On old acquaintances

The previous weekend I got to hang out with some old friends. One of them - let's call him Ken* - is Japanese and I met him when we were both attending university in a remote city of Japan, almost seven years ago.

Since we last saw each other our lives have taken very different turns. I returned to Norway to finish first my BA and then MA degree, I've had two other short-term stays abroad (one of them in Japan, but somehow we never managed to meet then, even though he didn't live very far from Tokyo), and I eventually started working at my alma mater here in Oslo, where I currently teach history.

Ken, on the other hand, graduated to become a somewhat classic Japanese business man, working for a big firm in Yokohama. He got married and he's got a son. Then, his company purchased part of a Norwegian shipping company, and as a result of this, they made Ken come work here. "Here" not meaning Oslo at all, but a small town on the western coast of Norway.

Even if it's on the other side of the country from Oslo, Ken is now living a whole lot closer to me than Japan, so we decided that it would be fun to meet up and hang out like the old days.

From our days at the uni in Japan I remember him as a boyish, charming, fun guy. We had a few classes together, and we'd frequently have lunch in the school cafeteria or go out drinking with a bigger group of friends. Meeting him again all these years later he had "grown up" more, but he was still fun and charming, and as easy to talk to as I remembered. For him, coming to Oslo after having lived the small town life for a few weeks was something of a luxury, and I think it's safe to say that it was a very successful weekend for all those involved.

When he was here we obviously wanted to show him not only Oslo by day (the Holmenkollen Ski Jump, the Opera, the Royal Palace and the Vigeland Park), but also Oslo by night. So we went out for dinner and later drinks on Saturday night.

Oslo by  night isn't classy. It can be - there are places where the drinks are too expensive to get ridiculously drunk no matter how rich you are - but for the average Joe we go to places where the drinks are "only" expensive enough to make you have to mortgage your house after a drunken brawl. I'm only kidding a bit. (Foreigners tend to complain about the price level in general, but for alcohol in particular.)

Anyway, we managed to find several places that were okay, and we managed to make ourselves eligible for mortgages (had any of us been house owners). Eventually, after having been to a few other places first, we ended up in a bar I've never visited before. The place was packed, and the noise was almost unbearable. Since it was getting late and we had plans for Sunday morning as well (last chance for sightseeing!), we decided to only stay for one drink and then leave.

As I went to get mine, I passed a group of girls where one of them suddenly went into squeal mode. "OMG, it's you!" she exclaimed.

I knew her face. I knew where I knew her from. We went to high school together. I even knew the two girls she were with, also from high school. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I quickly made an excuse and went on my way, even though she seemed eager to stay and chat about everything that had happened in our lives since we last met. I was more eager to get back to Ken and my other friends.

I didn't remember this girl's name, and it took me well into the next day (and perhaps a little Facebook research) before it came back to me. We were never close in high school; in fact, I'm not even sure we ever had a proper conversation back then. She was in a different crowd than me, and from the little I knew of her,  I didn't much care for her. After not having seen her for almost ten years, neither of those things had changed.

Still, it hit me. This girl is my own age. We are from the same hometown and now we live in the same city. Looking at her Facebook profile (or the limited version of it, as we are not friends there either), we have approximately 60 or so friends in common. Some of which I count as good friends of mine.

Yet, despite having so much things in common, I have no desire to get to know her, and I don't care what she's made of herself. It makes no difference to me whether we see each other again in the next ten years or not.

Whereas Ken, whom I clearly do not have so much in common with - in fact, I have more or less nothing in common with him apart from the fact that we once attended the same university - I enjoyed seeing again. I hope to see him more times soon. I would like to meet his wife and son (who will move here from Japan soon). I think it's interesting to check out what he's been up to via Facebook, and I enjoy talking to him.

Personal chemistry is important, of course. I have that with the people I count among my close friends, several of them from high school. And I don't necessarily think I would have as fun with all my friends from Japan or elsewhere that I technically don't have very much in common with today, should I get to see them again.

But still, it intrigues me that it is so much easier to stay in touch with some people than others, and that with certain friends you don't have to talk with them very often - maybe once every seventh year - and things are still as they used to be. Fortunately.

Sometimes friendship is like a ski jump without snow. Mostly, it's not.
(I'm in this picture. Or my foot is. The first person to find it gets a prize!**)

*Actually, his name is Kensuke, but I noticed he introduced himself as Ken here in Norway, presumably because Norwegians would have trouble pronouncing his name. It's supposed to be "Ken-ske" rather than "Ken-su-ke" as we would say.

** The prize is to jump from the top of the Holmenkollen Ski Jump without skis or snow.
Still want to be that first person?

On social awkwardness (socwardness)

In reality - and this might be a shocker given all my quirks proudly displayed on this blog - I am a fairly socially adept person. No, really. My mom said so. (She did. Honestly.)

My mom is also socially adept, though, so it's okay. And you know how I know that she is right (and socially adept)? Because another socially adept person (me) said so. Word.

Huh. I got lost in one of my own digressions before even starting... But that set aside; digressions, parentheses, creative punctuation, giraffes and - hing yeah - the fact that someone found my blog the other day by searching for "ecard anti dance mom" (how'd THAT happen..?); all these things set aside, in real life I am a fairly normal, friendly, pleasant person with whom many people seem to enjoy a normal, friendly, pleasant conversation, be it of the "polite mingling"-variety or the more serious "what's the meaning of life?"-variety. I rock at small talk. I know how to hold a glass of wine in one hand, a canapé in the other, and somehow I still manage to find a free hand to shake hands (how many hands do I have? Party trick courtesy of the Norwegian foreign service, no doubt). I make friends easily, I have very few enemies (and then mostly carefully selected nemeses - everyone should have at least one), and when I choose to display it I can have a very winning smile. I am crisp (except when I try to use expressions like "crisp" that I clearly had to look up in Urban Dictionary before posting. And then I got stuck wondering why it's called "Urban Dictionary" and not "the Urban Dictionary", and then I started wondering if it was a Urban Dictionary thing to do to cut all "the's" and whether that won't get terribly confusing, and now I am trying so hard to be crisp or cool or whatever it's called these days that I long since punctured the above attempt at describing myself thus. Ah. Well, I was about to contradict myself anyway.)

Because.

Even though I'm mostly socially adept (sodept? Nah... I'm not crisp enough for that yet), I sometimes fail. And when I fail, I fail BIG time. Spectacularly. Think diving. Nine out of ten times I go in the water - not like a pro, but at least like an amateur that would like to consider his own diving skills appropriate for low-key competitions. Like the (or not "the") Annual Greendale Amateur Diving Championship (why, yes, Postman Pat might participate too, thankyouforasking). Only to find that the tenth time he goes in it's with a splash. A big one. An epic one. A gigantic belly flop which forever renders him (me? I got lost in my own metaphor) extremely aware that he is not only madly inferior to Postman Pat, but that he also has absolutely no business participating in any championships and that he preferable should never go near water ever again.

That's how awkward I can be on (the?) occasions that my social skills do fail.

Like today.

When they failed. Miserably so.

It all started well. I was on my way to work, not feeling terribly motivated by the fact that I had been forced to leave my warm, comfy bed to walk in grey, rainy-ish weather to go spend the day at the office where I will be teaching myself medieval history. Yeah. Motivation fail. Still, this isn't a huge derivation from normal mornings, so when I initiated this paragraph by saying "[i]t all started well" I wasn't lying. The above description is "well". It's not optimal, but "well". In the adverbial sense (--> better, best), not the "deep hole or shaft in the ground"-sense. Well.

I was interrupted in my somewhat gloomy well-ness, however, by a young lady.

Had I been a man, I presume this interruption would have been most welcome. The young lady in question was cute, friendly (crisp?), polite and when she spoke it was with an adorable accent. Charming, I'm sure.

I am not a man. I prefer that in any given conversation I am the cute, friendly (crisp?), polite one, even if my accent (when speaking Norwegian, at least) sadly is somewhat polished and boring (when speaking English, however, I probably have an accent so adorable bunnies fly out of my nose).

The young interruptive lady asked me for directions.

I hate directions.

Well (again in the above clarified sense of the word), I don't hate them. I find them difficult to take, and to give. Especially when we're talking about geographical directions. I have a terrible sense of direction. I managed to get lost in Washington, D.C. once (a city where the streets in one direction are numbered, and the streets in the other direction are alphabetized). I also managed to get lost in Skotterud, Eidskog, Norway once - a place so tiny you probably haven't even heard of it. That's right! That tiny! Once I got lost I followed a pidgeon for three blocks. I was still lost.

Thus, asking me for directions is not exactly your best strategy if you are the one who is lost. Asking me for directions when I am gloomy (if well), sleepy and probably slightly hormonal, is an even poorer strategy. The young lady of the charming accent did not know this, of course. (How could she? She did not know anything. Not even the way.)

I realize that the build-up here implies that I somehow exploded all over the poor girl and put her in tears on the first train back to Charmingaccentville. The build-up is misleading. Yes, I was gloomy, but no, I am not explode-all-over-stranger-prone. Besides, if you look back you'll realize that there also is a build-up to a detailed account of my social awkwardness. In fact, the build-up to that is much clearer, and forms a more coherent direction for this post. You only wanted the build-up to be for something more thrilling, like an explosion, because that would make for a more exciting tale! I'm sorry, but if you want exciting tales, you better go read someone else's blog.

So. There.

I did not explode. But I faced a terrible dilemma. Should I help this cute, friendly (I'm officially giving up crisp), polite and adorably accented young lady; or should I pretend to be a deaf, Chinese tourist genetically modified to look like a native, which would both explain why I could not hear, understand OR help her?

I chose the golden middle. I decided to "help" her.

In all fairness, the directions she asked were not complicated. She wanted to get to the University Campus. I believe I have mentioned this (several times) before, but for clarity's sake: I work at the university. On campus. I was headed for work. I was clearly going the same way as she was.

Now, a normal person - for instance me on most days - would say that to the young lady. "I work at the university, and I am going there now. Follow me, and I'll show you."

I didn't say that.

After all, it would be a good five to seven minutes before we reached campus. I would have to make polite conversation with this person for five to seven minutes. Or, if failing to make conversation, I would have to tolerate five to seven minutes walking next to a stranger without speaking at all.

This is where my brain on most days would have jumped to wine-glass-and-canapé-mode and handled the situation by asking her unimportant questions like "so, what are you doing at the university?" or "did you catch the last episode of Mad Men?" (the latter would be stupid, though, because I'm two seasons behind. No spoilers!).

Today, however, the only thing my brain could do was set of a red warning lamp, saying "DANGER, DANGER, UNWANTED SOCIAL INTERACTION  MIGHT OCCUR!!!"

I smiled awkwardly. Then I pointed in the general direction she (and I) should be headed, saying something about keeping straight ahead over the hill, and then she'd see it (which might or might not be true. I had never checked). And then I left.

That's right. We were going to the same place, but instead of telling her so, I went another way.

My way was the right way. Hers was... not wrong, per se. But slightly less right.

Happy that I had solved the awkward situation in such a speedy manner, I continued walking my regular route. I had sent her a few blocks east of me. (Due to my aforementioned poor sense of direction I have no idea if it actually is east, but it serves to bring clarity to the narrative, so I'm keeping it [and not, Digression's forbid, checking it. That would be - reasearch. Dude!].) My theory was that she would walk (in accordance with my vague pointing) about two blocks north (again, for the sake of the narrative), and then turn west. If she had done do, at an appropriate speed, I would have been able to walk my two blocks north sufficiently far west of her (and then turning further west) to avoiding seeing her, ever, again.

My theory, not unlike my social skills, failed.

As I was about to turn west (the whole east-west-north-thingie is confusing me. I'm sorry if it was helping you, but I am inventing a new direction for the sake of un-confusing myself. Deal with it.) - as I was about to turn uppity, whom other did I see but the young lady with an adorable accent and issues with picking the right type of people to give her dictections. Whom other? A famous sports journalist, that's who(m). But the right thereafter I saw the young lady too.

At this, my social skills performed one small effort before crumbling into dust. They waved at the young lady. Oh, Digressions, I was beackoning her closer. My hand in some evil conspiracy with my terminal social skills were trying to help the poor girl.

By then it must have been rather obvious to her that I was, indeed, going the same direction as she. Still, I was the only person about (the sport journalist having disappeared by then), and she was still lost (due to the fact that the last person she'd asked for directions only had replied with vague finger pointing...). So she ran to me (again, had I been a man, this might have been a rather welcome situation. I am still not a man).

"Soooo," I said, stretching the oooo in an attempt to come up with an excuse as to why I had been reluctant to actually offer helpful help. "What part of campus are you going to? You see, there is an upper part, and then a lower part..."

By offering this information, I really hoped she would read between the lines and hear what I wanted her to hear:

"I would have offered to walk you there, naturally, but since you failed to specify where on campus you were going, I could only assume that you were going somewhere else than me. Which makes my reaction not socially awkward, but rather rational and understandable."

"I'm going to the library," she said.

"Ah." ("Darn, right in the middle, then. Yeah, well, I'm still going to a completely different part of campus than you, and it still makes sense to me, at least, why I didn't show you the way. Even if my office is located in the building right next to the library...")

We walked. In the dreaded silence. I tried a few "uhm, yeah, well, it's not easy knowing the way if you don't know the way, hum-di-dum" but by then the effort was pretty futile. She knew I'd been trying to get out of walking with her, and thus she wasn't up to making the situation any easier on me.

At the earliest possible moment I went for the finger-pointing strategy again ("It's that big black building you see far, far behind all those other buildings over there...") and she speeded up to avoid further embarassment on both our parts. Just to make sure to stick to my "story" (you know, the one I hoped she'd read between the lines), I took a detour and walked for a while in the opposite direction from where I was going. I hoped to never see her again.

I saw her again two blocks later.

I had deliberately been walking the wrong direction, sloooooowly, to make absolutely sure that she would have passed the intersection between my detour path and the uppity-headed path. But no. She passed it at the exact time I was headed there.

In total mortification, now, I snuck back, hid (literally HID) behind the biology building, wondering how long I could stand there before she'd find me. Or before someone else might find me terribly weird.

In the end I decided that neither would be very long. So I walked - again in the opposite direction from where I actually was going - to the Physics building cafeteria. Where I decided to spend a few extra minutes buying a salad (for lunch), and a cup of coffee (for immediately).

As I swiped my card I remembered that I was running low on funds. So low, in fact, that my purchase got denied. I had to humiliate myself and ask the lunch lady to charge only the coffee. Fortunately, I had (just) enough for the that. Which I needed (immediately). And then I put the salad back.

Basically, by then my social awkwardness (yes, at least, as crisp as crisp gets: socwardness) had made me wish I could just sink into a well (of the "deep hole or shaft in the ground"-sense) that would magically appear before me. No such thing happened.

Karma. I guess.

On decency and safety: how playing it safe occasionally is hazardous

This is a tale of the importance of a safety pin, and how choosing safety in one department, very well might put you at risk in another.


Let me first dwell over the expression "safety pin". It is "a spring wire clasp with a covering catch, made so as to shield the point when closed and to prevent accidental unfastening"[1]. So true. A safety pin is meant to prevent accidental unfastening. What this definition fails to convey, however, is that a safety pin generally also is meant to prevent accidental unfastening of the item(s) it is holding together.

For instance. I have a reflex.

Digression: I know the word "reflex" in English means many things - none of which is the one I need it to mean. (Actually, I have many reflexes. None that are shaped like a giraffe, incidentally. This is not relevant to the digression or the story, though. It's a sub-digression.)

The word I need is tricky to find. I've been stumbling around google for a while, and the best I could come up with is "reflective item". That sounds overly complicated for someone who grew up with government initiated campaigns ("Reflexes save lives!") to make people wear these reflective items to increase traffic security. I feel this says something about the English speaking world. Most of it is located much further south than the Norwegian speaking world (which mainly is located in Norway). Further south means more light during winter. But, it just occurred to me, further south also means less light during summer, so technically, they ought to use their reflective items all year round, and not just in winter, like we do! Also - what about Alaska?!

Yes, what about Alaska?

Alaska is English speaking, and far north. They would suffer from similar reflective issues as we do in Norway. They need to wear reflective items too. But there is no way you'd make an Alaskan put on what a Norwegian would refer to as a "reflex" unless they have a better name for it. I can imagine the government initiated campaigns in Alaska:

"Use a reflective item! If you can pronounce it fast enough; it might save your life!"

Not that the pronounciation matters, technically, to how efficient it is at reflecting light and thus making you visible to cars and thus increasing traffic security...

I think I lost a part of myself in that digression. (I also forgot to pull back in the string about the south-of-Alaska part of the English-speaking world needing reflexes year-round. I just don't know. Do they?)

Anyway. Since I didn't grow up in Alaska, or anywhere else in the English speaking world, I know that you have to wear a reflex all through winter. It might save your life. Or mine. Every autumn, then, I dutifully put on the little not-giraffe-shaped thingie, and so far I've never been killed by a car.

However, that might be subject to change.

On Monday my workplace had its annual Christmas Party.

Digression again: I know I haven't been talking about my job much. At least not this job. The job I now have. The job with the Christmas Party safety issues. I went directly from "Back from Japan, new opportunities will come" via "Ihatelookingforajob!!!" to "Istillhatelookingforajob!!!!!" to "So, on my way to work today..." to near-radio silence. I know. So much for blogging being all about sharing stuff, right..?

I got a job. I got a job that under no circumstances made me feel like sharing anything at all. Partly because it was top-secret (it wasn't. That just sounded more interesting than what I was about to type...) - Partly because it was temporary. One month only. Then one month more. Never enough to actually let my shoulders down. Not even enough to find an apartment in Oslo.

So, I've been living with my parents, still (most of my stuff is there), but in reality, I've spent more time living at either one of my sisters' houses, plus occasionally crashing on various couches. I am grateful for their hospitality, but obviously, the situation isn't ideal. It's exhausting, and the only reason I tolerate it is that the alternative would be a four-hour commute, daily. As it is, I "only" have a two hour commute.

The other reason I haven't felt like sharing much about this job is that it isn't... it isn't what I wanted to do. The job itself is fine. I occasionally like it, I occasionally don't. Like any other job, then. I don't ever feel I work enough, or that my results are sufficient - like any other job, then. It's challenging, tiresome, and fairly interesting. Like any other job. Then.

As happy as I am to have a job, I am slightly - surprised, perhaps - that I'm still at my old university. Many of my classmates fell in love with the process of academia. I didn't. I wanted to use it to get an education, and then get out. All hail those who want to become scientists and researchers, but that was never me.

And yet. Here I am. Back in academia, back in research. I'm writing footnotes like my life depended on it. (Actually, no, that is a stretch. My life depends on wearing a reflex. Not footnotes.)

It's been an interesting shift from being a student to being a colleague. Of sorts. I'm still the lowest ranking here, of course; but all of a sudden I'm two floors up from before, I have xerox and printer access I could only dream of as a student (I did), and the noble professors now greet me when I run into them in the hallways. Plus I got invited to the Christmas Party.

At first I didn't sign up; after all, I was here for a short time only. But then something changed. I got a new job.

This time it's for six months. I know that's still temporary, but to me, it sounds like a world of time. More interestingly, perhaps - it's not about footnotes anymore. It's teaching. Classes. University classes. With actual students. Students who will be graded. By me.

It feels - overwhelming. Great responsibility, massive amounts of work, and a situation that will be completely new to me. I've asked myself whether I am qualified for this - heck, I asked my boss whether I am qualified. We reached the conclusion that I am... Now I only need to prove it. Am I scared? No, I'm terrified. But I am also determined to do my best.

Academia pulled me back in again. I guess this will be my chance to find out whether my decision not to devote my life to academics was right.

In the meantime my concern lies more with reflexes and safety pins. You see, my reflex - of the not-giraffe variety - is fastened in my coat with a safety pin. Usually, then, this safety pin keeps me safe. However, for the Christmas Party I needed safety in a whole different way. Since I signed up late for the Christmas Party (having changed my mind when I realized I'd be working here six more months), I didn't have much time to figure out what to wear. I went with what appeared to be a safe choice: the little black dress.

Every girl should own one. So versatile, so classic. And in my case, so revealing... I hadn't realized just how revealing it was until I wore it a few days earlier, and noticed this dress took the concept of cleavage to a whole new level. There was no way I could sport that at a Christmas Party for a new job.

So, a safety pin was my rescue. My rescue and near demise. Because I only had the one - the one from the reflex.

The safety pin kept the dress in place, thus fulfilling its purpose of preventing accidental unfastening. But since I had to remove the reflex from my coat in order to maintain the desired level of decency, I ran a risk with safety. Without the reflex, I was near invisible to a car passing me on the street later that same night. If I had been killed, we would have had decisive evidence to two hypotheses:

"Reflexes save lives"; and

"Putting decency first, makes safety worst."

I'm not sure the latter would be appropriate or desirable in a government initiated campaign. It depends on what sort of campaign it is, I suppose.

The Christmas Party went well. I still have a job. My decency is safe. And so will I be, if I can only remember to put my reflex back on my coat. Then I can return to my habit of not being killed by cars.

On Mike and social networking

So, I'm writing more job applications than blog posts lately. I guess that's a good thing. Except that I've been writing so few posts that the comparison isn't really all that valid. I've been writing *some* applications, though. And *some* other stuff too, actually, though most of it was on Facebook or Twitter, so don't get all excited yet.

Anyway. Until I find a job my lazy (and fairly eventless - is that a word?) life goes on. It gives me the opportunity of getting extremely caught up in petty things. Like spam. The following is an actual email I wrote, not ten minutes ago:

I realize this is a noreply address and that this email thus probably will disappear into the cybersphere where it'll float restlessly around for all eternity, for no one to read, unable to reveal its message (which must be truly terrible for an email, since its entire existence is all about delivering messages). 

But. I still had to write this, to - someone. Because. Ohmygoshcanyoupleasestopsendingmestuff, DUDE! This guy, this Mike* someone. I don't know who he is. I don't know what he is. Heck, I don't even know why he is. At least I don't know why he is sending me emails all the time, about - lord knows what - recipes? Maybe? I am fairly sure I have never subscribed to his mailing list. I could be wrong. I subscribe to stuff all the time without knowing what exactly it is. If it turns out it annoys me, I unsubscribe. But Mike. Oh Mike. He is freaking impossible to unsubscribe to (from? You don't unsubscribe TO something, do you?). I have tried. Trust me. 

First I blocked those pesky emails, telling me to decorate for Easter and Halloween and whatnot (so maybe not recipes? Still not sure). It took a while to figure out how, but I managed. It was quiet for a while, and I thought maybe Mike and I had split for good. 

Of course I was wrong. Mike then sent me a request to join him on LinkedIn. 

Had I not already been sick of Mike, this would have pulled me over the edge. LinkedIn - I think my nostrils are flaring from just the thought of it. First of all - the idea of another social network is more than enough to make me shake my head. Secondly, I raise my eyebrows to the combination of the words "social network" and "professional". Peeps. Seriously! Social networks are for procrastinating. That is not professional. Don't pretend this is any different. Finally,  what's the DEAL with the capital I that looks exactly like a non-capital l? HUH? That is capital "i" and non-capital "L", if you're confused. You should be. If nothing else, I'd boycott LinkedIn for the fact that it made me pronounce it "LinkedLn" (however one pronounces that) for the longest time. *facepalm* 

Basically, LinkedIn causes A LOT of involuntary movement in the head&face area for me. It's exhausting. So no, I won't be joining any time soon. 

The GOOD thing about LinkedInInvites, though, is that they come once, there's a reminder, and then you're done. Wish I could say the same about Google+...

It had been a while since I'd heard from Mike when suddenly invites to join Google+ started cluttering my inbox. "Mike shared a post about personalized greeting cards with you!" (Soo, it's DIY? What do you DO, Mike?!)

He did? But..? I'm not ON Google+! How can he share stuff with me when I'm not even there to share (rhyme!)? 

You see, Google+... I have all the same reservations against this as LinkedIn. Well, not all the same. I can pronouce Google+ (but I am increasingly annoyed with the wonky punctuation you get when trying to place a comma, full stop or any other mark after a brand that comes with a symbol in the name. *snort* If you try to put a dash [or actually, a hyphen as I tend to use, because I'm too lazy to figure out how to get dashes outside of Word, where it's corrected automatically] you get Google+ -. Plus and minus equals minus. Google minus. Ha!). Also, Google+ doesn't pretend that it's not a regular social network. Its entire strategy appears to be to take on Facebook, so that is pretty honest at least. 

BUT. The whole "do I really need another social network to steal my time?" part applies here too. In addition, Google+ has several other disadvantages too. Such as the fact that I'm googlified enough as it is. I've already pretty much sold my soul to Google, and I feel more comfortable knowing that Facebook also holds a share of it. Also, you need a Google account to log onto Google+. I have one, of course. I am writing this in gmail, after all. But my Google account is tied with my Cruella-personality, and Cruella already is too "out there" (no pun intended). If Google+ were to replace Facebook for me, Cruella and my other self would have to mix friends. I'm so not ready for that. As a final "besides", I can't just put Cruella on Google+ and keep my other self on Facebook either. Oh, no. Because Google+ is doing what Facebook failed to do (or didn't bother, perhaps) - restricting users to real, actual people. Thus, Cruella probably wouldn't be accepted. Shame on them. 

Right. So as you can see (well, I don't know if you can see anything, actually. "You" being the eternity of cyberspace and all), Mike didn't make a wise move in trying to Google+ me. Now more than ever I want to Google- him. It's just that I don't know how. There is a link at the bottom of the email saying "unsubscribe", but when I clicked it, Google helpfully provided a "something went wrong. That's all we know". Aaaaargh!!! 

Maybe I just have to learn how to live with Mike contacting me every now and then. Whether it is for home, home decor, repairs and renovation, gardening, food, desserts, beverages, entertaining and delish (whatever that is), as I just realized the Google+ description explains. At least I know that, now. 

Thank you for listening. 

Cruella. 

*He's not really called "Mike", of course. I'm still too nice to actually put up his real name, there... 

On job hunting

With Japan still in the blue for me, it's time to consider other options. At any rate I meant to start looking for jobs towards the middle of my stay in Tokyo, and we are approaching that "deadline" even with me not being in the country at the moment. So, I'm updating my resume, trying to check out listings, searching the web and talking to friends and family about potential places to start looking.

I've also been thinking about job applications and what (hopefully) comes after the application – the interview. One of the things you will often be asked in an interview is to list three good and bad sides about yourself.

Let’s start with the bad. The worst answer of all is that you have no bad sides. This only comes off as arrogant and it reveals a lack of self-insight (which is a bad side). Instead, it is common for interviewees to try to pick bad sides that are possible to work on, or sides that also can be advantages. At the same time, it is important to be honest. Don’t say your worst side is your impatience just because you’ve heard this can translate to “getting things done”. And don’t say “I can never say no” unless it is absolutely true – chances are the interviewers will have heard both of those before.

I tried to think about my actual worst sides – at least those who affect work. Because some of my bad sides don’t affect my work – I can be terribly messy at home, but I’m far more organized at work, for instance. One problem I have encountered with my thesis and in my work life is a double-edged sword: I can (have had to, in fact) work independently, but I far prefer working in a team, getting feedback, having someone that depends on me. That is the best way I can employ my potential;  I perform better when I am not making all the decisions myself.

It is definitely a disadvantage because many job listings specifically mention “the ability to work independently” as one thing they are looking for. At the same time, I have shown that I can work independently, for instance by finishing my studies. In other words; this weakness of mine is something I consciously try to work on. Also, the fact that I prefer feedback suggests that I am a team player – which most employers value in their employees.

The bad sides were difficult, but ironically it was even harder to list my good sides. My work ethics, my loyalty, the qualities and abilities I have acquired through my education and experience – how to determine which ones are more attractive for the job? When applying for the job in Japan, I decided to go for my ability to adapt to new environments. The fact that I settle quickly, am a fast and eager learner and that I generally have a positive outlook were among the qualities that made me suitable for that position. For other jobs, I might rate other qualities higher. 

As a side effect of this exercise, however, I learned something about myself. It felt good to say something nice about myself. I gave myself a compliment, and I liked it. Thus, I have a challenge for you: skip the bad sides for today, but think through what your good sides are. Try to come up with at least three. If you want, post them in the comments section. Don’t be shy – it will feel good J

On mingling

One of the more common stereotypes about diplomatic life is that ambassadors and their staff do little more than attend cocktail parties. This is not true. They also attend luncheons and dinners.

I’m joking. Life at the embassy has taught me that a very large portion of the work takes part in front of a computer, and in meetings. The diplomats take pride in representing their country abroad, and this means more than small talk over long drinks. Still, small talk over long drinks is indeed a part of the job, and since part of my job is to take part in every aspect of the embassy work, I also get to attend some of these events.

Cocktail parties and other similar events involve mingling. This is an art I have yet to master. First of all it is difficult enough to start a conversation with complete strangers; secondly I find it difficult to leave said conversation to go talk to someone else.

To initiate a conversation with someone the first step is usually to introduce yourself. Your name, and your occupation. In many professional events it is also common to exchange business cards. In Japan, this is not only common, it is crucial. My current problem is that I haven’t yet gotten a business card, both because I am new in the job, but more importantly because the embassy phone system have been changed since I got here, so I was asked to hold off ordering business cards until the new numbers were cleared.

In many parts of the world, this would be problematic, but not catastrophic. In Japan, it is social suicide. The business cards exchange is more than just an exchange of contact information. Actually, the tradition is similar to the well known Japanese gift exchange – a symbolic gesture that requires both parties to give something of similar value to the other party. There is much ceremony to this; the business card is supposed to be presented with both hands, and it is polite to read what’s on the other party’s card before pocketing it.

I cannot tell you how many times I have had to explain that I don’t have a card yet. It is outrageous. Nobody does not have a card. If you exist, you have a card. And if you meet someone else who exists, you will give them your card and expect to receive one back.

And yet, I think I have seen relief in some people I’ve met when I’ve told them I cannot participate in this ritual just yet. One less pointless card to throw away when they get home. Because surely, nobody keeps all the cards they receive? As mentioned, the exchange of business cards isn’t necessarily about exchanging contact information – no one expects you to actually stay in touch with all these people. What interest do you actually have to stay in touch with somebody you randomly met at a party, whose work and life does not at all overlap with your own, when knowing that your only mutual meeting point forever will be only this one party?

We’re back to the core of why mingling is difficult. Because there are mostly strangers, you don’t know who it will be interesting to talk to. You have to take a chance and start talking to whomever stands close by, or who’s eyes you meet, or who is standing in a half circle so that it is possible to sneak in without interrupting too much. And then you ideally should have an exit strategy in case you discover that all the people in the half circle are talking about the usage of microchips in fusion-powered transportation systems. Or some other technical dippedidoodaat you don’t understand.

As mentioned, it can be equally hard to get out of a mingle-situation as it is to get in. Once you’ve gotten through all the obligatory small talk, you have to find a way to stay interested and interesting, otherwise the conversation obviously will stall quite quickly. The awkward silences that follow are even more awkward if the other party also is not too good at mingling. You are both too polite to just leave, none of you are able to think of an excuse to leave, and yet, you’re not able to think of anything interesting to say.

The other pitfall is to get into too deep a conversation. Often I find that when asking about other people’s work, they tend to get comfortable in the conversation, since it’s (hopefully) a topic they know very well. A lot of people are very passionate about their work. The other night I talked to an archeologist who specialized in ancient ship wrecks. How cool is that? He was like the Indiana Jones of the Sea! We talked for a long time about his work, my studies, and about the incomprehensibly cold relationship between historians and archeologists. I would have liked to continue to talk to him, but since I felt obliged to mingle, that wasn’t really an option.

See, you’re not supposed to have long conversations in these settings. First of all it ruins the point of the event for yourself – networking is not-working if the net consists of only one very detailed mesh (stitch? Loop? My metaphor is failing me…). Secondly, it ruins the point of the event for everyone else – if two people are immersed in deep conversation all night; these are two people less to mingle with. If everyone is doing it, no one is networking. Third, there is always the chance that the interesting conversation you think you’re having isn’t all that interesting for the other party. He or she is probably there to meet more people than just you, and even though they might enjoy speaking to you, there is a great chance that the main reason they haven’t left the conversation to go speak to the ones they really came there to meet is that they too are too polite to leave without an excuse.

Thus, mingling is a tricky business. If done right – lots of limited small talk, exchanging contact information (or in Japan, business cards whether you expect to stay in touch or not), quickly establishing which people are useful to talk to and who are just there to enjoy the free drinks – it can be an effective way of networking. If done my way, it is a study in awkward silences and pointless conversations.

I obviously need more training in this, and fortunately, this stay gives me ample opportunities to do so. I just need to print a business card first! 

On girl-crushes

I have a girl-crush, on a guy.

You all know what a girl-crush is, don't you? When a girl meets another girl and the chemistry is just right, the talking goes very smooth, and you just want to be best friends forever (I'm not using the abbreviation BFF, because I've friends who use that in a completely different context...). Basically, it's the friend-equivalent of "love at first sight".

I've always thought that this only worked with girl and girl, since it would automatically lead to "potential love interest" problems if it was a girl and a guy, but that is not the case here. He is cute and adorable and everything, but I am pretty sure he was gay. And even if he wasn't, it doesn't really matter. It was still a BFF (not BFF) kind of connection.

The problem with girl-crushes is that they often entail the same problems as regular crushes. "Is she (now he) as interested as I am?"; "Should I call her (him), or will that be too pushy?"; "What if she (he) isn't as into giraffes as I am?" (or is this just me...?)

In the end this was probably just a girl-fling on a boy. It won't grow into girl-love. I probably won't see him all that much, and come to think of it, I can't call him, because I don't have his number (though I can Facebook him, but I am thinking that would be a little creepy, since we don't really know each other that well).




































I predict that 97% of the males reading this entire post did so because they hoped "girl-crushes" would be described in a somewhat graphic way.

I also predict that 78% of the readers (of both genders) only scrolled down this far in hope that I would explain the alternative usage of the abbreviation BFF...






Sorry...
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On Twitter

Twitter has been one of those things I have loved to hate without ever having really tried it (much like the Twilight series, or Roquefort cheese). From what I had heard about Twitter, it seemed clear to me that it only was a more public and less personal Facebook, it was just another time waster (in which the web already offers too many for my own good), and the limitation of 140 characters appeared to me to be one of the safest ways of ensuring “chat speak”, which I loathe.


However fond I was of my Twitter prejudices, I decided that it was beneath me to continue to discard a worldwide phenomenon that doubtlessly has an impact with its more than 100 million users (a handful of whom I happen to know, so they can’t all be twits [sorry, I’ve been dying to use that sometime…]). I no longer wanted to discard it without knowing what I was discarding. So I decided to sign up for Twitter.

In a way.

As I only intended this to be a temporary experiment, I didn’t really want my Twitter account to be “me”. I did not want to connect to my friends, to start tweeting and then discover that this was the way life should be. I did not want to end up loving Twitter. I only wanted to know why I hated it.

Thus, I signed up with a fake name, fake birthday, fake everything. If you sometime in the last few weeks have been followed by a stranger whose tweets sound oddly familiar, it isn’t me. I deliberately avoided following anyone I knew, because I did not want to get pulled in. I may have peeked at your profile (mwahahaha!), but I didn’t follow it. I acknowledge that this isn’t doing Twitter justice, because any social media becomes fun only when there is interaction (hence the social part). But what I wanted was simply to get a feel for what the hype was all about, and that I did.

At first a few of my prejudices were confirmed. Language wise, Twitter can be annoying. One example that continued to baffle me was that topics that “trended” (from what I gathered “Twitter trends” are keywords often repeated in tweets), frequently had rather obvious spelling errors in them. This either means that a significant number of Twitter users didn’t know how to spell these words, or that a significant number of them didn’t care and spelled it incorrectly on purpose because this was an up-and-coming hashtag (keywords with an # in front of it). Neither alternative bodes well for Twitter’s influence on language.

That being said, Twitter also has a large number of users who seem to interpret the 140 character limitation as a challenge to squeeze an impressing amount of information in the form of quality writing into each tweet. Even though also these users sometimes have to employ certain abbreviations (“PLZ RT” seems unavoidable), it is comforting to know that there exists a Twitter that doesn’t fck w ur spllng (LOL).

That Twitter can be a time waster is without any shed of doubt. But then again, what isn’t? You can claim all you want that you only signed up for Facebook for networking purposes and that your blog serves 100% as a window to the world that one day will lead you to a publishing contract. However, until you prove to me that you haven’t at least once clicked on an old high school friend’s photo album just out of curiosity, or that one or two of the blogs you visit regularly serve no other purpose than to entertain you, I will not listen to a word you say.

Thus, Twitter can waste your time. But Twitter can also be a useful tool to find and connect with people who share your interests in whatever field that may be, it can be a way of keeping up with news, and it can be a great way of promoting yourself. The reason? Twitter’s simplicity. Anyone can tweet, and anyone can retweet. The second you have one single person retweeting a link you posted, it means that all of his/her followers have the chance to visit the link as well.

The prejudice of mine that crashed most profoundly, however, is that Twitter is just a (poorer) version of Facebook. Twitter is nothing like Facebook. Even though you can customize both your Facebook and Twitter experience, Facebook is by nature much more personal, for better and for worse. For two people to be “friends” on Facebook it takes mutual acceptance. On Twitter you can follow anyone, regardless of whether they are following you (even though there is a possibility of keeping tweets private. This seems slightly pointless considering the purpose of Twitter, but whatever floats your tweet…). This means that I get to read tweets by people who never in a million years would have friended me on Facebook. I even get to interact with them by the simple use of an @ in front of whatever tweet I want them to see. Useful? Mnwellno – maybe. Fun? Definitely.

Another thing about Twitter which separates it from Facebook is that it is highly topicized (yes, I know that isn’t a word, but “categorized” just didn’t do it for me today). Because of the aforementioned hashtags you can search specifically for tweets about topics that interest you. If butterfly collecting is your thing, I am sure you can find someone tweeting about it, without having to look through the status updates of butterfly collectors who happened to only write about what they had for breakfast this one particular day (which could be the case if you friended them on Facebook).

I like Facebook because it is a casual way of catching up with friends. I suppose you could do that on Twitter as well, but either you would have to be prepared to do it in public or you would have to write a personal message (and if you’re doing that, you might as well send an email). Thus for that purpose Twitter does not seem as apt. Twitter appears to be best when you have a specific agenda. It doesn’t matter if that agenda is praising Justin Bieber (who should need no further introduction since it appears to be impossible to be on Twitter without hearing about him) or promoting your blog. The domino effect Twitter can create seems unmatched by Facebook. For instance I noticed that the topics trending often were important news stories. This bodes well for the world, people! Twitter users care about Gaza, and not just Justin Bieber!

Another (rather random) thing I noticed during my twitttaffair was that John Cleese follows 150-something twitterers (tweeters?), and a completely disproportionate number of those were from Norway. I do know that the man likes a good old Norwegian Blue, but why in the world..? These were seemingly normal Norwegians, who for some reason had their tweets followed by Mr. Cleese. Any clarification as to why Cleese prefers Norwegians would be helpful. Thanks. (And before you ask – no, he does not follow me. Naturally I did not use Norway as location for my fake Twitter persona!)

In the end, my undercover experiment taught me to accept Twitter rather than liking it (which I never will, I think) or hating it (which I don’t anymore). I might in the future consider opening a real Twitter account, one where I contact actual friends; follow people I actually want to follow as opposed to Aston Cutcher (ooops, did that give me away? Yeah, it might, but you’d have to look through 5 million followers to find the correct fake me); and actively try to network rather than “fakework” which I largely did this time. If I ever get a book to promote, for instance, I do see why (and now how) Twitter can be useful. In the meantime I intend to continue to stay away.

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.

The Jefferson memorial - taken on my (for now) final sightseeing in Washington, D.C.

On networking and not working

I could have sworn I scheduled my blog to post as usual this morning. But then I discovered that it didn’t. Don’t know how that happened, but since it was a sorry excuse for a blog post anyway, I don’t really mind that it got lost (it’s not really lost, it’s all there in “drafts”, but it’s not worth reviving. Trust me). Luckily I stopped by before midnight, so I won’t miss a day in the ongoing NoBloWriMo challenge… Anyway, what I did say in the lost blog post is that I’m back from my Midwestern adventure. I had a splendid time – in fact, so splendid that I didn’t remotely miss the fact that I had limited online time for a week and I was completely cut off the entire weekend. I would not even dream of trying to tell even a fraction of everything I’ve seen, experienced and done – it’s all reserved for multiple blog posts to come (and there will be pictures!). In addition, I’ve had time to mold over some follow ups to some of my previous blog posts (alright, one of them – the Nobel Prize again occupies my attention – will get back to that later, NOT tonight). In short, I’ve got plenty of blog material for the days to come. Further, my time in the US is rapidly coming to an end – soon the time will come to reflect over how I feel about leaving (and more importantly, how I feel about returning home). I also have some catching up to do on some comments and such – so I believe the forecasted rain this weekend is welcome.


However, if you thought I returned to a nice and quiet start of the weekend here, you were wrong. Today I’ve been at a conference all day. Basically, this was just the sort of thing I pictured myself doing when I first set my mind to go to Washington. Networking. Academic, interdisciplinary interaction. Get input that in turn will help me form new perspectives and angles on my thesis.

Today’s conference was arranged by PARC (the Palestinian American Research Center) and IMES, the Center for Middle East Studies at George Washington University. Even though I am technically affiliated with GWU’s IERES (Eurasian Studies), I am on the mailing list for IMES, and today’s event allowed me to mingle with the right kind of people, since I, after all, am not working with Eurasian questions. (Long story short – IERES has the visiting scholar program, and one of my professors knows the head of IERES. Networking pays off.) The subject for the conference was scholarship on Palestine, showing where today’s research on Palestine in numerous disciplines stands. Interestingly, the conference was very academical, but not particularly political (which is quite unusual considering the subject). On the other hand, it can be argued that most of the participants probably had similar views on the subject matter (supporting this is the fact that there are enough people out there who would not even consider attending a conference about Palestine, since the word Palestine implies a certain bias in the ongoing struggle. This may be the case, but I’ve come to accept that when your field is the Middle East, no matter your discipline, you have to learn how to deal with bias because there is no escaping it). I’ll avoid details, but let me just say that the conference was extraordinarily interesting and fruitful, and I am very happy I convinced myself to go (even though I could have used some time off after my vacation). I am sure it will be a great inspiration to me when I over the weekend get back to working on my thesis.

Thus, academically the conference paid off (though technically I didn’t pay anything at all. I don’t know if it was because I’m with GWU or if the same applies to all participants, but they didn’t charge a dime. So not only did I get free academic inspiration, I got free breakfast, lunch and dinner. They don’t treat scholars this well in Norway). On the networking part, though, I don’t know. I know that for many bloggers, especially the aspiring writers of us, networking is a key component. It can be tricky in blog form, but personally I prefer that to the real deal – speaking to complete strangers about the weather or the food in hope that at some point during the conversation it will come up that they can offer you the job of your dreams and that they are willing to take your card. Add to that speaking in a foreign language, the fact that you’ve just spent 7 hours in deep concentration and that you don’t actually have a card – it’s exhausting!

It wasn’t a huge success. Granted, I did get someone’s card. I did give out my email address to a couple of people. And I had an interesting epiphany when it turned out the lady next to me worked for the US Air Force as part of their team to train and prepare soldiers for what they might expect on foreign soil. It does reassure me to know that the scholarly developments is taken seriously by people in power, because of the implications this has both for the academia and for the air force. Also, it opens up a whole new range of job opportunities I had not thought of before.

(Wow – I’m really rambling now. It is also technically over midnight, but I’m ignoring that, since I a) acted in good faith thinking I had already posted; and b) can argue that I am still on Minnesota time.)

By the time of the banquet – which was a somewhat fancy affair with great food and lots of wine – I was extremely tired and fed up with the networking. I grabbed some food and had a quick drink, and I was out of there before anyone had the chance to say “business card”. I might do some follow-ups (one of the really eager ones actually already emailed me, so there are clearly possibilities), but all in all I was happy to let this be the extent of networking I did today. After all, I’m new to it. I’m still learning. And it is more important that I went to the event, and that I tried, than whether I actually succeed.

At this point I should have drawn a clever parallel to blogging and how it also there is more important that I am trying at all than whether I actually succeed, but I am not making sense as it is, and I am inclined to post this before I get cold feet (colder feet, actually, since they’re already freezing. It got cold in Maryland while I was away) and proofread or some such silliness.

Therefore I bid you goodnight, at 11:09 pm Minnesota time.

(In case you were wondering - I had an intention with that clever title of mine, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was. The "networking" part is pretty evident, the "not working" - not so much. Maybe it refers to my brain, which currently seems to not be working. I think I just feel asleep in the middle of a sentence... Time to hit the sack!)