According to Julie

March 4, 2010

I want to live in English

For every language you learn, you live another life. Apparently people who live in Czech say that. I think I want to live in English now.

Most Norwegians understand English, but worldwide practically no one understands Norwegian. This makes Norwegian an inside joke I share with a selection of the people I know.

Growing up, Norwegian was the language I used with the three people who knew me best, the people with whom I barely needed spoken words to communicate with at all. Even though I talked non-stop (still do) in both languages, my parents and my sister could usually understand my face and tone of voice well enough regardless of vocabulary. My mom could tell how happy I was by the way I opened the front door when I came home in the afternoon. So Norwegian was our somewhat unneccessary secret code. American friends thought Norwegian was an angry language, because they only heard it when my parents yelled at me. I preferred English, but my parents insisted I speak Norwegian, because I would need it someday.

These days, communicating in Norwegian is my job. Since moving back to Norway two years ago, I have studied and worked in Norwegian full time. I consider both Norwegian and English first languages, meaning I'm completely bilingual.

Despite all that, after giving Norwegian a serious try, I have realized something:

English is just better. I'm better in English. I like other people better in English.

I'm more open and heartfelt and honest in English. Norwegians are so direct it borders on insensitivity, both in culture and in language. We won't tell you to have a nice day unless we ourselves would really feel happier if you did. We won't say "I love you" to people we just like. We won't thank you if we don't feel genuinely grateful. Any expression of sentiment in Norwegian feels like I'm exposing some secret part of my mind, usually only accessible to Norwegians when we're drunk.

In English I'm more polite, although I might come off as relatively rude due to Norwegian bad habits. It feels easier to be sincere and emotional in English without feeling like I'm crossing the line into inappropriate. I'm more outgoing and animated, especially when I meet Americans. If I'm in a room full of Norwegians and one American, I might look like I'm giving the American much more attention, smiling and gesticulating more.

If I swear, it's in Norwegian. If I ever swear in English, I'm just pretending. The one exception is if I say skitt (the Norwegian word for dirt, the sk is pronounced sh) when I really want to swear in secret and I'm in Norway. (Swearing in French doesn't work at all.) This might be because I used to be American, and as a child I had no reason to swear. 

Privately, I think that all the words I know, in English, Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, French, German, Dutch, Khmer, Thai, Italian, Spanish, are all one big vocabulary. Sometimes I can use all my words, sometimes only a few, depending on who I'm talking to. Most of my close friends here in Norway are people who are also fluent in English. I don’t specifically search for bilingual people to befriend, but it’s obvious why it works for us: We have a shared vocabulary, and we often mix up our two languages in conversations.

But despite the fact that most Norwegians speak English, they don't speak the whole English language. English has more words than Norwegian. So I think in English with an occasional Norwegian expression, not vice versa. And when I speak English, the connection between what I think and what I say is less complicated. So in English I'm more honest, more polite and I swear less.

And you know that scene in Love Actually about American girls who love British men because they speak British? I know American girls like that, but it wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration to say that English in general - British, American, Australian, Canadian, any version of perfectly pronounced, flawless, this-is-clearly-your-first-language English - works for me. Hearing someone speak English really well just makes me relax. Compared to hearing Norwegians speak English as a second language, it's like hearing a singer with perfect pitch and realizing I've been listening to off-key music for years.

When I go through old notebooks and crumpled-up napkins at the bottom of my purse, I find quotes from novels I've read in English. Paragraphs I had to write down, because they made me shiver a little bit, because they were so well-written. Sometimes they become blog posts. I never feel that way about Norwegian.

Just listen to Stephen Fry talk about anything. Even when he's making fun of the very topic of language, I just love it.

Sure, there are plenty of wonderful things you can say in Norwegian as well. You can say koselig, nydelig, jeg er glad i deg. And as a journalist, I love the intricacies and possibilities of the Norwegian language. But I love the English language more. Half the time when I'm writing in Norwegian, I am quietly wishing that I could write the same text in English.

So what do I do with this? Move? Try to find writing work in English? I don't know.

Image: icanread

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Love in any language

We have different words because we have differents concepts, but sometimes I wonder if we have different concepts because we have different words. This is especially true when it comes to ideas that are hard to define. Take love for example.

Americans say I love you for all sorts of reasons to many different people in their lives. It’s the same verb for loving ice cream and loving the person you’re married to. Norwegians have two completely different ways of expressing love.

We say Jeg er glad i deg to close friends and family. This sentence means more to me than the English I love you normally does, but it's still not that one specific you're-the-one kind of I love you that people make a big deal about saying or not saying. Because for Norwegians that’s a sentence we expect to only say to a very few people during our lives, maybe just one. The Norwegian words for that are almost taboo; even writing them out without a specific person in mind feels wrong. When I was ten, an American wanted to learn how to say I love you in as many languages as possible, but I refused to teach the Norwegian version.

The difference between the two isn't as simple as one being romantic and the other platonic. Jeg er glad i deg can be romantic, only less so. And because Norwegians are more direct in their way of using language than English-speaking people usually are, we don't say Jeg er glad i deg to just anyone. Except for teenagers who (used to? I'm older now) finish texts with the abbreviation GID. But this Norwegian, less scary version of I love you is closer to I am fond of you, which I would barely take as a compliment in English. Glad means happy, just like in English, so I suppose there is an element of Your existence makes me happy. We can also be glad i things, but I seldom use the term for anyone or anything I'm not at least a little bit emotional about. I like (liker) my furniture, but I love (glad i) my apartment.

Even after years and years of living among Americans who use I love you as a general greeting with people they just like, it still feels weird to me. I have to stop myself from flinching when I hear an American finish an angry-sounding phone call to a family member with an angry I love you and I automatically translate it in my head. But speaking two languages fluently gives me twice as many ways to think about everything. There are some feelings I can only express in English and some I can only express in Norwegian, but in my own thoughts, I can sort out my emotions using my whole vocabulary. And I'm glad I can.

...

Inspired by Even in English, A Language Gap, in which Jennifer Percy writes for the New York Times:

"He speaks Serbo-Croatian, German and English. Two languages separate us.

I don’t speak German but I’ve said “ich liebe dich” plenty of times and it never does feel like a contract the way saying “I love you” feels like a contract. He, too, has said ich liebe dich to me. When we first started dating, this should have been a comfort to me, but it wasn’t. German sounded strange and ich liebe dich sounded ugly to my ear compared to “I love you.” It bounced off of me, it didn’t stay, didn’t embed itself like “I love you.”

I once tried saying “volim te” — “I love you” in Serbo-Croatian — and he didn’t respond. I asked if I’d said it right and he said I had. Then he repeated it quietly.

That’s the one, I thought: volim te. That’s the “I love you” that works for me, the one that is honest."

Image: xkcd

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March 2, 2010

Norwegian media - Free, but dependent

I'm spending the first part of this week writing up to ten pages on how the Norwegian government is supposed to afford journalists in the future. Norway subsidizes its media, or should I say part of its media, mainly the media that provides daily news on paper. The media that I think is dying. News sites get no government funding or tax breaks, and the current system of funding provides very little incentive for experimenting with more efficient, modern ways of delivering news.

Writing about this for school means I will probably have to use my own earlier writings as academic references. That makes me feel old and silly, but I have been writing about Norwegian press subsidies for as long as I have been writing journalism at all - which I admit is not that long. My first feature article, back in early 2008, was about the Norwegian system of government-supported journalism. My American journalism professor at The American University of Paris sent me back to Oslo so I could explain to him how Norwegian newspapers could be government-funded and still be an independent fourth estate.

I wrote about how Norwegian journalists considered themselves loyal mouthpieces for politicians up until the 1970s, about the controversy (or should I say controversial lack of controversy in many cases) surrounding the current press subsidy system and about the general Norwegian mentality of trusting the government to provide solutions to everything. After a week of interviewing editors and media experts, I had learned most of the things that would later be on the syllabus of the course for which I'm currently writing an exam.

But I never got around to publishing the article, until now. So here it is, complete with the footnotes I added to further explain Norwegian weirdness to Americans:

Norwegian Media - Free, but dependent (pdf)

Image: Madewell

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February 4, 2010

Wise words from unexpected sources

Let's face it, often when you quote Shakespeare, you enjoy implying that you read Shakespeare. Even if the real source of your Shakespeare quote is Quotes of the Day. But sometimes the quotes that make me think "I hope my younger sister and eventually my kids read this and live by it," come from unexpected sources. Here - from the world of fashion and celebrity websites - are three life lessons:

1.

"I didn't get into this to be a role model. So I'm sorry if I'm influencing your kids in a way that you don't like, but I can't be responsible for their actions." - Taylor Momsen

You are not responsible for the well-being of everyone who looks up to you (especially not if you are a sixteen-year-old celebrity). The people that you look up to may make really stupid decisions. Ultimately, you should be making your choices (and judging other people) action per action, rather than choosing a role model and following them blindly.

2.

"The same 'fashion' magazines that offer advice about pleasing men might decide that fashion isn't for overweight people, but it's Tanya Gold's fault for believing it, and if she really wanted to have fun with clothes she could." - Tavi Gevinson (responding to "Why I hate fashion" by Tanya Gold)

If you don't like the rules, change them instead of refusing to play. Don't let your issues stop you from enjoying life.

3.

"When you do something great and somebody says 'I like that', you should look at them and say: 'Thank you, I worked very hard on it, and I know it's great.'" - Lady Gaga

Be proud of your work. Obviously.

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January 26, 2010

Fur issues, part 3: Organic, fair-trade, free range coats

I'm surprised the Norwegian fur industry hasn't gotten its act together by now.   

Let's examine the evidence:

1. Norway is a rich country, but Norwegians claim to be down to earth and sensible. So Norwegians love politically correct, expensive status symbols.

2. A Norwegian writer recently used this country's winter weather as evidence that God's world-creating talent is grossly overrated. You would think we were willing to buy anything that could keep us warm.

3. Free range meat, eggs and dairy are sold in many Norwegian supermarkets. This indicates that plenty of Norwegians care about animal rights, but are still ok with killing animals so human beings can be happier.

4. Vegan footwear exists. Marketing fashion as politically correct seems to work.

5. I count Norwegian tap water among my favorite drinks. I miss it when I'm outside the country. But selling Norwegian bottled water to people in Norway who own sinks, turned out to be a successful business plan. We will clearly pay money for anything.

In all seriousness, why does the fur industry not attempt to capitalize on the consumer demand for "ethical" luxury?

After a dissapointing fall season for the fur industry, the unusually cold winter has driven Norwegian fur sales up, leading to more debate about animal cruelty. In this VG article, a spokesperson for Pelsinform says fur farmers who mistreat their animals are a far greater threat to the industry than animal rights activists or fur boycotts are. I think that's true.

As I've tried to explain before, killing animals for fur isn't basicly any worse than killing them for meat. But if the fur industry really is crueller than the meat industry, then of course they shouldn't be allowed to get away with it.

My advice: Make sure the animals are treated well until they die as peacefully and painlessly as possible. And then make sure consumers know about that.

This is Part 3, in which I give the fur industry some marketing advice. You should also read

• Part 1, in which an ethical dilemma turns up literally on my doorstep, in the form of a white rabbit fur vest
• Part 2, in which I make a more serious attempt to discuss fashion as if it were a topic in ethics class.

Photo: .jowo. CreativeCommons

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January 25, 2010

Too busy to write, so I’ll teach you how to read

Long-time readers may know what this picture means: I am literally buried in word-related work. Except now, in 2010, there are fewer books and more computer files to be read, written, edited, sent and uploaded. So the buried part is not so literal anymore.

While I write a news article, a media commentary column, a movie review and a summary of a book chapter, you can read How to win at reading academic articles from the blog An Improbable Fiction.

Like the author of that post, I spent my time at university struggling with the dual burdens of popularity and belief that I could take on extra courses. But I managed, because I can (usually) read and understand things pretty quickly. You can too! There are many, many techniques for doing so, but today, I'm recommending a combination of reading and note-taking described here.

Posted by Julie at 10:06 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 24, 2010

Fur issues part 2: Attempting to make sense

A response to comments on:

• Part 1, in which an ethical dilemma turns up literally on my doorstep, in the form of a white rabbit fur vest.

Eva writes that last week's post about fur didn't address the issue of animal cruelty in the fur industry enough. I actually barely addressed it at all.

That fur is wrong because it hurts animals is the foundation for the whole fur debate. It's the basic assumption underlying all the confusion in my head (which Martine called "witty" in her comment).

However there is the difference between "Fur is wrong because animals die" and "Fur is wrong because the fur industry mistreats animals and then they die".

The first sentence makes logical sense, but I disagree with it. I happen to think that killing animals for food is ok. (I had a tuna sandwich today.) So I have to think that killing animals for clothing is ok. (I wore leather boots while I ate the sandwich.)

The second sentence does not make sense. Animal cruelty is wrong. Fur in itself is not automatically wrong because of this.

I don't know that much about the issue of animal cruelty in the fur industry. Also (and this is actually the important part): I don't know that much about animal cruelty in the meat/fish/egg/dairy industries either, not to mention all the other industries I support each day. And that's why I've worn fur a handful of times. Because being anti-fur would be hypocritical. It would mean arbitrarily "boycotting" something that I have never bought anyway, while continuing to support industries that may or may not be just as bad.

My conclusion in part 1 was that, given that fur is one of the many reasons human beings kills other species, and given my insufficient knowledge of the amount of harm I was inflicting on other living creatures, to be against fur I should also be against meat, fish and leather (definitely, because animals have to die for me to have this), plus silk, eggs, dairy and probably a lot of fruits and vegetables (probably, because animals are very likely to die so that I can have these things). And I don't want to be naked and hungry.

I'm not saying "I simply don't want to care about animals." I'm saying that as long as I'm not a vegan, I have no reason to be against fur in itself. It would be like saying "Minks deserve to live, but fish don't."

Being ok with fur doesn't mean I can't be against specific animal cruelty. And yes, the idea that the fur industry does a lot of cruel things is one of the reasons I have never particularly wanted fur. In part one, I wrote: "I had never seriously considered buying a fur coat in the same way I've never seriously considered buying a pair of Prada pumps or a Burberry trench coat: I don't have that kind of money." However, I have wanted Prada pumps and a Burberry trench coat.

Full disclosure: I have never bought any real fur. I have worn (daily for two seasons) a coat with a fur collar, which my grandmother had worn decades earlier. The collar was supposedly wolf, but I honestly don't know. That coat had a rabbit fur lining, which I removed and never wore. I have also borrowed mink scarves and collars for specific occasions, including a costume party, from family members. The other women in my family wear fur. I was given a rabbit fur vest, which I returned after wearing twice.

Related links:

• Here's a video (Norwegian news clip) about cruelty to chickens. (Norwegian)
• My journalism classmate Jorunn Gaarder wrote a very balanced feature article about the fur debate. It was adapted into a news story and published in the Norwegian newspaper VG, but not online. If you have access to the archive Atekst, you can read the VG article here. (Norwegian)
• Anne Viken, a Norwegian free-lance journalist and veterinarian, has written articles about marketing products as "ethical" and what's really behind labels like "local food" and "organic food". Here's one of them. There are more articles about food on her blog. (Norwegian)
• IFTF is the international organization for fur trade, both farmed and wild fur. Pelsinform is the Norwegian equivalent.

This is Part 2, in which I make a more serious attempt to discuss fashion as if it were a topic in ethics class. Continue to:

• Part 3, in which I give the fur industry some marketing advice.

(Images by The Sartorialist)

Posted by Julie at 6:57 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 18, 2010

Fur issues

I've been thinking about fur lately. It's one of those trains of thought that simply will not go away, as if my mind were saying: "Write this down! Sort this out! Get to the bottom of this!" over and over and over. Especially after my mom showed up at my door with a rabbit fur vest for me.

Rabbit. My mother informed me yesterday that "We don't eat rabbit," because we used to have a live one. But that didn't stop her from buying rabbit fur the week before. And when she gave it to me, we had the following conversation:

"What's this, Mom?"

"It's rabbit."

"It's RABBIT!?"

"It's rabbit!!! :-)" (Yes, you could hear the smiley at the end of her spoken sentence.)

"But Mom, it's rabbit."

"Well, just tell people it's mink."

Now, with a few notable exceptions, I usually think my mom has good taste and style. Plus, the vest fits, it's warm, and I recently added "It's cold outside," to my list of all-purpose excuses. (The list also includes "At least I don't smoke." and "I was living in Lier when I did that.") But since I'm a nerd who sees over-analyzing as a hobby, my brain won't stop internally debating how to feel about this recent addition to my closet. So far, I have come to the following conclusions:

1. Wearing fur sends a message. It says: "I'm ok with the fact that what I am wearing used to be alive." But so does wearing leather and silk.

2. In many cases, fur also sends the message: "I spent A LOT of money on something that makes me look box-shaped." (This vest doesn't; the opossum coat my mom tried to make me borrow, does.)

3. Fur is expensive. So is foie gras, another luxury item associated with animal cruelty. "Sacrificing" the things you can't actually afford, is not sacrificing. I'm not going to earn any karma points by pretending that I don't have a car because of the environment. I don't have a car, because I don't need one and I can't afford one. I rarely eat fois gras, because I can only rarely afford it. I had never seriously considered buying a fur coat in the same way I've never seriously considered buying a pair of Prada pumps or a Burberry trench coat: I don't have that kind of money.

4. I've heard people argue that wearing fur, even vintage fur from the 30s, is an indirect support of today's fur industry, because it keeps the look of fur in fashion. These same people suggested wearing realistic-looking faux fur. How does that not keep the fur look in fashion? People who claim to have made up their minds are clearly just as confused as me. "Don't get me started on fur. It makes me so angry," one friend warned when I mentioned my difficult gift. I glanced at her new suede coat and changed the subject.

5.  Faux fur is not as warm. And it either looks nothing like fur or exactly like fur, and I think either one is screapy*. It is simply not an alternative in my opinion.

6. I've worn fur before (right), so I fail already.

7. Ideally, I would know the costs I inflict on the world whenever I choose to consume anything. How happy was the hen who laid these eggs? Exactly how did this turkey die? What are the working conditions of the people who made this cheap t-shirt? Was this imported fruit transported in the best way possible for the environment? Given that I don't know these answers, I am probably making the wrong decisions all the time, leading to uneccessary suffering. Who says that dying to become a fur vest is worse than dying to become Christmas dinner?

After reviewing this evidence, it seemed I had two choices, if I wanted my own actions to make sense. I could wear the fur. Or I could give up a whole bunch of my favorite things: all my boots, my preferred breakfast, my kimono, the only pyjamas I really like, traditional Thanksgiving - did I mention bacon?

So I wore it just long enough to realize a drawback I had forgotten: Rabbits shed their hair. So did my new vest. I will be returning it.

* Screapy: From scary and creepy. Something so stupid and off-putting that it kind of scares you. It's in Urban Dictionary now, but I made it up before I started this blog. I should mention that I was living in Lier at the time.

This is Part 1, in which an ethical dilemma turns up literally on my doorstep, in the form of a white rabbit fur vest. Continue to:

• Part 2, in which I make a more serious attempt to discuss fashion as if it were a topic in ethics class.
• Part 3, in which I give the fur industry some marketing advice.

Posted by Julie at 11:52 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

January 15, 2010

Book review: The Big Questions

In The Big Questions, Steven E. Landsburg uses math, economics and physics to discuss questions of philosophy, especially morality and ethics.

That sounds a lot more serious than the book turned out to be. In fact, Landsburg ends the book by saying that most of it was written "not to make any particular point but because it seemed to fit and I think it's interesting."

It's a good introduction to some basic econ, math and physics, and to Landsburg's own beliefs and guidelines on life (including the reasoning behind them). Many of the examples and anecdotes were old news to me, because I have already taken courses in math, physics, economics and philosophy. But it's well-written, entertaining and easy to read.

Favorites:

* If more people really and truly believed in the religions they claim to follow, they would behave differently. For example, why don't we have more suicide bombers? Landsburg concludes that hardly anyone is actually religious:

"If religious belief were as widespread as people claim it is, there should be millions upon millions of voluntary martyrs. (...) Believers in hell should commit fewer crimes; believers in heaven should take more risks; believers in one religion should interact in predictable ways with believers in another; believers in God should have a powerful interest in the alternatives. Those implications are testable. I am moderately confident that carefully gathered statistics would refute the hypothesis that religious beliefs are widely or deeply held."

* If you want to write, study something you love and write about it. Do not take writing classes:

"If your writing is murky, it's usually because your thinking is murky, too. The cure for that is not a series of writing exercises; it's to master your subject matter. (...) Prose flows easily when you understand what you're saying. If you're struggling to 'craft' your prose, you're probably confused."

* The Economist's Golden Rule: Don't leave the world worse off than you found it OR Don't spend valuable time and energy in non-productive ways. It follows that you should not steal, counterfeit or be an Olympic athlete:

"If you bake a cupcake, the world has one more cupcake. (...) But if you win an Olympic gold medal, the world will not have one more Olympic gold medalist. It will just have you instead of someone else."

Right:

 

Wrong:

 

(Cupcake by Kuidaore)

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January 7, 2010

In need of another vacation

I am exhausted, so I will let another writer update you on my life post-Christmas:

"I do hope the festivities were kind to you, Best Beloveds. I myself spent the duration lying on the sofa and sincerely hoping that someone would shoot me through the forehead. I find there's nothing quite as effective as Christmas for bringing out all those especially rampant viruses – the ones The Body of the self-employed person saves for rapid deployment as soon as a proper holiday is declared. This is, quite simply, revenge upon The Mind for the rest of the year's truncated nights, double-booked evenings, hair-tearing afternoons and rewrite-and-email-haunted mornings."

- AL Kennedy, blogging about writing for The Guardian

To use Kennedy's phrases and capitalization: my Body took a vacation, or should I say, went on strike, as soon as my Mind decided to take time off after handing in The Research Paper.

Since time “persists merely as a consequence of the events taking place in it” and I didn't do anything during the holidays, my Mind believes that no time has passed since December 17th. This means that there has been no Christmas vacation.

As a result of this injustice, my Mind is threatening to go on strike. So, if this blog becomes quiet for a few more days than I would like, it's because I have temporarily stopped thinking.

Posted by Julie at 9:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 2, 2010

2009 according to Julie

Warning: This is a completely subjective memoir of the year that was. It's written off the top of my head. My head, so it's going to be self-centered.

First the soundtrack:

• YouTube Playlist             
• Spotify playlist

Not necessarily the best songs of the year, but the ones that will remind me of 2009 for years to come. There are plenty of older songs that fit that description too, but these songs were released 2009 or late 2008.

Then my life:

2009 was the first year I was a full-time journalist. That is, I went to journalism school and survived on various part-time jobs as a journalist and editor. I was no longer a receptionist, tour guide or pointe shoe salesgirl. I was a journalist. That's probably a milestone.

If I had been told a year ago that 2009 would lead me to court rooms, a strip club, a pscychologist's office, the make-up and rehearsal rooms of the Norwegian Opera House and more concerts than I've attended during the rest of my life combined, I would not have believed it. While 2009 was happening, I kept thinking "2008 was so much more interesting," but looking back over the past 12 months, a lot happened. Nothing as big as moving to Paris and back again or drinking coke in the Cambodian jungle, but a lot of smaller dramas.

2009 was a year of extremes. I stayed up all night and slept all day, and then I got a job that started at 6 AM. I worked constantly and then spent a month doing nearly nothing. I forgot to eat some days and wanted to do nothing but cook on other days. I have been very sad and very happy this year. I have been very efficient and very lazy. I have been very stressed and very relaxed. I have felt invisible and I have been recognized by strangers. In a way, 2008 was the year things happened, and 2009 was the year when the consequences caught up with me, good and bad. And I finish this year feeling better about everything. I don't think I have been all around happier at the end of a year for as long as I can remember.

Current events:

In the world as in my own life, 2009 was very much about dealing with the consequences of 2008: The financial crisis continued, the same talk of climate change was repeated in Copenhagen, and Obama became president and eventually won the Nobel Peace Prize.

Besides that I will probably remember the riots in Oslo in January. (Or more precisely, I will remember waking up to five missed calls from my very worried mom. I attended the demo on January 8th, then spent the rest of the night in a basement rock pub oblivious to the broken windows and tear gas above me.)

The Khmer Rouge was on trial, but the story was so buried in other stuff that even I forgot to stay up-to-date on what was going on.

In less violent news, e-books kept popping up in both the news I read and the news I wrote. In February I touched a Kindle for the first time. In May my first article at my journalism internship was about the upcoming release of big-screen e-book-readers. And this Christmas, Amazon sold more e-books than paper books.

Meanwhile print media suffered, particularly the Boston Globe. While I studied the dwindling circulation figures on this side of the Atlantic, it seemed friends in Boston could judge the sad state of print media by the number of crying editors each week. But was it really that sad? I optimistically blogged about the future of journalism (English translation below), earning a somewhat unfair reputation as the only Norwegian journalism student who wants to work online.

Everyone talked about Twitter this year. Many of them specifically to tell me that they were not on Twitter and did not see the point. I found Twitter useful. It helped me get a job, find stories to write, discuss stories I was writing and brag about stories I had written. In other words, I used it as a journalism tool. It's hard to explain to sceptics why and in what way I think Twitter means something, but I think it does. (Meanwhile everything you need to know about Facebook is still available right here, and still true.)

One hash tag I ended up using a lot was #krevsvar. It started as an outcry over one court ruling on online privacy. Then it turned into a general campaign to "demand answers" (or krev svar in Norwegian) from my country's politicians about IT politics, particularly piracy vs. privacy. I followed the story through the late spring and summer, and in the fall I attempted to summarize it all for non-IT-geeks.

IT politics ended up mattering very little for Norway's general election this year. Overall, I think we'll remember this election as kind of a boring one, no? I remember being more pumped about Cory Doctorow being in Oslo on the day of the election. Not that I don't care about political debates, but what were we really debating this time around? I argued that our political labels were outdated, coming relatively clean about my own politics in the process. But I still enjoyed the fact that general elections make political geekiness almost universally acceptable conversation. Until one sports-obsessed person pointed out that for every game, soccer fans reach the same level of excitement I get every fourth year when I wait for election results. (If you can relate to that, you might want to check out a soccer blog called The DA. Apparently, I might write for them sometime. How hilarious is that?)

End of the decade:

My earliest memory of the 2000s is my parents dancing. I don't remember the beginning of the 1990s. I talked to some friends who are only like two years older than me, and they mentioned the 90s as their defining decade: Although they have obviously moved on, the fashion, music and general pop culture of the 90s is the norm they started out with. I was only 13 when the new milennium began, and so I don't really feel like I can say anything about the 00s compared to any other time. As far as following culture, politics and fashion, I have really only known this one decade (and I don't even know the name of the new one). Before that, I was a child. But now I feel nearly old, because I find the following thought scary:

Some blog posts I wrote in 2009:

• My problem is simple - I love food
• Reuniting with Leo
• Newspapers die - long live journalists
• Girls aren't stupid, we're just not as lazy as the boys
• The IT news I couldn't be bothered to report on today
• How to be a parent for teenagers
• Cheating with Chanel
• Playing dress-up
• Bounce-back OR Alternatives to Ben&Jerry's OR How to stop yourself from murdering a man OR 11 ways to feel better

Welcome to 2010 everyone!

Image sources: ArtyDandy, ModelsAreSmart and xkcd

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December 17, 2009

Technical difficulties

I am experiencing technical difficulties. Meaning:

• I don't currently share a zip code with my big computer, the one I usually blog from, where I have Spotify, and where all my Christmas countdown drafts are stored.
• The big computer has been getting slow lately, maybe because I have way too much Christmas music saved on the hard drive.
• I went out with friends last night. And then I got up really early to finish The Research Paper. My brain is as slow as my computer.
• I have forced my way through three-quarter curse with an interview I'll be publishing soon, and I need to use what little brain power I have left to put the finishing touches on that.
• Tonight I will be going out again, and then tomorrow I'll be getting up early again. There is no time for sleep at Christmas, when there are post-research-paper parties to attend and rum-flavored desserts to make.

Which is why the Christmas countdown needs to take a break. I will probably still blog most of the Christmas posts I have planned, but I am just not able to follow the schedule right now. It is technically impossible with my current brain and computer situation.

Read and listen to the Christmas count-down up to the 14th + bonus reader suggestions here.

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December 12, 2009

What are you doing New Year's Eve?

We're halfway to Christmas Eve! Maybe it's much too early in the game, but I thought I'd ask you just the same: What are you doing New Year's Eve?

• Etta James - What are you doing New Year's Eve? Spotify

New Year's Eve can be so stressful. While Christmas Eve is all about tradition, New Year's Eve needs to be planned year-by-year. Everyone gets their expectations up, and then dashes them by getting drunk and sentimental. A boring party on any other night is easily forgotten, but a boring New Year's Eve party will be remembered as a major FAIL. And an actual failed party - the kind where more than one guest cries - will somehow manage to make the whole year seem like a FAIL.

The key to a good party is good people. My dream New Year's Eve involves being surrounded by my favorite people - the kind it would be ok to get drunk and sentimental with - and drinking champagne while wearing an awesome outfit. Luckily, that is my actual plan this year, and it has been since January 2nd 2009. I see no way this can go wrong. My expectations are rising day by day. I'm almost more excited about this party than I am about Christmas. I clearly need to calm down, because if this party fails, it will mean that I leave this decade - the first one I can remember in its entirety - with a FAIL.

So here are the rules for a successful New Year's:

1. Make a plan and stick with it. Commit to celebrating New Year's with specific people, and then don't bail on them. Making some elaborate party-hopping plan or improvising four hours before the end of the year will not work out.
2. Drink real champagne before midnight. It's good; don't share it with five drunk strangers in the park just because it's midnight. That's what cheap bubbles are for.
3. Don't drink too many bubbles. And don't drink too much of anything that will make you sleepy, like red wine. Don't start the new year by going to sleep immediately after midnight. New Year's is an excuse for staying up all night.
4. Wear your nicest outfit. No matter what you end up doing, you should look good doing it. There will be so many photos.
5. Make some sort of plan for January 1st that allows for hang-overs, without being completely boring. I prefer waking up in the beginning of a new year thinking "It's time to meet last nights' people, do the dishes and watch a movie" as apposed to "I survived last night and live to see another year. Now what?" Make sure there is food available.

I'm blogging about Christmas music every day until the 24th.

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December 11, 2009

Wonderlaaaand...

Which particular Christmas recording have I listened to more than any other? It just might be this one:

• The Roches - Winter Wonderland (in Brooklynese) Spotify

The reason for this is that popular culture-wise, my parents are like young children. Not that their tastes are childish, but just like toddlers, they will watch or listen to the same thing repeatedly. Growing up, I got the impression that my parents watched Four Weddings and a Funeral every night, and played The Roches' Christmas album We Three Kings on a continuous loop every December. Why do you think we had to impose The Love Actually Rule? Not because of me.

Most of the album is not in Brooklynese, but Winter Wonderland is. I don't think I fully understood that this was a joke until I had already heard the song 50 million times. So many of the live versions of Winter Wonderland that I grew up with (read: my parents' friends singing at Christmas parties) were in variations of Brooklynese or Boston English anyway, so I assumed it was normal.

Around the same time I got the linguistic joke, I realized that Winter Wonderland isn't about Christmas at all. It's about hooking up or romance (interpret as you will) in a cold climate. Something Bostonians, New Yorkers and Norwegians can all relate to, which might be why it's so popular.

More Christmas music according to Julie

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December 9, 2009

Barack Obama, and other awkward party guests

If President Obama really had to get a gift postmarked Scandinavia this month, he would probably, on the whole, have preferred the Olympics. At least at the Olympics the judges wait till after the race to give you the gold medal. They don’t force it on you while you’re still waiting for the bus to take you to the stadium.

We can take it as a sign of what a lucky fellow our President is that winning the Nobel Peace Prize has been widely counted a bad break for him.

- Hendrick Hertzberg in The New Yorker, October 2009

I'm still a political geek. I stayed up until 1:30 AM watching a documentary on Barack Obama's election campaign last night.

When the Peace Prize was announced, my first reaction was that whoever put my FP Morning Brief together had made a serious journalistic error. But I didn't get all that worked up about silly Norway, thorbjorning the President just so he would pay us a visit. I didn't really get excited about the visit either. Honestly, as long as I don't get to meet someone, there is no practical difference between being separated by the wall of City Hall (+ security) and being separated by the Atlantic Ocean. It was still pretty unlikely that I would run into Barack at the coffee shop.

And so I'm actually surprised at myself by how annoyed I am as Obama cancels event after event here in Oslo. I would like to think that it's the journalist in me fuming at the fact that there will be time for exactly one question from the Norwegian media. But honestly, the journalist and the election geek sides of me are pretty calm compared to my inner party hostess.

It's like when you invite someone to a dinner party, and you kind of get the impression that the invitation is a slightly awkward surprise, but they still accept right away. So you think everything's fine and that all awkwardness can be avoided if you just set a place for them at your table and make a serious effort in the kitchen. Until they show up late, pick at their food and refuse wine, avoid talking with your other guests, keep their eyes and hands on their cell phones and disappear just as the party is about to get going, often effectively killing everyone else's party mood. Wouldn't it have been more polite to just decline the invitation?

“The American president is acting like an elephant in a porcelain shop,” said Norwegian public-relations expert Rune Morck-Wergeland. Yes, that is awkward.

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December 2, 2009

Am I really dreaming of a white Christmas?

Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" is generally assumed to be the best selling single of all time. So if I'm going to put together a Christmas-music-themed countdown-to-Christmas blog post series, I should include this classic.

Why though? It's not all that catchy. It borders on sad. I don't actually dislike it, the way I dislike say, "Last Christmas".* It's just that the message seems to be: Christmas was fun once, but now it's not. Or is it about racism? Global warming? It's not bad, but I can't really relate.

So I did some research. Meaning, I looked this up on Wikipedia. And it turns out, Irving Berlin's original version of the song explained why the singer was not experiencing a white Christmas: this takes place in Beverly Hills, in California.

The sun is shining, the grass is green,
The orange and palm trees sway.

There's never been such a day
in Beverly Hills, L.A.
But it's December the twenty-fourth,
And I am longing to be up North

That makes so much more sense to me! I spent one Christmas in Sydney, Australia, and it doesn't feel like Christmas when Santa wears shorts.

• Bing Crosby's version Spotify
• Darlene Love's version explains the lack of snow Spotify
• Keane's version is about gloomy gray rainy-weather Christmas in London YouTube

*I really wish "Last Christmas" were called "Last Easter" or "Last Summer" or "Last Weekend" so that it wouldn't be recognized as a "Christmas" hit, and I wouldn't have to hear it every time I go to a coffee shop or enter a store in December.

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December 1, 2009

December!!! (again)

That's a very cute PostSecret, although I can't relate.

My month of Christmas music began just fifteen minutes after the official start of December, as I was leaving a research interview just after midnight. I started with Tori Amos' version of "Have yourself a merry little Christmas." That's one of my favorite Christmas songs, and she's my favorite artist, so I obviously like her version. And it was fitting for a solitary walk to the bus on a quiet Monday night in Oslo.

As I write this, I am listening to her "Midwinter Graces" album for the first time - and I think I love it already, which really shouldn't surprise anyone.

I like starting traditions. Someone suggested to me the other day that I am living a kind of "Groundhog Year", in which I repeat the same actions every twelve months. Not true! But I have decided to do like last year and promise that...

... this blog will be updated every day of December.

Consider it a combined advent and countdown to the end of the decade.

Listen to Tori Amos' "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" on YouTube. "Midwinter Graces" is available on Spotify.

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November 30, 2009

How to tell how stressed you really are

 

 
(See more Funny Graphs)

Not only are my dishes done, but the only thing I want to do these days is prepare food for lots of people. There was the Moose dinner, and Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving the sequel - in which I tried to get rid of leftovers and only succeeded in creating more leftovers. And now I find myself searching for reasons to invite people over for dinner. Or breakfast. Or cake. Or fois gras and champagne! (Stop, Julie, stop.)

Maybe I got used to having my Moose Cap Weekend guests around, maybe it's an early start to that Christmasy feeling, or maybe it's some kind of biological turning-into-a-grown-up-who-magically-enjoys-chores thing.

Or maybe it's that I have a research project to finish by December 17th, and a deadline right now.

Remember last year's "You know you're writing a thesis if..."?

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November 28, 2009

A not-very-brobdingnagian collection of quotes

"I’ve been spending far too much time at the computer over the past week. (…) But at what point does this really become a problem? When you’re walking down the street and wondering what graphics card they’re using to get the resolution so high? When you chant “ctrl+z” under your breath after telling an inappropriate Holocaust joke in front of your Polish and German friends? When you start hovering near power points instead of looking for somewhere that sells a decent cappuccino? (Trust me—you’re not going to find one. It’s Prague.)" - The Large Frog

"Some men set out to climb Mount Everest. Ammon Shea set out to read the Oxford English Dictionary full time, from cover to cover. Or rather covers to covers, his recent job as a furniture mover providing handy preparation for hoisting its 20 hefty volumes. And why did Shea fix his sights on this Brobdingnagian challenge - because it was there? "I have read the OED," he says, "so that you don't have to."" - Amanda Heller, "Short Takes", Boston Globe, August 24, 2008, quoted in the dictionary.com entry for brobdingnagian, word of the day here on accordingtojulie.com on Wednesday.

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This post is not about pants

For a couple of years, I was in a drama group where we all wore black to class. The idea was that we would be in uniform, and that if we put on gloves and masks, we could be invisible on stage. This was back in the late nineties, during the last BSE (Bare-Stomach-Era). Long sweaters and high-waisted pants were impossible to find, and our strict drama teacher was always yelling at us to cover our stomachs because we were going to distract the audience. I was so ridiculously short that the cropped sweaters covered me anyway, but the taller girls opted for thick black tights which could be pulled up over their belly-buttons, and then short turtle-necks. This "outfit" was comfortable and worked under costumes, but looked ridiculous. But we were in our early teens; we felt (and probably were) ridiculous-looking at all times anyway.

I was the youngest and smallest in the class, and slightly in awe of the older girls, even when they were dressed like three-year-olds. So I vividly remember the horror we all experienced when one of the girls forgot what she wasn't wearing, and walked out of class and down to the public library - in just her tights! She came back mortified, telling her horrific tale of wondering why everyone was staring, and then realizing that she wasn't wearing pants! She was essentially wearing ribbed long underwear with attached feet, the kind with two thick seams in the back (and not in a good way).

Now we know that this girl was actually just starting the no-pants trend, which I am still fighting a decade later. I mean, look at this supposedly "fashion" photo, which I can't remember where I found:

I don't like leggings (or jeggings), but this girl has gone beyond that. She is wearing thick ribbed tights. Perhaps the cape-like thing with the printed cigarette-holding hand is actually her skirt? (The other girl looks awkward too, put I'm willing to call her sweater a dress, so she's ok.)

I found this photo lying around in my unfinished blog post drafts. I probably saved it to use as an illustration for a fashion rant. But my brain is in mushy post-Thanksgiving I-love-and-am-thankful-for-everyone mode, so I can't rant. I'll just share another pants-free memory with you...

I was at a club with some friends, when a girl we didn't know came up to us. To my friend - who happens to be an honest person - she said: "Seriously, how do I look?"

The unknown girl was wearing a T-shirt and black tights, the thin nylon kind. The kind that showed off her polka-dotted underpants to everyone at the club. So my friend said: "Since you ask, you kind of look like you forgot your skirt."

The girl looked extremely offended, and said: "I just wondered if I looked tired or not."

Leggings are not pants. Tights are not leggings. That does not mean that tights are pants.

More "Style according to Julie"

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November 25, 2009

Contributing to society before 7AM - and bragging about it

How? Why? I'll tell you later.

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November 22, 2009

Blogging and democracy (fashion edition)

I read a number of fashion/style blogs last week*, but I also read about fashion blogging, because that lets me think about journalism and clothes at the same time.

The New York Times wrote about fashion blogging, commenting on what most of us already know (right?): The journalists and editors who were once gate-keepers of clothing knowledge are now commentators sharing the spotlight with independent bloggers, celebrity twitterers and well, everyone else.

But does this mean anything? Because to quote (and translate) Kristian Landsgård in the next issue of argument (available January 14th for Norwegian readers): "We're exchanging one judge of taste and opinion (the newspaper editor) for another (the pro blogger)".

Landsgård is talking about politics, but it's the same with fashion. Maybe even more so. Because when bloggers are scoring front row seats, backstage passes and free designer clothes, it's hard to see the crucial difference between a blogger and a journalist. Sure, these bloggers may be "ordinary people" in the sense that they have no education in fashion or journalism, but that's hardly a reason to love them, is it?

I obviously cheer for bloggers, but let's not exaggerate this revolution.

The real revolution is not in who is doing the writing, but in the possibilities of online publication itself: speed and details. Sure, I can read a journalist's opinion of a new collection or a front row blogger's opinion, but I love that I can go to Style.com and see photos of every outfit right away and make up my own opinion first.

(In fact, I would like more details, more close-up shots of the bags and shoes, and more info on things like fabric choices, since that can be hard to see on photos. Thanks!)

Oh, by the way:

• Blogging - what's the point?
• Blogging SO 2004, according to WIRED
• Don't shoot the blogger

* And then I realized I had hit some kind of all-time low when I sent an e-mail to my dad specifying that he should wear a purple bow-tie this season.

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November 19, 2009

The three-quarter curse

“I so badly want it to turn out good, but nothing seems sufficient, every sentence is wrung out of me like blood from a stone, and every time I decide on yet another part that I’ll have to leave out, it hurts.” - Hanne Melgård Watkins on her own writing.

Welcome to feature journalism.

The affliction Hanne is going through has been described to me by an experienced writer as “the three-quarter curse”: You are three quarters into being done with an article, and you find yourself hiding under your desk, wondering why you ever wanted to write anything, ever.

EVERY journalist goes through this apparently, and the only consolation is that: You will finish. And it will be worth it. I mean, logically, if writing were not worth the three-quarter curse, there would be no writers, since this happens to everyone. 

P. S. I couldn't bring myself to post this photo, but it does illustrate the point. I would say that I didn't post it because it wasn't CreativeCommons-licensed, but the truth is I'm just terrified of snakes.

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November 16, 2009

The polka-dotted jumpsuit

I can't believe I wore this...

... to a party.

This is my mom in 1991. And this is me, in 2009...

Ugh. 80s parties.

It was fun though. Apparently my outfit distracted people from their conversations because it was just so... 80s. So over-the-top, polka-dotted, shoulder-padded and well, a jumpsuit.

To be fair, jumpsuits are back (Why?!?!). And this one is comfortable. And I like polka-dots. In moderation.

However, there was no moderation in the 80s. Which is kind of the only thing I respect about 80s fashion. It was crazy, but at least it wasn't as boring as 90s fashion. The 80s had bad taste, but the 90s had no taste.

Anyway, thank you Cecilie, for the photos. And thank you mom, for lending me the jumpsuit, shoes and pearl necklace - and for letting me wear whatever I wanted back in 1991.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extra photo, in which I look terrified. Scared of my own outfit:

  

 

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November 14, 2009

This week: Not quite magazines

I have discovered - and begun obsessively reading - a new blog this week: Yes and Yes by Sarah Von.

In one post she laments the stupidity of women's magazines: ("I could really do without another quiz to determine if he's into me (note to self: if you have to take a quiz to find out, the answer is no) or instructions on how to look thin while having sex.").

Sure, I've read that particular complaint before, and the obvious solution is to not read Cosmopolitan. But clearly, there is some part of me that wants to flip through glossy magazines that are not about international politics or the future of the media. I crave a break from all my different brands of geekiness. I always reach for Cosmo, Elle etc. if someone places one in front of me for free - and then I am always, always very disappointed. At best bored, at worst angry.

Luckily, the internet exists. This week I have read, noticed and remembered a lot of things that could very well have been in Cosmo. But if each of them were, they would have been the smartest, funniest thing in there.

Via Maggwire, you can browse articles from over 10 000 different magazines (in English), instead of committing to one or two from the newsstand. You may ask whether this site really gives us anything we didn't already have - the articles were already out there on the net before Maggwire, after all. But this site supposedly remembers your reading habits and makes recommendations accordingly. I say supposedly, because I only just found Maggwire on Thursday. There is an immediate benefit though, much like the one you can get from reading an actual magazine: you might learn things you didn't know you didn't know. I doubt that I would ever have Googled the words that got me to this podcast about newborns' accents. I found that because it was on Maggwire's front page of "popular articles".

While current magazine are turning into websites, photos from past magazines show up in books. For example, you could buy Dogs in Vogue, if you want a collection of fashion photos from Vogue magazine, with dogs. Like the ones in this post.

In general, blogs like Yes and Yes are my slightly funnier, weirder, smarter alternative to paper-based make-up/travel/parties/friends/shoes chit-chat. This week Yes and Yes taught me Five productivity tricks. I especially need to apply trick number one to my life:

"The First 10 Minutes" Trick
When I get home from work, the temptation to kick off my boots, eat a bowl of cereal and sit down in front a Hulu is nearly insurmountable. However! I (try) to force myself to spend the first ten minutes of my time at home doing something productive. Maybe that's paying bills, putting a load of laundry in, catching up on emails or changing the litter box. Regardless of what I do, those first ten minutes of my time away from work set the tone for the rest of my evening, and I find it a lot easier to keep doing stuff if I start off in that mind set.

Another alternative to a "Women's Magazine" is The Frisky. Unlike personal blogs that I read regularly, I probably skip about 5/6 of the posts on this online mag/group blog. But when I need a fifteen minute break from whatever geekiness I'm working on that day, there's always something kinda-interesting-without-being-too-serious on their front page. For example, a list of things that should be illegal. Here's a shorter list with the proposed laws I particularly agree with:

It should be illegal ...

1. ... to wear tights as pants.
2. ... to take longer than five minutes to prepare a drink at Starbucks. 
3. ... to touch a pregnant woman's belly without her permission.
4. ... for men to assume that by virtue of being female you a) want a relationship and b) want it with them.
5. ... for men to wear spandex to yoga class and then proudly show off their boners.
6. ... to call a size 8 (American sizes, so roughly 38 in Norway) woman "plus-size."
7. ... to speak only as a "we" once you're a part of a couple.

I disagree with The Frisky on some legal issues. It should be legal ...

1. ... to talk on your cell phone on public transportation. 
2. ... to wear full makeup and heels to go to brunch on Sunday morning.

The Frisky also alerted me to something someone at at least one of my Halloween parties should have worn: the knife ring. Scary jewellery by Renee Andriole.

I firmly believe that paper is a horrible way to deliver current hard news. And potentially anything paper can do, the internet can do better. But I still think people will be reading magazines for entertainment, photos and timeless articles for a long time. I still buy magazines and subscribe to weeklies. I mean, this post starts with a photo from the July 2009 issue of French Vogue, which I'm glad I bought. I liked it enough to photograph some of the photos, so I would have them when I lost the paper magazine.

Thing is, though, if I'm going to spend money on a stack of pages, they better not be filled with articles I've already read. And seriously, I had read every "Women's Magazine" article by the time I started high school. It's like they're on a loop, and they just add new illustrations. Blogs win.

There are more links and tips in the "This Week" section of According To Julie

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November 13, 2009

Life is interesting

Remember I told you to remind yourself that the world is an interesting place? Watch this.

I found it on Yes and Yes, where the comment was: "Doesn't this make you want to hug life?"

"Inspirational" videos can be so annoying. But as I watched this, with gray November skies outside and my brain going "Coffee... Coffee...", I thought: "Oh yeah, you're right. Everyday life is kind of interesting, isn't it?"

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November 11, 2009

Blogging - What's the point?

I was going to call this "Why you should blog - even if you have no readers", but then again, I do have readers. I mean, my aunt prints out some of my Norwegian-language posts so my grandparents can read them.

Seriously, I know that there are people out there who don't know me at all, but who are still reading, for whatever reason. And I blog for them as much as I blog for my friends. But mainly, I blog for myself.

I've been blogging since June 2005. When I started, people asked me: "Do you have time for this?" and I thought "Time? Blogging isn't time-consuming!" Since then, I've used this site as an (incomplete) digital archive of things I've been thinking about anyway. I think pretty much everything I've put here needed to be written. Rather than bookmarking interesting news articles, writing out the lyrics of a song I obsessed over in a journal (yes, I was once a fourteen-year-old girl) or simply talking about the same thing with every person I met, I could store my thoughts online. And as an added bonus, sometimes someone cared about it.

Continue reading for some examples of why I blog, and what blogging did to me.

I guess the more interesting question is: Why are you reading this?

I have blogged in order to...

• request answers to burning questions like "Why do people care about the Olympics?", "What kind of computer should I buy?", "What should my BA thesis be about?" and "Why should I not move out of the country?"
• rant about people nagging me, bad customer service and Parisian weather - rather than throw a real life fit.
• publish the notes I was taking anyway, to justify being late for class because of Joseph Nye
• remind myself what not to do
• advertise my magazine
• explain my inside jokes
• make those of my friends who should be just a little bit more famous look better online
• kill time at the airport
• keep in touch while living away from home in a different home.
• jot down some thoughts which will now turn into a research project. 
• express my gratitude to friends when I had not quite been able to do so in real life.
• count down the days until Christmas
• procrastinate while studying for PoliSci exams

And sometimes people cared...

• People have often answered the questions - rhetorical or not - that I've posted here, in real life, or by e-mail, even if they didn't comment.
• When I wrote about Steve Jobs' commencement speech in 2005, it led to an article about that speech in one of Norway's main papers.
• After I discussed the need to educate "globalists" in June 2006, I was recruited into the student government.
• My rant on Skeidar got me a free lunch and gift certificate, and the chance to tell this furniture chain how they should be doing business. ("Are you a business school student? Since you think about this so much..." "No. I'm a customer.")
• My musings on politics nearly made someone cry.
• My guide to feeling happier and my thoughts on how I would spend the last six months before I died actually made someone cry.
• This blog post about brain drain started a debate with the writer I was criticizing. This led to an article in the magazine argument, which eventually led to a permanent writing position there, which eventually led to my current job as section editor. This spring, I'll be going to South Africa to report on brain drain issues.
• I published this blog post about rape in the newspaper Aftenposten back in March 2007. Three years later, I met someone at a party who talked about that article. Pretty fun to be able to say: "I wrote that!"
• And then of course, there's the one about the future of journalism.

I didn't plan for these reactions to happen. And while I'm far, far from being the kind of blogger who achieves money or fame from blogging, I can definitely say that blogging has changed my life.

In the winter edition of the Norwegian magazine argument, there will be an article by Kristian Landsgård about political blogging - and it's pointlessness. Kristian has been using his blog to test out ideas and thoughts that may or may not end up in his magazine article. And as we were discussing his work, we couldn't escape the irony: a political blogger arguing that political blogging is pointless? So why is he doing it? And this got me thinking about what the point of www.accordingtojulie.com really is.

So that's why I'm still blogging. Why are you still reading?

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Somewhere in the hills of Ireland is a Prada bag

I wanted to add a Youtube clip of the Tori Amos song Ode to my clothes to my post about what clothes I want to hand down to someone in the future. And then I came across a video of an elementary school chorus performing the song.

I love the idea of a school teacher teaching kids the lyrics to a rare Tori track. And then I found out that these kids actually know plenty of Tori songs. Awww...

nobody knows things like my clothes
my telephone-life in the back of my jeans
nobody knows how I feel today

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November 8, 2009

Hand-me-downs

What from your closet will you pass down to your daughter?

This is a dress which I think my grandmother made for herself in the early 60s. I actually don't know the story of this dress, but it was definitely hand-made, and I found it in the attic of my grandparents' house. It's modeled by my little sister here, in my kitchen which is probably as old as the dress. You can just glimpse the hand-me-down coffee cups on top of the espresso machine in the background.

Although the kitchen is due for some updating, I really hope the dress survives the parties I'm taking it to these days, so that I can show it to my daughter/niece/much younger friend sometime in the future. I think it's interesting how this dress just might work for the next generation, while my modern mass-produced clothes can barely stay together for a few seasons.

Given how much I enjoy my red, white and blue vintage dress, I hope some future girl will enjoy some of my favorite stuff. I'm generally careful with my clothes and accessories, so chances are good that someone will be able to wear them - or at least look at them and shake their heads over "2000s fashion" - years from now. I really hope my daughter likes...

 

... the dress my mom made for me this summer.

... skirts my mom made for me, like this one. I would hand down the top too, but I have almost worn it to death already, so that's not an option.

... my white jean strapless dress from French Connection, which I want to wear all the time these days - and my recipe for cookies.

... my bunad. My favorite outfit of all.

 

... my t-strap dancing shoes, my pearls, my grandmother's bracelet - and possibly my mother's lacy skirt and mink shawl, although they might get handed down to one of my nieces.

 

.... my polka-dotted skirt and my white trench coat, if they survive.

I've already saved my Miss Sixty jeans from junior high for this very purpose. Everyone had the same jeans back then, so they really tell the story of being fifteen in Lier in the very early 2000s. I've also saved the grey corduroy jeans I added lace and navy-blue stitching to a couple of years after the Miss Sixty's. I wish I still had my jean jacket with the embroidered butterfly "shoulder tattoo" from early high school, but I left that on a bus stop. I still have my bright pink jean jacket though. And there are white Buffalo platforms in my mom's closet - a fashion crime which must be shown to future generations. If we don't know history, we are doomed to repeat it. For the same reasons, I am saving that polka-dotted jumpsuit my mom wore in 1991. After all, I'm glad she's kept it so far.

Posted by Julie at 3:43 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

November 7, 2009

Bounce-Back

OR Alternatives to Ben&Jerry's OR How to stop yourself from murdering a man OR 11 ways to feel better

Remember that "traditional box of post-break-up Ben&Jerry's" I mentioned? Don't do that. Here is a list of things you can do that actually help if you want to feel better.

By the way, I'm deliberately posting this at a time when I don't need to follow my own advice: I am just really happy, with or without the tips below. But I have been editing this post for a long time, and everything on this list has been tested.

Listen to the right music. If you're like me, having the wrong song play in shuffle mode when you're already feeling bad can ruin your evening. Have your own version of a joyous playlist ready. The songs on the list should not remind you of whatever the Problem is, and they should probably not be happy love songs. In fact, you might want to include something really angry in there, just to get those feelings out of your system. It's kind of like when you have a song going through your head, and the only way to get it out is to actually listen to it. Alternatively, listen to something you've never heard before, either without lyrics or with lyrics you can't understand.

Curl your hair. If your hair is straight, use velcro rollers in damp hair with mousse and really strong styling spray (or L'Oreal StudioLine Indestructable Gel with so-called "Style Memorizing Effect For Bounce-Back Style"). Wear the rollers while you follow one of the next tips on the list, and then take them out to look like this:

Actually, this picture was taken the morning after I used velcro rollers. Bounce-back style indeed.

I find it hard not to smile when I look like this. I don't know if straightening your natural curls will have the same effect, but maybe it's just the drastic change. And it's not as cliché as cutting your hair short, like girls who desperately need a change always do in the movies.

Watch Hard Candy. A man brings an under-age girl he met in a chat room, back to his apartment and has a few drinks with her. He then wakes up to find that she's drugged him and now he's tied to a table, naked from the waist down except for a bag of ice, and she's standing over him saying she wants to do some "preventive maintenance". The plot can also be summed up by this photo. Important: if you're a guy, don't watch this. It is Not Safe For Life.

If you're not THAT angry, and you'd rather just laugh, watch Hot Fuzz. It is really, really, really, really funny. As in I laugh hysterically every time I see it. And added bonus: the only couple who are happily in love are decapitated. (I don't condone violence BTW. When someone stamped on my foot on purpose in a club, while wearing stilettoes, I hid in a coat room rather than punch her. And three minutes of No Country for Old Men left me rubbing my throat for about a week to check if I was still breathing and not being strangled by the chain between someone's handcuffs. But this is a good time for a violent revenge fantasy. Just make sure your visual entertainment is violent, NOT your real-life actions.)

Plan a party. Everyone says keep busy, and this is a good way to do so. Plus, it gives you a reason to clean your apartment, wear something that makes you look amazing and surround yourself with friends. Which brings me to the next tip:

Surround yourself with people who know you're amazing. It's an obvious one, but it should be on the list. Make sure you have a few allies in this party-planning process. People who know that you can't handle negative stress or not having enough guests. People who will not ask you where your date is or randomly not show up or leave laughably early to go home with their boyfriends. If you have pets or younger siblings who look up to you, hang out with them more than usual. Little creatures who think you invented being awesome are exactly what you need right now.

Make new friends superficial coffee-drinking buddies. The best part about these new people is that when they ask you how you're doing, they don't want an honest, detailed answer. Find a brand new acquaintance who thinks your life is perfect. Force yourself to keep up that illusion for as long as you can. It's not fake, it's therapy: Smiling and focusing on the positive is good for you. You can always share your deep, dark secrets when you've known them for a few months.

Dress really, really well. At times like this, you should at least make sure you look great. Dress up just a little more than necessary for any occasion. Enjoy the compliments. Notice the stares. (Also, there is always designer lingerie on sale somewhere. This is the right time to buy some. The Problem has no idea what he's missing.) If you feel ugly, follow these tips.

Be rude. If you're angry, be angry. If you're sad, be sad. How upset you are is up to you. It is not up to anyone else, or to any unwritten rules. You can (and should) pretend to be ok some of the time, for your own sake, to distract yourself. But don't officially tell people who are supposed to care that you're ok until you are. Because they will believe you too soon. And never, ever pretend to be ok for the sake of the person or people who hurt you. Forgive them for your own sake, not for theirs.

Go to concerts. And to the movies, and the opera, and the theater and restaurants. Experience! Remind yourself that the world is an interesting place to be.

Flee the country. Ideally, if you're the right age, go to Ufton. You'll be surrounded by cheerful, British theater people who hug you. A lot. And you'll learn new things and make new friends and one day, you'll just realize you're over him. At least, in my experience. But seriously, travel. It could be a long weekend visiting a friend who lives an hour away by train or actually moving to another continent. I don't think I've ever regretted going somewhere else.  

If none of these work, and it's been longer than say, a month, go to your doctor. Life is not supposed to be this hard.

P.S. If a break-up is the issue, there are more specific tips for that here.

Posted by Julie at 5:03 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

October 16, 2009

Moose Cap Friday

It's Friday! Moose Cap Friday! Happy Moose Cap Friday!

Huh? I've been wishing you all happy Moose Cap Friday for months now, and if you don't know me in real life, that must be confusing. If you care. (You should.)

Moose Cap is a monthly tradition which my friends and I have been celebrating since July 16th 2008. The third Friday of every month is Moose Cap Friday, a cause for celebration. If we host big parties, we try to plan them on Moose Cap Friday, because that Friday is already reserved for friends and parties. If I haven't been able to meet Aina on Moose Cap, we've at least sent each other self-portraits where we do the Moose Cap greeting. And on the sixteenth day of the seventh month, we got together and ate a great Moose dinner - even though July is not Moose season for other Norwegians.

I have friends who think this tradition is annoying. Ok, other peoples' inside jokes can be a pain. That's why I'm re-publishing an interview of the founders of Moose Cap (that would be Aina, Eivind and myself). It's not an inside joke - it's a serious tradition. Spread the word, spread the tradition, and as we say in the interview: "honor the Moose, honor your friends and celebrate."

...

THE MOOSE CAP DAY - by Hanne Melgård Watkins

Originally published in the September 2009 issue of The Monthly Moose:

The Moose. National animal of Norway, and the emblem of the monthly magazine you now have between your hands. These diverse areas are not the only two in which the moose is in use: If you like mooses (meese?), the list of possible paraphernalia is as good as endless. The humble moose is depicted on everything from underwear to postcards; there’s moose sausage and moose –skin vests; moose-branded brandy and antlers to be bought for walls and mantelpieces. Given that the antlers are a moose’s most striking feature, it is not surprising that among the many moose souvenirs available the Moose Cap is perhaps the most popular. Did you know, though, that there exists a separate tradition for the Moose Cap? A tradition not based on selling funny headwear to tourists, but instead on respecting an ancient time when the moose was a highly esteemed animal here in Norway, imbued with magical properties? Our Monthly Moose reporter Hanne M. Watkins contacted the co-founders of this tradition here in Oslo:  Julie R. Andersen, Aina Skjønnsfjell and Eivind Blackstad Hackett.

 

Could you tell us briefly how this tradition came about?

The story of Moose Cap Friday began in the 13th century,  when a community in Rondane considered Meese to be sacred animals. For these people, the punishment for killing a Moose was death. One day, Lars and Jon were hunting in the woods and Lars accidentally killed a Moose. This was obviously a tragedy for the two friends, but Jon came up with a brilliant plan. He removed the antlers on the dead Moose and placed them on his own head, thus creating the first Moose Cap. He said: "The sacred Moose did not die. I was killed - tragically - but the Moose took my place." Since the people believed - rightly so - that the Moose had infinite powers, it made sense to them that this Moose could take Jon's place in the community and speak the language. Today we celebrate Jon's genius idea, and the powers of the Moose, both represented by the Moose Cap.

And does this mean you have to wear a Moose Cap every day?

No! Moose Cap Friday is every third Friday of every month, and that is when we celebrate. While not required, it is however, strongly encouraged to wear a Moose Cap or other paraphernalia, such as for example the Moose Shirt (tm) during this celebration. Still, the most important thing is to honor the Moose, honor your friends and celebrate.

How do you follow the Moose on other days?

There's the Moose Cap greeting - making Moose antlers with your hands. In the name of good fun, it is common for followers to share the belief that any topic could be subject to comedy and jokes. So we encourage a certain degree of un-pc-ness. The Moose is not an uptight animal, so why should we be? Also, on the 16th day of the seventh month we eat Moose. This is the greatest annual celebration for followers of the Moose. We ourselves discovered the powers of the Moose for the first time on July 16th 2008, at Café Sara.

Eat moose? What about the capital punishment?

The tradition has evolved. There is always the matter of ingesting the awesome power of Moose. We are working on a new "I can't believe it's not Moose" for vegetarians, and Moose-shaped pasta from IKEA is a great alternative or side dish. However, being vegetarian is so politically correct. The straight-up truth is that it Moose tastes f***ing awesome.

So just to recap (haha), when does this mean the next Moose Cap Friday is?

September 18th 2009. And the next one after that is October 16th.

Thank you for sharing this special story with us!

Now that you’ve read about this little known but important tradition of Norway, let all your friends know! Then you can go forth and acquire Moose Caps together, thus carrying the tradition onwards into the future. Hope to see you next Moose Cap Friday, wearing your antlers high and proud!

...

Posted by Julie at 9:11 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

October 15, 2009

Exams make me feel like this...

This is Giselle (played by Christine Thomassen) dying on stage at the Oslo Opera House. The last show was tonight, and I was lucky enough to see it twice: Once from the audience, once from backstage. I'm writing a story on professional ballet for my feature journalism class, and I obviously had a great time researching it. Now that it's almost time to turn it in (along with a paper on New Journalism and New New Journalism), I kind of feel the way Giselle looks in this photo.

It's nothing serious, just a lack of concentration and a weird mix of too much inspiration and not enough inspiration at once. You know how sometimes, no matter how many times you edit a sentence, it just doesn't capture what you're trying to say? I feel like that, but with a whole feature story.

However, tomorrow at 11 AM it will all be over. And then it will be Moose Cap Friday. And I thought I would celebrate by explaining what that means.

Tomorrow.

For now, a few more photos from the ballet story...

The Norwegian National Ballet

Cristiane Sá & Christopher Kettner

Pas de deux by Valentino Zucchetti & Chihiro Nomura

(All photos by Julie R. Andersen)

Posted by Julie at 9:48 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 13, 2009

Playing dress-up

If I could have a second skin, I'd probably dress up in you. - Belle & Sebastian

"When did you become like this?" My mom asks me. She is referring to a series of photos like the one below, taken by Hanne Melgård Watkins on our hiking (er... walking and wine-drinking) weekend trip.

"Just look at the way you're walking," my mother says, "In your head, you're obviously wearing a skirt and heels. When did you turn into a skirt-and-heels girl?"

She's right about the way I walk. But she should know that I've always been "like this", at least since age three.

I've spent my whole life dressing up in my head. My outfits have always been costumes, even when no one else can see them - like in that photo.

My earliest style choice was that since I was a princess, it would be completely inappropriate for me to wear jeans to day care. I had never seen a princess wearing jeans, and I firmly believed that I should stick with tradition.

Then my grandmother explained to me that I wasn't a princess, because my parents were not royal.

This was quite devastating, but after a short identity crisis and a very scary trip to Salem, I realized that I must be a witch.

And if I was going to be a witch, I was going to be Angelica Huston (left) in Witches. I was terrified of her. Not when she turned into the High Witch - that was just a mask, duh! - but when she was undercover evil, like this.

Since black clothing for four-year-olds was hard to find in 1990, my mother helped me dye some of my outfits. And add silver paint. I guess you could say I went through the goth phase early. If I hadn't gotten that out of my system pre-kindergarten, I might look like this every day now:

While I was playing witch, my mother had just miraculously survived the 70s and 80s (she wore a polka-dotted, shoulder-padded jumpsuit). She basically let me wear whatever I wanted in the 90s (including an apron and a veil for, say, grocery shopping), within the limits of my family's student budget and my life style. My life style was supposed to involve sand boxes and finger paint, but I refused to conform. Still, my outfits had to allow for a certain degree of messiness, so my mother insisted on sensible shoes. Here's where I stopped wearing dresses and skirts for a while. The skirts with sneakers look was not OK. I explained this to my mom - and started wearing pants.

My mother sent me to drama class, so I could wear costumes in a more appropriate setting. At age five, the youngest actors were supposed to play monsters. I hesitated - evil was a good role for me, ugly and furry not so much. Since the five-year-olds had a lot of creative control over their own performance, I decided to be the princess of the monsters, meaning I would wear a dress and rule over all the ugly, furry kids.

And so I began my acting career, which I now remember as a series of characters that I got really into. I was the kind of annoying drama class child who stays in character during intermission and all the way home. And the more spectacular the costume, the better. If I was playing a girl from the country, I designed a cowgirl-inspired skirt and vest. Playing the woman who faints when Dr. Jekyll turns into a monster was an excuse to alter an old cocktail dress to fit a little girl, and then add feathers and pearls and heaps of costume jewellery.

My mom's love of sewing, knitting and jewellery-making was fantastic for me. I didn't realize until later that not all the parents could make butterfly wings and dove's wings, let alone understand that there was a difference, and that a little girl needed to have both of these outfits in her wardrobe. Even now, I need to give my mom credit for coming up with most of my theme party outfits, including what will probably be my 2009 Halloween costume (plus she made me a maid of honor dress I love and want to wear all the time).

But I was never a princess for Halloween. I never had a pink phase. I stopped being a princess when I was four and faced the reality of being the daughter of a business school student, not a king.

And years later, when I worked at the ballet supply store LaDanse, my favorite customers were the little girls who specifically asked for black ballet shoes. I think I'm still more drawn to the dark, mysterious villainwear, rather than the pastel princess costumes. But I have accepted that people will insist on seeing me as "sweet" anyway. I don't think I can look provocative in any way if I try.

Helen Gorden writes in The Guardian that "a lot of dressing up takes place inside the head and not in front of the mirror; choosing a new outfit is about the associations it provokes as well as the way it looks." That is so true.

Even at age four, I knew I couldn't pull off evil the way Angelica Huston could. And I'm not going to try now either. But somehow, the idea of dressing up as a witch to go to kindergarten eventually translated into little black dresses and red lipstick - and no desire to be blond or tan.

And even now, sometimes it helps to step out of my apartment knowing that I'm actually an undercover grand high witch.

 

I love acting. It is so much more real than life. - Oscar Wilde

By the way, more posts about the childhood version of Julie:

• In an alternate universe, I'm American 
• You know I can't handle stupidity (about my early vampire days)
• Remembering October 2001 
• Books I read too early

Posted by Julie at 9:27 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

September 23, 2009

Deadlines and drama

My life has been crazy these past couple of weeks. "Deadlines and drama" - that basically says it all. I have told people "I'll call you next time I have five minutes", and then literally not had five minutes for days. Which is why I haven't updated.

I have been writing a lot, but for school and argument, not for the blog. In fact, even some of my blogging was not actually blogging. My Norwegian rambling about wanting to go back to college was a school assignment which will be published in argument.

In the New York Times, columnist Maureen Dowd writes that "Blue is the new black". Apparently, women all around the world are getting sadder. We're all "in a funk" to use her expression. Unfortunately, I think she's right about this: Being a young woman can be really, really difficult sometimes.

Not that I think being a man would be all that easy either. In fact, many of my friends seem to have been in some kind of funk lately, but maybe for us it's more about being at that age where our decisions are more important than before. Hard work for little or no cash combined with concerns about what to do with the future - that's life for me and most of my friends. Lately, I have been doing a lot of thinking about what I'm supposed to do with the next part of my life, now that journalism school will be over soon. And that constant feeling of "I should really be working towards my "next big thing" right now" isn't all that up-lifting.

Despite it all, I know I'm happy these days. Because when I'm walking home from school, listening to Camera Obscura's "French Navy", and I have to stop myself from dancing, I know life is basically good.

Posted by Julie at 8:26 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

September 9, 2009

My sister's confirmation - and some thoughts on photography

When I learned to write, I stopped drawing. I was clearly never interested in creating art; I just wanted to tell stories. Communicating through written words was so much more efficient than creating images.

I've found out that my single favorite thing about my new camera is that I can show people what I'm seeing, not a washed-out copy of what was there a few seconds after I saw something interesting. When technology works, it removes all the excuses. With a faster, more adjustable camera, the only thing left to worry about is finding something to show people.

And while I'm nowhere near being a photographer, acting as one for my sister's confirmation a couple of weekends ago was fun. Not only does being the photographer allow you to walk around during long dinners and get the best seats at all times. The dramatic traditional Norwegian dresses and the soft light from all the pink candles were a challenge to get right - and good practice.

Confirmations are a big deal in Norway, beyond the religious aspect. Traditionally, the ceremony marks the start of adulthood. In fact, we have secular confirmation ceremonies simply to celebrate the growing-up aspect, without the actual "confirmation" part. My sister's ceremony was religious. It was also the first time she got to wear her bunad, or traditional Norwegian dress. My mom, my sisters and I all have bunads from Valdres, but my bunad is a different style than theirs.

In the photo above, my sister is chasing after me between the church and our family's house on the next island over from the church. We lost our driver, and I got the chance to take even more photos of her - until she decided she was tired of my paparazzi tendencies and wanted to steal my camera.

 

The Norwegian mafia

My sister, Jenny, right after her ceremony.

She's joined the mafia too.

 

On important days, it's easy to forget how beautiful our neighborhood is.

I have a strange kind of love for this photo. It's just so obvious that my dad made a really terrible suggestion just as I took the picture. My sister is clearly all "Dad, I'm an adult now, and this is my day." My mom is really much prettier than this.

See? Much prettier.

Everything in life should be pink.

 

 

From left to right: Me, my mom, Midi the dog and Jenny.

Posted by Julie at 11:23 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

August 25, 2009

How to be a parent for teenagers

Ingar sent me a link to an article called "5 steps to understanding teenage girls". I talked to my mom on the phone a couple of days after reading the article, and we talked about her own parent-frustrations.

My mom isn't frustrated about teenage girls. She's frustrated about their parents - specifically the way other parents talk about their teenagers. When my mom claims teenage girls aren't monsters, parents react either with "You don't know what we're going through. Your daughters follow the rules." or "You have no idea what you're talking about. You think your daughters are following the rules? Puh-lease!"

By the time my youngest sister turns 20, my parents will have spent 15 years of their lives being the parents of teenagers. The article from Ingar and my conversation with my mom both got me thinking: What did my parents do right?

First of all, my parents know better than to listen to the worst advice. For example, when there was some newspaper/magazine debate about reading teenagers' diaries and text messages to check on what they were up to, I told my parents that I would never, ever, forgive them if they invaded my privacy that way. I think I was about fifteen, and I kept a very honest journal. Which they better not have read.

(Shortly after this, my dad set up a blog for me, so he could legitimately read some of my thoughts. Pretty sneaky.)

I've been an ex-teenager for a couple of years now. Looking back, I never felt like my parents were ruining my life. We fought, but I never fundamentally thought of them as enemies. In fact, I would say that my parents and I have had more serious disagreements before I turned 13 and after I turned 20 than during those supposedly difficult teenage years. Which brings me to my most basic tip for being a good parent for teenagers: Stop imagining that those seven years are so very different from all the other years of your lives.

I think that by the time your children become teenagers, they should know the following:

• What your general definition of acceptable behavior is.
• That while you will be disappointed if they go against this, you trust them to make their own decisions.
• That in a worst case scenario where they make all the wrong decisions (according to your definitions) and everything blows up in their teenage faces, you will still be their parent, even if you're angry.

Really, that's it. Start the supposedly awful teenage years with mutual trust and half the job is done.

Beyond that, be consistent and predictable when it comes to rules - and within the ground rules, be flexible and reasonable. I usually knew what to expect from my parents. I also feel like my parents communicated the difference between what was really unacceptable and what was just not recommendable. For example, lying about my age and sneaking into clubs was something I got away with. Taking drugs while at those clubs would not have been ok. I've stayed home from school because I didn't feel like going - with my parents' permission. But not caring about school at all, or cheating on a test, would have gone against their values, which I think would have been different.

The point is that I felt we had a shared understanding about what the limit was. Sometimes I went beyond that line, and crossed over into unacceptable, they-better-not-find-out-about-this territory, but I always knew that was what I was doing. I think that kept me in check a bit; it kept me from going too far.

In the comments to the article, "Former Teenager" wrote:

I was pretty wild from 16-18 (sex with older men, smoking, taking ecstasy at weekends in nightclubs and bunking off school whenever I knew I wouldn't get caught) though had the good sense to keep very schtum about it as my parents were quite strict... although I now realise she knew about the majority of it, worried about it and monitored it quite early on and never believed my lies and ommissions.

Her 'talking' about this stuff with me wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference to my behaviour but knowing where her tolerance levels were absolutely helped keep me in check. I would never have dared get pregnant, fail an exam, need my stomach pumping or get caught playing truant. As a result I got fabulous A level grades, a good degree from a good university and now have an excellent career and an eminently lovely and sensible man, despite my teenage high spirits.

A bit of wildness does teenagers no harm provided parents are there to set firm objectives, maintain order and pick up the pieces every now and then.

In other words, don't underestimate the power of "My parents will be so disappointed in me." That thought has kept me from doing some pretty stupid stuff.

Throughout my teenage years, I perfected my defense for the day when my parents would be really, really disappointed in me. It varied, but followed this basic idea:

Mom, dad, I'm not pregnant. I've never been arrested, I've never taken illegal drugs, and I don't smoke. I've never committed any serious crimes, and my grades are still good. But please, don't try to make me stop __________. Because I probably will continue to do so anyway. And you should be glad that's all I'm doing.

I never needed to say it.

Usually, the blank was filled with some variation of "going to parties with people who do things you don't want me to do". But as it turns out, my parents trusted me to be able to be in a potentially risky environment without putting myself at risk. (Or they just had no idea what I was really up to, but I'm going to assume my parents are smarter than that.)

The point is that if someone wants to for example start smoking, it's really hard to stop them. I've tried and failed repeatedly. When I wanted my friends and family members to stop smoking, I didn't have the resources parents have with their kids. I couldn't lock them in their room, for example. But locking up children is usually frowned upon, even though that's really the only way to forcefully stop someone from breaking the rules.

Which brings me back to mutual trust and shared understanding of rules: I think my parents knew they couldn't stop me, but they relied on me to stop myself. And that was good for me.

I can just hear the other parents saying: "Yeah, but they're not all goody two-shoes like you,", and I could probably write a whole separate blog post to answer that kind of comment. But any parent who thinks I was born "a nice girl" while their own children are actually impossible, simply does not get it.

The point here is that while "My parents don't want me to do this." may deter some teenagers, it isn't really a genuinely good reason not to do something. You need to teach them why drugs/cheating/lying etc. are bad in the long run. If they want to do something, and they can't see for themselves that it's bad for them, then you can't stop them by force. 

And beyond that, remember that your kids are growing up. That's kind of the whole idea of being teenagers: they are no longer children. More and more of their world is separate from your world, and more and more of their problems have nothing to do with you. The plus side: It might not be your fault. The minus side: It might be completely out of your control.

I'll finish this with another comment from below that same article:

I've always thought that if you expect trouble with teenagers, that's what you get. Too many people batten down the hatches and prepare for war with a giant list of 'Don'ts' before anything's even happened.

It's important to like teenagers... my daughter's nearly a year old and people say 'Ah, but wait til she's a teenager', and you know what? I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm well aware, though, that maybe I was lulled into a false sense of security - there was no door slamming and squawking with the three of us in our teens, but I still don't think we were that exceptional. Our parents trusted us not to do anything stupid, we paid them back by not doing anything (too) stupid, and they didn't make a fuss over things that weren't worth it.

- Claudia Conway

Posted by Julie at 12:35 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

August 23, 2009

Koselig = the meaning of life

During Julie's* stay in Oslo, and again during a conversation with Peter, the list of "signs you know you've been in Norway too long" came up repeatedly. I finally found a really long version of this list. Some of these are really, really funny, some are pretty disturbing (like the first and last one), and they are all true.

*Julie?!?!? Where am I supposed to link to you?

You know you've been in Norway for too long when...

• ...you start to believe that if it wasn't for Norway's efforts the world would collapse.
• ...you only buy your own drink at the bar even when you are with a group of people.
• ...you can't remember when to say "please" and "excuse me".
• ...you always prepare to catch the closing door if following closely behind somebody.
• ...a stranger on the street smiles at you, you assume that:
  a) he is drunk
  b) insane
  c) American
  d) all of the above
• ...silence is fun.
• ...you use "Mmmm" as conversation filler.
• ...you actually believe that there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.
• ...you know Norway's results in the last three years in the "Melodi Grand Prix" song contest (Eurovision Song Contest).
• ...it seems nice to spend a week in a small wooden cottage up in the mountains, with no running water and no electricity.
• ...you know at least five different words for describing different kinds of snow.
• ...an outside temperature of 9 degrees Celsius ( 45F ) is mild in mid June.
• ...you know the difference between Blue and Red ski wax.
• ...you don't fall over when walking on ice.
• ...you associate Friday afternoon with a trip to the Government liquor store.
• ...you think nothing of paying $50 for a bottle of 'cheap' spirits at Vinmonopolet ("the wine monopoly").
• ...it's acceptable to eat lunch at 11.00 and dinner at 15.00.
• ...it no longer seems excessive to spend $100 on drinks one night.
• ...you know that "religious holiday" means "let's get pissed".
• ...you find yourself more interested in the alcohol content than in the name of the wine.
• ...you enjoy the taste of lutefisk (jelly-like, bad-smelling fish) and cod prepared in any way, including fried cod tongues.
• ...you like to wrap your hotdog in a cold pancake.
• ...you associate warm rice porridge with Saturday and Xmas-eve.
• ...you can prepare fish in five different ways without cooking it.
• ...you wear sandals with socks.
• ...your wardrobe no longer has suits, but blue shirts and mustard coloured sportjackets.
• ...you don't look twice at business men in dark suits wearing sport socks.
• ...it feels natural to wear sport clothes and backpack everywhere, including the cinema, bowling alley, and to church.
• ...you find yourself speaking halfway Swedish with Swedes.
• ...you can't understand why foreigners haven't heard about Bjorn Daehlie.
• …you don’t question the habit of always making “matpakke” (sandwich in paper – some sort of lunch packet)
• …you know the meaning of life has something to do with the word “koselig” (cosy)
• …you get scared when a stranger randomly starts up a conversation with you.
• …you can’t stand leaving the country because people everywhere else are so nice, it’s annoying.
• …you look away when you walk by people on the street.
• …you vigorously defend whaling and enjoy consuming whale meat.
• …you have two cars, a cabin and a boat, if not more.
• …you think it's weird if a house isn't wooden.
• …you earn more than you spend.
• …you associate Easter with cross-country skiing with friends and family in the familys mountain cabin.
• …you are shocked if it's not 2 months of snow every year, at least!
• …you can see mountains and the ocean, no matter where you are.
• …you expect all dinner parties and meetings to start precisely on time, if not before.
• …you fall 3 meters, and don't get hurt. If you do, you're not worried at all.
• …you get your hands on Norwegian chocolate and guard it with your life
• …you are more afraid of the Customs than terrorists.
• …you would rather miss your flight than not have enough time to buy the duty free alcohol quota.
• …you order drinks at Gardermonen (Oslo Intl Airport) at 6 am
• ……you say ”oh well, down it goes” when served bad wine.
• …you actually think that fishballs have taste.
• …you barbecue when it’s raining.
• …you have bad conscience if you’re not outside when it’s sunny
• …you get dozy after only two days of sun
• …you go for a swim when it’s only 12 degrees Celsius (53F) in the water and claims that it’s “fresh”
• ...in winter, you go to work in the dark and come home in the dark - while only working eight-hour days.
• ...if there's a terrorist attack on the other side of the world, your first reaction is "oh my god, did any Norwegians get hurt?"

Posted by Julie at 11:24 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

August 21, 2009

It's a real live Moose!

 

Happy Moose Cap Friday to everyone!

This photo is from the Skansen Zoo in Stockholm. Julie and I went to Skansen just to see the Moose. A pilgrimage if you will. And after that, the usual comment to anything else we saw (like all the other animals, bakelser at NK and the night train back to Oslo) was: "Well, that was fun, but not everything can be a Moose."

Posted by Julie at 12:07 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

August 12, 2009

Cheating with Chanel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few weeks ago, I saw Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky at a closed viewing before the official release date. There were glasses of cava and bottles of number 5. The idea was that we would talk the film up before the release. I didn't feel like writing a review. Partly because of vacation mode, partly because... meh.

I went in on a slight cava buzz, expecting to crave Coco's clothes and to love Igor's music. Check. Check. Also, she apparently had a great house. But that was it.

I would warn of spoilers, but spoilers require a plot.

The full extent of the plot is revealed on the movie poster: Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky have sex. No, it wasn't porn, but that was really what happened. She is rich and admires his work. He moves into her house with his entire family, including wife, so that he can have a quiet place to compose. In a series of scenes that zoom closely in on their two faces, we get that the two main characters are thinking about each other a lot. One night she goes into his room and takes off her dress. And I think: "No! The clothes are the best part of this movie!"

Not that the whole thing isn't all very pretty. I mean, look at the trailer:

But I would prefer a slide show of Chanel clothes set to a Stravinsky soundtrack. The "plot" only makes the two seem selfish and horrible. His wife is in the next room. So are his children.

After reading Lust in Translation last week, I started thinking about this movie again. The author, Pamela Druckerman, an American living in Paris, went to China, South Africa, Japan and Russia among others to research cheating. According to Druckerman, while the cheated spouse is always hurt, no one is more devastated by infidelity than Americans. The French for example don't cheat any more than the Americans, but if it happens, it's not all that surprising to them. Being cheated on in France doesn't change your world view, or make you question everything your cheating partner has ever done. According to Druckerman, both the Russians and the French are calmer than Americans about the whole issue of lying.

I don't know how I'm "supposed" to react to infidelity, since Lust in Translation doesn't have a chapter on Scandinavia. But Stravinsky's Russian wife calmly, but tragically accepts her fate, and she's the one I sympathise with, at least up to a certain point.

I think the audience is supposed to be on Coco and Igor's side, but I certainly wasn't. The interaction between them doesn't justify the cheating to me.  The characters don't seem to be in love or to inspire each others' work or even to like each other all that much.

It's as if the script writers want us to think: If two attractive geniuses spend enough time together, of course they should have an affair. And since the movie is marketed at fans of both the main characters, of course we'll all sympathise with them. Coco is my heroine already, surely she can do no wrong on screen?

Well, my sympathy did swing back to Chanel for a moment when Igor's wife wrote har a letter saying: "I need him more than you do." Maybe that comment hit too close to home for me, too close to the idea that "strong women" can handle anything, so they better not need anything or anyone.

I know that this film is based on a novel which is based on a true story. So it happened, but that doesn't make it believable to me. There is a difference between realistic and believable. But perhaps reality or the novel has an interpretation of events more sympathetic to Chanel and Stravinsky.

Especially Chanel, who as my friend Martine pointed out after the viewing, could be an interesting character to discuss from a feminist point of view: She provides a house for Stravinsky, she is a successful and really sort of bitchy business woman during the story; she initiates the affair. And most importantly to me, she ends it. I wouldn't mind reading this story as a novel where we actually see what's going on inside this woman's head.

In the meantime, listen to this and browse here instead.

Posted by Julie at 11:33 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

City of Thieves

I've always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.

I was born an insomniac and that's the way I'll die, wasting thousands of hours along the way, longing for unconsciousness, longing for a rubber mallet to crack me in the head, not so hard, not hard enough to do any damage, just a good wack to put me down for the night. But that night I didn't have the chance. I stared into the blackness until the blackness blurred into gray, until the ceiling above me began to take form and the light from the east dribbled in through the narrow barred window that existed after all.

Only then did I realize that I still had a German knife strapped to my calf.

That was the end of chapter 2* in City of Thieves by David Benioff. The insomniac is imprisoned in Leningrad during the Nazi siege. His crime was looting a dead German soldier. His punishment was supposed to be death, but instead he is sent on a special mission to find 12 eggs so that a Soviet colonel's daughter can have a traditional wedding cake. In a city where people are willing to eat books - or each other - finding eggs is completely impossible. But it's the only way he can survive.

I read ten chapters of this book last night, so I expect to finish it by Friday. It's fast-paced, sad, scary and somehow funny.

*I have added paragraph breaks.

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June 19, 2009

Thoughts after a fashion show

Despite not feeling all that well, I couldn't miss the fashion show from the graduating class of Esmod Oslo on Wednesday. And I'm glad I was there, since my friend Eivind B. Hackett won three awards, including an internship, money and the opportunity to sell his collection at the Oslo department store Steen&Strøm.

Slideshow from backstage and the runway

After attending a catwalk show in ballerina flats, I understand why catwalk models need to be tall. And wear incredible platform heels. Because catwalks are not always easy to see, unless you arrive early or have some good reason for being in the front row.

Speaking of heels, people who walk in them should know how. I won't judge the models at this particular show, because I know some of them were friends of the designers, and had never walked a runway before. But if you're a Top Model contestant for example, meaning you want to be a model, shouldn't you know how to put one foot in front of the other, even if those feet are on platform heels? It's just a matter of practicing.

Anyway, judging from my very, very limited experience, fashion shows work the way "exclusive" clubs do: It seems the inconvenience of the whole experience is supposed to add to the feeling of luxury and exclusivity. It's so incredibly cool that there isn't anywhere to sit, or even stand comfortably, and that the music is too loud to allow for any form of communication. You feel lucky if you're actually able to see the show over taller peoples' heads and shoulders. And it's really hot - actually, maybe they really do that on purpose so people will wear less clothing.

But despite all that, I loved it! Especially the fact that Eivind won a bunch of awards, which I've already blogged about in Norwegian.

Shoes from Prada, top photos from Fashionising, where you can also see catwalk models fall.

Posted by Julie at 4:06 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Hurra for Eivind!

Eivind B. Hackett vant Gullnålen-prisen, VOICE-prisen og Steen & Strøms Magasinpris på Esmods Diplomvisning på onsdag.

Det betyr at han nå er ferdig med moteskole og har vunnet jobb. Han fikk praktikantplass i ett år av Voice, og 10 000 kr av Steen & Strøm. I tillegg skal hans kolleksjon, "Villainwear", selges på Steen & Strøm.

Se bildeserie fra motevisningen og artikkel skrevet av min klassevenninne og Oslostudenten-kollega Linn Husby.

P.S. En liten gratulasjon til modell Melina også, siden hun er min tidligere kollega på LaDanse og siden hun var over gjennomsnittet flink til å gå med høye hæler.

Posted by Julie at 9:02 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 14, 2009

The year the media died

"I was a lonely Mad Ave creative type, with some good ideas and a lot of hype, but I knew the picking was ripe the year the media died."

Digital media from the point of view of a mad man.

"As I watched users generate without ad support to carry the freight, no content like MTV could break consumers' love of free."

Posted by Julie at 9:31 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 13, 2009

Rant on technology and manners – the sequel

Flashback:

Part one of this rant was written way back in November 2007, when I was a college student, part-time receptionist and student government representative. I combined these duties with "a combination of secretary, therapist, event planner, student guidance counselor, tutor, mediator and research assistant to everyone I know", and to say that I checked my e-mail "like it was my job" would be an understatement. After ranting, I set up some ground rules for communicating with me, and they actually seemed to work. Or - more likely - writing a rant relieved my stress, and I was able to handle all the e-mails.

 

Introduction:

"Communication technology can be stressful because it forces us to be perpetually available to anyone who has our contact information. This idea makes people turn their phones off, only check their e-mail during weekdays, and relish the lack of internet connection in their vacation homes. This can be extremely stressful to the people who need to get in touch with them, but sometimes people just need a break, right? As usual, the problem is not e-mail or text messaging in itself, but the fact that our habits and our rules of decent behavior haven't caught up with the changes in technology."

- Julie Andersen (yeah, I'm quoting myself)

The actual rant

These days I am still a college student, but now I'm also a journalist at three papers, section editor of one (and soon to be two, fingers crossed) papers and maid of honor at a wedding less than two months from now. I don't feel all that busy, but I have no free afternoons/evenings this coming week. I'm busy in a good way, doing things I enjoy, but still.

My life works because I live in a world populated by adults who are comfortable with communication technology. Yammer, Twitter, Gmail, Facebook, Skype, my tiny computer, my cell phone and even Escenic (with all its faults) make my life easier.

I love being able to work from anywhere. That doesn't mean that I have to work all the time. The possibility of keeping in touch with old friends through Facebook doesn't mean that I compulsively check the (very annoying btw) Facebook front page. And yes, I do still read books, thank you very much, despite also reading blogs and online news every day.

See I have free will. And discipline. And I know how to make technology work for me.

And I assumed that other people my age in my part of the world did too. I am shocked to find Norwegian twenty-somethings who only check their e-mail every two weeks (oh and answering e-mails is just too much for them), who blame the distractions of the internet for their bad term papers (no, not as a joke, seriously), and who honestly see Facebook as nothing but a source of emotional trauma.

And I think: But you're adults! And you're young! Why do you fail at modern communication?

I know I'm preaching to the converted here. I mean, you, lovely reader, are obviously online, reading an enjoyable blog. You do not fail at life. And I'm not going to provide details to the various stressful situations I'm referring to. I just needed to leave my apartment today, and get some carrot cake and a coffee shop window seat and blog. So I did.

In conclusion:

When technology works, it removes all the excuses. You have to actually end the uncomfortable phone call, rather than hang up and blame it on losing the connection. You have to assume that people who don't call, e-mail, text, google, Facebook-friend or Twitter-follow you really aren't that into you. And you really need to get creative if you want a reason not to make a deadline.

So we're left with our own human faults. Our own lack of concentration, commitment or creativity. Let's just be honest adults about it.

Oh and by the way:

• Rant on technology and manners
• Multi-tasking and concentration
• Nothing is off the record
• Everything you need to know about Facebook - in Norwegian
• Think before you act

Pictures: MarkyBon CreativeCommons, MarieJo L'Aventure Lingerie, Nemi by Lisa Myhre

Posted by Julie at 2:19 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

June 2, 2009

Girls aren't stupid, we're just not as lazy as the boys

LiveScience reports that a new review of recent studies finds that girls are not more stupid than boys - even when it comes to math.

I didn't take the time to comment last time, when The Boston Globe presented the idea that women just aren't into math.

Like I've said before: I don't know how mentally different men and women really are.  I just know about my own experiences here.

So let's talk about me for a bit. And the fact that guys are lazy.

New scientific discoveries on female vs. male brains don't make me better or worse at what I do. They don't change my excellent math grades. And they don't change the fact that despite those math grades, I was very aware growing up that I was not good at math. Because I was good at writing, and I was "creative", and at least when I was a kid, we were told we couldn't do it all.

I was good at the kind of things that involved neat handwriting, meticulous note-taking, extensive newspaper- and novel-reading and the ability to memorize text. My great strength all the way through high school was the ability to read something once (fast) and remember it.  Even with that skill, if you factor in all the free time I spent reading useful stuff, being good at school took up a lot of my time.

Math can be much less labor-intensive. Compared to many other subjects - at least the way they are taught at an elementary and up to high school level in Norway - math is less about "plodding through" and less about already having read something, and more about just getting it. It's logic.

I'm not saying that all aspects of mathematics are like this. But in my personal experience (in Norway, let's say grades six up to high school graduation), math works for the lazy, but smart. History doesn't.

As my dad told me the first of a million times he explained why I should be good at math: "If the whole world stopped existing tomorrow, one plus one would still be two. Even if we didn't have a language with which to explain this, even if there were nothing left to count, 1 + 1 = 2 would still be fundamentally true."

Learning new math skills requires existing knowledge of something, obviously. But it doesn't require that you stay updated on current news or know how to spell your vocabulary words correctly - or even legibly. For a smart, but lazy teenager, math class requires that you show up, pay attention and work on math problems as long as the teacher is looking. And even if the teacher hates you, because you're an obnoxious trouble-making bully, if your answers are right, they can't fail you.

I was smart and lazy about math, and smart and hard-working about languages and social studies. So I was good at languages and social studies. One of the smartest guys in my middle school class was smart and lazy about everything, and so he was good at math.

Some Norwegians have worried that Norwegian schools only work for girls (Åsmund B. Gjerde, who was editor-in-chief of argument at the time, was not worried). But for the sake of argument (ugh, pun not intended), let's believe people who say that little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice, can sit still and make teachers like them, have legible hand-writing, an attention span that allows them to read a lot, and that's why we all grow up to complain about the lack of guys in our university classes. I think the smart little boys pick up some math skills, even if the snips and snails and puppy-dog tails* keep them from writing A+ short stories or brilliant essays about current events as compared to history.

Does this make sense at all?

* Little boys grow up to be young men, and they are made of "Sighs and leers and crocodile tears". According to Mother Goose.

Oh, and by the way:

• Who's insane?
• Feminism?
• The problem with pushing math

Posted by Julie at 11:40 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 21, 2009

Wrap boots

These wrap boots just might be the weirdest footwear I've seen. Probably a tie between these boots (or should I say shoes with stockings?) and my parents' barefoot shoes.

I can't decide if I love them or just think they're weird. I need to try them on!

To add to their weirdness, these are vegan boots. What does that even mean? Vegetarian shoes would not be made from leather (same place meat comes from), so am I to assume that vegan shoes are not made of egg shells or fishskin? I thought we left fishskin shoes behind when WW2 ended, but maybe some disturbing retro trend has started and needs to be stopped by a counter-trend of vegetarian/vegan footwear. Whatever.

These boots are PC in a useful way, too. If I buy a pair, Tom's Shoes will give a pair of shoes (not necessarily vegan wrap* boots) to a child in need. I'm waiting for this kind of charity to show up on Stuff White People Like, but hey, there's nothing wrong with it.

If these shoes work the way I think they do, they could potentially be really comfortable, fit any width of leg and be a light-weight alternative allowing me to comfortably wear boots on sunny spring days. With my luck though, they'll probably fasten with some hideous, itchy contraption and have soles through which I can feel grains of sand.

I need to find out.

P.S. Apparently, we are now taking fashion advices from horses.

* Vegan wrap? Can I get burrito boots instead?

Posted by Julie at 5:39 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Emergency Sex

That's a book title I felt a little bit weird reading on the subway.

Emergency Sex (and other desperate measures) is the autobiographical story of UN workers Kenneth Cain, Heidi Postlewait and Andrew Thomson. The three friends, who take turns being narrator, met in Phnom Penh in 1990. They stayed in touch as they worked for the UN in Cambodia, Haiti, Rwanda, Liberia and Bosnia throughout the violent nineties.

"Andrew wanted to bind the wounds of innocent war victims, hoping to find grace. Heidi embraced the freedom-born-of-emergency determined to liberate herself and, in the process, as many women as she could touch. I planned to harness the power of an ascendant America to personally undo the Holocaust. Don't laugh. We were young." - Kenneth Cain, Brooklyn, New York, April 2003

I've always felt that since people have endured so much suffering, and others have had to witness peoples' suffering first-hand, the least I can do is read about it years later without giving up. But unfortunately - perhaps fortunately, as it's probably a sign of sanity - reading novel-length texts about torture, war, fear and despair is simply no fun.

With this book, however, I never considered giving up. It's fast-paced to the point of feeling like it's written for the screen, but more importantly, the characters are real people. It's a true story not just because it's non-fiction, but because it includes the narrators' mistakes, doubts, pre-peacekeeping past, parties - and yes, their hook-ups. They're journal-writers, not feature reporters. The lighthearted anecdotes are a necessary break from the sometimes disgusting descriptions of violence, but they also provide a backdrop that feels realistic to me: You clean up the mess after unspeakable terror by day, but when night falls, you still have crushes, friendships and a need to unwind and lead a kind of life.

Posted by Julie at 12:33 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

May 16, 2009

Men and mysteries

Yesterday I cut my hair short and wore a tie for the first time.

No, this has nothing to do with writing like a man. And I should point out that I also wore a pink dress and heels. The theme for the Argument release party was gin and ties*.

When I walked in the door, I was greeted by the hostess, also wearing a tie of course, who told me we should form a club for girls who tie their own ties.

And so, the mystery: Why do men act as if getting dressed is difficult for them? Tying a tie is roughly on the same level of difficulty as tying shoelaces. It's not intuitive for most. You have to learn the method. But once you know that, you're set. There's a built-in limit to how good you can be at tying things.

Yet people still wear ties without knowing how to tie them. And movies still have scenes where women help grown men get dressed (A YouTube search to find these scenes failed, but they are out there! Pretty Woman for one). 

Clearly, there are different ways of tying ties. In fact, there is a trend in British school uniforms for clip-ons because they stop kids from trying to tie their ties in a creative way. Yup, this is considered a problem at British schools: boys who tie their ties in a non-standard way in an effort to be individuals. And in the show Skins, boys wear ties as scarves, which I strangely love.

But if you're not trying to rebel against the dress code, simply putting on that one accessory is not all that complicated.

Watch and learn everybody:

Style For Men: How To Tie A Tie - The Full Windsor Knot

Photos: Michael Coté (who can't tie his own tie) and Wade M (Why do men wear ties? See the discussion after Wade M's photo)

* I know! Great party theme, right?!?!

Posted by Julie at 12:23 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

May 4, 2009

Today weblogs, tomorrow booklogs

"(...) readers will stumble across books through a particularly well-linked quote on page 157, instead of an interesting cover on display at the bookstore."

Author Steven Johnson predicts booklogs, blogs that link to books, in a future with e-books.

Posted by Julie at 8:23 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 3, 2009

Geek alert

I realize I'm in danger of becoming a journalism geek.

The past week was spent writing my take-home exam in journalism. Normally I spend exams wanting to blog about anything other than what I'm writing my exam about. After each political science exam, I avoided anything poli-sci-related for at least 48 hours.

And what do I do when my exam is over this semester? I discuss journalism with my classmates over beer in the park, order a newspaper subscription, catch up on my journalism geek blogs and twitter (tweet? twit?) a journalism-related link.

I blog so much more about journalism than I ever did about international relations. There are many possible reasons for this: Journalism school provides more opportunities for non-boring diary-like blogging. I mean "Today I interviewed the minister of foreign affairs" is so much more entertaining than "Today I sat in the library for nine hours reading about foreign affairs". And since I'm actually acting like a journalist, I feel that I'm qualified to have opinions about journalism. Last year, I was just acting like a college student with some political geekiness.

The most important explanation is that journalism feels so right for me.

Not that there is anything wrong with being a happy nerd. But maybe I should take some steps to make sure I'm not boring. I have friends and readers who aren't journalists after all. And I don't think I should be a journalist/blogger who only writes about journalism/blogging.

I don't want to cross the line separating charming geek from anti-social dork.

But that won't stop me from hitting you with a journalism post right after I publish this little apology for being a geek.

Posted by Julie at 1:59 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

April 26, 2009

Illegal = global

I never downloaded music illegally at all - until internet radio Pandora became off limits because I didn't live in the US.

The market for illegal mp3 files is global, while the market for legal music is still supposed to be limited by international borders. Why?

Øyvind Solstad at NRK Beta writes (in Norwegian):

One world - not 200 countries.

The music- and film industry seems to think we still cross the Atlantic in steam boats, and that we don't hear about things that happen in the US just because we live in Norway. So they ignore the fact that young people don't think about international borders and where things come from. (...) People don't understand why they can't listen to some songs on Spotify in Norway, but if they drive over the Swedish border and go to an internet café they can. They don't understand why they can't see American music videos on YouTube or shows on Hulu.com. They don't accept that slow bosses in the music- and film industry still haven't come up with a system where an artist can release their music all over the world (Øyvind Solstad, my translation).

Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about this problem for journalism class at the American University of Paris (click "continue reading" for the full article).

A week later, my American friend was trying to buy a song from iTunes. She couldn't, because her laptop was American. I could buy it for her, because my laptop was Norwegian.

We were both in Paris at the time.

That is absolutely ridiculous.

Does piracy kill music – or globalize it?

Julie Andersen – Journalism 2 – April 2008

If music is distributed through the internet, where you live need not matter for what music you can buy. In theory, anyone with an internet connection can have the same access to music. Yet the record industry is still enforcing national borders, in an effort to stop illegal file-sharing. Is a college student who downloads mp3s a greedy thief or an informed activist? Is file-sharing bringing the music industry down, or are record labels and music retailers to blame?

In summer 2006, a copyright bill was drafted in France, requiring music downloads to be compatible with all portable digital music players. Apple sent an e-mail statement to Bloomberg, saying this would result in “state-sponsored piracy”.

Music on CD can be transferred to a computer and then played and distributed in several formats. Mp3-files, one of the most popular formats among illegal downloads, are compatible with most media players. Legal downloads from Apple are only compatible with iPods and the iTunes computer media player.

France amended the draft, so that copyright holders could still set compatibility standards. Had France forced Apple to make its downloads compatible with other music players, iTunes Music Store France would have closed down, regardless of what the artists wanted, according to the BBC.

The music industry likens illegal file-sharing to shoplifting CDs. When you shoplift a CD, you get the same product without paying for it. When you download illegally instead of legally, you might get a better product without paying for it.

Following the shut-down of popular torrent-based file-sharing site Oink on October 23^rd 2007, Rob¹, a blogger who has worked within the music industry, wrote what his commentators labelled “the bible of file-sharing”. He encouraged music fans to stop buying music from major labels in order to force a change in the way music is distributed. Rob called Oink: “the most complete and most efficient music distribution model the world has ever known” and wrote: “If the music industry had found a way to capitalize on the power, devotion, and innovation of its own fans the way Oink did, it would be thriving right now instead of withering.”

People who download music illegally, claim that they can't afford to fill an iPod at the 99 cents per song rate that iTunes is offering legally, and that if they like a band after listening to their music for free, they will find a way to support them. According to promusic.org's guidelines to online music: “(...) there is no general right or exception that lets you copy before you buy without permission, for the obvious reason that once something is copied it probably won't be bought.” The question is, would it have been bought if it were not copied?

Sara², a 20-year-old American student at the American University of Paris, says she would never pay 99 cents for the songs she downloads illegally today. She has been downloading music since 1999, but she still buys CDs. She will typically get recommendations from music blogs, download some songs, and then buy the album if she likes the music.

Moving to Paris has made this more difficult. “There is nowhere I can get music here in Paris,” she says “A lot of the stuff I want is obscure - albums you can barely find in the US and definitely not in Paris.”

Natalie³, another 20-year-old American student at AUP, says: “I used to buy albums in high school, but now that I'm in France, I'm not going to spend the equivalent of 20 dollars on a CD. But music keeps me going, so I either stop going, or a friend sends me songs over the internet.” While she does not believe in downloading music through torrents and file-sharing sites, she exchanges zip files of albums with her friends.

She likes to spend money on her favorite band Radiohead, who released their latest album In Rainbows as a download and allowed fans to set their own price. “I think artists can get their music out online legally – MySpace or allowing downloading from your site.” she says, “But the real CD came with stickers.”

Both girls say that allowing fans to download, is good publicity for a band. However, Radiohead could not have sold their album this way if they were controlled by a label, and their music is not available on iTunes.

Sara plans on working in the music industry, and she says: “It's all about politics. An artist can be totally trash, but if they're marketed toward the right demographic, the label will still support them.”

Despite having a friend in the States who was sued for 5000 dollars for file-sharing, Sara is not worried about getting caught. “Should I be?” she asks. In France, privacy laws are much stricter than in the States, and they have generally prevailed over copyright laws. Although AUP has a policy against file-sharing, Ali Rahimi, director of Information Technology Services at AUP, says that the university respects students' privacy. Firewalls on the AUP network make downloading to student's laptops while on the school network difficult, but Sara knows how.

Trent Reznor, Nine Inch Nails frontman and music producer, admitted to New York Magazine that he was an Oink member and that “If OiNK cost anything, I would certainly have paid, but there isn't the equivalent of that in the retail space right now.” While many file-sharers have agreed with him through blogs and forums, Natalie says: “I don't want the CD to disappear. I believe in album artwork, and I believe in the crisp smell of the CD when you open it for the first time, the sound of the case when you open it, and wondering whether or not there are lyrics. I want that to keep happening.”

1Known online only by his first name.

2Named has been changed.

3Name has been changed.

Posted by Julie at 12:29 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

April 15, 2009

Back from Boston

When I left Oslo last week, I had a big laptop and a tiny camera. I came back from Boston with a tiny laptop and a big camera. Expect more photos from now on.

I also somehow managed to catch up with a lot of friends, spend a day observing the Boston Globe, see a musical in Boston, return to the MFA, do enough shopping for a year, drink Sam Adams and eat swordfish, hamburgers and ice cream.

I really needed that week back in the States, and now I really need another one.

Photo: Julie Balise

Posted by Julie at 11:44 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

April 3, 2009

Newspapers die - long live journalists

It's not too late, Julie. My American friend, who shares my name and profession, is a co-op at a large American newspaper with economic difficulties. From her desk at the business section Julie can see the other sections closing down, newspapers in other cities folding and commentators predicting New York Time's bankruptcy by May 2009. Experienced colleagues pat the young journalism major's head: You're entering a dying business. You're young. It's not too late to choose another career.

Meanwhile, back in Norway, we're discussing newspaper death, increased press subsidies and an economic stimulus plan specifically for the media. The financial crisis is making a difficult situation worse, but newspaper economics would be going through a tough period even without that added obstacle. Readers stop subscribing and read online instead. And if we believe figures cited by John Olav Egeland in Dagbladet¹, you need ten online readers to achieve the same ad revenue as one paper subscriber.

And still I've chosen to study journalism at Oslo University College. I happen to think journalism isn't dead. Paper producers and printing press companies face an unstable future, but the world will always need good journalists.

I repeat: good journalists. What it takes to be a good journalist, that's what's changing. And I'm starting to wonder if today's journalism students are learning what it takes to be tomorrow's good journalists.

Good journalists understand their own industry. For the newspaper industry, the Internet is a disruptive innovation. The term is from Harvard professor Clayton Christensen. A disruptive innovation makes an existing technology irrelevant. In the blogosphere, editors, economists and media experts from around the world are discussing how to build a sustainable business model for online media.

Young journalists need to be a part of this discussion. Blogosphere and disruptive should be in our vocabulary. We need to be able to discuss press subsidies, RSS subscriptions and micro-payments. There are plenty of other debates too. Online publications with their constant deadlines and updates make debating journalists' new working conditions necessary. The possibility of editing texts after publication blurs the line between journalist and editor. Web layout is an entirely different science compared to paper layout. These debates are not part of the journalism student's curriculum. So we need to teach ourselves about the media economics of tomorrow.

Good journalists think ahead. Christensen uses journalistic language, a sports-based metaphor, to make this point: Don't run to where the ball is, run to where it will be. In “Rett på sak!”², a text book for first-year journalism students, Veslemøy Kjendsli writes that text on the web should not be long enough to require hitting the “page down” button. In layout class, the lecturer sighs and complains that the internet doesn't have room for good photography. Per H. Baugstø's book “En avis er ment å skulle leses”³ starts by stating that paper newspapers will always exist, because paper is the most comfortable reading and storage format. There seems to be a consensus that online journalism is shallow news with another newspaper as its only source, while paper is for features and opinions.

Today's curriculum writers and lecturers of journalism succeeded under the old system. There's nothing wrong with that. But students who study how to be critical of sources and how to spot weak arguments have no excuse for accepting too much at face value. Many of these authority figures base their views on faulty principles. They assume that screen quality and computer capacity and speed – not to mention people's media habits – will remain unchanged from now on. To use Christensen's words: They don't think the ball is moving any more, so they've stopped running.

Good journalists see challenges as opportunities. My classmates wonder why I want to be an online journalist. Internet publications are so stressful. I disagree. Nothing stresses me more than knowing that the paper edition is printed and that it's too late to make changes. As journalists we should adjust to the internet, not just because the disruptive technology makes it necessary, but because online journalism has more potential than paper journalism.

On the internet the way the text looks will vary by screen size, operating system and browser. The reader can also choose to access the publication via RSS, e-mail or traditional online newspaper, and this will also change the layout. We could say that we're losing control over layout. We could also say that each reader is being given more layout options. Does the reader want just the short summary, or every published story on the subject? Is the text the most important part of the travel feature, or will the reader also download the panorama photograph with links and zoom tools? When we no longer have to worry about the length of columns or the number of pages, that's a good thing.

Good journalists are always writing. If Julie, my fellow students and I give up writing because of changes in techology and economics, well, then the pessimists are right: It's not to late to choose another career. As long as we write well, and we write no matter what, it's not too late to be a journalist.

English translation of Aviser dør - Lenge leve journalister. The Norwegian version was originally published in Journalen, and was the reason for all of this.

1Dagbladet, literally The Daily Magazine, is one of the major daily tabloids in Norway.

2“Straight to the Point!”

3“A Newspaper is Meant to be Read”

Posted by Julie at 8:42 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

March 6, 2009

It never fails... but I might

Reaching for inspiration... Streeetch... And now, Julie, GET TO WORK!

It never fails: If I have actual journalism to do, all I want to do is blog. Despite the fact that I love what I'm writing right now (as in the column I'm writing, not this blog post), ideas for completely non-related blog posts pop into my head at every moment. So just to let you all know: if there is a blog entry here before 4PM today, that means I fail.

Photo: ad for Marie-Jo L'Aventure

Posted by Julie at 10:22 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 3, 2009

Reuniting with Leo

With a mischevious smile, Inga raised her thumb and began to enumerate the guests, lifting a finger for each: "You and your mysterious Shakespeare heroine; Mamma, Sonia, me; Henry Morris, professor of American Literature, NYU, knew Max a little, recovering after painful divorce from mad Mary. He's a wee bit stiff, but very smart. In fact, I like him a lot. We've had a date." Inga winked at Erik, then thrust up the thumb of her other hand to keep on counting: "My friend Leo Hertzberg..."

For a moment, I stopped paying attention to their conversation: Leo Hertzberg? So Leo is alive...

Inga continued:

"Yet another professor, but a retired one, from art history at Columbia, lives on Greene Street, sees poorly, but he's very interesting and extremely kind. I met him from my friend Lazlo Finkman. I've been reading Pascal to him every week for an hour or so, and then we have tea. His great sadness is that his only child, a boy, died when he was eleven. Matthew's drawings are all over the apartment."

Definitely the same Leo Hertzberg. How does Inga know Lazlo? And more importantly: Is Leo all right?

I rummaged through my purse for my smallest notebook, but realized that I was only doing so to calm myself down. There was no need to make a note of this. I would not forget it.

I haven't heard from Leo in years, and today I realized how worried I have been. I haven't tried to contact him, because I'm not crazy: I know Leo isn't real.

It might just be a novelist's greatest possible achievement: to create characters so believable that the reader desperately wants to call them to make sure they're ok and then to invite them over for wine and conversation. With What I Loved, where I first met Leo and his friends, and now with The Sorrows of an American, which makes me want to call Erik and tell him I'm lonely too, Siri Hustvedt does just that. She creates a complete, alternate world of her characters.

And so today I took a tram through Oslo and ended up in a loft in New York City, preparing for a party with Erik and his sister Inga. And my old friend Leo was on the guest list.

The first and fourth paragraph of this text were written by Siri Hustvedt in The Sorrows of an American. I have copied them, changed one word (Erik was originally I) and included them here to illustrate the experience of stepping into a novel's alternate reality.

Posted by Julie at 9:23 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Who will pay for free news? Link collection

After writing an article in Norwegian about the economics of online news, I have a collection of links. Some were directly quoted and included in the post with the article, some were just used for background information, and some have been provided in the comments to the blog version of the article. They're all interesting (in my opinion) contributions to the discussion of how journalism can survive economically if news is free.

Consider this list a constant work in progress...

English:

• The Atlantic (Michael Hirschorn): End times
• Editors' Weblog (Helena Deards): Time to change - is micro-payment the way forward?
• The Economist: Electronics books and newspapers - an iTunes moment?
• The Economist: Electronic book-readers - well read
• Fast Company (Kit Eaton): Should the New York Times ditch paper, distribute Kindle e-readers?
• Machinist/Salon: The Wall Street Journal's web site is already (secretly) free
• The Media Business (Robert G. Picard): The dead and the dying 
• Rough Type (Nicholas Carr): The writing is on the pay wall
• Silicon Alley Insider (Nicholas Carlson): Printing the NYT costs twice as much as sending every subscriber a free Kindle
• The Technium (Kevin Kelly): Better than free
• TIME (Walter Isaacson): How to save your newspaper

Norwegian:

Etter nyhetsreportasjen "Gratis nyheter har en pris" har jeg en samling linker til stoff om nettaviser, presseøkonomi, pressestøtte, avisdød og den generelle debatten om hvem som skal betale for at nyheter er gratis.

• Chaffeys Blogg (Paul Chaffey): Når alt blir gratis, får noen sparken
• Dagbladet (John Olav Egeland): Det store hamskiftet
• e24.no: Kokkvold vil ha krisepakke
• e24.no (Andreas Andersen): Papirkrise
• e24.no (Elin Ørjasæther): Journalister liker ikke internett
• Eiriks Forfatterblogg (Eirik Newth): Er gratis leseplater svaret på aviskrisa?
• Jazzcode (Carl Størmer): Aftenposten skriver om Kindle i dag
• Klassekampen (Bjørgulv Braanen): Avisdød
• NA24 (Are Slettan): Ikke støtt nettaviser
• NONA (Arne Krumsvik): Nye tider
• NRK Beta (Eirik Solheim): Alt blir gratis og noen får sparken
• Norwegian Affairs (Helge Øgrim): Egeland, Isaacson om medieøkonomi
• Teknisk Beta (Anders Brenna): Dagbladets Egeland tar feil, og DB.no vet det

Posted by Julie at 8:19 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 26, 2009

Love in a Headscarf

I usually don't enjoy what The Guardian calls chick lit. That stuff is better in the movies, where you can concentrate on the shoes and hair and bags when the storyline becomes too silly. But I might want to read Love in a Headscarf, Shelina Zahra Janmohamed's "chick-lit memoir of her arranged marriage" - just out of curiousity.

Some quotes from the comment thread of The Guardian's article:

What strikes me is the way she describes the process in purely material terms. She 'judges' potential husbands on their looks, time-keeping and financial generocity to herself. No mention of personality, interests or compatibility. Is that what it's about?

Bridget jones didn't claim to speak or represent each and every 30-year old who happened to be single
Nor does Shelina attempt to do the same for Muslim women. It's just a story of how she finds love - why is it that as a minority writer, she suddenly is expected to carry the burden of representing each and every muslim woman in the world?

Those Muslim women living in the West who are making a free choice to act publicly like second-class citizens (in relation to men) must accept that their actions and beliefs are profoundly threatening to Western women, who are still fighting a long battle not to be second-class citizens.

Posted by Julie at 11:07 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

February 25, 2009

Oh, come on!

Strangest news story I read this morning: the dilemma of selling lingerie in Saudi Arabia. I wouldn't like purchasing lingerie without fitting rooms, or measurements, size based on what a man thinks would fit me. And if I would be uncomfortable with that situation, I can barely imagine how women in Saudi Arabia must feel. This is the kind of news story that just makes me want to say to the whole society who made this bizarre situation possible: Oh come on! Pull yourselves together.

Photo: Ad for MarieJo Lingerie

Update March 27th: Global Post has more on this issue.

Posted by Julie at 9:21 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

February 10, 2009

General update

1. I have a new job as editor of the Opinion section of Oslostudenten, a monthly newspaper at my university college. The job includes being in charge of foreign correspondents. More on that later.

2. Starting May 4th, I have an internship at Teknisk Ukeblad. They're a weekly tech/IT/business/economics magazine, plus they have a website that doesn't annoy me. I'll be working both online and in print, and I'm looking forward to it.

3. I started taking French classes again. This means I'm spending a couple hours every Wednesday talking about current events with people twice my age. Basically nothing unusual, except it's in French.

4. I renewed my gym membership today. Go me!

5. I haven't slept a full night at night in 2009.

Posted by Julie at 10:58 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

January 31, 2009

"My problem is simple - I love food"

"Today I have been thinking about my thin friends and why they are thin. Three of them are thin because their husbands left them and they dropped weight likes stones into water.

I ask my husband if he will leave me for a while. He shakes his head. (...) Where does this leave me then?"

- Lucy Cavendish

"My problem is simple - I love food," writes Lucy Cavendish in The Observor. She tells her life story through her weight: An eight-year-old twice the size of her best friend becomes a thin 16-year-old, goes on the pill and gets hips, spends her university years getting fat on a diet of pizza, shrinks without noticing and then finds herself in Manhattan where no one eats and no one cooks, with a boyfriend who sees extra weight as a lack of self-control. They split up, and weight drops off her "like melting lard". And then she marries a man who loves to cook, and she writes paragraphs about the wonderful food they eat together. She is happy, but strangers assume she's pregnant, and her five-year-old asks her:  "Why do you have boobs on your back?" So she goes to Weight Watchers:

"I watch my husband put soft butter and crème fraîche into our mashed potatoes and it makes me want to cry. I see him ladle wine onto Dover sole and then add lashings of butter and I cry some more. I see him rub goose fat all over our roast potatoes and I want to shout "stop, stop, stop" in anguish.

This denial means I'm becoming very boring to live with. I don't want people to come round for dinner. I don't want evenings out in restaurants or lunches in pubs. My husband spends his life dolefully looking at the fridge."

Stories like this bore me, because I've heard so many of them before. And they scare me, because I've heard so many of them before. Friends who stop eating because they're too happy, friends who show up at my apartment with chocolate and potato chips because they're fighting with someone, friends who offer me a kilo of candy because I'm fighting with someone, the traditional box of post-break-up Ben&Jerry's, the chart one of my friends checks off when she remembers to eat, the no-carb no-fat (face it: no-food) diets followed by chips and dip and beer. From my fourteen-year-old sister's classmate who only eats apples to the guy who said to me on a first date at a Chinese restaurant: "Oh, so you're an eater? Cool!" - is the denial Lucy Cavendish describes really the normal way for women to live? When the Weight Watchers people are shocked that she's never been on a diet, is that because everyone actually is?

In October 2007, Jane Shilling wrote in The Times: "I thought it might help to set up a support group for British women who have a normal relationship with food. There must be a couple of you out there." I posted a long comment and thought: "Yes! Sign me up! I may not be British, but I'm feeling lonely over here. I'm sick of discussing my friends' thighs."

Now, as I read Lucy Cavendish's story, it's scary how much of it I can relate to. It's not like I can't tell my life story through food and body image too. The reason I don't is because it's personal. It's not in the part of my mind I let the whole world read.

That doesn't mean it isn't on my mind more than I would like.

My first friend in Paris, Brittany Zale, earned heroine status in my mind when she told me: "I'm going to spend a semester in Paris, and when I go back to the US, I will have gained weight. Anything else would be sad."

So we enjoyed three-course dinners with red wine and had macarons and champagne for lunch. I knew that this was my chance for fois gras, crème brûlée and croissants amandes for second breakfast.  When I returned to Norway in the summer, my mother said: "You gained weight in Paris didn't you? Or maybe I just lost weight." Annoyed, I retaliated by putting on a dress I had bought in high school, going to a party and indulging in chocolate cake and more champagne and red wine. (Picture)

Because I love food, and I don't want that to be a problem.

Posted by Julie at 2:15 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 30, 2009

Joyous playlist

During our last weeks in Paris, Julie and I listened to her "Joyous playlist" on her iPod as we walked back and forth between my basement apartment by Invalides and her host parents' apartment across the street from the Bonne Marchée.

Some people say I listen to depressing music. I once played Damien Rice's "O" at work, and my co-workers seemed worried. I don't think it's depressing. Unless of course, you have something to be depressed about.

So in case you need it, here's a joyous list of songs. It starts with one that will always remind me of sitting on a yoga mat at Invalides, eating strawberries before finals, being happy and knowing that everything is about to change.

Yelle - Amour du sol

The Ditty Bops - Wake up

Django Reinhardt - Minor swing

Jem - Finally woken

Ella Fitzgerald - You're the top (this video is a different version than the one I'm used to, with Nat King Cole and different lyrics)

Eels - Fresh feeling

Ed Harcourt - All of your days will be blessed

Posted by Julie at 9:17 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

January 13, 2009

You know you're writing a thesis if...

The following list is from the Facebook group "You know you're writing a thesis if...". This is the first time I've looked at an online list like this and been able to say yes to everything. I'm sure my parents, Per Ivar and Elisabeth will know what I mean. Remember Spring 2007? Thanks for everything.

- You spend 12 hours a day at the library.
- You keep a local coffee shop in business.
- You keep a local liquor store in business.
- Doing work for other classes feels like taking a break.
- Doing work for other classes feels like a complete distraction and waste of time.
- The Inter-Library Services people (probably) hate you.
- You’ve written eighty pages.
- You’ve written zero pages.
- You find yourself on Facebook instead of writing your thesis.
- You’ve considered dropping out of school, since you can’t graduate without it.
- You avoid your advisor like the plague.
- You see your advisor three times a week and generally camp outside their office.
- Your eyes no longer focus properly on what you’ve already written and you’re afraid you can no longer read English (or any other language your research is in).
- You have thirty+ books checked out from UT libraries. They're all stacked by your front door so you can easily grab them on your way to the library/coffee shop.
- You constantly stress about how you should be writing or reading more.
- You constantly stress about how you should be writing or reading something, anything at all.
- You’ve taken up smoking to have breaks from writing.
- You make Facebook groups as a form of procrastination.
- You do anything as a form of procrastination.
- Running away to another country has come to sound like a perfectly acceptable excuse not to write the damn thing.
- You dread people asking you what you’re writing your thesis about.
- You can spit out a perfect three-sentence summary of your thesis.
- You have to talk for fifteen minutes to explain the premise of your thesis.
- Finding time to do laundry is getting harder and harder.
- Everyone you encounter comments on how stressed you seem.
- You can answer every question in class as well as the professor (if the class involves your topic area).
- You look like a hobo/drag rat carrying four bags of books, articles, drafts, and a laptop to campus every day.
- You never leave your apartment because everything you need for your thesis is there.
- Everything you own or possess regarding your thesis is in a giant locker at the PCL.
- You’ve changed the premise of your thesis four times this month.
- You can’t remember what life was like before you started your thesis.
- You can’t imagine what life will be like after you finish your thesis.
- You haven’t seen your friends in weeks.
- You spend every night drinking with your friends in an attempt to forget about how you should be writing your thesis.
- Every subject, no matter how unrelated, makes you think of some aspect of your thesis.
- Your parents have no idea what you’re actually writing about.
- Your friends have no idea what you’re actually writing about.
- All you talk about with your other thesis-writing friends is how stressed you are about writing your thesis.
- You love what you’re writing about.
- You have come to hate what you’re writing about.
- You’re not sure what you’re writing about anymore, you just search for random articles involving very specific search terms.

After it's all over: You're terrified of going to grad school because you'd have to write another one!
OR
You don't hesitate to start grad school so you can recycle your thesis.

Posted by Julie at 11:44 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

January 12, 2009

Novels of 2008

Some novels I read and enjoyed in the past year - more info on each one later.

On Beauty by Zadie Smith

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo (read it here)

If On a Winter's Night a Traveller by Italo Calvino

Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

(Looking at the list, I'm struck by the authors' interesting names. I need to change mine, I think.)

Posted by Julie at 11:28 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

December 23, 2008

Blogging every day

I have tried to blog every single day this month. Partly because I love traditions, and this was a variation of counting down the days until Christmas. And partly to see if I could do it. I almost succeeded, although I was wrongfully accused of cheating once, and I actually cheated once. And I even got carried away and blogged too much.

My dad blogged every day in January. He wrote he was beginning to understand how journalists feel, but that blogging every day was very time-consuming. My problem was usually that having to blog something - anything - every 24 hours got in the way of writing longer, more complete posts. Ideally, I should blog often and well, but if I have to choose between the two, I would prefer to blog really well. Something interesting a few times a week, rather than rubbish twice a day. On days when I spend a lot of time online, it's easy to just link to something and add a short comment. But days away from my laptop are a nice change, and I don't think I should be encouraging myself to spend even more time online. And although I have no problem with publishing works in progress, sometimes I want to make sure I'm happy with something important, even if that means delaying for a day.

However, I have definitely gotten into a new rhythm. I can't promise anything - blog curse and all that - but after forcing myself to post once a day, I should be able to... no, can't tell you, or I won't do it. That's how the blog curse works.

Posted by Julie at 3:19 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 22, 2008

Christmas traditions

I have a very low threshold for calling something a tradition. If I've done it once and enjoyed it, I'm willing to call it a tradition. (Those lucky enough to know about Moose Cap Friday know exactly what I mean.) Some of my Christmas traditions:

• Avoiding all Christmas music until December 1st, and then hardly listening to anything else until the 24th. My family also enforced a strict December-only rule for Love Actually.
• Listening to The Roches' version of Winter Wonderland - listen to it here: The Roches - Winter Wonderland
• Inviting friends to my parents' house to make my favorite Christmas candy - a secret combination of chocolate, sugar, oats and rum - drink red wine and eat lasagne.
• Unwrapping my gift from Elisabeth before Christmas Eve and then having her rewrap it so I can open it again with my family.
• Not going to church on Christmas Eve, but hanging out at home with my dad instead. He stays home to watch Swedish cartoons, because that's his Christmas tradition.
• Eating cooked apples for Christmas Eve dinner. It's not like I can't peel, slice and boil apples any other day of the year, but I just don't.
• Escaping to my friends' house in Drammen a few days after Christmas Eve to be as un-Christmasy as possible. This is also the one time of year I will allow people to sing soccer (football) supporter songs in my presence.
• Calling friends in other time zones on New Year's Eve to say hello from last year/next year.
• Going to the movies with Aina on January 2nd (started back when there was always a LotR film to see at this time), and then staying up until 6 AM afterwards.

Posted by Julie at 3:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 20, 2008

Experiences of 2008

I finished the first semester of journalism school two days ago. I handed in my exam, and then I went to my old job and handed in my keys. Those thirty minutes gave me a wonderful feeling of finishing something and starting something potentially better. It was the feeling you're supposed to have on New Year's Eve. Sadly, there was no champagne.

I suppose this New Year's post should be posted on New Year's Eve, but really - who reads blogs at midnight on December 31st? And this way, if anyone wants to interpret the list below as a meme, they can.

2008 was not only the year I started journalism school, lived in Paris, visited Cambodia and Thailand and met a few people I hope I'll know forever. I did many things this year that I had never done before. 2008 was the year I first...

... swung by jungle vines

... actively celebrated International Senior Citizens' Day

... actively celebrated Moose Cap Friday

... got a full-body oil massage

... drank Fernet Branca

... drank sangria

... drank Coca-Cola

... happily referred to 10 square meters in a basement without a kitchen as "home"

... dated in French

... held a crocodile

... removed my bikini top at a public beach

... spoke words in Khmer

... interviewed two of the men I want to be when I grow up

... ran up and down the Champs Elysées singing along to an IPod

... ate frog

... moved to a city where I did not know a single person

... hid alcohol from grown-ups

... appreciated soup, tofu and veggie burgers

... slept in a mosquito net

... haggled over the price of paperbacks

... climbed 20 meters up a tree and jumped

... planted rice

... dipped my toes in the Seine

and more.

Posted by Julie at 7:53 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 19, 2008

When I was your age, we had paper

Yesterday I left my keys in what was once the office where I worked as a receptionist. The company is relocating, and I will probably never again set foot in that building where I spent about an hour per day on average - and where I admit, many of my best blog posts were written.

Not only does the specific job I once had literally not exist anymore - there is no desk in the reception, no kitchen for making coffee, no fridge full of soda to organize. But for the past week, I have been doing another job for this company, and I don't think anyone will be doing that kind of job by the time I have children.*

I can just picture it:

When I was your age, people used to store information on paper. Today we know how dangerous fire is, not to mention the dangers of misplacing things without being able to search for them. But way back then, in the basement of the office builidng where I worked, years of paper documents accumulated. Many of them started as computer documents, but because of this belief in the power of paper, people printed everything they thought they might some day like to read. That's right, they didn't like to use the computer for reading either. So even unfinished drafts of documents that might some day be important, were printed, read and then filed just in case anyone ever wanted to read them again. Many of these documents were not important at all, but you never know what might be useful, someday.

Then one day the company I worked for moved to a different office, and they decided they did not want to move all that paper. Suddenly, they realized that the basement full of paper was in fact completely useless to them. But even if they didn't want it, they didn't want anyone else to have it either. There might be interesting information somewhere in that basement, and just in case, it should all remain secret. So they decided it should all be shredded - that's how paper is deleted.

And that's how I earned money for Christmas presents, way back in 2008. I deleted things. I couldn't just click on the room and press shred. My job was to open all the metal and plastic folders, and take the paper out and put it in boxes. Then the boxes were moved to where the shredder was, and the folders were all thrown away. It took about a week.

Yes, for a week, this company paid a journalist to look through all their very important, very secret documents and then throw them away.

I was beginning to think that my prediction of the future office basement - without rows of filing cabinets - was too extreme. Today, while I was shopping with my younger sister, my theory was strengthened. She opened a plastic folder and struggled with the metal clasp on the inside. When I showed her how it worked, she said: "So, you just put the paper inside? Wow."

* And then I shudder. Yup, those words still scare me. I'm not quite a grown-up yet.

Posted by Julie at 7:36 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 15, 2008

Anne-Cath. Vestly

The first thing that happened to me today was that I found out that Anne-Cath. Vestly is dead. She was a Norwegian author of children's books. As far as my childhood was concerned, she was the only Norwegian author of children's books.

I grew up making way for ducklings, scared and fascinated by robbers, and best friends with Anne Shirley. I generally preferred my fiction to take me to someplace long ago and far away - there was enough realism in the real world.

Norway, my home country, was long ago and far away. Except for summer (vacation, so not real life) and my parents' memories (long ago, and they were grown-ups), it was far more distant than Prince Edward Island and the Boston Public Garden.

I can't think of any other Norwegian author who meant more to me. Because, even though I didn't think about this at the time, looking back, Vestly's fiction was a window into what growing up "back home" was like.

And I'm glad that I pictured Norway the way she did. I'm glad that in Norway, families with eight children lived in one-room apartments in Oslo and still took care of their mormor* who was afraid of taking the tram through town. And that a little girl who played the violin had no father and a mother who worked as a janitor in their apartment building. And that in the same apartment building, another little girl's father stayed at home studying and eventually defending his doctoral dissertation while her mother worked as a lawyer. Although she caused controversy, Vestly's books never seemed overly political. They just told the truth about how children live and think.

The week before Vestly died, I talked about her with my family. Just this Saturday, some of her characters came up in a conversation with my best friend. Today, friends are grieving for "the end of their childhood" in Facebook statuses. I know we'll all read her books to our children.

Links

• Wikipedia in English on Anne-Cath. Vestly
• Another English-language post about Anne-Cath. Vestly
• My dad's post about her, in Norwegian

Related posts

• Well, it's over
• Books I read too early
• Just read!
• Svar på boksspørsmål (my first blog post ever was about books, in Norwegian)

* Mormor = mother's mother, grandmother

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Exam time

Today is the first day of my three-day take-home exam for journalism school. Of course, today I want to write about everything but journalism, and my concentration has been absurdly bad. So I have decided that I won't blog today unless I do something more productive with my school work first.

This means that if I manage to upload anything substantial before midnight, you can all be proud of me. If not, well, wish me luck.

In other news: My coffee machine has been fixed.

(Photo from May 2007, writing my bachelor thesis. The photo was taken on a good day, unlike this one.)

Related posts:

• Tragic
• Fritid!?!?!
• This can only mean one thing...

Posted by Julie at 7:43 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 10, 2008

"We love learning. We hate school."

Excerpts from the text to go with the video, A vision of students today by Mark Hanson:

One of the most thoughtful and engaged students I have ever met recently confronted a professor about the nuances of some questions on a multiple choice exam. The professor politely explained to the student that he was “overthinking” the questions. What kind of environment is this in which “overthinking” is a problem?

How did institutions designed for learning become so widely hated by people who love learning?

Texting, web-surfing, and iPods are just new versions of passing notes in class, reading novels under the desk, and surreptitiously listening to Walkmans. They are not the problem. They are just the new forms in which we see it. Fortunately, they allow us to see the problem in a new way, and more clearly than ever, if we are willing to pay attention to what they are really saying.

While most of our classrooms were built under the assumption that information is scarce and hard to find, nearly the entire body of human knowledge now flows through and around these rooms in one form or another, ready to be accessed by laptops, cellphones, and iPods. In short, they tell us that our walls no longer mark the boundaries of our classrooms.

And that’s what has been wrong all along. Some time ago we started taking our walls too seriously – not just the walls of our classrooms, but also the metaphorical walls that we have constructed around our “subjects,” “disciplines,” and “courses."

I wish I couldn't relate to this, but I can. When school doesn't command my full attention, my mind wanders - sometimes so far that I miss information from my teachers that I should have gotten. As I wrote here, "I have this theory that if my brain isn't busy enough, it will start searching for something to do." Maybe it's a sign of the times, maybe it's just me. And yes, many students don't concentrate because they can't be bothered. And many students don't work unless the teacher constantly controls them and watches them, and this controlling involves the lazy students actually showing up for class. But these students don't belong in college at all.

I know that I can learn so much more with an Internet connection, a library card and permission to cut class than I can if I go to school every day. If teachers have to force their students to show up to lectures, isn't that a sign that what's happening in the classroom is less than interesting? It's time for a change.

Posted by Julie at 4:51 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 9, 2008

Window shopping

You may have pennies in your pocket and not a prospect in the world, and only the corner of a leaky bedroom to go home to; but in your new clothes, you can stand on a street corner, indulging in a private daydream of yourself as Marlene Dietrich. - George Orwell, 1937

There is something to be said for retail therapy. It does not work in the long term, but pretty things have an immediate calming effect.

The one time I actually bought something on a retail therapy shopping trip, it was my one (!) pair of painful shoes, and it was after a disastrous macro economics exam. They made my feet bleed, but they're still shiny and low-cut and go with everything (silver and gold goes with everything!)

The safest and most enjoyable window shopping is after the shops close. I recommend Avenue Montaigne at night. But browser-window shopping is more convenient, and still safe if you keep your credit card in another room. And so... some fashion links.

• Exactitudes is fascinating. Ari Versluis and Ellie Uyttenbroek have taken on-the-street style photography a step further by collecting photos of people who dress alike. They've given each photo collection, or tribe, a name. And Norwegian D2 asks in this article's title: "What tribe do you belong to?" In 1999, I looked kind of like these girls. My braces had just come off, but I had the pony-tail and the dark, fitted, denim jacket. In 2008, I was a girl living in the seventh - literally a member of the filles du septieme tribe. I guess I did look like these girls - on a bad day. That came out kind of harsh. What I mean is, if two Dutch photographers had stopped me on the street while I was wearing jeans, an open cardigan, a plain top and minimal accessories and make-up, it would be the result of an early-morning class rather than a conscious style choice.

 

• What? More of this stuff? Scarf debating continues. Now it's "keffiyahs" or what everyone I know calls palestinaskjerf. And if they really are back (I gave up on following scarf trends a while ago) then maybe that does deserve some debating. My youngest sister - 14 years old - has two of these, and I don't think she knows what they stand for. At any rate, when I told her, she said: "Well, it's fashion." I realize that symbols change over time, but I think this one is still quite obvious, and that kids who wear them should think about what their clothes are saying. Right?

 

• Lean times and hemlines - Yet another attempt at combining fashion and finance into an article everyone will want to read. I liked this one though. Guardian fashion editor Jess Cartner-Morley looks at fashion and finance history and shows how the connections between them are not always simple. As they say at Some like it fashion, future fashion commentators will describe what we happen to be wearing these days as recession style, whether that makes sense or not. So we might as well decide what that recession style will be. By the way, the Guardian is pretty good at writing fashion articles that are actually interesting, like this one about high heels.

 

• 17-year-old Laura in Costa Rica has a list of 37 things to love, made with Polyvore. Pointless? Yes. Time-consuming? Yes. Fun? Yes. Which reminds me...

 

• Clipping to Polyvore is an excellent way to indulge in retail therapy without spending money.

In addition to recommending D2 and The Guardian Fashion here are the style blogs I subscribe to right now:

• The Glamorous Librarian
• The Sartorialist
• The Thoughtful Dresser
• The Sunday Best
• The Cherry Blossom Girl
• The Clothes Horse
• Jak & Jil Blog
• Garance Doré

Posted by Julie at 12:44 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 8, 2008

Tragic

My espresso machine didn't work this morning.

If you know me at all, you know what that means. In case you don't:

Last time a coffee machine didn't work in my kitchen, I called my parents in a panic, waking them up at what apparently was too early in the morning (too lazy to take care of me in a caffeine crisis!). I completely forgot the existence both of a French press on one of my kitchen shelves and of coffee shops on my way to work. They haven't let me forget that incident, bringing it up whenever they need to prove how high maintenance I am. To be fair (to myself) that coffee machine EXPLODED. No, seriously, it was scary. Suddenly all other appliances in my kitchen switched off and I had hot water and random coffee machine parts all over my kitchen counter.

However, I didn't love that machine. I love this one. When I told friends that I was suddenly moving to Paris about a year ago, they said: "But... your coffee machine..." as if they were saying "... your child..."

And this morning, a morning which for a long list of reasons was not a good one to begin with, I turned on my coffee machine, ground my coffee, flipped the switch and this happened:

Nothing.

Of course I'm only posting this in the hope that once I have, I will wake up tomorrow to a perfectly happy, obedient, working coffee machine. I will realize that nothing is wrong, that it was all my mistake, and that this whole entry is an embarrassment. But I will gladly humiliate myself online for good coffee.

In the meantime, I'm glad I have friends in high places. High places that repair espresso machines.

And just to prove how obvious my love of coffee is, as I write this, my friend Brittany in Washington D.C. posts this photo on my Facebook wall, with the message "This was in the nyt and i automatically thought of you, of course.":

Posted by Julie at 10:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 7, 2008

Christmas Wish List 2008

• dangly earrings
• olive green Simone Perele lingerie
• any of the PostSecret books
• fancy stockings in general
• Mary Kay Satin Hands
• Zoom H2 Sound Recorder
• Sentimento 50 cl glasses from Hadeland
• Clinique Long Last Soft Shine lipstick in Sugared Maple
• tickets to things, like maybe the Opera
• cash in general
• a flight to the States. I need Boston

Oppdatering 8. desember: Siden Qvakk først har tatt opp temaet i kommentarfeltet, linker jeg til...

• ADRA med et hint om at Keep Girls Safe-prosjektet fortjener støtte.
• Amnesty International med et hint om at fast medlemskap gir organisasjonen bedre og mer stabil hjelp enn støtte en gang i året (Jeg er medlem - det bør du også være.)

Ønskelister er imidlertid noe jeg lager for folk som vil gi gaver av den tradisjonelle materielle sorten og som ikke vet hva de da bør gi meg.

Posted by Julie at 11:47 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

December 2, 2008

Nothing is off the record

When everyone is a blogger, nothing you say is off the record. A New York-based Belgian blogger and bartender served a politician, got some information and blogged about it. And then she got fired.

News like this starts complicated internal debates about media ethics in my head, but there is no time for a lengthy discussion right now. When I'm doing journalism for school or any publication that isn't my own blog, these rules apply. Blogging however, is not the same thing as journalism. We do not yet have a common set of rules for what is off the record in blogging. We do have common sense (at least the writers worth reading do).

I think of my blog as a snapshot of the part of my mind I allow people to read. And I think the internet is just like real life. And in real life, when you're talking to strangers, you can't really expect things to be off the record.

Off the record is the exception to the general rule. That's why people promise to keep peoples' secrets - doctors don't talk about their patients, friends don't talk about their friends, employees don't give away their companies' secrets, and I've been asked not to blog about things. How many times have you started a conversation with "This is not a secret. Tell someone else if you want."

And like I wrote here, this isn't new. Information is spread faster and further now, but the same principles apply: don't do stupid stuff, and if you must, don't tell strangers about it. Especially if you're a politician. Because - even within "real" journalism - the public has a right to know.

P.S. If I ever open a bar for journalists, I'll call it "Off the Record". What happens there, stays there.

Posted by Julie at 10:27 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

December 1, 2008

December!!!

December 1st marks a turning point every year. Before this date, anyone who gives me Christmas candy becomes an instant enemy, I have black coffee weeks rather than buy milk in Christmas-themed cartons, and if I hear a Christmas song, I panic. It's more than just a protest against Christmas products for sale in October - any Christmasy feeling at the wrong time of year must be avoided at all costs.

My first winter in Norway gave me such an intense Christmasy feeling that no other December can ever compete with it. For the first time I could remember, everyone around me was celebrating Christmas in the same traditional Norwegian way. No one wished me Happy Holidays or made me decorate a paper holiday tree. Instead we sang actual religious songs in class, counted down the days of December before school started and spent most of class time preparing for our end of semester Christmas show. And Christmas was gloriously, definitely white, not "green" which really means gray and brown.

These days, we prepare for exams instead of singing for our parents. And if I use up my Christmasy feeling in mid-October, when it starts to feel cold and drunk people start singing Christmas carols at me when I walk home, then there won't be any left by the time I'm falling asleep over my text books and worrying about having time to buy - let alone affording - Christmas gifts in mid-December.

Starting today, I feel Christmasy without any guilt. Let's hope it lasts.

Posted by Julie at 8:37 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

November 23, 2008

Middlesex

I read Middlesex earlier this fall, and now I think the author Jeffrey Eugenides could tell me any kind of story and I would love it. I won't go into detail when it comes to plot. The Amazon review basically sums up my own thoughts on the book - including the sadness I felt when it was almost over. So here is an excerpt.

Desdemona had found Lefty on our kitchen floor, lying next to his overturned coffee cup. She knelt beside him and pressed her ear to his chest. When she heard no heartbeat, she cried out his name. Her wail echoed off the kitchen's hard surfaces: the toaster, the oven, the refrigerator. Finally she collapsed against his chest. In the silence that followed, however, Desdemona felt a strange emotion rising inside her. It spread in the space between her panic and grief. It was like a gas inflating her. Soon her eyes snapped open as she recognized the emotion: it was happiness. Tears were running down her face, she was already berating God for taking her husband from her, but on the other side of these proper emotions was an altogether improper relief. This was it: the worst thing. For the first time in her life my grandmother had nothing to worry about.

Emotions, in my experience, aren't covered in single words. I don't believe in "sadness", "joy," or "regret." Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, "the happiness that attends disaster." Or: "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as for "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I've entered the story, I need them more than ever. I can't just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. From here on in, everything I'll tell you is colored by subjective experience of being part of events.

From Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides, (pages 216-217 in the 2003 Bloomsbury paperback edition)

Posted by Julie at 12:44 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

November 16, 2008

BuyAnotherCupYouCheapskate

The Dutch Coffee Company café doesn't charge for WiFi, but changes its network name into OrderAnotherCoffeeAlready, BuyAnotherCupYouCheapskate, BuyCoffeeForCuteGirlOverThere? etc.

I would definitely prefer that to the Paris system of disconnecting me after 20 minutes.

Via Freakonomics, Adrants and CyrusFarivar.

 

 

 

Related blog posts

• Coffee without a price tag (Part 1)
• Coffee without a price tag (Part 2)
• Must... have... internet... access
• Coffee in Paris 

Posted by Julie at 12:32 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

November 12, 2008

Blogging SO 2004, according to WIRED

How do you make bloggers write about you and link to you? You do like WIRED: tell them that blogging is a waste of time and that they should stop.

Norwegian free magazine Spirit predicted the death of blogging way back in October 2005. Back then, podcasting was the new way to communicate. I argued that this is like saying books are over because of books-on-tape.

People read, even if they also listen to the radio and watch television. I believe this is true both online and off. And I believe that Twitter, Facebook and blogging are three very different ways of communicating, and that you don't have to choose one over the other.

This got me thinking about why and how I blog these days, and whether this will change as I write more for actual publications.

Posted by Julie at 4:17 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

November 8, 2008

Now what?

The election is over. As John Scalzi writes, I finally have my brain back.

The short film I worked on two weeks ago starts with my character having a monologue about the upcoming election: "Seriously, when the US election is over, I don't know what I'm going to talk about or even think about. I have become an election geek. My day hasn't started until I've checked the polls and read every article I can find. I've been late for school because I was reading about the election online." Her voice is gradually drowned out by En Vogue and Salt'n'Pepa's "What a Man" as the main character's love interest enters the scene in slow motion (no, seriously). Thing is, that monologue wasn't in the script. I just started talking and that's what came out of my mouth.

I'm not as bad as the people in this video from The Onion. I wasn't obsessed with the candidates, just the election. The way it all works, all the geekiness behind the politics. Ok, so maybe that's actually worse.

Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are

Posted by Julie at 12:25 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

November 7, 2008

I write like a man

Apparently, this blog was written by a man. The Gender Analyzer thinks so, at least. This site uses a text analyzer to determine who is behind blogs. I tested my  "Julie in English" category, as well as a few single posts. The result was the same every time: I blog like a man.

The Gender Analyzer only guesses the writer's gender correctly 55% of the time, according to their own poll of people who have used the Analyzer. Even so, I'm really curious as to how the gender is guessed. I mean, my blog is written by a woman, but the domain name belongs to a man, and I've quoted and linked to a lot of men. Even so, I can't understand why my "European bitch" essay about American fashion sense was so very male - thanks to the excerpt from Sarah Turnbull's book, that post was written by two women! Perhaps there is something to Anna's theory in the comments of this post - but if communicating like a guy means I don't say "five minutes" when I mean 45, and I don't say "Nothing's wrong" when I mean "It's all your fault.", then fine. (Really, FINE, and by that I don't mean "shut up").

Posted by Julie at 4:01 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 16, 2008

American politics translated

As requested by Julie Balise, here is a pretty direct translation of my article explaining American electoral sociology to Norwegian readers. Until she succeeds at learning Norwegian through Facebook, I promise to blog in English as much as possible.

 

This article was published in Argument 3-2008. It is based on a midterm exam in the subject "American Presidential Elections". The exam question was: "Who will win the Democratic primary elections in Ohio and Texas - and why?" I predicted the results - that's how predictable American politics can be.

I took a break from studying for my midterm in "American Presidential Elections" to read the Norwegian newspaper Aftenposten. Their website about the American elections was depressing: rumors about Obama using cocaine, and Obama's wife described as the sexiest woman in American politics. Fortunately Aftenposten writes good articles about the elections too, but they don't write much about the candidates' politics. It's not Aftenposten's fault if Norwegians get the idea that American presidential elections are all about rumors, polls, support from the right people, dramatic media coverage, scandal and only the vaguest of political statements. That's the way it is.

The study of American elections involves as much statistics, media studies and sociology as it does political science. Scholars predict election results based on average age and average income in states. This is called "electoral sociology". Norwegian media publish humorous articles on the typical SV (Socialist Left) or Høyre (Right) voter, but this kind of knowledge is essential for the study of American politics. Some demographic "laws" have turned out to be myths. (For example, it's not true that Latin Americans always vote for Hillary Clinton.) Politicians still pay specialists to tell them which groups of people support them and where these people live. Add changes in constituencies and varying election rules from state to state and party to party, and commenting politics in the US turns out to be all about numbers.

Every vote counts

According to Steven Ekovich, professor in Political Science and History at The American University of Paris, Americans choose a President according to these criteria: The individual candidate's personality is the most important, party identification comes second, and political views and issues are third. For Ekovich, who describes himself as a "poll junkie", no day is complete without the newest polls, election results and political commentary. But every vote counts, whether it comes from a political expert or someone who votes by gut feeling and tradition. And most voters in the US belong to the second category.

The importance of personality is not surprising, given the President's political and symbolic power. It explains how important it is for Americans what Obama's pastor thinks, and how common it is for candidates' families to become public figures. American presidents are not just elected representatives; they are symbols of the American people.

Voting like their parents

Isn't party identification an expression of political views? Not necessarily. The ideological differences are not as clear in American politics as they are in European politics. Both the major parties are on the right, and the differences between representatives within each party can be just as important as the differences between the parties. Both the Republican and the Democratic Party are coalitions of local parties and state parties with varying views. Presidential candidates should not provoke the different factions of their own party, and this explains how vague the candidates often are about where they really stand. Because of this, identification with one or the other party is often a result of tradition and demographics.

Over a third of Americans are independents. In other words, they are not party members. Even so, almost all identify with either the Democrats or the Republicans, long before they are old enough to vote. Most vote like their parents. American election scholars talk about "red states" and "blue states", where one party always wins. With only two effective parties, switching to another party is far more dramatic than it is if there are more parties - it means you're going over to "the other side".

Demographic laws

Identification with individual candidates is obviously not as stable as party identification. You can be born into a Democratic family, but you're not born knowing who Barack Obama is. Even so, there's a lot of electoral sociology within parties.

In this year's primary elections there are only minor political differences between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. But political views do not decide the election. Style, personality and image do. Here the candidates differ, and this determines who will vote for them.

In general, women, those over 65, those with low income, and people without college degrees, vote for Hillory Clinton rather than Barack Obama. This group has been called "Clinton's coalition". Obama also has a coalition: black, college-educated, rich, but liberal (as in not conservative), and independent. With one exception - Nevada - Obama has won all caucuses.

Between February 5th (Super Tuesday) and March 4th (primary elections in Ohio and Texas), Obama won all primary elections. The media used the word "momentum". Momentum happens when it looks like you're about to win. The more Obama won, the more likely it was that he would win even more. In a political system where there is only one winner - the opposite of our own proportional representation system - cheering for the winner is a good option. Some commentators wrote that talking about momentum was exaggeration - until the primary election in Wisconsin. After Wisconsin, articles where written with headlines like "It's Over" - many people believed Clinton was finished unless she won Ohio and Texas.

Predictable in Ohio and Texas

Wisconsin broke the demographic rules. Women, Americans without college educations, and members of the Democratic party voted for Obama. Among the groups where Obama usually finds support, he was even further ahead of Clinton than before.

The results in Ohio and Texas were no surprise, however. Clinton won Ohio by more than 10 percentage points. In Texas, where primaries are held both by primary and caucus, the results are complicated. Clinton got 50.9% of the votes, against Obama's 47.7%. He still won 99 delegates, while she only won 94.

Demographically Ohio is a Clinton state. Compared to the US as a whole, Ohio is older and poorer, with a lower percentage of women and people with college educations. Obama's coalition is not strong in Ohio. However, there are a lot of students in Ohio, and young voters tend to support Obama. On the other hand, young voters tend to vote less. The rules for the primary in Ohio meant that many Ohio citizens had already voted when Obama won Wisconsin, weakening the impact of momentum. Ohio voted by primary, not caucus, which is also good for Clinton.

Texas was less certain, and the result itself turned out to be uncertain. Compared to the US as a whole, Texas has a lower percentage of white people and black people, and far more Latin Americans. One demographic "law" which has turned out to be a myth, is that Latin Americans vote for Clinton. Texas did well under Bill Clinton, and Clinton has strong ties to Texas, particularly among Latin Americans. On the other hand, even though there are fewer black people in Texas than in the US in general, the percentage is twice as high as in Wisconsin. Demographically Texas is similar to California (which Clinton won by 8 percentage points), but with a larger black population.

The voting rules in Texas are complicated, but they worked to Obama's advantage. The delegates were selected both through primary and caucus. Extra delegates were given to areas with a previous record of high voter turnout. These are the areas where Obama's traditional supporters live. Clinton's Latin American supporters generally live in areas without extra delegates. So Clinton could get more votes, even though Obama "won".

Texas is a Republican state. In Texas the wealthy and educated whites - who would have supported Obama - probably don't vote in the Democratic primary at all. And it will be almost impossible for the Democrats to win Texas in the actual presidential election. Ohio is one of the few states where the choice between a Democratic or a Republican candidate could go either way.

New rules?

Obama has mobilized new voters. He is popular among the young, but he has also gotten older Americans who have never voted before, to register as voters for the first time. That means he has changed the demographics of American voters. The old rules don't necessarily apply. When Americans choose their President, many of these new voters might not vote at all if voting for Obama is not an option.

"To draw a new political map, you need to believe that the demographics have changed," says Ekovich. "Obama does." This is one of the most important differences between him and Clinton. In other words: even when you describe the candidates' political views, you're talking about demographics.

Posted by Julie at 1:04 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

October 13, 2008

In an alternate universe, I'm American

"I was so nearly an American," writes Stephen Fry. So was I, as everyone knows. Stephen has an American alter-ego he calls Steve. Steve is confident to the point of rudeness, eats jelly, wears jeans and calls his mother "Mom." I can pronounce Julie in English or in Norwegian. The idea of an alternate life - a Julie who moved to the US at age four and never went back to Norway - is fascinating. Whenever I speak American English with real Americans, or find myself saying "we" and meaning "all Americans", I wonder who I could have been.

I've lived two incomplete lives - I was an American child without a future and a Norwegian teenager without a past.

It sounds dramatic, but I thought this idea for the first time when I was still an overly dramatic American little girl. "Julie can be a bit over-dramatic sometimes," my kindergarten teacher wrote on my first report card. I didn't care about report cards. I had an active imagination, and people who didn't play along with the story line in my head, annoyed me. Every now and then, I would go to school and introduce myself as someone completely different - a princess, a witch, my own older sister. I spent at least an hour reading alone in my room every day. No one (except my sister who wasn't allowed in my room during "quiet time") seemed to think this was a problem. I had plenty of friends and prominent positions in several "secret" playground clubs. I was the girl who got the lead in school plays. I took writing classes and acting classes after school, and my short stories were five times as long as the other students'. I was bad at math - I got the answers right, but I was too slow. I didn't care what my friends wore to school, as long as my own outfit was just the way I wanted it to be. I preferred dresses, but my mom made me wear sneakers to school, and sneakers with dresses was a fashion crime to me, so I started wearing jeans. I was a Girl Scout, which meant crafts and sleeping over in the Science Museum. Because I was Norwegian, I couldn't eat candy except for Saturdays, my parents didn't want me to watch TV as much as I wanted to, and I got the day off on May 17th. And I knew I was going to move away from everything and everyone soon.

This American girl didn't grow up. Some time between age ten and eleven, she stopped existing. When I turned 13, I was a Norwegian teenager. I studied my classmates' back pockets and learned that there were at most three acceptable brands of jeans in the world. I was thrilled when fashions changed and wearing skirts was finally "allowed". I was the girl with "too many opinions", the girl with the best grades in the class, serious, professional - elected into the student government every year, despite never running for office. I was really good at math. I still didn't care about report cards, but I worried about seeming like a nerd. I was a walking dictionary, but I didn't know the words to children's songs. I got lost in places where my classmates had grown up. My friends had a shared childhood which I couldn't remember.

At the start of ninth grade, I came back from a summer in the US, with layers in my hair, an unknown brand of jeans and "power bead" bracelets on my wrists. I had gotten a glimpse of American high school, and I desperately wished I knew which clique I should have been in. I didn't fit in at my small town Norwegian school, but I wasn't an outsider either. Because I had grown up in the US, there was a convenient excuse whenever I stepped outside the line. My clothes weren't European designer brands, but they were American. I didn't drink alcohol, but I organized Halloween parties and brought candy corn to class. Of course I was "good at school" - I got a head start by being bilingual. I was never going to do drugs, because that might make it difficult to move back to the US some day. My classmates seemed to accept these excuses. I did too. I had a single explanation for every difficult teenage emotion: I don't really belong here.

As I write this, I'm wearing clothes from France, Sweden and Spain, and shoes from Germany. I'm listening to Swedish music. In Fake Plastic France - the American student community in Paris - I was so European. I didn't wear flip flops, I didn't go running and I would never drink soda with food. I casually paid a small fortune for underwear. I didn't know what beer pong was, and I preferred wine anyway. In journalism class, I argued against the public's right to know the names and addresses of crime suspects, but I impressed my teacher by knowing about Rawls' veil of ignorance. I joked that I wished there were no other Norwegian girls at the American University of Paris. Being the only one would have given me another convenient excuse for weirdness. 

But I know that I'm not me because I'm European or because I'm American or because I'm both. I like my Swedish indie pop, French lingerie, Italian coffee, and American television because my friends do. People don't belong in places. People belong with people. As a Norwegian girl, I've met people who are so important to me I can't imagine a life without them. Dreaming of an alternate reality in which these people don't exist to me, actually hurts. But I still do.

I wonder if over-dramatic Julie would have gotten in to Harvard. If she would have followed American dating rules - if those rules even exist. If she would have been more confident, more ambitious, more naive than me. If she would have had an easier life, a more interesting life. She would have known what to vote in elections. She would have longed for Freia milk chocolate rather than Ben&Jerry's cookie dough ice cream. Her classmates wouldn't have held her responsible when the US went to war. She would idolize Norway, because she only saw it in summer. Her relationship with her grandparents would be uncomplicated, but distant. She wouldn't ski, but she would ride a bike. It would take her longer to learn that race and culture are not uncomplicated outside of elementary school classrooms. She might have worried about being too average rather than too much of an individual.

Moving away from a friend is the least painful way to lose one, and having grown up in the same place as your classmates doesn't mean you'll never be lonely. American Julie might have learned that before I did. But she would have missed out on most of my friendships. It's hard to imagine anything in her alternate reality life making up for that.

For Julie Balise, probably the closest I'll ever get to meeting my American adult self.

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September 7, 2008

This week

Sunday morning. I have a wheaten terrier sleeping with her feet in my lap, and luxury pesto for breakfast. (Both a direct result of a visit to my parents yesterday). My plans for the day: a walk in the woods with my dog and my best friend, and hopefully skyping with another close friend this evening. Life can be so quietly fantastic sometimes.

 

This week...

I watched
Jonas Gahr Støre speaking to students about the UN. Støre is the Norwegian Minister of Foreign Affairs. For International Studies students at the University of Oslo, having a thing for this guy is as required as passing exams and handing in papers on time.
Steven Fry talking about the internet
A video on how men should hug - Glad I'm not a guy.

I read
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami (started between Thailand and Cambodia, almost finished now)
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (read the first hundred pages while waiting in line with other Jonas fans - ahead of almost all of them actually)
Hjorthen's example of how statistics can be misinterpreted (in Norwegian)
Futurese - how will we speak English in 1000 years?
Linda Grant on the two populations of the United States
The Clothes Horse on missing friends

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July 24, 2008

Dressed for anything

Anyone who knows Norwegian culture, knows that the social norms are very different in the woods and mountains than they are in the cities. Norwegian skiers and hikers greet and even smalltalk with strangers, but this will never happen on an Oslo street (unless the Norwegians are drunk). The rules of fashion vary too. One of my first blog posts ever was about the "hytte look". After spending a weekend in the woods with my new college class, I wrote about the way Norwegians dress when they head up to mountain cottages. There is an unspoken rule that even if the only "hiking" you do is walking for half an hour on an asphalt road, you should still put on your "hiking outfit" (Like this or this or this, or maybe something like this). 

After a semester with Americans in Paris, and recently entertaining an American Eurail tourist for a long weekend, I've had some interesting Europe vs. US fashion conversations. During one of these conversations, I realized that when Norwegians leave Oslo and head up into the woods, they become Americans - friendly, but badly dressed.

Despite the many "dress like a European" tips in American travel books and websites (an example), I can usually spot the Americans on any European city street. Not only are travellers in general easily recognizable with their philosophy of "in order to be ready for anything on this trip, I must always dress as if I were about to climb Mount Everest, even if I'm just walking down a Norwegian street".  But as my American backpacker friend explained, they don't want to overdress, because then it looks like they care too much.

"So I should make an effort to dress down so that Americans won't think I'm making an effort?" I ask. Maybe I'm too much of a European city girl, but to me, that doesn't make sense. 

There are sensible rules for what to wear in more or less extreme conditions. But often the most important reason for wearing hiking clothes or “travelling” clothes is to show the others that you are above such silly things as fashion, that all you care about is practical matters, and that you are now leaving your superficial, fashion-conscious city life behind and returning to nature. And we all know that high-tech windproof jackets are much more natural than, say, cashmere sweaters.

Coco Chanel once said: "I don't understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little - if only out of politeness. And then, you never know, maybe that's the day she has a date with destiny. And it's best to be as pretty as possible for destiny." When I think of dressing so that I'm ready for anything, I have something more Chanel-ish in mind. She also said: "Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it is not luxury." So I never buy anything uncomfortable, and that includes never buying anything I think is ugly.

I've wanted to read a chapter of Almost French to both this backpacker and many of the other people who think I "try too hard". Almost French is a highly recommended book about an Australian girl who visits a man (Frédéric) in Paris, and decides to stay with him there. Continue reading for a short version of this chapter, which explains the Paris approach to dressing.

Perhaps my most revealing lesson in French dress standards occurs one Saturday morning soon after moving to Paris. Rushing to the bakery to get a baguette and croissants, I chuck on an old, shapeless jumper and my warmup pants, which I'd rediscovered at the bottom of a wardrobe when we were packing up our place at Levallois. Catching sight of me, Frédéric looks appalled.

"Warmup pants?" He's never seen me wearing them before.

"What's wrong with that? I'm only going to the bakery."

There is a second's pause. Frédéric's eyes implore me. Finally, he manages to speak.

"But it's not nice for the baker!"

(...)

Paris fashion is not about blindly following trends irrespective of whether or not they suit your body shape. It's no coincidence that movements like punk and grunge never really took off here. How unattractive. The French don't dress to make political statements. (...) The essence of French style can be summed up in two words, which linked together are loaded with meaning: bon goût. Good taste.

(...)

It isn't until I interview the fashion designer Inès de la Fressange that I truly understand Frédéric's abhorrence of warmup pants.

(...)

"Do you find that it's, you know, an effort trying to look good all the time?"

(...)

"To stay the whole day neat and impeccable is much more comfortable than looking like you're in your pajamas. You see, these women with tight leggings and huge sweaters, they imagine that because they are a little round it's better if they wear something big. But they just look worse. It is much more comfortable to wear a jacket that is well cut in a nice fabric than it is to look awful."

She pronounces the last word "offal". And suddenly it's quite clear to me that I have spent a good part of my life looking offal. Fifteen minutes with Inès and I've mentally chucked out all my baggy sweaters for those nights in front of the telly. (...) Never wear shorts in Paris, they're only for tourists, she declares. I cringe, recalling how I'd arrived at the airport for that first summer holiday wearing shorts. What was I thinking? "When it's very 'ot, it's better to wear long pants in linen or cotton. You would feel more 'appy, and we would feel more 'appy too." 

And there it is - the explanation for Frédéric's pathological aversion to warmup pants. The simple statement that instantly elucidates why in hotel rooms he'll remove any paintings from the wall that don't meet his approval. (...) "They're ugly. I didn't feel well." (...) He can't help it, you see. The thing is, the French are highly sensitive to aesthetics. Anything unattractive - even something as insignificant as an underdressed tourist - can make them uncomfortable. It spoils the lovely scenery. They become irritable. Unwell, as Frédéric put it.

(...)

Catch me on a good day and I can look soignée and stylish. But on a bad day, racing through the streets with wild hair and flying laces, I must leave a trail of "unwell" Parisians in my wake.

Excerpt from Almost French by Sarah Turnbull

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July 3, 2008

Summer in Oslo, part two: Tourist attractions

Three favorite tourist attractions in Oslo:

1. The Norwegian Folk Museum. I work there because it's a great museum. And since I work there, it's a great museum. This is an open-air history museum - the world's oldest actually. It's basically a collection of historical buildings from different regions in Norway, complete with real Norwegian guides in real Norwegian national costumes (bunad is the Norwegian word). Of course I kind of have to put my steady summer job (I've lost count of how long I've been working there) on this list, but I seriously think this is the one museum you should go to, if you only have time (or cash) for one. After a few hours here, you will have experienced Norway on so many levels. There's a church from the 1200s and several grassy-roofed farmhouses from the 1600s, but you can also see a Norwegian student apartment from the 1980s and a Pakistani-Norwegian apartment from the 2000s. And about half of the visitors to this museum are Norwegians - it's not a tourist trap, it's something Oslo-people enjoy doing every summer. Take the 30 bus to Folkemuseet, and while you're in the area, you can check out the Viking Ships and Kon Tiki, if you have time/money/interest.

2. Vigelandsparken/Frognerparken. This park by Majorstuen metro station goes by two names. Technically, the first refers to the sculpture park by Gustav Vigeland, also known as "the park with all the naked statues", and the second is the rest of the area. Again, this is a good chance to do the touristy things that real Oslo people actually do. As far as I know, Vigelandsparken is a unique art experience. Frognerparken includes a swimming pool, and plenty of those sun-craving, beer-drinking Norwegians I mentioned earlier. Oh, and this is free!

3. The Opera House Sure, you could see an opera or a ballet here. But the building itself is a tourist attraction. It's brand new, it's right by the main train station, and you can walk on the roof and have a picnic there - but you can't drink alcohol or roller-skate. Here's a three-minute video of the whole building process.

See also:

• Summer in Oslo (part one)

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June 29, 2008

Summer in Oslo

This post is obviously for Peter and for Craig.

Here are four things you need to know about Oslo, especially if you're a student visiting this summer.

1. Whether you are arriving by boat or train (including airport express train ) your very first impression of Oslo is not likely to be amazing. It will get better. With the exception of the new Opera House, get out of that central train station/lower half of Karl Johan street area fast. Go east, west, north, south - it will be a step up from this no matter what.

2. Norwegians never get enough sun. If it's a sunny day, parks will be filled with people getting as much of it as they can. Norwegians believe that being indoors on a sunny day is sinful. I'm sure 80% of the summer activities Oslo-dwellers will recommend happen outdoors, about half of them are variations on the drinking-beer-in-a-park activity. See rule number 3.

3. Alcohol in Norway is tricky. Because of taxes and regulations, it will be more expensive than you are used to, and harder to find. This is not really a problem if you get used to it. Actually, this is really annoying. Beer can be bought in grocery stores until 8 PM on weekdays and 6 PM on Saturdays. Wine and spirits must be bought at "Vinmonopolet" (literally, The Wine Monopoly), the one "chain" of stores allowed to sell this. These stores usually close at 6 PM on weekdays and around 3 on Saturdays. And you can't buy anything on Sunday, of course. Bars don't follow these rules, but they will be more expensive than you are used to. Again, get away from Karl Johan, or think like a Norwegian and drink grocery store beer in a park. This is technically not legal, but no one cares as long as you're not being a nuisance.*

4. Norwegians do not eat out much. Although you'll probably find every kind of coffee shop, sandwich place and restaurant in Oslo, the Norwegian way to eat is to have breakfast and dinner at home and bring sandwiches wrapped in paper to work/school. Many Norwegians have turned their coffee to-go into a morning ritual, but paying someone to prepare their food for them is a special treat. So if you're on a budget, you can't afford to not visit grocery stores. (If you do need a quick ready-made meal, there are 7-Eleven and DeliDeLuca everywhere.)

Now you know the basics. I'll be back with more tips - my favorite tourist attractions and places to get coffee/beer/food.

* I'm sure some readers are rolling their eyes at how much space I'm giving this alcohol issue. But if you're a student from a country where you're used to just buying a bottle of wine whenever for whatever price you feel like paying, and you're arriving in Oslo at 2 PM on a Saturday, you'll be glad you read this.

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May 5, 2008

May in Paris

Since we have so little time left in this city, each day should be "miraculous", according to Julie*. Finals? What finals?

Miraculous things to do in Paris on a long weekend:

• Eat as many meals as possible outside.
• Drink wine with all meals except breakfast (a baguette and some strawberries is a meal btw)
• Make an effort to trick tourists into thinking that all Parisian girls are cute and friendly. Pose for photos in the park, wave at boats on the Seine and give up your park bench to people whose French is worse than your own(!).
• Listen to musicals that take place in Paris (Les Miserables, Moulin Rouge etc). Sing along. In public.
• Visit the Orangerie to see Monet's water lilies. Get yelled at for being too loudly happy about it.
• Dip your toes into the Seine and think about how disgusting - and embarrassing - it would be to fall in.
• Go to Showcase, a club conveniently located under the Alexander bridge, to hear a band called - of course - The Parisians. Try to avoid getting your feet squashed by the group's biggest (literally) and most enthusiastically jumping fan in the front row.
• Spend Saturday night watching a movie with a friend rather than going out - you know you're "at home" when that feels acceptable.
• Waste time in the Tuilleries.
• Live on a diet of dessert, fruit and wine - and maybe some "fake chicken" at a vegetarian restaurant in the Marais.
• Walk. The Paris metro is great, but why charge your Navigo Decouverte when walking lets you waste time and get sunburned?

Soundtrack for all these miracles:  

The Legionnaire's Lament, by The Decemberists

* According to this Julie, and also according to Julie Balise

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April 29, 2008

Pashminas

Another important message: Apparently, pashminas are back. Only they are to be worn wrapped once around your neck, and then dangling in front of you. In other words, exactly the way I have been wearing them for years. Alert the press, people, scarves should now be worn as scarves.

The last time there was a new scarf trend, it was the "Mette Marit look", named after my country's crown princess. Amazingly, she tied scarves around her neck, like in the picture on the right. Unbelievable. Despite the fact that people have been keeping their necks warm in this very way since the beginning of time, it was renamed after her. Children of anti-monarchy parents were no longer allowed to wear their scarves in this way. Seriously, they were told to go back and refashion their Palestina scarves before leaving the house.

So, just for the record, I would like to have stated, publicly, exactly which political statements I am making when I wrap my pashminas around my neck. I do not support the blond in the picture (I think she could be anyone basically.) And I have not just bought a gray scarf because I read in a press release that scarves should be "greige, foie gras or slate". I wear my pashminas as a protest against sore throat. And to show my support of color coordination.

Update, April 27th 2008: I am setting fashion trends again, along with every other normal person. Nice to know that I am super-fashionable without even trying.

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April 26, 2008

Testing...

I am testing Windows Live Writer. If this works, blogging without a stable Internet connection will be possible. But I actually started this post to tell you that I am not planning on blogging that much this month. It is my last month in Paris, the weather gods seem to have come to their senses after my rant, and I would like to spend my time doing things that do not require me to be inside near a source of electricity.

Right now for example, I wouldn't mind being on the Champ de Mars with my classmates, after having said "Yes please!" to supposedly "Italian" vodka smoothies and Czech beer, rather than: "No thank you, I need to write this afternoon." AUP just had "world's fair", where the nationalities of the school are represented with tables of food and alcohol. I have had coffee from Saudi Arabia and food from Thailand, Sweden, the USA, Romania and Armenia for lunch. And now I'm back in a very much deserted university library, sitting by an open window and hearing birds chirp in the courtyard outside. I am writing a paper on Joseph Nye. And you know what? I'm really enjoying the day, even though I'm stuck inside. And if I get some work done now, I will reward myself by spending the evening on the steps in front of Sacre Cæur.

I will be leaving Paris on the morning of Thursday, May 22nd.

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April 14, 2008

Rant of the day: Parisian weather

Update, a few hours after this was written: After reading your comments, I have learned that this weird weather is happening all over Europe. Maybe I should just be thankful that I am experiencing it in Paris of all places. Whatever, I needed to write a rant today. If it wasn't the weather, it would have been the schoolchildren in front of me in line at the boulangerie. And that would have been meaner of me.

In Zadie Smith's On Beauty (recommended by the way), an Englishman who lives in New England reflects on how delusional New Englanders are about weather. He is annoyed by the way they say things like: "Oh, England. It's cold there, right?". Because let's face it: New England is cold. In the summer, it is humid and hot and uncomfortable unless you are under water. But in all the months when you want it to be warm, it really isn't. I practically live in the Arctic, but I have never been tipped over by the wind (as in standing still and then falling, only because the wind is blowing) in my home country. No, that only happened to me in Arlington, Massachusetts.

I would like to expand on this character's theory: All people, except Scandinavians, are delusional about the weather. I've been compiling lists in my mind ever since I got to Paris: things I miss when I'm here, things I will miss when I go back, and things I definitely WILL NOT miss when I go back. And it does not make sense at all that Parisian weather is on the last list. Norway is supposed to be cold and miserable, right? Norwegians are supposed to be able to handle any weather, right? Guess not, because I am not handling this weather well.

Today for example, I put on sunglasses as I left my apartment. As I walked out of my courtyard, the Parisian weather gods saw me, saw the smile on my face and decided that I was just too happy. Enter HAIL. When was the last time it hailed in Oslo?

Yes, it's cold up north. But it is predictably cold. I walked outside in a tank top, eating ice cream, last Thursday.  The following Sunday, IT SNOWED. No wonder I keep getting sick. And no wonder Parisians are fashion-conscious - in order to dress for the weather, they need to change three times a day.

And now that I am inside, in class, it's not raining. The forces of nature are against me.

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