, it appears that is common. Am I wearing a bumper sticker that says “Honk if you’re horny?” No! And yes, I did notice that you checked my “bumper” just to make sure… I don’t know if it is my striking beauty and obvious charm, but I have a feeling that it’s not. Just because I’m there, walking, doesn’t mean you have to eat me up with your eyes!
Some don’t even stop there. Again, at home I have never been randomly offered a ride from a stranger (unless you count the time I was eight... It sounds worse than it is. Long story...)*. Here, it happened three times during my first month. How stupid do they think I am? I might be blond and blue-eyed, I might look (and be) naïve, but seriously – I don’t accept rides from strangers! I could have been walking with broken legs and a concussion, and I would still have turned down the offer to take a ride from a stranger. (Call it Norwegian tight-assedness, call it healthy scepticism, call it a principle. Not gonna affect my firm belief that I am safer sticking to it as a rule.)
Finally, (and I realize this isn’t a U.S. thing – this is more a me-thing,) when you’re walking carrying your camera (which I have been doing a lot – my camera having been my tool of choice for my archive work, and when I’ve been touristing about I also brought it along), you stand at risk of creating the strangest situations. I have mentioned some already (my SWAT encounter, my near-death tree photographic episode and of course the squirrels, the show-offs). But in addition, let me tell you a little story. This happened about a month ago, when I was, as usual, walking home from the archive. It was a beautiful day – the sun was about to set, but it was still light out. Suddenly I saw a big bird sitting at the top of a building. It looked an awful lot like an owl, but since it was daytime, I doubted this could be it. Cautiously, I approached it, camera ready. When I got close enough to see that, yes, it definitely was an owl, I snapped a shot just to make sure I had this documented. As the bird did not appear to be scared at all, however, I went even closer to get a better shot.
This was when I realized why it didn’t move. It was made of plastic.
Needless to say, I put my camera back in my bag and left quite quickly. The owl, I believe, is still there.
* Just because I know someone or other is bound to ask... When I was eight years old, I was accidentally abducted by a misguided bureaucrat. This was May 17th (Norway’s Constitutional Day, in case you haven’t been at the receiving end of my propagandic raving about it before), and a TV-team wanted an interview with the little girl who had held the traditional speech at City Hall (yes, I held speeches at age eight. Don’t even get me started at my career in public speaking. That definitely merits a post of its own sometime...). My kidnapper, who worked for the local municipality, was just doing his job, but he chose a very bad way of doing it. He basically tracked me down in the children’s parade, told me I would get to be on TV if I came with him, and since I was eight and didn’t know better, I did. When my teacher turned around to find me gone, she asked my classmates what had happened. I am fairly sure the reply “she went with a man in a car” didn’t make her feel too happy, but apart from the simultaneous near-heart attacks of her, my mom and my dad, nothing bad happened that day. I have, however, learned better since.
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