Bombs and gunfire have accomplished what mere good intentions could not – they have pushed me to blog again.
I am away from Oslo this weekend, and so I found out about the attacks in Oslo and Utøya via a series of unexpected phone calls from my family. I first heard about explosions and gunfire, and as the evening unfolded, we tried to gleam what information we could from Norwegian news.
This morning, we awoke to news which the Norwegian Prime Minister, Jens Stoltenberg, has described as Dette er et mareritt og ikke til å forstå [This is a nightmare, impossible to understand] As of this morning, 84 people are dead at Utøya, an island about 45 minutes from Oslo and home to a summer camp for AUF, the youth party for the Norwegian Labour party. Contrary to some reports which I saw in American media, this is not just a camp for the children of politicians, but rather, a camp for politically active teens who identify as members of the Labour party, which happens to be the biggest party in Norway's current coalition government. The bombings in Oslo's government quarters resulted in at least 7 deaths, and police have warned that death tolls at both locations will rise.
Early reports indicated that one of several Islamic terrorist organizations had claimed responsibility for the attacks. However, soon reports began surfacing that a man described as “etnisk norsk” a phrase which literally means ethnically Norwegian, or essentially the sort of blond-haired, blue-eyed Viking type most people still immediately associate with Norway, had opened fire at Utøya. It became clear as the events unfolded that the two attacks were connected, and that the gunman, who had claimed that he was a policeman at the island to perform a routine debriefing in the aftermath of the bombing, was linked to both attacks. As of late yesterday evening, 32 year old Anders Behring Breivik had been arrested, charged with carrying out both attacks. Behring Breivik, a self professed nationalist, belongs to a Christian fundamentalist group active in Eastern Norway. In the past,he has been active in FrP [the Progress Party] the rightmost leaning major political party in Norway and one of Norway's largest political parties, known best for it's right wing economic policy and strong anti-immigration stance. When younger, he was active in FrPU, the youth party for FrP, and held several several "verv" - positions of responsibility - within the youth organization. However, this association ended several years ago. The only warning the shooter provided came via the lone posting he has made on his twitter account, dated the 17th of July: “One person with a belief is equal to the force of 100 000 who have only interests.”
Oslo awoke today to the sight of military patrolling the streets downtown. It's a grey day in Oslo, a dreary, lost, depressing sort of day, the sort of day which mirrors the mood of a nation in shock. I am sitting half a continent away, where the blue sky and sun seem just as surreal. I know that all life is sacred, that such attacks are a tragedy, whether they strike in Oklahoma city, New York, DC, London, Mumbai, Delhi, Gaza, or Oslo. But this is knowledge best retained by a rational mind, not a emotional heart. When I see the pictures from Oslo, I feel tears lurking at the corners of my eyes. I know these buildings. I have walked past them on my way home, I have listened to open air concerts at Youngstorget, I have stopped to consider the flowers sold at the kiosk there. This is the city where I currently make my home. It's more than pictures on the news – this is a part of my day to day life that has been irrevocably changed.
This is the biggest attack on Norwegian soil since WWII, and so it is perhaps not surprising that I have seen several Norwegians turn to the words of that era to express their feelings today. In 1940, the Norwegian poet Nordahl Grieg said “Vi er så få her i landet, hver fallen er bror og venn.” [We are so few here in this country, that every fallen (person) is a brother and a friend] Norway is a country of less than 5 million people. Or, to put it succinctly for my American friends, Norway: Population = Alabama. For a similar percentage of the American population to be affected, gunmen would have to take out 5,000 people. In terms of percentage, Norway has lost more people than the US did on 9/11, almost 10 years ago.
On the surface, the motivations behind the two attacks are different. Dig beneath the paper-thin mask of blonds and beards, crazed nationalism and delusions of holy war, and you find the true culprits: fundamentalism, extremism, hatred and fear. This is not an issue of east and west, this is an issue of intolerance taken to the extreme. In the immediate aftermath of the attacks, there was a lot of hatred being spewed online, aimed at religion in general and Islam in particular. But scapegoating, while comforting, does not actually change reality. This is not a question of us vs them, this is a case of moderation and tolerance against fundamentalists of all stripes, and the real issue will not be solved without introspection.
And in conclusion, for those who feel touched by the events inn Norway, I encourage you to show your support in the way many of those I know in Oslo have: by donating blood. Words are not half as powerful as actions, and the best way to fight back against fear is to give.
Peace
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Sunday, November 28, 2010
My people were not built for this
Hello World,
Alas, yet another pledge to be a Good Blogger (is there such a thing?) has been swept away in the dizzying swirl of classes, teaching and interning which was this past semester. October flew by, and the snowflake that is November has barely been more than a glimmer of white on my eyelashes, rapidly meting away before I had a chance to blink.
However, unlike the figurative snow alluded to above, the real snow which lies in drifts here in Oslo is not melting away. Rather, it is blowing, drifting, swirling in the constant wind which coats everything in a thin layer of white and makes everything feel colder than it should. One of the strange truths of winter in Oslo is the fact that I am ALWAYS walking directly into the wind when in a hurry, regardless of the direction I am headed. Megalomania, or spiteful Viking gods mocking an ABCD transplant in Oslo? The jury is still out.
The jury also remains out on whether it was temporary insanity which led me to willingly choose to relocate here. I loathe the dark, the cold, and the rain. I have spent entire days of my life living on Maggi noodles, popcorn, and hot chocolate rather than brave the winds and purchase real food. My family is from a part of the world where 20C (68 F) is positively chilly. As a child, I lived in a part of the US where the threat of snow was enough to delay school; the weather we have in Oslo would have shut down schools for weeks in the warm Carolina winters of my childhood.
I was pondering this earlier, as I sat in a reading room at the university, watching a short day turn into a long night. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. When I left the university at 5, after 7 hours of reading, the sky was dark gray and the air full of swirling snow. My fingers were stinging within minutes.
Half a world away, where my family goes about their business, where my dog continues his endless battle for dominance against the squirrels in our yard, where the last of the autumn leaves cling to branches, it is sunny and, by Oslo standards, warm. In my parents' homeland, it is warmer still. It is still a mystery how I ended up here, dressed in sweaters and scarves and winter boots for half the year. My people were not built for this.
And yet, I remain.
Peace!
Alas, yet another pledge to be a Good Blogger (is there such a thing?) has been swept away in the dizzying swirl of classes, teaching and interning which was this past semester. October flew by, and the snowflake that is November has barely been more than a glimmer of white on my eyelashes, rapidly meting away before I had a chance to blink.
However, unlike the figurative snow alluded to above, the real snow which lies in drifts here in Oslo is not melting away. Rather, it is blowing, drifting, swirling in the constant wind which coats everything in a thin layer of white and makes everything feel colder than it should. One of the strange truths of winter in Oslo is the fact that I am ALWAYS walking directly into the wind when in a hurry, regardless of the direction I am headed. Megalomania, or spiteful Viking gods mocking an ABCD transplant in Oslo? The jury is still out.
The jury also remains out on whether it was temporary insanity which led me to willingly choose to relocate here. I loathe the dark, the cold, and the rain. I have spent entire days of my life living on Maggi noodles, popcorn, and hot chocolate rather than brave the winds and purchase real food. My family is from a part of the world where 20C (68 F) is positively chilly. As a child, I lived in a part of the US where the threat of snow was enough to delay school; the weather we have in Oslo would have shut down schools for weeks in the warm Carolina winters of my childhood.
I was pondering this earlier, as I sat in a reading room at the university, watching a short day turn into a long night. It was 3:30 in the afternoon. When I left the university at 5, after 7 hours of reading, the sky was dark gray and the air full of swirling snow. My fingers were stinging within minutes.
Half a world away, where my family goes about their business, where my dog continues his endless battle for dominance against the squirrels in our yard, where the last of the autumn leaves cling to branches, it is sunny and, by Oslo standards, warm. In my parents' homeland, it is warmer still. It is still a mystery how I ended up here, dressed in sweaters and scarves and winter boots for half the year. My people were not built for this.
And yet, I remain.
Peace!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Wanted: a Potato - The best job announcement ever
Hello World,
I keep promising more regular updates, and the whirlwind that is my life keeps destroying my good blogging intentions, one by one. My semester has started, and between English teaching, copy editing, and an internship, I have 12 hour days. We are in early autumn now, and I am trying to catch as many of the crisp, clear days as I can ahead of the inevitable days of endless rain.
And then there is Norwegian, the language I am struggling to learn. One of the ways I practice Norwegian is by reading Norwegian news, which is why I know about this gem of a job announcement:
Potato Festival seeks Potato
The article is in Norwegian, but the gist is that the annual Potato Festival (going down this weekend in Bryne, a town in southwestern Norway) is in search of a friendly, child-loving individual to serve as Pottwald, the smiling potato mascot shown in the link above. I first learned of the Potato Festival a year ago, when I stumbled into the middle of it while in the area for a wedding. I was bemused, but upon reflection, not entirely surprised that the Norwegians have a festival dedicated to the potato. The potato is the vegetable of choice in Norwegian cooking, and serves as a blank canvas on which Norwegian cooks paint their dreams. Of course, these dreams mostly consist of boiling or frying the vegetable, adding salt and perhaps some pepper, and serving it with some form of meat, but who am I to mock the dreams of a nation?
But I digress. Back to the article, which contains everything a good job announcement should have: a job description, physical requirements, qualities desired, and a description of the hiring authorities. It also includes a disclaimer for any small children who may have stumbled across the article, reminding everyone that Pottwald is not merely some friendly costumed human in a suit, but a REAL walking, talking, potato-loving potato. Alas, the question of whether Pottwald would be allowed to eat his or her smaller, non-anthromorphic brethren was not addressed. One hopes that interested candidates would have raised this question in a job interview. Recently, another article came out, explaining that the post of Pottwald had been filled, thus dashing my dreams of being a walking, talking potato with cannibalistic tendencies. Can't win them all, I guess!
That's all the news that isn't!
Peace!
I keep promising more regular updates, and the whirlwind that is my life keeps destroying my good blogging intentions, one by one. My semester has started, and between English teaching, copy editing, and an internship, I have 12 hour days. We are in early autumn now, and I am trying to catch as many of the crisp, clear days as I can ahead of the inevitable days of endless rain.
And then there is Norwegian, the language I am struggling to learn. One of the ways I practice Norwegian is by reading Norwegian news, which is why I know about this gem of a job announcement:
Potato Festival seeks Potato
The article is in Norwegian, but the gist is that the annual Potato Festival (going down this weekend in Bryne, a town in southwestern Norway) is in search of a friendly, child-loving individual to serve as Pottwald, the smiling potato mascot shown in the link above. I first learned of the Potato Festival a year ago, when I stumbled into the middle of it while in the area for a wedding. I was bemused, but upon reflection, not entirely surprised that the Norwegians have a festival dedicated to the potato. The potato is the vegetable of choice in Norwegian cooking, and serves as a blank canvas on which Norwegian cooks paint their dreams. Of course, these dreams mostly consist of boiling or frying the vegetable, adding salt and perhaps some pepper, and serving it with some form of meat, but who am I to mock the dreams of a nation?
But I digress. Back to the article, which contains everything a good job announcement should have: a job description, physical requirements, qualities desired, and a description of the hiring authorities. It also includes a disclaimer for any small children who may have stumbled across the article, reminding everyone that Pottwald is not merely some friendly costumed human in a suit, but a REAL walking, talking, potato-loving potato. Alas, the question of whether Pottwald would be allowed to eat his or her smaller, non-anthromorphic brethren was not addressed. One hopes that interested candidates would have raised this question in a job interview. Recently, another article came out, explaining that the post of Pottwald had been filled, thus dashing my dreams of being a walking, talking potato with cannibalistic tendencies. Can't win them all, I guess!
That's all the news that isn't!
Peace!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Life is fantastic
Hello world!
Time is flying by. In a few days, I will mark the end of my first year in Norway. I know this blog has gone silent over the summer, for which I apologize. First I was in the US, where I passed my time with family, my dog, and the World cup. After returning to Norway, I fell into the sort of idle introspection melded with homesickness which is painful to experience, and merely indulgent at best to write about. Picking through melancholy on a public stage is something I was not - and am not - quite ready for. But I've found my temporary bearings again, so I'll conclude this short entry with some fantastic street art spotted in Grønland:
Peace!
Time is flying by. In a few days, I will mark the end of my first year in Norway. I know this blog has gone silent over the summer, for which I apologize. First I was in the US, where I passed my time with family, my dog, and the World cup. After returning to Norway, I fell into the sort of idle introspection melded with homesickness which is painful to experience, and merely indulgent at best to write about. Picking through melancholy on a public stage is something I was not - and am not - quite ready for. But I've found my temporary bearings again, so I'll conclude this short entry with some fantastic street art spotted in Grønland:
Peace!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Eurovision Semifinal, part 2: Still Sharing the Moment, whether you care or not!
Hello World!
On Tuesday, half of the nations participating in this year's Eurovision Song Contest tried to secure all the fame and glory which comes with a spot in the final, which airs on Saturday. Today, 17 other nations attempt to impress us again with their mastery of weird dance moves, synthesizers, wind machines, creative costume choices, and possibly the musical ability of the artists selected. Unfortunately, I have another exam tomorrow morning, so I have nothing but this laptop, snark, and sparkling wit to get me through the next hour. For those of you who do not have access to this spectacular event, here is the breakdown of what Telenor Arena served up tonight:
Lithuania: Eastern European Funk: I have to admit that I have already been recruited into supporting this entry by several Lithuanians. However, what's not to like about political commentary performed by men who rip off their pants to reveal sequined boxers? Also, they use kazoos.
Armenia: A scantily clad women who "began to cry a lot, and so she gave me apricots." Unfortunately, the significance of the "apricots from the motherland" are not provided. However, thanks to diaspora voting, I am fairly certain this will be appearing in the final on Saturday.
Israel: A pretty man, singing a power ballad in Hebrew. This automatically trumps the song before it, because I can't understand it. Seriously. He could be counting to 10, but because I can't understand it, it sounds more profound. Unfortunately, it's also slightly off key.
Denmark: The song is called "in a moment like this." It's preformed by a blond dude with a righteous afro, and his singing companion, who sounds like a Danish mutant blending of Shania Twain and Cher, but more irritating than both. They have a wind machine, which is not enough to make this three minute song any more bearable.
Switzerland: The Swiss are singing in French, so I have no idea what the song is called. The singer is dressed in a golden satin tuxedo, with skinny pant legs. It's truly one of the worst pieces of clothing I have seen. it's not tacky enough to cross over from merely ill-advised to the spectacularly awesome. To add insult to injury, he can't hit the high notes in the song he is singing.
Sweden: One of the things I learned when in Sweden (where I originally learned about Eurovision) was that Sweden takes this very seriously, and thus, tries to send things which they hope Europe will love. Apparently, they think we will love a teenager with a guitar, singing a song about her life, white wearing a prom dress paired with beat-up hightops. She's singing in English, naturally. It's the sort of song which is reminiscent of the playlist favored kitchenware sections of department stores worldwide.
Azerbaijan: Another woman singing a power ballad. Unfortunately, their English is not as good, since they are singing about how someone "smells like lipstick" However, the singer's dress does have lights on it!
Ukraine: From the first chords, I can tell it's going to be another power ballad. I honestly don't understand why Europe loves power ballads so much. Perhaps there's an unknown tear in the fabric of the universe, which is secretly funneling the 1980s into the continent? Unfortunately, the singer forgot to bring her clothes with her from 1987, so she's been forced to wear lingerie and a cape.
The Netherlands: The Netherlands raided a theme park for their set, and costume, and possibly musical instruments. They also found a way to raid said theme park in 1976. I have no idea what they are talking about, since they are also doing us the collective favor of singing in Dutch. Full points for originality, I suppose.
Romania: The Norwegian commentators make sure that we are aware that a Norwegian, from Rogaland is responsible for the melody and text which we are about to hear. The song is called "Play with Fire." Three seconds in, and I already feel like we would have been better served if the Norwegians hadn't let this dude out of Rogaland. The Romanians can carry a tune, it's just that the tune isn't worth carrying. However, full points for the use of the LED infused light+up double grand piano set!
Slovenia: Ever wondered what would happen if 80s arena rock met Slovenian folk music? Yeah, me neither. However, we are finding out. It's bizarrely entertaining. Everyone can sing, the instruments are on tune, and again, I have no idea what they are saying. However, I now have a good idea what Bon Jovi would sound like if he ever decided to perform in Slovenian.
Ireland: Another power ballad. I am running out of things to say about unremarkable power ballads.
Bulgaria: A very intense Eastern European man is staring - and singing - at the screen very intently. His back up dancers? Bare chested men in silver satin parachute pants and women with silvery cheerleader outfits and giant silver wings. This is much more entertaining when on mute.
Cyprus:The Norwegian commentators make sure that the viewing audience in Norway is aware that Norway has also controibuted to this song, in the form of the Norwegian woman on the piano. Another power ballad. "Tell me about your feelings, tell me about your stories," implores the young man on the guitar. My feelings? I really wish I didn't have an exam tomorrow, so I wouldn't have to be watching this in a state where I know all my feelings.
Croatia: Croatia has sent Feminnem, a female tribute band for Eminem. Honestly, I don't have enough creativity to make this stuff up. However, I don't see the Eminem tie yet - just three attractive women in short dresses singing yet another power ballad. THis power ballad is in Croatian.
Georgia: A woman in a red dress singing - wait for it - another power ballad1 The mute button: Making power ballads bearable since both came into existence.
Turkey: One rock band, many mullets, and a dancing robot. No, wait, not a dancing robot - a robot with a flamethrower, slowly cutting its' way out of the metallic shell. The only thing more entertaining than this has been the sequined boxers. Thanks for keeping it real, Turkey.
In the Final: Georgia, Ukraine, Turkey, Israel, Ireland, Cyprus, Azerbaijan, Romania, Armenia, Denmark. Also in the final are the 10 countries which qualified on Tuesday, as well as Germany, the UK, France, Spain, and Norway. Germany, France, the UK and Spain are automatically in the final, since they mostly finance this thing, and Norway gets a spot in the final because it won last year.
Well, that's it for now. On Saturday, an international group of snarky students (and associated hangers-on) will gather to laugh at this together. which is good, because without company, there's no way I could sit through this again.
Peace!
On Tuesday, half of the nations participating in this year's Eurovision Song Contest tried to secure all the fame and glory which comes with a spot in the final, which airs on Saturday. Today, 17 other nations attempt to impress us again with their mastery of weird dance moves, synthesizers, wind machines, creative costume choices, and possibly the musical ability of the artists selected. Unfortunately, I have another exam tomorrow morning, so I have nothing but this laptop, snark, and sparkling wit to get me through the next hour. For those of you who do not have access to this spectacular event, here is the breakdown of what Telenor Arena served up tonight:
Lithuania: Eastern European Funk: I have to admit that I have already been recruited into supporting this entry by several Lithuanians. However, what's not to like about political commentary performed by men who rip off their pants to reveal sequined boxers? Also, they use kazoos.
Armenia: A scantily clad women who "began to cry a lot, and so she gave me apricots." Unfortunately, the significance of the "apricots from the motherland" are not provided. However, thanks to diaspora voting, I am fairly certain this will be appearing in the final on Saturday.
Israel: A pretty man, singing a power ballad in Hebrew. This automatically trumps the song before it, because I can't understand it. Seriously. He could be counting to 10, but because I can't understand it, it sounds more profound. Unfortunately, it's also slightly off key.
Denmark: The song is called "in a moment like this." It's preformed by a blond dude with a righteous afro, and his singing companion, who sounds like a Danish mutant blending of Shania Twain and Cher, but more irritating than both. They have a wind machine, which is not enough to make this three minute song any more bearable.
Switzerland: The Swiss are singing in French, so I have no idea what the song is called. The singer is dressed in a golden satin tuxedo, with skinny pant legs. It's truly one of the worst pieces of clothing I have seen. it's not tacky enough to cross over from merely ill-advised to the spectacularly awesome. To add insult to injury, he can't hit the high notes in the song he is singing.
Sweden: One of the things I learned when in Sweden (where I originally learned about Eurovision) was that Sweden takes this very seriously, and thus, tries to send things which they hope Europe will love. Apparently, they think we will love a teenager with a guitar, singing a song about her life, white wearing a prom dress paired with beat-up hightops. She's singing in English, naturally. It's the sort of song which is reminiscent of the playlist favored kitchenware sections of department stores worldwide.
Azerbaijan: Another woman singing a power ballad. Unfortunately, their English is not as good, since they are singing about how someone "smells like lipstick" However, the singer's dress does have lights on it!
Ukraine: From the first chords, I can tell it's going to be another power ballad. I honestly don't understand why Europe loves power ballads so much. Perhaps there's an unknown tear in the fabric of the universe, which is secretly funneling the 1980s into the continent? Unfortunately, the singer forgot to bring her clothes with her from 1987, so she's been forced to wear lingerie and a cape.
The Netherlands: The Netherlands raided a theme park for their set, and costume, and possibly musical instruments. They also found a way to raid said theme park in 1976. I have no idea what they are talking about, since they are also doing us the collective favor of singing in Dutch. Full points for originality, I suppose.
Romania: The Norwegian commentators make sure that we are aware that a Norwegian, from Rogaland is responsible for the melody and text which we are about to hear. The song is called "Play with Fire." Three seconds in, and I already feel like we would have been better served if the Norwegians hadn't let this dude out of Rogaland. The Romanians can carry a tune, it's just that the tune isn't worth carrying. However, full points for the use of the LED infused light+up double grand piano set!
Slovenia: Ever wondered what would happen if 80s arena rock met Slovenian folk music? Yeah, me neither. However, we are finding out. It's bizarrely entertaining. Everyone can sing, the instruments are on tune, and again, I have no idea what they are saying. However, I now have a good idea what Bon Jovi would sound like if he ever decided to perform in Slovenian.
Ireland: Another power ballad. I am running out of things to say about unremarkable power ballads.
Bulgaria: A very intense Eastern European man is staring - and singing - at the screen very intently. His back up dancers? Bare chested men in silver satin parachute pants and women with silvery cheerleader outfits and giant silver wings. This is much more entertaining when on mute.
Cyprus:The Norwegian commentators make sure that the viewing audience in Norway is aware that Norway has also controibuted to this song, in the form of the Norwegian woman on the piano. Another power ballad. "Tell me about your feelings, tell me about your stories," implores the young man on the guitar. My feelings? I really wish I didn't have an exam tomorrow, so I wouldn't have to be watching this in a state where I know all my feelings.
Croatia: Croatia has sent Feminnem, a female tribute band for Eminem. Honestly, I don't have enough creativity to make this stuff up. However, I don't see the Eminem tie yet - just three attractive women in short dresses singing yet another power ballad. THis power ballad is in Croatian.
Georgia: A woman in a red dress singing - wait for it - another power ballad1 The mute button: Making power ballads bearable since both came into existence.
Turkey: One rock band, many mullets, and a dancing robot. No, wait, not a dancing robot - a robot with a flamethrower, slowly cutting its' way out of the metallic shell. The only thing more entertaining than this has been the sequined boxers. Thanks for keeping it real, Turkey.
In the Final: Georgia, Ukraine, Turkey, Israel, Ireland, Cyprus, Azerbaijan, Romania, Armenia, Denmark. Also in the final are the 10 countries which qualified on Tuesday, as well as Germany, the UK, France, Spain, and Norway. Germany, France, the UK and Spain are automatically in the final, since they mostly finance this thing, and Norway gets a spot in the final because it won last year.
Well, that's it for now. On Saturday, an international group of snarky students (and associated hangers-on) will gather to laugh at this together. which is good, because without company, there's no way I could sit through this again.
Peace!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Eurovision Semifinal Part 1: Sharing the moment, one bad ballad at a time.
Hello World!
It's that wonderful time of year again: The sun is shining, the days are lengthening, and Europe (and Israel) are indulging in the international kitschfest which is the Eurovision Song Contest. What is Eurovision? Theoretically, it's a song competition, where each nation in the European Broadcasting Union selects a musical act to represent them on the European stage. In reality, it's some sort of weird amalgamation of glitter, wind machines, synth, traditional instruments, and political agenda, which typically can only be construed as music if your standards for music are quite low. It's the sort of event which everyone complains about, but always watches, and it is typically one of the most-viewed television broadcasts in every European country.
As an American, I can freely admit that I love Eurovision. The entire thing - the strange costumes, the hideous music, the predictable, geopolitical voting trends, the truly terrible English song lyrics, meld together into a mindless spectacle. As an added bonus, this is one trippy talent show which the US is not responsible for in any way. The Europeans came up with this gem of camp all on their own. This year, last year's winner, Norway, is hosting the contest. So as Europe turns to Oslo, and fans from around the continent descend on Telenor Arena, I sit here, Norwegian grammar books on one hand, a laptop on the other, watching what Europe serves up so that you, dear reader, do not have to. Alas, the other traditional Eurovision viewing accessory, alcohol, is not available, as I have a Norwegian exam in the morning. However, the show must go on, and the blogging must occur. Hence, as a special bonus, I'm including fun snippets about the Norwegian language, which may or may not be more useful than my views on Eurovision entries. Onward!
Moldova: Some sort of Europop which, among other things, features a neon fiddle and sax, and a singer wearing some silvery outfit which looks like it was stolen from the set of some sort of D list, 80s, sci fi-meets-disco film.
Russia: "Would you believe light of mercy". Okay, I'm done. Memorizing Norwegian preposition time. Norsk Fun fact: Describing where one lives in Norway is an exciting adventure in preposition-land. The preposition i is used when discussing living in big cities, or towns of any size which lie on the coast. The preposition på is used for living on islands, or smaller cities. So one way to curry favor with people from small towns in the middle of nowhere, interior Norway is to use the phrase i byen (in the city) to talk about visiting there.
Estonia: A very pretty boy who tells me that the siren in his head is making an awful sound. Still working on the prepositions.
Slovakia: Slovakia bringing us the first (and hopefully not the last) dancing plant life ensemble. The stage is suddenly filled with people dressed as trees. Bonus: They are singing in Slovakian, so I don't have to internally weep for the desecration of the English language.
Finland: Two blond girls, one with an accordion, singing in Finnish. THere's nothing else to say. Hence, more Norwegian: Norsk fun fact: Not about the Norwegian language, but instead the history of Norway in the Eurovison Song Contest. Cultural insight, if you will. Norway has the distinction of being the nation which has come in dead last in this contest the most - 10 times in 55 years of competition.
Latvia: A pretty blond, who is unfortunately singing in English and asking her uncle Joe for advice about "what for are we living". The answer? "Only Mr. God knows why." At least they treat the big G-O-D with respect in Latvia. None of this casual "Yo, God! What's shaking?" No. The Latvians have Mister God.
Serbia: Some sort of folk music remix, preformed by people in strange glittery blue jackets.
Bosnia: Thunder and Lightening: Some sort of rock-inspired song about melting the ice and overcoming the past. The music is quite good, the message is a bit too nauseatingly feel-good. I have an exam tomorrow, Bosnia, and I can't hold your hand and help you overcome the past. Perhaps you and the Serbians can sort this out backstage?
Poland: One man wearing a suit singing, while 5 women in some sort of traditional costume dance around with apples in their mouths. The singer from Poland is here to save his lovely princess. Thank you Poland, for sending me back to Norwegian. Norsk Fun fact: The plural form of an adjective and the singular definite form of an adjective are exactly the same. Hence, the bad Polish song - Den dårlige polske sangen and many bad European songs - mange dårlige Europeiske sanger - use the same form of the adjective for bad.
Belgium: Belgium forgot what they were competing in and sent a young, earnest man with a guitar. Either that, or he got lost on the way to the coffeeshop he is supposed to be playing in and ended up at Telenor Arena instead. At least he and his guitar should be able to pick up some extra cash to finance his stay in Oslo if he sets up on Oslo's main street, Karl Johan. I would give him 5 kr.
Malta: This is her dream. This is not my dream. The singer's dress suddenly sprouts wings, and then they detach and go whirling around the stage.
Albania: Eurodance, brought to us live by high-pitched women sporting the biggest shoulder pads I've spotted in recent memory. at least it isn't a ballad. That's all I have to say.
Greece: First they gave us the philosophy, science, and political structures which served as the foundation of modern Western society. Millennia later, and their economic woes threaten to take it all away. While they orchestrate our collective economic downfall, they have sent very energetic Greek dancers and singers wearing white suits to distract us. Not sure how well it is working.
Portugal: Back to the ballads. As she is singing in Portuguese, I have no idea what she is saying. This puts her at an advantage, as far as I am concerned. However, as I am not voting, I doubt she cares.
F.Y.R. Macedonia: Intense man, singing something or another in Macedonian as scantily clad women cavort around him. Norsk Fun Fact: One can express an opinion in Norwegian using the verb å mene - to opine. I feel like English needs to take a leaf from the Norwegians and bring the use of opine back into common use. "This song, and the one which follows it, are without any redeeming value, " the blogger opined. Hmmm....
Belarus: Belarus is filled with butterflies who are flying to the sun, where they will then presumably die from the heat and fall to the ground, charred wings fluttering sadly in the wind. Points for driving the point that they are "butterflies flying to the sun" home through the use of giant butterfly wings.
Iceland: The last song for the evening, preformed in French and English. Yet another ballad imported from the 80s, straight to Oslo. Norsk fun fact: Icelandic is Norwegian, frozen in time. The two languages were identical 1000 years ago, but modern Norwegian has been influenced in structure by the other Germanic languages and now most closely resembles written Danish and spoken Swedish.
Appearing again on the Final: Bosnia, Moldova, Russia, Greece, Portugal, Belarus, Serbia, Belgium, Albania, Iceland.
And that's it for tonight. Remember to fly like a butterfly towards the sun!
Peace
It's that wonderful time of year again: The sun is shining, the days are lengthening, and Europe (and Israel) are indulging in the international kitschfest which is the Eurovision Song Contest. What is Eurovision? Theoretically, it's a song competition, where each nation in the European Broadcasting Union selects a musical act to represent them on the European stage. In reality, it's some sort of weird amalgamation of glitter, wind machines, synth, traditional instruments, and political agenda, which typically can only be construed as music if your standards for music are quite low. It's the sort of event which everyone complains about, but always watches, and it is typically one of the most-viewed television broadcasts in every European country.
As an American, I can freely admit that I love Eurovision. The entire thing - the strange costumes, the hideous music, the predictable, geopolitical voting trends, the truly terrible English song lyrics, meld together into a mindless spectacle. As an added bonus, this is one trippy talent show which the US is not responsible for in any way. The Europeans came up with this gem of camp all on their own. This year, last year's winner, Norway, is hosting the contest. So as Europe turns to Oslo, and fans from around the continent descend on Telenor Arena, I sit here, Norwegian grammar books on one hand, a laptop on the other, watching what Europe serves up so that you, dear reader, do not have to. Alas, the other traditional Eurovision viewing accessory, alcohol, is not available, as I have a Norwegian exam in the morning. However, the show must go on, and the blogging must occur. Hence, as a special bonus, I'm including fun snippets about the Norwegian language, which may or may not be more useful than my views on Eurovision entries. Onward!
Moldova: Some sort of Europop which, among other things, features a neon fiddle and sax, and a singer wearing some silvery outfit which looks like it was stolen from the set of some sort of D list, 80s, sci fi-meets-disco film.
Russia: "Would you believe light of mercy". Okay, I'm done. Memorizing Norwegian preposition time. Norsk Fun fact: Describing where one lives in Norway is an exciting adventure in preposition-land. The preposition i is used when discussing living in big cities, or towns of any size which lie on the coast. The preposition på is used for living on islands, or smaller cities. So one way to curry favor with people from small towns in the middle of nowhere, interior Norway is to use the phrase i byen (in the city) to talk about visiting there.
Estonia: A very pretty boy who tells me that the siren in his head is making an awful sound. Still working on the prepositions.
Slovakia: Slovakia bringing us the first (and hopefully not the last) dancing plant life ensemble. The stage is suddenly filled with people dressed as trees. Bonus: They are singing in Slovakian, so I don't have to internally weep for the desecration of the English language.
Finland: Two blond girls, one with an accordion, singing in Finnish. THere's nothing else to say. Hence, more Norwegian: Norsk fun fact: Not about the Norwegian language, but instead the history of Norway in the Eurovison Song Contest. Cultural insight, if you will. Norway has the distinction of being the nation which has come in dead last in this contest the most - 10 times in 55 years of competition.
Latvia: A pretty blond, who is unfortunately singing in English and asking her uncle Joe for advice about "what for are we living". The answer? "Only Mr. God knows why." At least they treat the big G-O-D with respect in Latvia. None of this casual "Yo, God! What's shaking?" No. The Latvians have Mister God.
Serbia: Some sort of folk music remix, preformed by people in strange glittery blue jackets.
Bosnia: Thunder and Lightening: Some sort of rock-inspired song about melting the ice and overcoming the past. The music is quite good, the message is a bit too nauseatingly feel-good. I have an exam tomorrow, Bosnia, and I can't hold your hand and help you overcome the past. Perhaps you and the Serbians can sort this out backstage?
Poland: One man wearing a suit singing, while 5 women in some sort of traditional costume dance around with apples in their mouths. The singer from Poland is here to save his lovely princess. Thank you Poland, for sending me back to Norwegian. Norsk Fun fact: The plural form of an adjective and the singular definite form of an adjective are exactly the same. Hence, the bad Polish song - Den dårlige polske sangen and many bad European songs - mange dårlige Europeiske sanger - use the same form of the adjective for bad.
Belgium: Belgium forgot what they were competing in and sent a young, earnest man with a guitar. Either that, or he got lost on the way to the coffeeshop he is supposed to be playing in and ended up at Telenor Arena instead. At least he and his guitar should be able to pick up some extra cash to finance his stay in Oslo if he sets up on Oslo's main street, Karl Johan. I would give him 5 kr.
Malta: This is her dream. This is not my dream. The singer's dress suddenly sprouts wings, and then they detach and go whirling around the stage.
Albania: Eurodance, brought to us live by high-pitched women sporting the biggest shoulder pads I've spotted in recent memory. at least it isn't a ballad. That's all I have to say.
Greece: First they gave us the philosophy, science, and political structures which served as the foundation of modern Western society. Millennia later, and their economic woes threaten to take it all away. While they orchestrate our collective economic downfall, they have sent very energetic Greek dancers and singers wearing white suits to distract us. Not sure how well it is working.
Portugal: Back to the ballads. As she is singing in Portuguese, I have no idea what she is saying. This puts her at an advantage, as far as I am concerned. However, as I am not voting, I doubt she cares.
F.Y.R. Macedonia: Intense man, singing something or another in Macedonian as scantily clad women cavort around him. Norsk Fun Fact: One can express an opinion in Norwegian using the verb å mene - to opine. I feel like English needs to take a leaf from the Norwegians and bring the use of opine back into common use. "This song, and the one which follows it, are without any redeeming value, " the blogger opined. Hmmm....
Belarus: Belarus is filled with butterflies who are flying to the sun, where they will then presumably die from the heat and fall to the ground, charred wings fluttering sadly in the wind. Points for driving the point that they are "butterflies flying to the sun" home through the use of giant butterfly wings.
Iceland: The last song for the evening, preformed in French and English. Yet another ballad imported from the 80s, straight to Oslo. Norsk fun fact: Icelandic is Norwegian, frozen in time. The two languages were identical 1000 years ago, but modern Norwegian has been influenced in structure by the other Germanic languages and now most closely resembles written Danish and spoken Swedish.
Appearing again on the Final: Bosnia, Moldova, Russia, Greece, Portugal, Belarus, Serbia, Belgium, Albania, Iceland.
And that's it for tonight. Remember to fly like a butterfly towards the sun!
Peace
Monday, May 24, 2010
"We have much weather here."
Hello World!
Spring has come to Norway. Sometime last week, the weather gods flipped a switch and the country suddenly shifted from shades of brown and gray to vivid, vibrant green. Grassy expanses are dotted with wildflowers, the trees are awash in new leaves, and the birds are up with the sun - at 3:30 a.m. Spring is here, summer is coming, and Norwegians (and those of us transplanted to Norway) are venturing out into spring weather in droves.
Weather? You might ask. Not sunlight? As Norwegians like to point out, they have a lot of weather here, often in the space of a few hours. If it's raining now, you can count on the sun shining later. This doesn't necessarily mean the rain will stop, something which I was reminded of yesterday as I juggled an umbrella in one hand, a picnic bag in the other, while fumbling for the oversized sunglasses which I had (naturally) managed to dislodge as we sprinted to the bus stop. Later, we were rewarded for braving the unpredictable Norwegian weather by a rainbow, which of course we couldn't photograph as the rain would damage the camera.
The only thing more infuriating than the Norwegians' ability to handle literally any type of weather with zen-like equanimity is the other, oft quoted Scandinavian proverb, typically quoted in response to foreigners expressing any sort of dismay at the fact that the weather has gone from sunny and 65F to 32F and snow in the course of 24 hours (as it did between May 3rd and 4th) or from partly sunny to partly sunny and raining at the precise time of our proposed picnic in the park. The proverb, which is invariably uttered when anyone makes a remotely negative comment about Norwegian weather is "Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær." which translates as "There is no bad weather, only bad clothing." Or, the more accurate translation, which most Norwegians are too polite to give you, is "it's just rain/wind/ sub-zero temperatures/snow/hailstones the size of pool balls, put on a windbreaker/sweater and stop whining. The Vikings didn't whine, you wimp!"
I understand the logic. First of all, the proverb rhymes in Norwegian, and who doesn't enjoy a snappy rhyme? Besides, if one lives in Norway, one has to find a way to come to terms with all the weather, especially as, for large portions of the year, said weather is objectively awful. It's a national defense mechanism. Admitting that snow in May, 3 weeks of solid cloud cover, or any temperature below 10 F is completely awful regardless of what you are wearing, would be accepting that Scandinavia, contrary to thier own belief, is not necessarily the best place on Earth. Contemplating the fact that other people manage to live happily in temperate climates will drive you crazy in the middle of winter, after all. Hence, the blame shifts to the clothing.
However, I take the third view, the path less traveled, or the clothes less worn, if you will. Sure, there is bad clothing - and it's perfectly acceptable to internally laugh derisively at the person who refuses to ruin their nice outfit with a windbreaker as the wind or rain comes lashing down. However, that doesn't mean that snow in May isn't awful weather, or that rain coming down as the sun shines is somehow as good as a sunny day. So, Norway, det finnes dårlig vær, OG dårlige klær - There is bad weather, and there is bad clothing. And both can be spotted in Oslo, particularly as the sun transforms into rain.
Peace!
Spring has come to Norway. Sometime last week, the weather gods flipped a switch and the country suddenly shifted from shades of brown and gray to vivid, vibrant green. Grassy expanses are dotted with wildflowers, the trees are awash in new leaves, and the birds are up with the sun - at 3:30 a.m. Spring is here, summer is coming, and Norwegians (and those of us transplanted to Norway) are venturing out into spring weather in droves.
Weather? You might ask. Not sunlight? As Norwegians like to point out, they have a lot of weather here, often in the space of a few hours. If it's raining now, you can count on the sun shining later. This doesn't necessarily mean the rain will stop, something which I was reminded of yesterday as I juggled an umbrella in one hand, a picnic bag in the other, while fumbling for the oversized sunglasses which I had (naturally) managed to dislodge as we sprinted to the bus stop. Later, we were rewarded for braving the unpredictable Norwegian weather by a rainbow, which of course we couldn't photograph as the rain would damage the camera.
The only thing more infuriating than the Norwegians' ability to handle literally any type of weather with zen-like equanimity is the other, oft quoted Scandinavian proverb, typically quoted in response to foreigners expressing any sort of dismay at the fact that the weather has gone from sunny and 65F to 32F and snow in the course of 24 hours (as it did between May 3rd and 4th) or from partly sunny to partly sunny and raining at the precise time of our proposed picnic in the park. The proverb, which is invariably uttered when anyone makes a remotely negative comment about Norwegian weather is "Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær." which translates as "There is no bad weather, only bad clothing." Or, the more accurate translation, which most Norwegians are too polite to give you, is "it's just rain/wind/ sub-zero temperatures/snow/hailstones the size of pool balls, put on a windbreaker/sweater and stop whining. The Vikings didn't whine, you wimp!"
I understand the logic. First of all, the proverb rhymes in Norwegian, and who doesn't enjoy a snappy rhyme? Besides, if one lives in Norway, one has to find a way to come to terms with all the weather, especially as, for large portions of the year, said weather is objectively awful. It's a national defense mechanism. Admitting that snow in May, 3 weeks of solid cloud cover, or any temperature below 10 F is completely awful regardless of what you are wearing, would be accepting that Scandinavia, contrary to thier own belief, is not necessarily the best place on Earth. Contemplating the fact that other people manage to live happily in temperate climates will drive you crazy in the middle of winter, after all. Hence, the blame shifts to the clothing.
However, I take the third view, the path less traveled, or the clothes less worn, if you will. Sure, there is bad clothing - and it's perfectly acceptable to internally laugh derisively at the person who refuses to ruin their nice outfit with a windbreaker as the wind or rain comes lashing down. However, that doesn't mean that snow in May isn't awful weather, or that rain coming down as the sun shines is somehow as good as a sunny day. So, Norway, det finnes dårlig vær, OG dårlige klær - There is bad weather, and there is bad clothing. And both can be spotted in Oslo, particularly as the sun transforms into rain.
Peace!
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