Looking back, it seems I've become decreasingly funnier the last few years. As in, moving in the wrong direction. I used to be funny, or at the very least, funnier than I am now. One might say I am funminishing by the minute.
My empirical evidence for this claim is two-fold. First of all, this blog in itself serves as pretty hard-core data, with its stated intention of providing "attempts of recognizing both details and the big picture, while embracing a propensity for total randomness", which in itself is as ridiculous a sequence of words that it hardly can be interpreted as anything other than humour. The blog has, however, been fairly barren for a long while. Despite the occasional post here and there, their frequency and length (and topics) suggest that while I may still claim some propensity for randomness (in the most generous reading of the word, though in all fairness, even here I seem to fall into familiar patterns rather than my digressionist aspirations), I stand accused of not recognizing details nor the big picture, as I in fact am hardly providing any pictures (mental or otherwise) at all, since this blog mostly have been rendered empty for months, years, at the time. One might argue that this is humour in and of itself, but it would be a long stretch. Thus, I present the lack of humor due to lack of content as evidence A in this investigation and/or analysis.
Evidence B is more complex. While one might assume that you as a potential reader of this blog actually have access to this blog and therefore conceivably might be able to assess evidence A by means of peer review (though I by no means suggest you should -- I am after all asking you to backtrack my lack of posting here to confirm my claim that I have not been posting frequently, lengthy or topically in a humourous manner, which hardly stands to my credit, other than that I if nothing else can be said to be honest. Also, I realize you probably have better ways to spend your time) -- while one might assume that, you might not have the same privelege when it comes to evidence B.
I say "might", because, as will be clear in a moment, you might not have it, and you might have it.
Evidence B consists of a random selection (see, propensity for random) of Facebook statuses I have written over the past few years. If you are not in the category of the select few (or actually, quite average, I would guess) people who are on my friend's list on Facebook, you won't have access to evidence B. I'm sorry. I am sure the actual number of people who might stumble upon this who are not my friends on Facebook is actually quite limited, but given the possibility that it might happen, I am sorry. Not that we are not friends, because in this day and age it has come to a point where I no longer consider Facebookfriendiness a requirement for actually being friends, and while the more vague "being connected", via social media, is something I cherish, sure enough, occasionally, with some people, but let's be honest - it's 2017. You have "friends" on your Facebook-profile you only accepted because you didn't want them to tell your mom at the florist's in your hometown that you have become a snobbish elitist after moving to the big city. Not all Facebook-friends are friends, and amazingly, not all friends are particularly active on Facebook.
This was a long digression, of which I shall not apologize (digressions being something of a staple of this blog, after all. I don't know if you noticed the title...?), but it ended somewhere I'd like to pick it up from: "not all friends are particularly active on Facebook" (Great Digression, my mom's friend at the florist really has a point, I am quoting myself, FROM THE PREVIOUS PARAGRAPH now...)
Anyway. The "friend" I am talking about in this particular instance, is myself. Me, myself, and the person I just quoted.
Evidence B, my (let's admit it, not-so-)randomly selected Facebook-statuses (of which I shall not specify which ones I refer to, by the way, just to make the "evidence" even sketchier), are also far between, and not their former peaky, plump, juicy selves.
Not to brag, but I used to be funny (see opening statement of this blog post for reference). Funny-ish, at least. I used to make myself laugh, and seemingly others as well, as my posts occasionally would elicit comments that sometimes triggered avalances of great, old-fashioned Facebook-comedy. I used to be funny, people would be funny back, we would all do that creepy smirky-grinny-non-laugh people do when they read and write something funny on their Facebook during work hours. You know.
However, my examination of evidence B suggests a worrying trend also in this material. It is more funny the further from the present day we come, pointing at my hypothesis that I have become decreasingly funny, or as one might present it in layman's terms: I am less funny now than I was before. My funny appears to be running out (or, terrifyingly, may already have done so).
Why, then, is this happening?
I have a few theories, but I am going to do something utterly scandalous before presenting them. I am going to cliffhanger you (which, by the way, is probably not a word, as many of the words I like using, but it just struck me that this was a particularly abrasive wordsmithery of mine, as cliffhanger in itself is wordsmithed from "hanging from a cliff", I assume, meaning I just verbed ((yes, verbed)) a noun having been nouned (((yes, nouned))) from a verb ((((and then some)))). Ha!)
--I am going to cliffhanger you on this as a way of test, not yours, but mine, ability to stick to this. Yes. I am going to cliffhanger you, to see if that might motivate me, to keep writing the next section of this (otherwise insanely long) post, another day. The world is not fair. Sorry.
***HANGING OFF CLIFF***
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label random. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Sunday, April 12, 2015
On people I meet
Sometimes you meet people who make an impression.
This week I met one of the Presidents I am writing my PhD on. Jimmy Carter, even at 90, is still working hard, and thus spends a fair amount of time at the Carter Center in Atlanta. However, for a researcher to catch a glimpse of him is still a rare treat. I didn't speak to him, but must admit I was rather starstruck by his mere presence in the cafeteria where he, like everybody else, queued to have a 4 dollar lunch.
Despite the central role Carter plays in my current work, however, he was only one of the people I've met recently that I will remember for life.
Today I met some guy whose name I didn't catch. I frequently don't catch names here, even when people introduce themselves. The Southern accent is foreign to me, and it often takes me a while to figure out what I understood from what people were saying - a lot of it gathered from context rather than a direct comprehension of the actual words uttered - and names tend to disappear in this process (besides, I am notoriously bad at names. Faces, I remember. Names, never held much importance to me anyway).
Anyway. I was trying to catch a bus. At the bus stop, I was approached by Some Guy. Had it been in Norway, I would have shied away from a conversation. But having been in the U.S. for a few weeks, the last of which in the South, the local social code is starting to rub off on me. I've progressed from small talk to conversations with random strangers (side note: Random Stranger at a zebra crossing the other day - he commented on my t-shirt. It's a Harry Potter shirt, with a big, Hogwarts logo on it. He asked me where I'd bought it, and I said London. He was all impressed that I'd been to London - not yet having realized that I wasn't American, presumably. "You speak any French at all, then?" he asked. I could have pointed out to him that this was a rather strange question to ask after having learnt that I had visited the British capital, but instead I just shook my head, wished him a good day upon the turn of the lights and our departure to the other side of the street, and made a mental note that it was far more important to appreciate the fact that we had this nice little talk than to point out to him his obvious lack of geography skills).
- so conversations with random strangers - and with this new social code guiding my conduct I've talked to everyone from grocery store clerks to the hobo in the park I pass each morning (he just wanted to know if there was a fee to go see the Jimmy Carter museum. I told him I believed it was, but that the grounds were free of charge, and beautiful, so well worth the walk).
Thus, talking to Some Guy at the bus stop wasn't all that strange for me anymore. And I am glad I did.
This was a man with a storage of stories, and the key to open them all at once was simply being an active listener. I learnt all kinds of interesting things about the city of Atlanta, the specific area of Atlanta I'm staying in, African-American history, the Democratic party, and about Some Guy himself. He gave me pointers about things I should see before I leave, showed me a picture with him and Obama (who recently visited the area, apparently), and even shared his hotwings with me. When the bus finally arrived (it was very late, due to a lot of traffic over a Barnes & Noble booksigning with Google later informed me was a YouTube phenomenon - there were crying teenage girls queuing all around the block for YouTube Guy), he told me to pay attention to the driver, as she was a character all of her own.
She was. Talking to herself, yelling at traffic, and making conversation with the passengers made for an entertaining bus ride as well. "What's that guy doing in the Mustang?? Oh, noooo, you didn't!!!" I probably would have given up on the bus without Some Guy, It was worth the wait.
When I go home in less than a week I'll be glad to retract back into my Norwegian shell, where we don't make conversation with strangers unless absolutely forced to, and where the only small talk you make on a bus would be to ask the passenger next to you to let you out if they haven't already noticed all the subtle non-verbal signs you've given them the last minute or so (most do. In all my years of using public transportation in Oslo, I've probably only had to ask about five to ten times, if that).
Until, then, however, I am glad to have been let out of my shell for a while. It makes for good stories. It makes me appreciate the world. It makes interesting things happen, and it makes me learn things I otherwise would have never known.
I was startstruck when I saw President Carter, but most of my time here I've been struck with awe of the extraordinariness of ordinary people.
This week I met one of the Presidents I am writing my PhD on. Jimmy Carter, even at 90, is still working hard, and thus spends a fair amount of time at the Carter Center in Atlanta. However, for a researcher to catch a glimpse of him is still a rare treat. I didn't speak to him, but must admit I was rather starstruck by his mere presence in the cafeteria where he, like everybody else, queued to have a 4 dollar lunch.
Despite the central role Carter plays in my current work, however, he was only one of the people I've met recently that I will remember for life.
Today I met some guy whose name I didn't catch. I frequently don't catch names here, even when people introduce themselves. The Southern accent is foreign to me, and it often takes me a while to figure out what I understood from what people were saying - a lot of it gathered from context rather than a direct comprehension of the actual words uttered - and names tend to disappear in this process (besides, I am notoriously bad at names. Faces, I remember. Names, never held much importance to me anyway).
Anyway. I was trying to catch a bus. At the bus stop, I was approached by Some Guy. Had it been in Norway, I would have shied away from a conversation. But having been in the U.S. for a few weeks, the last of which in the South, the local social code is starting to rub off on me. I've progressed from small talk to conversations with random strangers (side note: Random Stranger at a zebra crossing the other day - he commented on my t-shirt. It's a Harry Potter shirt, with a big, Hogwarts logo on it. He asked me where I'd bought it, and I said London. He was all impressed that I'd been to London - not yet having realized that I wasn't American, presumably. "You speak any French at all, then?" he asked. I could have pointed out to him that this was a rather strange question to ask after having learnt that I had visited the British capital, but instead I just shook my head, wished him a good day upon the turn of the lights and our departure to the other side of the street, and made a mental note that it was far more important to appreciate the fact that we had this nice little talk than to point out to him his obvious lack of geography skills).
- so conversations with random strangers - and with this new social code guiding my conduct I've talked to everyone from grocery store clerks to the hobo in the park I pass each morning (he just wanted to know if there was a fee to go see the Jimmy Carter museum. I told him I believed it was, but that the grounds were free of charge, and beautiful, so well worth the walk).
Thus, talking to Some Guy at the bus stop wasn't all that strange for me anymore. And I am glad I did.
This was a man with a storage of stories, and the key to open them all at once was simply being an active listener. I learnt all kinds of interesting things about the city of Atlanta, the specific area of Atlanta I'm staying in, African-American history, the Democratic party, and about Some Guy himself. He gave me pointers about things I should see before I leave, showed me a picture with him and Obama (who recently visited the area, apparently), and even shared his hotwings with me. When the bus finally arrived (it was very late, due to a lot of traffic over a Barnes & Noble booksigning with Google later informed me was a YouTube phenomenon - there were crying teenage girls queuing all around the block for YouTube Guy), he told me to pay attention to the driver, as she was a character all of her own.
She was. Talking to herself, yelling at traffic, and making conversation with the passengers made for an entertaining bus ride as well. "What's that guy doing in the Mustang?? Oh, noooo, you didn't!!!" I probably would have given up on the bus without Some Guy, It was worth the wait.
When I go home in less than a week I'll be glad to retract back into my Norwegian shell, where we don't make conversation with strangers unless absolutely forced to, and where the only small talk you make on a bus would be to ask the passenger next to you to let you out if they haven't already noticed all the subtle non-verbal signs you've given them the last minute or so (most do. In all my years of using public transportation in Oslo, I've probably only had to ask about five to ten times, if that).
Until, then, however, I am glad to have been let out of my shell for a while. It makes for good stories. It makes me appreciate the world. It makes interesting things happen, and it makes me learn things I otherwise would have never known.
I was startstruck when I saw President Carter, but most of my time here I've been struck with awe of the extraordinariness of ordinary people.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
On pretense
Let's pretend this is a blog you still read with some regularity - in fact, let's pretend it's a blog I write with some regularity.
Let's pretend Albert Einstein was a duck. Might as well.
Let's pretend the below picture isn't photoshopped.
Let's pretend the reason I am not writing here regularly is because I am so busy living a fabulous life. Let's pretend I'm never tired of the fabulousness.
Let's pretend. That nothing no one never said was true or false.
Let's pretend that winter is not coming.
Let's pretend that I am not worrying about work and not work and the potential of not having to worry about work.
Let's pretend that I write. Occasionally.
Let's pretend that placebo is as good as Placebo. Let's pretend you could watch that video without having to watch a commercial first.
Let's pretend that all it takes is a good night's sleep, and that you will get just that, tonight.
Let's pretend Albert Einstein was a duck. Might as well.
Let's pretend the below picture isn't photoshopped.
Let's pretend the reason I am not writing here regularly is because I am so busy living a fabulous life. Let's pretend I'm never tired of the fabulousness.
Let's pretend. That nothing no one never said was true or false.
Let's pretend that winter is not coming.
Let's pretend that I am not worrying about work and not work and the potential of not having to worry about work.
Let's pretend that I write. Occasionally.
Let's pretend that placebo is as good as Placebo. Let's pretend you could watch that video without having to watch a commercial first.
Let's pretend that all it takes is a good night's sleep, and that you will get just that, tonight.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
On words I have yet to decide the meaning of
I have invented the following words, but have not yet decided what they should mean. Screw etymology (even though, or perhaps just because, I love it). Suggestions are welcome.
Ksnø (alternative spelling for the less Scandi-inclined: Ksneu. The k is not silent).
Yuips (best uttered when slightly tipsy, so the meaning should probably be related).
Geddlelog.
Pouiyrtre (not to be confused with Poiuytre).
Whhsnosis (thinking this might be something for the medical communtiy?).
Fogbliggerfoullervat (most likely a rather literal translation of something German).
Thank you for your attention.
(For the record, I did not invent these last 23 words. Nor the first 29 of this post.)
Ksnø (alternative spelling for the less Scandi-inclined: Ksneu. The k is not silent).
Yuips (best uttered when slightly tipsy, so the meaning should probably be related).
Geddlelog.
Pouiyrtre (not to be confused with Poiuytre).
Whhsnosis (thinking this might be something for the medical communtiy?).
Fogbliggerfoullervat (most likely a rather literal translation of something German).
Thank you for your attention.
(For the record, I did not invent these last 23 words. Nor the first 29 of this post.)
Thursday, January 17, 2013
On things that are great and things that could be greater
Things that are great:
-Vacation time very soon (Hasta la vista, Noruega!)
-Cupcakes
-Giraffes (duh)
Things that could be greater:
-The speakers on my work computer. They could work.
-The situation in Syria.
-My ability to cross off tasks from my to-do-list (or rather, my ability to DO the things I want to cross off from that list)
-The banana at my desk, turning browner each day
-My scratchy, scratchy glasses (I think I need new ones)
-Cupcakes (I mean - imagine if they were EVEN greater!)
-Vacation time very soon (Hasta la vista, Noruega!)
-Cupcakes
-Giraffes (duh)
Things that could be greater:
-The speakers on my work computer. They could work.
-The situation in Syria.
-My ability to cross off tasks from my to-do-list (or rather, my ability to DO the things I want to cross off from that list)
-The banana at my desk, turning browner each day
-My scratchy, scratchy glasses (I think I need new ones)
-Cupcakes (I mean - imagine if they were EVEN greater!)
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
On stuffophilia
So, it's one of those days...
I don't really believe the following really happened, but that's sort of the point, isn't it...
I have inherited from my grandfather a clock (of the mantel variety) that require a deposit of 1 krone (though unfortunately not the currently used version) per week to power it, like a savings arrangement. I don't have a picture or link, but I felt the mentioning of it belonged in this post.
Also, I looked up "who's" versus "whose" for the umpteenth time. And now I looked up umpteenth... Gah.
Aaaaand one more posting from designfetish(I think I might have one, yes).org:
And now I need to get off the internet, or at the very least go back to Facebook lurking. Laters, taters!
 |
| Zombie White (and no Huntsman) |
 |
| I *really* want these origami speakers. In addition to being awesome in the capacity of being ORIGAMI SPEAKERS (!), they also sound pretty cool sound-wise. Want. (Also, from this fabulously awesome site I might be addicted to now ((designfetish.org)), it is worth checking out the posts about people as pixels, the Pixar minimalistic poster series, and not to mention Zombie Attack Barbie. Once she's through with Ken, she can have a go at Snow White...) |
I don't really believe the following really happened, but that's sort of the point, isn't it...
 |
| (I wish it were true, though. Bill Murray FTW) |
I have inherited from my grandfather a clock (of the mantel variety) that require a deposit of 1 krone (though unfortunately not the currently used version) per week to power it, like a savings arrangement. I don't have a picture or link, but I felt the mentioning of it belonged in this post.
 |
| *snort* |
 |
| I know someone whose potential wedding cake should look like this, but I am not going to tell him because I don't want him to think I am making suggestions... (You know who you are and if you are reading this: I am not. Making suggestions. I am reading it. After having written it. Checking for typoes. Probably missing a few.) |
Also, I looked up "who's" versus "whose" for the umpteenth time. And now I looked up umpteenth... Gah.
Aaaaand one more posting from designfetish(I think I might have one, yes).org:
 |
| It's a GUMMY BEAR DRESS!!! OMD - could I pull it off? Probably not, but I could eat it off! Ha! I made a funny! |
And now I need to get off the internet, or at the very least go back to Facebook lurking. Laters, taters!
Monday, March 26, 2012
On my desk
...there is a bottle, empty, but it once contained orange juice. No longer. Someone drank the juice. Me, presumably.
On my desk there is also a postcard, blank, but I originally bought it with someone specific in mind. I still look at it from time to time and find a special guilt in my heart. I should write the postcard soon-ish.
There is a telephone, or two, actually. One is my cell phone of five years this fall. It's been with me through a lot - across oceans, through a master's thesis, several jobs. I've had good news and great news and terrible news and oh-well-it's-probably-for-the-best-news handed to me through it. I've heard voices I despise, and voices I love. Texts that have made me cry. Some that made me glow.
The other phone is the land line to the office I currently occupy. It's rarely in use. This morning it nearly startled me to death, as I'm not used to the sound of it. The conversation was comical and irrelevant.
On my desk there is a Starbucks travel mug. Sakura 2011 edition. I bought it sometime in the early spring last year, expecting to actually be able to see the 2011 sakura blossom in Tokyo. Then the earthquake changed my plan. I hold no grudge against the mug, though.
There is a timetable on my desk. It is too full for my liking.
On my desk there is a pair of sunglasses. They long for usage.
On my desk there is a lot of papers. Some of them belong there, some of them really don't. I should take some time to organize them. I probably won't.
A couple of books - history books - open on the pages of "World War Two" are covered with a pair of gloves and a cheerful scarf.
Another pair of sunglasses. They too long for usage.
On my desk there is three pairs of earrings and two regular rings. And then a keyring. With lots of keys on it. Most of them are to my apartment (4), the rest (3) are for a) work; b) my parents' house; and c) and old bike I haven't used for at least ten years. The figurines attached to the keychain are all bought in Japan, but with 8 years in between.
I have three types of lipgloss and/or lipbalm lying around on my desk.
The various equipment for writing include: one keyboard, three ballpoint pens, two pencils - one of them red, three different colours of highlighters, two felt-tip pens, one "gel-ink" marvel.
On my desk there is a watch. It's not working. Benefit: I didn't have to adjust it for daylight saving this weekend.
Post-it notes of at least three different shapes and colours are spread across the desk.
There is a water bottle on my desk.
On my desk there are two fairly good loudspeakers. The problem is that they only work about half the time.
On my desk there is a dead fly. It's been sitting in that exact position since I moved into this office in October.
On my desk there is also a postcard, blank, but I originally bought it with someone specific in mind. I still look at it from time to time and find a special guilt in my heart. I should write the postcard soon-ish.
There is a telephone, or two, actually. One is my cell phone of five years this fall. It's been with me through a lot - across oceans, through a master's thesis, several jobs. I've had good news and great news and terrible news and oh-well-it's-probably-for-the-best-news handed to me through it. I've heard voices I despise, and voices I love. Texts that have made me cry. Some that made me glow.
The other phone is the land line to the office I currently occupy. It's rarely in use. This morning it nearly startled me to death, as I'm not used to the sound of it. The conversation was comical and irrelevant.
On my desk there is a Starbucks travel mug. Sakura 2011 edition. I bought it sometime in the early spring last year, expecting to actually be able to see the 2011 sakura blossom in Tokyo. Then the earthquake changed my plan. I hold no grudge against the mug, though.
There is a timetable on my desk. It is too full for my liking.
On my desk there is a pair of sunglasses. They long for usage.
On my desk there is a lot of papers. Some of them belong there, some of them really don't. I should take some time to organize them. I probably won't.
A couple of books - history books - open on the pages of "World War Two" are covered with a pair of gloves and a cheerful scarf.
Another pair of sunglasses. They too long for usage.
On my desk there is three pairs of earrings and two regular rings. And then a keyring. With lots of keys on it. Most of them are to my apartment (4), the rest (3) are for a) work; b) my parents' house; and c) and old bike I haven't used for at least ten years. The figurines attached to the keychain are all bought in Japan, but with 8 years in between.
I have three types of lipgloss and/or lipbalm lying around on my desk.
The various equipment for writing include: one keyboard, three ballpoint pens, two pencils - one of them red, three different colours of highlighters, two felt-tip pens, one "gel-ink" marvel.
On my desk there is a watch. It's not working. Benefit: I didn't have to adjust it for daylight saving this weekend.
Post-it notes of at least three different shapes and colours are spread across the desk.
There is a water bottle on my desk.
On my desk there are two fairly good loudspeakers. The problem is that they only work about half the time.
On my desk there is a dead fly. It's been sitting in that exact position since I moved into this office in October.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
On Botswana
This post has nothing to do with Botswana.
I just needed a title. A working title, if you will. But if you won't, you'd be more correct, because it has effectively ceased to be a working title now that I've commented on it. Otherwise the comment wouldn't make sense. And then I'd have to change the introduction to this post. I'd be a working post.
I won't change the introduction or title of this post. Even though it has exceptionally little to do with Botswana.
It has exceptionally little to do with most things, actually. Though, "actually", it's not that hard to not discuss most things. Even if I were to discuss coffee filters, telephones, snow, sunsets, polka-dot dresses, cartoons, albatrosses, fiddlers, mid-century furniture, lollipops and single-cell animals - which I am not - the things-packed post I'd have written would still not discuss "most things". All the above mentioned things are, after all, a minority when it comes to things in general. All the things. This wasn't even a sizeable sample.
A post that has nothing to do with Botswana or most things.
It also has nothing to do with Lionel Richie. (Well, I suppose now it sort of does...)
I can see the postman. But the non-Botswana post also has nothing to do with that. Maybe I should write a post-post sometime? And then the day thereafter I can write a post post-post. Ha. Sometimes I'm too funny for my own good...
I am too [insert multiple adjectives] for my own good, actually. My mind is everywhere else than where it should be. Or... "Should" should be a matter of definition. One should have one's mind where I have mine right now, occasionally. (That sounded naughty. It isn't. Not really. The answer to the question I'm sure y'all are desperate to ask - "where??" - is not "the gutter". For once.) But one should perhaps not have one's mind there when one is trying to work. Or write posts that are or are not about Botswana.
Actually, here's a Botswana-related thing (out of all the things) after all. I learned yesterday that Botswana has a remarkably well-functioning economy, with the highest growth rate in the world. There. Title justified.
I just needed a title. A working title, if you will. But if you won't, you'd be more correct, because it has effectively ceased to be a working title now that I've commented on it. Otherwise the comment wouldn't make sense. And then I'd have to change the introduction to this post. I'd be a working post.
I won't change the introduction or title of this post. Even though it has exceptionally little to do with Botswana.
It has exceptionally little to do with most things, actually. Though, "actually", it's not that hard to not discuss most things. Even if I were to discuss coffee filters, telephones, snow, sunsets, polka-dot dresses, cartoons, albatrosses, fiddlers, mid-century furniture, lollipops and single-cell animals - which I am not - the things-packed post I'd have written would still not discuss "most things". All the above mentioned things are, after all, a minority when it comes to things in general. All the things. This wasn't even a sizeable sample.
A post that has nothing to do with Botswana or most things.
It also has nothing to do with Lionel Richie. (Well, I suppose now it sort of does...)
I can see the postman. But the non-Botswana post also has nothing to do with that. Maybe I should write a post-post sometime? And then the day thereafter I can write a post post-post. Ha. Sometimes I'm too funny for my own good...
I am too [insert multiple adjectives] for my own good, actually. My mind is everywhere else than where it should be. Or... "Should" should be a matter of definition. One should have one's mind where I have mine right now, occasionally. (That sounded naughty. It isn't. Not really. The answer to the question I'm sure y'all are desperate to ask - "where??" - is not "the gutter". For once.) But one should perhaps not have one's mind there when one is trying to work. Or write posts that are or are not about Botswana.
Work. Concentration. Reading. Thinking. Planning. Planning... Hoping? Dreaming? Wanting?
 |
| Sheep. |
 |
| Cookie. |
Actually, here's a Botswana-related thing (out of all the things) after all. I learned yesterday that Botswana has a remarkably well-functioning economy, with the highest growth rate in the world. There. Title justified.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
On randouvites, part three
These are a few of my current randouvite things:
Cucumbers. Small ones.
My most recent playlist on Spotify. Not that I'm letting you in on the songs thereof.
Danish newspapers. Haha. Seriously, though.
The colour mustard yellow. And how it totally goes with green. And navy blue.
Candles.
My creepy mp3-player. It's creepy because even if I keep it on "shuffle", every day when I come from work it starts playing Simon & Garfunkel's "A Hazy Shade of Winter" as I pass the exact same house. Seriously. This has happened four times now. (And no, that song is not on my playlist. Ha!)
A hazy shade of wintery sunrises even if it's still autumn. But our light is leaving. So it's nice to cherish the sunrises we have. (Okay, our light isn't leaving, per se, but we have less of it now. We're reaching the point where you leave the house in darkness, and come back home after work in darkness.)
Mmmoney. Let's be honest. We all love it. I love having some again. Even if I'm still quite broke.
Reading time with my nephews.
Having a beer with friends after work. That I have friends. And work.
Fleet Foxes. (Went to their concert - they are seriously AMAZING!) (Fine. Yes. They are represented on my playlist)
That November is moving forward, at a reasonable pace.
My red lipgloss. Rrrred!
That the Oslo-metro system is all in the same price zone now. Man, that bothered me before!
Dates. As in the fruit. Dried. Other meanings of the word? Meh.
Candles. (Yes, I know I already said that)
Daydreaming.
The smell of cold in the air in the morning.
That it isn't raining. Not always.
That I can be as weird as I like in the privacy of my own office (and on my own blog, apparently).
The word "seriously".
Cucumbers. Small ones.
My most recent playlist on Spotify. Not that I'm letting you in on the songs thereof.
Danish newspapers. Haha. Seriously, though.
The colour mustard yellow. And how it totally goes with green. And navy blue.
Candles.
My creepy mp3-player. It's creepy because even if I keep it on "shuffle", every day when I come from work it starts playing Simon & Garfunkel's "A Hazy Shade of Winter" as I pass the exact same house. Seriously. This has happened four times now. (And no, that song is not on my playlist. Ha!)
A hazy shade of wintery sunrises even if it's still autumn. But our light is leaving. So it's nice to cherish the sunrises we have. (Okay, our light isn't leaving, per se, but we have less of it now. We're reaching the point where you leave the house in darkness, and come back home after work in darkness.)
Mmmoney. Let's be honest. We all love it. I love having some again. Even if I'm still quite broke.
Reading time with my nephews.
Having a beer with friends after work. That I have friends. And work.
Fleet Foxes. (Went to their concert - they are seriously AMAZING!) (Fine. Yes. They are represented on my playlist)
That November is moving forward, at a reasonable pace.
My red lipgloss. Rrrred!
That the Oslo-metro system is all in the same price zone now. Man, that bothered me before!
Dates. As in the fruit. Dried. Other meanings of the word? Meh.
Candles. (Yes, I know I already said that)
Daydreaming.
The smell of cold in the air in the morning.
That it isn't raining. Not always.
That I can be as weird as I like in the privacy of my own office (and on my own blog, apparently).
The word "seriously".
Monday, October 24, 2011
On heresay
I'm not here.
Oh, don't you worry. I don't mean literally. Well, actually, I do. Assuming that "here" is defined by where you are at the moment, since you are reading it, and a text automatically belongs to the reader once it has left the authors hand (or so the post-structuralists say) (or maybe they don't say that, but bear with me) (in fact, don't. I'm not here. As the author of this text I am dead, post-structurally speaking, and I am also physically not in the same place as you, real-world-istically speaking. Unless you also happens to sit on a train on the way to Oslo. But I highly doubt that.)
I'm on a train to Oslo. This train may or may not have wifi - I don't know that now (now being the time of writing of this text), even if I will know by the time "now" becomes now (now being the time of you reading this text, since that realistically have to be at least eight hours after I write it, since that is when I am scheduling it for). Regardless of whether I know now or "now" if my train has wifi, though, that still won't interfere with my statement "I am not here", because I still will have written and scheduled this post now (before), and not now (after). So I am not - physically, obviously, but also metaphysically and mentally - here, if "here" is the blog, or the place from which you are reading this blog, or perhaps the Internet in general. I'm not there. Here. Whereorwhatever.
It's complicated, I know. Barthes and Derrida would have been proud. Except for the fact that I am making a thorough effort to place myself in the text by defining myself out of it, so in fact it seems as though I am here, now, even if I claim that I am not. Instead, I will claim I am elsewhere. On the train, yes, you already know that. On my way to Oslo. To where a job (a job!) is awaiting. A temporary job, but still. You will be free of the endless complaints of my unemployedness for a few weeks, at least. Hooray!
But also. My intention for defining myself out of this text by stating the obvious "I am not here", was not simply to confuse you or make you question my presence/existence/mental state. I meant to direct your attention towards the places where I do define myself as present. Such as the Burrow blog, where I have written a slightly less (but not by much) silly post that this one. It won't post till noon GMT, so if you are looking for me there before then you won't find me. I'll still be on the train, of course.
The other place, however, I wanted to direct your attention to, is here - in a sense - but it is here in a past "now". In yesterday's now in fact. The now that was (is!) a now when I wrote (am writing!) this. Yesterday I wrote a much more sensible post about an important topic I feel the need to share again. So, if you're tired of looking for me here, you might as well go here to find a more serious me.
In the meantime I need to get off this train and try to figure out where I am and what I'm supposed to do here. It is not unlikely that it might involve the death of the author.
Oh, don't you worry. I don't mean literally. Well, actually, I do. Assuming that "here" is defined by where you are at the moment, since you are reading it, and a text automatically belongs to the reader once it has left the authors hand (or so the post-structuralists say) (or maybe they don't say that, but bear with me) (in fact, don't. I'm not here. As the author of this text I am dead, post-structurally speaking, and I am also physically not in the same place as you, real-world-istically speaking. Unless you also happens to sit on a train on the way to Oslo. But I highly doubt that.)
I'm on a train to Oslo. This train may or may not have wifi - I don't know that now (now being the time of writing of this text), even if I will know by the time "now" becomes now (now being the time of you reading this text, since that realistically have to be at least eight hours after I write it, since that is when I am scheduling it for). Regardless of whether I know now or "now" if my train has wifi, though, that still won't interfere with my statement "I am not here", because I still will have written and scheduled this post now (before), and not now (after). So I am not - physically, obviously, but also metaphysically and mentally - here, if "here" is the blog, or the place from which you are reading this blog, or perhaps the Internet in general. I'm not there. Here. Whereorwhatever.
It's complicated, I know. Barthes and Derrida would have been proud. Except for the fact that I am making a thorough effort to place myself in the text by defining myself out of it, so in fact it seems as though I am here, now, even if I claim that I am not. Instead, I will claim I am elsewhere. On the train, yes, you already know that. On my way to Oslo. To where a job (a job!) is awaiting. A temporary job, but still. You will be free of the endless complaints of my unemployedness for a few weeks, at least. Hooray!
But also. My intention for defining myself out of this text by stating the obvious "I am not here", was not simply to confuse you or make you question my presence/existence/mental state. I meant to direct your attention towards the places where I do define myself as present. Such as the Burrow blog, where I have written a slightly less (but not by much) silly post that this one. It won't post till noon GMT, so if you are looking for me there before then you won't find me. I'll still be on the train, of course.
The other place, however, I wanted to direct your attention to, is here - in a sense - but it is here in a past "now". In yesterday's now in fact. The now that was (is!) a now when I wrote (am writing!) this. Yesterday I wrote a much more sensible post about an important topic I feel the need to share again. So, if you're tired of looking for me here, you might as well go here to find a more serious me.
In the meantime I need to get off this train and try to figure out where I am and what I'm supposed to do here. It is not unlikely that it might involve the death of the author.
Monday, October 17, 2011
On nail polish
I'm gonna have a shallow-moment here, and recommend all the lovely ladies out there (and those of the men in touch with their feminine sides, I guess) to invest in a MAT TOP COAT to reinvent all those nail polishes you are tired of. Red? Try matte red. Black? Matte black. Sparkly? Matte sparkly! Everything goes with matte, and it looks so - elegant. Worldy. Sophisticated. Lush velvet matte nails. Your hands will thank me.
(Also - I know that it is perhaps more commonly spelled "mat", but that just doesn't scream elegant, worldly, sophisticated, and lush like matte does. So there.)
Picture proof:
(For the record, none of these nails are mine. I couldn't be bothered to take a picture of my - equally velvety, but less perfectly manicured - nails)
(For the other record, this has been a public service announcement in no way sponsored [seriously. It was expensive as crap. I mean crack. And no one offered to pay me to write that. I would totally let them. But for some reason, this seems not offered to me. Hrmf!].)
(If someone is keeping a record at all - for that record - this blog will return to non-shallow, non-girly topics tomorrow. I promise. I know I said that with the ecards too, but this time I mean it. Really. I think.)
(Also - I know that it is perhaps more commonly spelled "mat", but that just doesn't scream elegant, worldly, sophisticated, and lush like matte does. So there.)
Picture proof:
(For the record, none of these nails are mine. I couldn't be bothered to take a picture of my - equally velvety, but less perfectly manicured - nails)
(For the other record, this has been a public service announcement in no way sponsored [seriously. It was expensive as crap. I mean crack. And no one offered to pay me to write that. I would totally let them. But for some reason, this seems not offered to me. Hrmf!].)
(If someone is keeping a record at all - for that record - this blog will return to non-shallow, non-girly topics tomorrow. I promise. I know I said that with the ecards too, but this time I mean it. Really. I think.)
Monday, August 29, 2011
(On) an excuse for a post...
Why girls shouldn't be disappointed if they can't find a Disney prince...
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I know, sorry excuse for a post (I didn't even make this - I merely found it, through Pinterest, of course), but I did write another post today. Still a bit of an excuse, actually, but at least that one has actual words... Wanna read these words? Go check them out, here.
I know, sorry excuse for a post (I didn't even make this - I merely found it, through Pinterest, of course), but I did write another post today. Still a bit of an excuse, actually, but at least that one has actual words... Wanna read these words? Go check them out, here.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
On randouvites, part two
If you're wondering why I am not using the more conventional "favourite" (or why I insist on spelling both with a U), you might want to check out last year's post on this topic. It was summer, sun and (thesis) stress then. It is summer, sun and (everything but thesis) stress now. So I figured it was time to do another round.
These are a few of my randouvite things:
Not sure why, but this song really puts me in a good mood in a "dance all night with nothing but mango margaritas and cabana boys to keep me company" kind of way.
Speaking of which - MANGO MARGARITAS! How awesome is that? Very, that's how. I haven't tried this recipe specifically, but it sounds yummy. The ones I had in Tokyo were divine, but then they were made by someone who sells tequila (and not the crappy stuff) for a living. Can't promise divinity with this one.
Long, flowy (yes, I know that's not a word. You know what I mean, though, right?), colourful dresses. I hate being a slave of the current fashion, but this one got me good. They're so PRETTY! The more colourful, the better! In fact, the crazier the (floral) print, the better. I want a ton of them! (And I want more summer so I can actually wear them...)
And since I'm on the topic of girly stuff. I'm waaay into nails lately. No, not those you use for building houses. Those you (hopefully) have on your fingers (and toes). With nail polish on them. In every colour (though currently mine are so deep purple they are practically black. In fact, I think they actually *are* black. Hm.
Finally, a new love. These and other randouvites (or, actually, they are less random over there, as they're all categorized. So I guess they are just regular favourites. Still with a U, though) can be found at Pinterest.com, which is one of the more brilliant sites I've come to love. It's similar to StumbleUpon, but then not. You can make your own virtual pinboard for whatever cool stuff you find online, whether that is interior design, inspirational quotes, ideas for novels, or whatever you like. A must-try! (I think you may need an invite. If you send me your email, I can invite you!)
These are a few of my randouvite things:
Not sure why, but this song really puts me in a good mood in a "dance all night with nothing but mango margaritas and cabana boys to keep me company" kind of way.
Speaking of which - MANGO MARGARITAS! How awesome is that? Very, that's how. I haven't tried this recipe specifically, but it sounds yummy. The ones I had in Tokyo were divine, but then they were made by someone who sells tequila (and not the crappy stuff) for a living. Can't promise divinity with this one.Long, flowy (yes, I know that's not a word. You know what I mean, though, right?), colourful dresses. I hate being a slave of the current fashion, but this one got me good. They're so PRETTY! The more colourful, the better! In fact, the crazier the (floral) print, the better. I want a ton of them! (And I want more summer so I can actually wear them...)
And since I'm on the topic of girly stuff. I'm waaay into nails lately. No, not those you use for building houses. Those you (hopefully) have on your fingers (and toes). With nail polish on them. In every colour (though currently mine are so deep purple they are practically black. In fact, I think they actually *are* black. Hm.
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| This also shows the sleeve of my purple raincoat which helps handle all the rain... |
Finally, a new love. These and other randouvites (or, actually, they are less random over there, as they're all categorized. So I guess they are just regular favourites. Still with a U, though) can be found at Pinterest.com, which is one of the more brilliant sites I've come to love. It's similar to StumbleUpon, but then not. You can make your own virtual pinboard for whatever cool stuff you find online, whether that is interior design, inspirational quotes, ideas for novels, or whatever you like. A must-try! (I think you may need an invite. If you send me your email, I can invite you!)
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
On everything else than what I want to not write about
Not that I want to write about anything in particular. Or not write about anything in particular, for that matter. I acknowledge that the title of this post is more than a little confusing. But then again, that's what you've come to love about this blog, isn't it? I strive to confuse. Or digress. Or something or other to do with giraffes.
Anyway. I'm not really writing this. I'm pressing my fingers against the keyboard in hope that they will produce words in seemingly coherent order, preferable in a sentence-based structure. If I'm lucky I might produce the complete works of Shakespeare. Or maybe some monkey next to me will. Not that it matters - as far as I'm aware those are already published, so it is hardly that much benefit to writing them again. You can probably download the Kindle edition for free, so it's not even worth the time.
Instead, then, a blog post. About nothing. Nothing is the deal. I could tell you about job applications - and what an expert I'm becoming in filling out online resume forms - but it would bore you. It already bores me. I could tell you about how it's nice to have "vacation" (but it's not when said "vacation" really is "between jobs"), or about how I'm not as disillusioned about finding a job as I sound (I just really hate online forms). I am fairly optimistic, still. I've had a few interviews. I find listings where I am qualified. I'm becoming a self-proclaimed expert on mixing up a quick application. (I told you it would bore you.)
But still. It's not the best of situations. I want to be in Oslo. It's nice of my parents to house me, and feed me, and provide my every need. But still. I want to be in Oslo (déja vu much?). And I want to work, now. I want to be useful, now. I want to see my friends, visit my regular hang-outs. I want to have an apartment in Oslo. Now.
Waiting - I'm not at my best game. I tend to forget to live in the moment when I wait. Limbo doesn't suit me. It goes for job hunting, it goes for temporary living, it goes for personal relationships. If I know what I'm waiting for, it's another story. I can be Patience embodied then. But insecurity? It gets to me.
I'm waiting for a whole lot of things at the moment. And while I wait, I should write. I wrote this. It will have to do, for now.
Anyway. I'm not really writing this. I'm pressing my fingers against the keyboard in hope that they will produce words in seemingly coherent order, preferable in a sentence-based structure. If I'm lucky I might produce the complete works of Shakespeare. Or maybe some monkey next to me will. Not that it matters - as far as I'm aware those are already published, so it is hardly that much benefit to writing them again. You can probably download the Kindle edition for free, so it's not even worth the time.
Instead, then, a blog post. About nothing. Nothing is the deal. I could tell you about job applications - and what an expert I'm becoming in filling out online resume forms - but it would bore you. It already bores me. I could tell you about how it's nice to have "vacation" (but it's not when said "vacation" really is "between jobs"), or about how I'm not as disillusioned about finding a job as I sound (I just really hate online forms). I am fairly optimistic, still. I've had a few interviews. I find listings where I am qualified. I'm becoming a self-proclaimed expert on mixing up a quick application. (I told you it would bore you.)
But still. It's not the best of situations. I want to be in Oslo. It's nice of my parents to house me, and feed me, and provide my every need. But still. I want to be in Oslo (déja vu much?). And I want to work, now. I want to be useful, now. I want to see my friends, visit my regular hang-outs. I want to have an apartment in Oslo. Now.
Waiting - I'm not at my best game. I tend to forget to live in the moment when I wait. Limbo doesn't suit me. It goes for job hunting, it goes for temporary living, it goes for personal relationships. If I know what I'm waiting for, it's another story. I can be Patience embodied then. But insecurity? It gets to me.
I'm waiting for a whole lot of things at the moment. And while I wait, I should write. I wrote this. It will have to do, for now.
Monday, June 27, 2011
On urban localism
Tokyo is one of those places that doesn't always feel very large despite the fact that its population is one of the largest for any city in the world (depending on how and what you count). As an urban area, it's obviously HUGE with its 30 million people. But the place I'm currently living in, however, doesn't feel very big at all. Perhaps the considerable local-ness of Tokyo is what made me feel so at home here right from the start? Below are a few of the things that comprise my local community.
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| The Mori Tower. My favourite skyscraper. |
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| Roppongi Crossing |
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| Traditional meets modern, at the Imperial Palace/Hibya |
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| Hibiya at sunset ♥ |
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| One of the oddest buildings I know, right in my neighbourhood |
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| Because every pet needs that special attention, right? |
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| Temple with a basketball net? But of course. |
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| Geisha barbie and all her friends @ the spa... |
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| Stairway to heaven? Maybe not, but there is a temple at the top |
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| The mandatory temple cat |
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| I thought this was interesting, in all its moldy, broken beauty |
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| Messy, noisy, trafficky, and YET local... |
I ♥ local Tokyo :)
Friday, June 24, 2011
On orange books
There are two different meanings to the term "orange books". First of all, it can simply refer to the colour of the cover of the book. An orange book is a book with a predominantly orange cover. Metaphorically speaking, however, "an orange book" is an unexpected delight. Such as a book you randomly pick up in a bookstore without ever having heard of it before, and then when you read it you find that it is pure gold (or rather, pure orange).
Orange books I've come across include Chris Cleave's The Other Hand (the original orange book, and one of the few that are actually orange in both meanings of the expression. You can read all about my escapades to find it here), Mark Zusak's The Book Thief, Albert Sánches Piñol's Pandora in the Congo, and actually - the first Harry Potter book was orange before I knew there was such a thing as orange books.
One book that only almost falls into this category is Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. This books isn't quite orange, since it was recommended to me, but I didn't expect to like it, and yet I reallyreally did. So I guess I would categorize it as more of an apricot book.
Also - orange doesn't just apply to books. I've had orange book meals, bought orange book CDs, found orange book blogs and one day I hope to meet a guy to whom I will feel comfortable saying "You're an orange book".
Have you come across any orange books lately?
Orange books I've come across include Chris Cleave's The Other Hand (the original orange book, and one of the few that are actually orange in both meanings of the expression. You can read all about my escapades to find it here), Mark Zusak's The Book Thief, Albert Sánches Piñol's Pandora in the Congo, and actually - the first Harry Potter book was orange before I knew there was such a thing as orange books.
One book that only almost falls into this category is Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game. This books isn't quite orange, since it was recommended to me, but I didn't expect to like it, and yet I reallyreally did. So I guess I would categorize it as more of an apricot book.
Also - orange doesn't just apply to books. I've had orange book meals, bought orange book CDs, found orange book blogs and one day I hope to meet a guy to whom I will feel comfortable saying "You're an orange book".
Have you come across any orange books lately?
Monday, June 20, 2011
On true happiness
Not that I have too much time for anything like this. If I could choose, I probably would spend about an hour each morning like this - on Starbucks, with my Kindle (product placement, much? *snort*), having a relaxing start of my day. But alas, my mornings tend to be far more stressful than that. I frequently sleep too little (especially in Tokyo), so I get up too late. I run to the shower, try to make time for both breakfast and basic make-up, and then I'm off to work. I can only dream of having the time to pick up a coffee most days, little less sit down to drink it.
In a perfect world I would have that kind of time. Or I would make that kind of time. But then... If this was my daily routine, perhaps I wouldn't appreciate it as much..?
Sunday, May 22, 2011
On the sorrows of a wooden plaything
Are you sure you can't come play with me?"
Thursday, April 28, 2011
On X
And just like that, Jack was her ex.
Okay, so this is a sorry-ass eXcuse for a post. Xorry. The thing is I'm not used to the letter X. Look it up in the Norwegian dictionary. You might miss it. It will probably have two entries - xylophone and then one I can't remember. Maybe xenophobia.
Also, I'm not in a bloggy mood. Usually, towards the end of month-long challenges I feel good about myself for having completed them. This time, I'm not so sure. I have not been very good with the community aspect of it all. I don't know how many blogs I've visited (old and new), but it sure hasn't been anywhere near the amount one probably should try to visit when participating in a challenge with 1200+ participants.
So what. I said at the beginning that I was doing it for persistence, not community. I haven't expected to gain hugely in followers or following, and I haven't. I appreciate the new blogs I've found as a result of the A-Z, but I don't feel terribly bad about those I didn't get a chance to visit. The problem, however, is that my initial goal also failed. Yes, I have put up a post (of sorts) every day (except Sundays) since the start of April. I managed to finish the challenge. But it hasn't inspired me to continue in the same fashion.
Frankly, I am wondering if I am stretching my ability and interest with my attempts of blogging daily. I am actually growing weary of my own style. I am a little tired of listening to my own voice. If this was a blog I was visiting, I'd take a break from it right about now.
There might be a break starting where April and A-Z ends. The reasons for this are not those described above, but rather my upcoming return to Tokyo. Yes. I'm going back. I guess writing it here makes it official (though Facebook already knows). I have set my mind to make it a good remainder of my stay. The earthquakes might interfere with how much I enjoy it, but I am determined to try to ignore that. I am queasy about going back, but also relieved to have made the decision.
Maybe being tired of myself and my own voice will change when I return to a place and a life which will give me something to write about? I assume so. Thus this is a notification of a possible short break. After Y and Z, don't expect to see me for maybe a week. Then I'll be craving to tell you ALL about my veryvery exciting (and possibly earthquakey) life back in Tokyo...
X marks the spot...
(And no, I haven't broken up with my boyfriend, Jack. I don't even have a boyfriend named Jack. I merely unplugged the headphones from my computer and saw a story in there, somewhere...)
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