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 cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2015
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
On questions, of the frequently googled variety.
Every now
and then I check the stats for this site. Not actually because I am so terribly
obsessed about how many people visit my blog (well, okay, slightly because of
that too), but because checking the stats can be quite entertaining. You see,
there is a function that allows you to see from what website the visitors came.
Quite a lot of them are from google.com, .au, .ca, .so-on and .so-forth. In
itself not very interesting, but amusing when you also look at the search terms
used by these visitors. Or at least the ones landing on my blog are fairly interesting...
(Also, for clarity - the reason these people end up here might have a little something to do with this post...)
This month
Turning to my monthly stats, there are some truly random searches. I particularly like "nuclear chemistry site", "gingerbread song egner", and "norway starbucks salary". Let me try to answer your questions, random googlers.
Nuclear chemistry is not, has not been, and definitely never will be a specialty of mine. But since you came here looking for it, I can only assume that you ended up on my post on the Fukushima threat. This post was written when I still was in Japan, and it is coloured by this. However, I still feel that most of it is valid, even though some of my points seem less impressive now that the nuclear disaster has been ongoing for more than a month. "Fukushima will not be a Chernobyl 2!" I said. And yet - the disaster has since been upgraded to the top level of severity on the nuclear disaster scale. The same as Chernobyl. I still don't think Fukushima will have the lasting and widespread effects Chernobyl had - the way the radioactive material have leaked this time, for instance, is still quite different than it was in 1986. But there is no doubt that Fukushima has become much more severe than I was willing to believe one month ago.
Was this what you were looking for, random googler? If not, let me guide you to a "nuclear chemistry site". You can never go wrong with Wikipedia. (Yes you can. Muchly. But if you want nuclear chemistry beyond that I am afraid you'll have to look elsewhere than this blog for answers.)
Torbjørn Egner's "The Gingerbread Song". You're at the wrong time of year, that's for sure. In Norway we only make these cookies for Christmas. But okay - I don't mind if you want to sing the song all year long. I have written about it, but I failed to include the actual song. Let me make up for that right away. Here you'll find one version. It probably won't make any sense to anyone that isn't Norwegian (since you won't understand the lyrics, or the pun), so I better also include a link to the original version of the song. You still won't understand the lyrics, but at least you might be able to see why the former is amusing (it's a parody). Also, I took the liberty to translate (very directly, very unlyrically) the lyrics. Just in case that's what you were looking for:
This week
One of the
major hits this week have been from people googling the sentence: ”Adam Hills
you’re not special princess”. I am sure Adam Hills is glad to hear that…
Actually, though, I happen to know what people are looking for when they google it. It's a bit (stop laughing Aussies...) he did as part of the hilarious "Live at the Apollo", and it's got many of my favourite Adam Hills jokes.
What I don't get, however, is why these googlers end up on my blog. I don't have the video here. Or rather, I didn't use to. But since I feel the need to satisfy these people who are clearly looking for a laugh, I am now posting the video here. Hopefully it'll satisfy some of the rest of you too.
The princess part starts at about 6:52, but do yourself a favour and watch the rest too. And make sure you don't have any coffee or such in your mouth while watching (it will end up in your nose/on your screen).
(Also, for clarity - the reason these people end up here might have a little something to do with this post...)
This month
Turning to my monthly stats, there are some truly random searches. I particularly like "nuclear chemistry site", "gingerbread song egner", and "norway starbucks salary". Let me try to answer your questions, random googlers.
Nuclear chemistry is not, has not been, and definitely never will be a specialty of mine. But since you came here looking for it, I can only assume that you ended up on my post on the Fukushima threat. This post was written when I still was in Japan, and it is coloured by this. However, I still feel that most of it is valid, even though some of my points seem less impressive now that the nuclear disaster has been ongoing for more than a month. "Fukushima will not be a Chernobyl 2!" I said. And yet - the disaster has since been upgraded to the top level of severity on the nuclear disaster scale. The same as Chernobyl. I still don't think Fukushima will have the lasting and widespread effects Chernobyl had - the way the radioactive material have leaked this time, for instance, is still quite different than it was in 1986. But there is no doubt that Fukushima has become much more severe than I was willing to believe one month ago.
Was this what you were looking for, random googler? If not, let me guide you to a "nuclear chemistry site". You can never go wrong with Wikipedia. (Yes you can. Muchly. But if you want nuclear chemistry beyond that I am afraid you'll have to look elsewhere than this blog for answers.)
Torbjørn Egner's "The Gingerbread Song". You're at the wrong time of year, that's for sure. In Norway we only make these cookies for Christmas. But okay - I don't mind if you want to sing the song all year long. I have written about it, but I failed to include the actual song. Let me make up for that right away. Here you'll find one version. It probably won't make any sense to anyone that isn't Norwegian (since you won't understand the lyrics, or the pun), so I better also include a link to the original version of the song. You still won't understand the lyrics, but at least you might be able to see why the former is amusing (it's a parody). Also, I took the liberty to translate (very directly, very unlyrically) the lyrics. Just in case that's what you were looking for:
When a gingerbread cookie baker
Is baking gingerbread cookies
He first takes a cooking pot
And a kilo margarine
He melts the butter [margarine..?] in the pot
And the next he has to do,
Is to mix the melted butter
With a kilo sugar.
And while the butter and sugar is foaming
You take eight egg yolks
That you stir into the pot
With a kilo wheat flour
And in the end you drop
Into the pot a small tea spoon pepper
And then stir all about!
I make no excuses for the fact that it obviously makes no sense. Plus, the recipe is rubbish, and NOT for gingerbread cookies. Egner was a better writer than was he a baker (though I JUST realized he changed P.O.V. during the song... Not so great writer either? Childhood hero lost? Nah, I forgive him).
Norwegian Starbucks salary. This one is easy. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. You won't get a dime (or an øre, as would be more likely, this being Norway and all. Øre = 100th of a krone, by the way. Øre [also] = ear...) The reason? You'll find out here.
All time
Two search phrases dominate my all time search history. Both seem incredibly unreasonable to me.
Fraggle rock characters. 77 people have searched for "Fraggle Rock characters" and arrived at my blog. 68 simply searched for "Fraggle Rock". Add 21 for "Uncle Traveling Matt" and a dozen each for "fraggle uncle" or "fraggle rock pictures" and this is clearly one of the main searches that leads to my blog. Not giraffes. Oh, no. Fraggles. I love me some Fraggles, but this is just silly. Haven’t I written like one post about them? One!
And yet. They came here looking for Fraggles. Poor things. I feel the need to provide Fraggles.
Looking for the theme song? It's here! And here. The latter is the Norwegian version, by the way. You know you want to hear how it sounds in Norwegian right..? Of course you do. That's why the former ALSO is the Norwegian version ;)
By the way - did you know how JK Rowling came up with the word for non-magical people in the Harry Potter books?
Fraggle rock characters. 77 people have searched for "Fraggle Rock characters" and arrived at my blog. 68 simply searched for "Fraggle Rock". Add 21 for "Uncle Traveling Matt" and a dozen each for "fraggle uncle" or "fraggle rock pictures" and this is clearly one of the main searches that leads to my blog. Not giraffes. Oh, no. Fraggles. I love me some Fraggles, but this is just silly. Haven’t I written like one post about them? One!
And yet. They came here looking for Fraggles. Poor things. I feel the need to provide Fraggles.
Looking for the theme song? It's here! And here. The latter is the Norwegian version, by the way. You know you want to hear how it sounds in Norwegian right..? Of course you do. That's why the former ALSO is the Norwegian version ;)
By the way - did you know how JK Rowling came up with the word for non-magical people in the Harry Potter books?
Muppet + Fraggle = MUGGLE!
(True story)
Cats the
musical. I am no
crazy cat lady, but I am a crazy-cat lady. I’m not the crazy one – the cats
are. You see, I have this special thing - I don't know if it's a touch, a way of moving, a smell, or Digression forbid, a stench - but cats love it. I generally get along well with other people's cats (I've never owned one myself), but the real oddity is with stray cats (actual cats). Stray cats have followed me home since I was little (still cats. No metaphor intended). They would seek out my window - among the dozens of other windows in my house, they would always find mine - and then sit there and cry all night, until I took pity on them and talked back, or came out, or fed them or some such thing. Like magic.
Apparently, this magic also works across the internet. I know I have written about this before, but it still baffles me. Why do people search for cats, and end up here, of all places?!? The internet is swarming with cats (do cats swarm? A murder of crows, a pack of cats? The internet is packed with cats? Hm...). There is absolutely no need to come here to look for them! But since you did, let me help you out. I aim to please (and purr) after all (this might be why cats like me).
A great deal of the cat-searches that lead to my blog also include the words "the musical". Now, you might think this is the critically (and publically) acclaimed musical "Cats", but you arewrong boring. "The musical cat(s)", I say! Just take a look at this:
So there. Those where my answers to your frequently googled questions. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to find out who or what "gregory cauthen" and "rooibos charcot marie tooth" are, and why they lead people to my blog.
Apparently, this magic also works across the internet. I know I have written about this before, but it still baffles me. Why do people search for cats, and end up here, of all places?!? The internet is swarming with cats (do cats swarm? A murder of crows, a pack of cats? The internet is packed with cats? Hm...). There is absolutely no need to come here to look for them! But since you did, let me help you out. I aim to please (and purr) after all (this might be why cats like me).
A great deal of the cat-searches that lead to my blog also include the words "the musical". Now, you might think this is the critically (and publically) acclaimed musical "Cats", but you are
So there. Those where my answers to your frequently googled questions. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to find out who or what "gregory cauthen" and "rooibos charcot marie tooth" are, and why they lead people to my blog.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
On cats (because reusing titles is the new pink)
I'm fairly sure that if you google "cats", your computer will explode. There are so many cats on the internet! (A redundant sentence if there ever was one. I want to write another...) There are probably more cats on the internet than there is offline. (I don't know if this is true. I don't know at all. I was just hoping to write a redundant sentence, and frankly, I am a little disappointed that I failed.)
I am fairly sure that your computer will explode if you google "cats" no matter if you use google.de or google.au. They have cats all over the google these days.
Considering the vast amount of cats on the internet, then, I can't help but wonder why it is that one of the major source for random hits this blog gets is from people in Germany and Australia who are searching for pictures of "cats" (or "Cats", but google isn't great when it comes to capital letters). Really? This blog? But... I have written one - ONE - post about cats. Granted, it did include a (shamelessly stolen [I've become much more careful with where I take my pictures from lately - which explains why there aren't as many pictures on this blog...]) picture from "Cats", and I assume that might be the kitty picture they are looking for.
However. I am still willing to wager that there are many sources out there a lot more informative about "Cats", or cats.
Not that I complain. Hey, feel free to visit me any way you want. But I reserve the right to question your motives...
Also, just to prove why I am not in the habit of posting pictures of cats:
The thing about cats, is that they don't pose. Unlike, say, squirrels...
I eventually managed one half decent shot of the cat...
...but I remain convinced that there are better places than this blog to look for pictures of cats. Or "Cats".
I am fairly sure that your computer will explode if you google "cats" no matter if you use google.de or google.au. They have cats all over the google these days.
Considering the vast amount of cats on the internet, then, I can't help but wonder why it is that one of the major source for random hits this blog gets is from people in Germany and Australia who are searching for pictures of "cats" (or "Cats", but google isn't great when it comes to capital letters). Really? This blog? But... I have written one - ONE - post about cats. Granted, it did include a (shamelessly stolen [I've become much more careful with where I take my pictures from lately - which explains why there aren't as many pictures on this blog...]) picture from "Cats", and I assume that might be the kitty picture they are looking for.
However. I am still willing to wager that there are many sources out there a lot more informative about "Cats", or cats.
Not that I complain. Hey, feel free to visit me any way you want. But I reserve the right to question your motives...
Also, just to prove why I am not in the habit of posting pictures of cats:
 |
| Here, kitty, kitty... |
 |
| Uhm... Kitty? |
 |
| Stay, kitty.... |
 |
| Right there, that's goo... No, keep moving then... |
 |
| Who's a pretty kitty? |
 |
| Whiskers, you say? |
 |
| Too close, kitty! |
 |
| Don't leave, kitty! |
 |
| No, no, stay here! |
 |
| Uhm... What's this doing here? |
I eventually managed one half decent shot of the cat...
...but I remain convinced that there are better places than this blog to look for pictures of cats. Or "Cats".
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
On mornings and their aftermath
When I was a kid, I used to have a T-shirt that said ”I don’t do mornings”. I think I still should have one of those. It’s not that I can’t get up early – I can, if I have a good reason – and it’s not that I don’t function well in the morning – if I do manage to get up early, I function better in the morning. I’m pretty much a morning person, apart from one little detail: I can’t be trusted in the morning.
I’m not saying “don’t share state secrets with me in the morning” – I can keep a secret even before 10 am (though frankly, if you’re sharing state secrets with me, it’s you who have a trust problem…). But what I am saying is that I am less rational in the morning.
Last night I told myself that I needed to get up early today. I needed to have a quick shower and breakfast, and I needed to leave the house and go to the university where there is a perfectly nice working space waiting for me.
This morning, however, I told the alarm clock to go hide where the sun never shines. Actually, I got out of bed to tell it this. I was up, I was awake, and I was lucid (or so I thought). But instead of staying up and awake, I went back to bed, back to sleep. When I eventually did get up, I had a looong breakfast, a looooong shower, and I didn’t leave the house at all. “After all,” morning-me said, “I have a perfectly nice working space right here. Working from home will save me lots of time.”
Only it didn’t. It never does.
I turned on the computer (that part is easy). I located my notes, and I intended to open the documents I need to write what is commonly known as “that ruddy chapter five”. Only before I got a chance to do that I decided I should check my email. Facebook. My blog. The Burrow. Before I knew it I had spent two hours replying to emails, writing comments on my blog, watching “Can I Haz Cheezburger Kittehs”, reading and commenting on other people’s blogs, and so on. And so forth.
Once that was done, I realized it was time to eat lunch. Lunch it is. I couldn’t work while eating, of course, so I read some more blogs. Watched more kittehs (I hate that word, by the way. It is beyond me why the funny captions [they are very funny!] supposedly become funnier because they are misspelled. Why?). Checked my email again.
After lunch I had to do the dishes. And once I was at it I might as well tidy a little as well.
I don’t know how time learned to fly, but I can assure you its wings are working perfectly around here. All this because the irrational morning-me decided that today would be different (it wasn’t). Morning-me thinks emails should have a higher priority than my education (it shouldn’t!). Morning-me even believes that night-me will be rational enough to set tomorrow-morning-me right (I won’t).
I’m not saying “don’t share state secrets with me in the morning” – I can keep a secret even before 10 am (though frankly, if you’re sharing state secrets with me, it’s you who have a trust problem…). But what I am saying is that I am less rational in the morning.
Last night I told myself that I needed to get up early today. I needed to have a quick shower and breakfast, and I needed to leave the house and go to the university where there is a perfectly nice working space waiting for me.
This morning, however, I told the alarm clock to go hide where the sun never shines. Actually, I got out of bed to tell it this. I was up, I was awake, and I was lucid (or so I thought). But instead of staying up and awake, I went back to bed, back to sleep. When I eventually did get up, I had a looong breakfast, a looooong shower, and I didn’t leave the house at all. “After all,” morning-me said, “I have a perfectly nice working space right here. Working from home will save me lots of time.”
Only it didn’t. It never does.
I turned on the computer (that part is easy). I located my notes, and I intended to open the documents I need to write what is commonly known as “that ruddy chapter five”. Only before I got a chance to do that I decided I should check my email. Facebook. My blog. The Burrow. Before I knew it I had spent two hours replying to emails, writing comments on my blog, watching “Can I Haz Cheezburger Kittehs”, reading and commenting on other people’s blogs, and so on. And so forth.
Once that was done, I realized it was time to eat lunch. Lunch it is. I couldn’t work while eating, of course, so I read some more blogs. Watched more kittehs (I hate that word, by the way. It is beyond me why the funny captions [they are very funny!] supposedly become funnier because they are misspelled. Why?). Checked my email again.
After lunch I had to do the dishes. And once I was at it I might as well tidy a little as well.
I don’t know how time learned to fly, but I can assure you its wings are working perfectly around here. All this because the irrational morning-me decided that today would be different (it wasn’t). Morning-me thinks emails should have a higher priority than my education (it shouldn’t!). Morning-me even believes that night-me will be rational enough to set tomorrow-morning-me right (I won’t).
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
On cats
Actually, that should be Cats with a capital C, because I just came back from seeing the show (at the theatre Chat Noir, ironically). However, now that I already typed it that way, let me ease you into the topic first.
Cats, Felis catus, is, according to Wikipedia “a small carnivorous mammal that is valued by humans for its companionship and its ability to hunt vermin and household pests”. True as this may be, it mentions nothing about the fact that cats also occasionally values the human for its companionship, though I doubt the cat thinks much of us as useful in terms of hunting vermin or household pests (unless you count dogs – which a cat naturally would do – a human might be useful to keep the dog away when the cat needs ALL of the couch for itself).
I’ve never had a cat. Not really. But there have been a number of cats that have had me.
For some reason, I seem to attract them. When I grew up, stray cats would frequently follow me home, and then stay for days – often settling themselves underneath my bedroom window (though never any of the other windows – always mine) where they would cry until I woke up and took pity on them. Several times, we’ve been able to reconnect a runaway cat with its owner because the cat adopted me as a sufficient substitute until their regular human got their act together and tracked them down. Then there was the cats that really were stray – one of them a tiny kitten which till today it kills me to think about, because I have no idea what happened to it (we found the mother dead not long after, so its prospects weren’t all that good).
When I first moved to the US, I was intrigued by the fact that “my family” owned two dogs and two cats. For someone who has never had pets, but always liked animals, this was a nice, new experience. These cats, Tina and Precious, were both extremely shy, but after a while, Tina realized that I would do what the other family members rarely did – pet her for hours and hours. Thus, she started to approach me, whenever I watched TV. She would meow until I gave her attention – which either meant that I made room for her to jump into the couch or lifted her up. Then she would lie there, looking all bored, like she was doing this since it apparently meant so much to me… I miss my cats (and the dogs too. Oh, and the people).
Another cat I’ve recently encountered is “Simon’s Cat”. Check it out on youtube if you haven’t already. I first met Simon’s cat in its book, though, which is out just in time to make a brilliant Christmas present to any cat lovers in your family. Reading this books also means I’ve completed the first of my nine required ones by December 31st.
And, finally, “Cats”, the show. Oslo has had a number of great musical productions the last few years. Either that, or the city has always had them, but I just didn’t notice until recently… Over the last couple of years, I’ve seen “Singin’in the Rain”, “Les Misérables” and now “Cats”. In addition there is still “Mamma Mia” and “Jesus Christ Superstar” I have yet to see. They have all been translated into Norwegian, which for the most part I think have been done splendidly (and this is coming from the “I hate translations”-gal). Also, the cast have been very good – how anyone can dance like that and still sing is beyond me! One fun fact – a former school mate of mine was in several of these productions (and tonight’s “Cats” as well). It’s even more impressive when you know he comes from the same little hometown as me, and he is as old as I am, and now he’s a professional singer/dancer in these big productions.
His performance, and that of the other cast members of tonight’s show, was as professional and marvelous as ever, and it never ceased to impress me how catlike they were at all time – even during intermission, when they were moving about among the audience, letting people pet them. “Cats” is a little strange compared to other musicals, though, seeing as it’s so low on plot. Basically, it’s just a string of sing/dance acts to portray different cat personalities. As long as you don’t expect a complex story (though frankly, if you do, musicals are probably not your genre anyway), it’s all right.
Finally, I'd like to share another drabble. It's from a past project of the Burrow, and there are 9 other drabbles accompanying the same picture (of a sleeping kitty), so if you like cats, I highly recommend paying our website a visit (there are of course also non-cat drabbles there, in case you're allergic or something).
Monday morning; but we are at the cabin, so it is not a Monday like any normal Monday. It is a Hunting Monday. Unless it is a Rainy Monday, in which case it is a Sleeping Monday.
All day long I lie here, listening to my humans walking about, talking, making coffee, washing in their strange fashion - outside, with soap and ice cold water, as the cabin has no plumbing. Why go through all that trouble?
I stretch and look through the window. Sleeping Monday it is.
Tomorrow is Tuesday. Maybe a Hunting Tuesday? Unless it is a Rainy Tuesday.
Cats, Felis catus, is, according to Wikipedia “a small carnivorous mammal that is valued by humans for its companionship and its ability to hunt vermin and household pests”. True as this may be, it mentions nothing about the fact that cats also occasionally values the human for its companionship, though I doubt the cat thinks much of us as useful in terms of hunting vermin or household pests (unless you count dogs – which a cat naturally would do – a human might be useful to keep the dog away when the cat needs ALL of the couch for itself).
I’ve never had a cat. Not really. But there have been a number of cats that have had me.
For some reason, I seem to attract them. When I grew up, stray cats would frequently follow me home, and then stay for days – often settling themselves underneath my bedroom window (though never any of the other windows – always mine) where they would cry until I woke up and took pity on them. Several times, we’ve been able to reconnect a runaway cat with its owner because the cat adopted me as a sufficient substitute until their regular human got their act together and tracked them down. Then there was the cats that really were stray – one of them a tiny kitten which till today it kills me to think about, because I have no idea what happened to it (we found the mother dead not long after, so its prospects weren’t all that good).
When I first moved to the US, I was intrigued by the fact that “my family” owned two dogs and two cats. For someone who has never had pets, but always liked animals, this was a nice, new experience. These cats, Tina and Precious, were both extremely shy, but after a while, Tina realized that I would do what the other family members rarely did – pet her for hours and hours. Thus, she started to approach me, whenever I watched TV. She would meow until I gave her attention – which either meant that I made room for her to jump into the couch or lifted her up. Then she would lie there, looking all bored, like she was doing this since it apparently meant so much to me… I miss my cats (and the dogs too. Oh, and the people). Another cat I’ve recently encountered is “Simon’s Cat”. Check it out on youtube if you haven’t already. I first met Simon’s cat in its book, though, which is out just in time to make a brilliant Christmas present to any cat lovers in your family. Reading this books also means I’ve completed the first of my nine required ones by December 31st.
His performance, and that of the other cast members of tonight’s show, was as professional and marvelous as ever, and it never ceased to impress me how catlike they were at all time – even during intermission, when they were moving about among the audience, letting people pet them. “Cats” is a little strange compared to other musicals, though, seeing as it’s so low on plot. Basically, it’s just a string of sing/dance acts to portray different cat personalities. As long as you don’t expect a complex story (though frankly, if you do, musicals are probably not your genre anyway), it’s all right.
Finally, I'd like to share another drabble. It's from a past project of the Burrow, and there are 9 other drabbles accompanying the same picture (of a sleeping kitty), so if you like cats, I highly recommend paying our website a visit (there are of course also non-cat drabbles there, in case you're allergic or something).
Monday morning; but we are at the cabin, so it is not a Monday like any normal Monday. It is a Hunting Monday. Unless it is a Rainy Monday, in which case it is a Sleeping Monday.
All day long I lie here, listening to my humans walking about, talking, making coffee, washing in their strange fashion - outside, with soap and ice cold water, as the cabin has no plumbing. Why go through all that trouble?
I stretch and look through the window. Sleeping Monday it is.
Tomorrow is Tuesday. Maybe a Hunting Tuesday? Unless it is a Rainy Tuesday.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
On a little bit of everything
If you’re wondering why I didn’t obligingly post between 8 or 9 am this morning, the reason is this: scheduled posting. Or lack thereof.
Usually I write my blogs one day early and schedule Blogger to post them at 8 am (which often makes me all iffy about writing “today”, since “today” often is “yesterday” when the blog is actually up, but still “today” when I write it. Which I considered writing a blog about, but then I figured it wasn’t worth it since I could fit the entire drama inside a single parenthesis. Then again, my parentheses often are extremely long, and thus I could probably fit any old drama inside them (Daddy dies via ear by uncle who is revealed in play but unfortunately girlfriend dies, mom dies, everyone else dies and I can’t stand it no more – tell my story, “friend”!). See?). However, even though I yesterday considered myself well enough to go into the city, attend a lecture (which was interesting though the compromiselessness (I’d try to figure out what the real, English word for this is, but I’m on a deadline here – got to finish this before my parents call because afterwards I have all sorts of other stuff to do) - the compromiselessness of a couple of the speakers made me barking mad), and then rob Macy’s (or was it the other way around? It sure had nothing to do with a robbet), I'm still not 100% well. By the time I got back home I only had the strength for a little chicken soup, some mindless television (though House had a moral agenda last night), and bed. No blog.
Today is another sickday (see, I’d write it as two words as Word wants me to, but according to my logic, at least, there should be a considerable difference between “a sick day” and “a sickday”. Maybe I’ll compromise and write sick-day. That’ll do) – another sick-day, though this one I have to devote to all sorts of chores like laundry, cat-petting (one of the cats here has adopted me – wonder what’ll happen when I go back home), figuring out how to get to the airport on Friday, calling my grandpa who had a birthday yesterday (I meant to call him then, but, due to mismatching time zones plus yesterday’s general poopiness (see above) that didn’t happen – but happy belated 86th, gramps! By the way - he said that this morning they had SNOW! Brrrr.... That's early, even for Norway! ), calling my parents to make them feel sorry for me since I’m sick, more laundry, drawing giraffes (keep reading, I’ll get to that) and making a blog schedule. I did make a blog schedule yesterday, but since I’ve already diverted from it, making a new one seems like a good idea. I’m not sharing the schedule with you guys, though, as I don’t do spoilers (*snort*).
What I am sharing, however, is my reason for making the schedule. Since I’m leaving town on Friday, to be gone for almost a week - that is a week without my laptop - I figured it was a good idea to schedule (here we go again) Blogger to post daily posts for me without my interference (even though I hear they have Internet both in Minnesota and in Michigan these days *snicker*). I might interfere. One of the scheduled posts currently reads “what we’re actually doing” (*claps hands over mouth – err… fingers* SPOILER!), but I might change that. You never know. It’s a miracle I’ve gotten this far on the whole blog-thing, really, as random rarely is consistent with regularity. Well, I don’t have a choice. Because I have committed to posting once every single day all through October. You might have noticed the shiny, new badge on the top of this site? That’s a link, peeps, and it’ll take you to a neat blog called NaBloWriMo (huh! There’s another link! Wow!), which I totally forgot to actually blog about (that is, I didn’t so much forget as I deliberately decided to postpone the mention until everyone else had, to avoid the hype, you know.. Right…). Oh, well. Means I cannot afford to skip even one day, and my only hope to avoid that is my hero – SCHEDULED POSTING!
Speaking of heroes, it’s been a while since I’ve giraffed about Ola, the giraffe-collector. Since I may or may not be harvesting, sorry, Halloween season must be getting to me (that totally should have gone into a parenthesis), attracting new readers in the midst of all this NaBloBlaBla (clever as this title is, it really is annoying to type!), and thus I figure it is time to once again encourage you all to draw/knit/bake/shape/paint/crochet/sculpt(is that a word? Wow!) a giraffe, take a picture of it and post it on http://www.onemilliongiraffes.com/. No requirements in terms of talent or creativity – just any old giraffe will do (as long as it is not computer-generated). My last effort is one of the reasons this blog was postponed this morning (I had to colour the ocean around Giraffenland, okay?), but don’t let that stop you. At the bottom of this post you will find a guide that'll show you how to draw a giraffe in ten seconds.
Alright, I think this was about all my brain could come up with in 20 minutes. Now off to posting, before I regret (this was pre-caffeine and sugar, imagine how I can get…).
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Usually I write my blogs one day early and schedule Blogger to post them at 8 am (which often makes me all iffy about writing “today”, since “today” often is “yesterday” when the blog is actually up, but still “today” when I write it. Which I considered writing a blog about, but then I figured it wasn’t worth it since I could fit the entire drama inside a single parenthesis. Then again, my parentheses often are extremely long, and thus I could probably fit any old drama inside them (Daddy dies via ear by uncle who is revealed in play but unfortunately girlfriend dies, mom dies, everyone else dies and I can’t stand it no more – tell my story, “friend”!). See?). However, even though I yesterday considered myself well enough to go into the city, attend a lecture (which was interesting though the compromiselessness (I’d try to figure out what the real, English word for this is, but I’m on a deadline here – got to finish this before my parents call because afterwards I have all sorts of other stuff to do) - the compromiselessness of a couple of the speakers made me barking mad), and then rob Macy’s (or was it the other way around? It sure had nothing to do with a robbet), I'm still not 100% well. By the time I got back home I only had the strength for a little chicken soup, some mindless television (though House had a moral agenda last night), and bed. No blog.
Today is another sickday (see, I’d write it as two words as Word wants me to, but according to my logic, at least, there should be a considerable difference between “a sick day” and “a sickday”. Maybe I’ll compromise and write sick-day. That’ll do) – another sick-day, though this one I have to devote to all sorts of chores like laundry, cat-petting (one of the cats here has adopted me – wonder what’ll happen when I go back home), figuring out how to get to the airport on Friday, calling my grandpa who had a birthday yesterday (I meant to call him then, but, due to mismatching time zones plus yesterday’s general poopiness (see above) that didn’t happen – but happy belated 86th, gramps! By the way - he said that this morning they had SNOW! Brrrr.... That's early, even for Norway! ), calling my parents to make them feel sorry for me since I’m sick, more laundry, drawing giraffes (keep reading, I’ll get to that) and making a blog schedule. I did make a blog schedule yesterday, but since I’ve already diverted from it, making a new one seems like a good idea. I’m not sharing the schedule with you guys, though, as I don’t do spoilers (*snort*).
What I am sharing, however, is my reason for making the schedule. Since I’m leaving town on Friday, to be gone for almost a week - that is a week without my laptop - I figured it was a good idea to schedule (here we go again) Blogger to post daily posts for me without my interference (even though I hear they have Internet both in Minnesota and in Michigan these days *snicker*). I might interfere. One of the scheduled posts currently reads “what we’re actually doing” (*claps hands over mouth – err… fingers* SPOILER!), but I might change that. You never know. It’s a miracle I’ve gotten this far on the whole blog-thing, really, as random rarely is consistent with regularity. Well, I don’t have a choice. Because I have committed to posting once every single day all through October. You might have noticed the shiny, new badge on the top of this site? That’s a link, peeps, and it’ll take you to a neat blog called NaBloWriMo (huh! There’s another link! Wow!), which I totally forgot to actually blog about (that is, I didn’t so much forget as I deliberately decided to postpone the mention until everyone else had, to avoid the hype, you know.. Right…). Oh, well. Means I cannot afford to skip even one day, and my only hope to avoid that is my hero – SCHEDULED POSTING!
Speaking of heroes, it’s been a while since I’ve giraffed about Ola, the giraffe-collector. Since I may or may not be harvesting, sorry, Halloween season must be getting to me (that totally should have gone into a parenthesis), attracting new readers in the midst of all this NaBloBlaBla (clever as this title is, it really is annoying to type!), and thus I figure it is time to once again encourage you all to draw/knit/bake/shape/paint/crochet/sculpt(is that a word? Wow!) a giraffe, take a picture of it and post it on http://www.onemilliongiraffes.com/. No requirements in terms of talent or creativity – just any old giraffe will do (as long as it is not computer-generated). My last effort is one of the reasons this blog was postponed this morning (I had to colour the ocean around Giraffenland, okay?), but don’t let that stop you. At the bottom of this post you will find a guide that'll show you how to draw a giraffe in ten seconds.
Alright, I think this was about all my brain could come up with in 20 minutes. Now off to posting, before I regret (this was pre-caffeine and sugar, imagine how I can get…).
(And yes, it's one of the 308 277 alerady posted on the site)
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
On retaining and recalling past experience (in short, a memory)
The class opened like any other class opened. The teacher asked no question to the fact that four new students, apparently foreign students, were present. He seemed to be a man that asked surprisingly few questions at all. “Surprisingly”, since his subject was philosophy, where, after all, the main point is to ask (and occasionally answer) questions.
“Philosophy” meant an endless flow of words about the life and work of Jean Paul Sartre. I remember wondering if the teacher ever took breaks, say, to breathe; and I remember being impressed by myself (and my French) that I was able to understand most of what he was saying. At that point I understood probably 90% of all French I heard or read, but I didn’t speak much. Today I’m ashamed to say I do neither.
The class could have been a boring one – should have, even – but in reality is wasn’t so bad. I know I found it both educational and interesting, though somewhat monotone. I wasn’t at all impressed by the teaching methods employed by that particular professeur.
Today, five years later, I don’t remember much from the class, except a rather comical situation. The classroom was on the attic floor, where all the hot air from the floors below seemed to gather. The conditions were ripe for the students’ minds to start drifting, and drift they probably did. In a feeble attempt to prevent this, someone had opened a window – but in reality it only promoted it, as no city can give alluring sounds like Paris; especially in springtime.
No student spoke during the class, until one of the boys suddenly exclaimed with a surprised voice: “Monsieur, un chat!” And indeed, a cat it was. A small, black and white cat had strayed up to the roof of the grand old building, and now it had discovered an open window. The cat only joined the class for a few minutes before it was hoisted out through the same window it had entered. However, I am sure that most of the students in that class, like me, remember the cat far better than the life and philosophy of a certain Monsieur Sartre.
“Philosophy” meant an endless flow of words about the life and work of Jean Paul Sartre. I remember wondering if the teacher ever took breaks, say, to breathe; and I remember being impressed by myself (and my French) that I was able to understand most of what he was saying. At that point I understood probably 90% of all French I heard or read, but I didn’t speak much. Today I’m ashamed to say I do neither.
The class could have been a boring one – should have, even – but in reality is wasn’t so bad. I know I found it both educational and interesting, though somewhat monotone. I wasn’t at all impressed by the teaching methods employed by that particular professeur.
No student spoke during the class, until one of the boys suddenly exclaimed with a surprised voice: “Monsieur, un chat!” And indeed, a cat it was. A small, black and white cat had strayed up to the roof of the grand old building, and now it had discovered an open window. The cat only joined the class for a few minutes before it was hoisted out through the same window it had entered. However, I am sure that most of the students in that class, like me, remember the cat far better than the life and philosophy of a certain Monsieur Sartre.
And just to be clear - this isn't the cat in question. This cat is just a pretty one that Wikipedia lent me.
The other picture is, however, from Paris, though not from that trip. I've done Paris a lot :)
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