July 27, 2008

I'm off to Asia!

My trip to Cambodia and Thailand will begin in one hour. I will be more or less offline for the next three weeks.

 

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July 08, 2008

Pia Haraldsens feil

Bikinien min matchet forsiden. I ettertid matchet huden min rammen på forsiden.Min Facebook status: Julie er solbrent (og skylder på Pia Haraldsen.)

Hvorfor? Jeg leste hele boken til Pia Haraldsen mens jeg lå på en flytebrygge utenfor Malmøya. Det tok ikke veldig lang tid å komme gjennom den boken, men lang nok tid til at jeg burde hatt mer/sterkere solkrem. Bikinien min matchet forsiden. I ettertid matchet huden min rammen på forsiden.

Ja, men hvorfor gjorde du DET da? Pia Haraldsens bok var årsak til en liten slåsskamp diskusjon ved en middag hos familien min for noen måneder siden. Min far og jeg hadde begge lest om den i Morgenbladet, og vi var skeptiske. Min mor og en av mine søstre forsvarte boken. Ingen av oss hadde lest den på dette tidspunktet, men da den viste seg å være i mine foreldres hus da jeg besøkte dem på en fridag, måtte jeg bare finne ut hvem av oss som hadde rett.

Og hvem hadde rett? Vel...

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May 05, 2008

Way back when...

Way back when I did not blog, Dad apparently blogged about me.

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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 06, 2008

Since you asked: A collection of answers

So, you thought I was going to answer every question in its own post? Sorry, that is not possible - do you want me to get stressed?* Here are some answers to some of your questions:

-What was your favorite book at age thirteen?
I know I'm not being terribly original, but it was The Lord of the Rings.

-How old were you the first time you had a crush on someone?
It's a question of definition, really. Because you think: “Oh, so this is what it's like to have a crush on someone.” And then a little while later: “No, wait, this is more intense. This is what it feels like. Last time was nothing.” And then: “No, no. This is the real thing.” And then eventually “crush” is not a strong enough word. So I could say 11. Or 12. Or 13.

-Which of the following does not fit in, and why? A: A Bear B: Rune Gerhardsen C: NSB
Interesting. I should think up a really good response to this, but not right now.

-Which sexual fetish do you find to be the least attractive?
I am sure that no matter what I suggest, the least attractive one will be something I have not yet heard of. And I don't really want to start that conversation in my comments.

-Which Tori Amos album do you consider to be the best?
Technically, I only have two whole albums: The Beekeeper and American Doll Posse, and they are so different that they can barely be compared. It really depends on my mood.  The Beekeeper got some pretty bad reviews for being “safe”, “the kind of music you listen to while doing the dishes” and “Tori Amos for people who don't really like Tori Amos”. I think it's beautiful, although I get those points. But I do listen to safe, pretty music while I do the dishes. American Doll Posse is more of a rock album, I guess, less just Tori and her piano(s). I also have the best-of album that came out before these two. It's called Tales of a Librarian. I would say that these are three favorite songs, in no particular order: “Sleeps with butterflies” from The Beekeeper, “A sorta fairy-tale” from Scarlett's Walk and “Bouncing off clouds” from American Doll Posse. I cannot believe that I, of all people, am officially writing about music now.

-White wine or red wine?
Usually, red. Having red wine with white wine food annoys me less than the opposite situation. This is probably because I have grown up with a father who will drink red wine with shrimp, which is officially considered disgusting. In my opinion, a good red wine is better than a good white wine. However, a not-so-good white wine is better than a not-so-good red wine. And given my tendency to spill, white is safer.

*By the way, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this article. It's hard to tell how serious it actually is, and if the news peg is two recent deaths, it should be serious. 

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March 20, 2008

Home

I'm not sure what it was. A couple of sunny days in a row always helps my mood. Maybe it was the five different people who asked me for directions in both English and French in fifteen minutes - and the fact that I had answers for all of them. Or how happy I was to see my American friends when they got back from spring break, and how much I had missed them - each one specifically and individually for different reasons. When my mom and then friends of my friends visited Paris, I could point out interesting things for them to see. I have a favorite bench on L'Esplanade des Invalides, and I have internet access there. I understand enough French to eavesdrop on conversations. And - this might just be my imagination - but sometimes I can pass people on the street.

For whatever reason, as I rode the escalator out of the Invalides metro station on Sunday afternoon, with a view of the Eiffel tower, the golden dome under which Napoleon is, and my own building, I felt like I was home. I live in Paris.

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March 11, 2008

Being a tourist in one's own city

After my week "back home in Oslo", I went "back home to Paris", and my mother visited me for a few days. My parents usually don't enjoy touristy things, and they have brought me up to dislike them too. With my family, visiting a foreign country involves getting back in touch with whatever friends we have who are currently living there, and following them around while they go to school and go grocery shopping. Naturally, the original plan was for my mom to follow me around and observe my daily life in Paris, but since there are no classes, most of my friends are travelling Europe, and watching me blog from the library gets old, we gave in to tourism instead. 

I realized that I was never a tourist in this city. From the moment I got off the bus that took me from Charles de Guelle to Avenue Bosquet, I have been either busy or tired from having been busy. Not counting the pictures for the coffee shop reviews, I've taken maybe seven photographs, most of them really bad ones. So, nearly two months after first arriving in Paris, I opened a guide book. I read what travel writers have to say about my new home. I posed for photos in the classrooms, at the Louvre, inside Le Bon Marché, in front of Hôtel de Ville, and with the Eiffel Tower in the background at various times of day and night. I chose cafés based on which authors used to sit there. I got up early and walked in the rain to an outdoor market, just because it's more interesting than getting groceries at an actual store.

And I realized that there is no reason not to continue living like this. 

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March 10, 2008

These past couple weeks (an update halfway through spring break)

For spring break, my friends in Paris all wanted to travel the world, but I could only think of one place I wanted to go: home. And home is definitely Oslo. I wasn't sure it was - until I left it. Don't get me wrong: I love Paris, I'm very glad I decided to stay here, and I'm happy. But I think I really needed a week in my own city. And it was a great week. Halfway through, I was annoyed at myself for not staying for longer than a week, but on the other hand, the fact that my time was limited made me very efficient. There are a few people I unfortunately didn't get to see, but for the most part, I think my time was spent in the best way possible. I was never alone, and never bored. I visited most of my favorite places, including Café Sara, Bare Jazz, Åpent Bakeri, Underwater Pub, the university, and many of my friends' apartments. I hosted a party, made a mess in my kitchen, studied in the social studies building, stayed up all night when I shouldn't have (over and over again) - all the things I usually do. The week was like a condensed version of what my life in Oslo is like. And leaving was easier this time - not just because I knew what to expect when I landed in Paris, but because I knew that Oslo and my life there was doing ok without me, and that it will all be there when I get back.

For the next week, I will be more or less alone in Paris, with a lot of deadlines. So there will probably be some blogging. In the meantime, some recommendations:

These past two weeks... 

I listened to

I read

I watched

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February 21, 2008

Gode nyheter...

... hvis du bor i Oslo og savner meg: Jeg er i Oslo den første uken i mars. Det vil si at jeg reiser tilbake til Paris tidlig, tidlig om morgenen fredag den 7. mars.

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February 15, 2008

Reality checks

Internet in my apartment room has been off these past couple of days. Perhaps this was a good thing, as it stopped me writing a rant about my cold/pain from getting wisdom teeth/fever/missed deadlines/inability to find decent, healthy food/overdose of croissants, baguettes and quiches. Seriously, I'm in Paris, and I'm happy to be here. But to be honest, my thoughts are alternating between "Oh, wow, I'm in Paris, I can see the Eiffel tower!" and "Why did I leave my friends, family and coffee machine?" at the moment.

Also, I'm trying not to spend all my money at once. Paris is a fantastic place to spend money. There are so many restaurants/boulangeries/lingerie boutiques/department stores/movie theaters/clubs/museums/bars that I could make exploring, shopping, eating and drinking a full-time job. In fact, I did manage to make it at least a part-time job by writing coffee shop reviews for the school newspaper. I'm usually overly careful with money, but I've been a little bit worried that going on a four month vacation - as in not working while being in a new and interesting place - will ruin every single one of my good habits.

So I'm glad I got a double reality check from John Scalzi. First I read his "Unasked-For Advice to New Writers About Money". After the jump are the tips from the article and its comments that I should be repeating every day while I'm here. Then I reread "Being Poor is Knowing Exactly How Much Everything Costs" to remind myself how great my life is. 

Fashion is the enemy of personal economics.

 

It’s insane for a poor person to routinely pay other people to cook and serve them food.

 

You are likely to be surprised at how many things it turns out you don’t really need if you have to wait to get them, and can actually see the mass o’ cash you’re laying out for ‘em.

 

When you do buy something, buy the best you can afford. Cheap crap sucks.

 

Save your money.

 

I like my coffee. I like electricity more.

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February 12, 2008

Passing strangers

During my first month in Paris, at an American university, (waiting for money from Norway), I have thought about what culture I really feel that I represent here. I am European because I drink wine without getting drunk, feel comfortable in heels and fishnets, and know that there is a price difference when someone calls my French number when I'm in France vs. if I go to Italy. I am Norwegian because I know that neither a croissant nor a baguette is real bread, think all drinks in Paris are cheap and arrive at parties wearing boots and woolen socks and carrying indoor party shoes. I am American because I sound like one and use "we" when I talk about the US.

The ultimate test might be how I handle passing strangers.

Paris is not designed to cope with this situation at all. I have this theory: There are too many Parisians in Paris. The metro basically works, as do the wide boulevards (although not near Galleries Lafayette) and even parts of the Champs Elyssée (although not on weekends). But the charming narrow cobble-stoned streets and the sidewalks on any street were not built for actual people who really need to walk from point A to point B. They were built for chairs and café tables, for smoking waiters, for signs advertizing the "formule" of the day, for slow-walkers who take their time choosing which boulangerie they should buy their morning croissant from, and of course, for small dogs.

Oslo wasn't designed for people either, but this doesn't matter. First off, there aren't that many people in Norway. Secondly, Norwegians don't like interacting with strangers. This fear is hard to explain to Americans. What Americans call "friendly small-talk", Norwegians call "crazy/drunk/American/all of the above stalker tendencies". Norwegians back off when I come anywhere near an invasion of their personal space, which means they get out of my way. French people on the other hand, will not notice that I am standing right behind them. To get past them, I must either yell: "Pardon!" or just walk around them, in the actual street. If I meet someone face-to-face, the general rule seems to be that I must wait while they walk first, no matter what. Americans on the other hand, say "Excuse me," even if they are nowhere near me, just in case. They also smile more.

The last time I went to the US, the first thing that happened when I got there, was that a stranger talked to me and smiled at me and it didn't feel weird. I knew I was home. When I came back to Europe, the first thing that happened was that a stranger ran over my feet with a loaded luggage cart and didn't apologize. And I knew I was home again.

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January 24, 2008

So, how is school?

Here's the answer to the number one question everyone is asking me these days: 

I go to French class in the mornings, Monday through Thursday. The class is small, and we were all tested to make sure we're on the same level. The course includes vocabulary and grammar, but so far, we've basically just talked a lot - which is good. On Mondays and Thursdays I take classes in economics and politics, including a class on the upcoming American presidential elections.

On Wednesday nights (until 9:30 PM!) I have journalism class. Somehow I ended up in a course that requires students to already have taken a journalism class, and well, I haven't. But halfway through the first day, I was having too much fun to really notice. I bought a journalism textbook last semester on impulse, and I'm glad I did. Otherwise, words like "spin" would have confused me. The teacher is a reporter, and he expects us to bring the International Herald Tribune to every class. In fact, that newspaper is required reading, so I need to look into getting a subscription. For next week, I already have three assignments: a press release about myself, a 250 word article on "AUP: Mac or PC?" and an idea for a feature about some press-related topic. The teacher asked if there were any Scandinavians in class, because he wanted someone to write about the press in a Scandinavian country, so I have a pretty clear idea of the topic for my feature already. And I just found out that writing for the AUP newspaper The Planet will give me extra credit in the class, and I was thinking of doing that anyway. I suppose the danger here is that I spend all my time writing, and no time reading for other classes.

AUP is a small university - 1000 undergrads and 17 students per full-time faculty member. I haven't been in classes this size since elementary school. Compared to U of O, there is less required reading, but more strongly recommended reading, including articles handed out in class, websites we're expected to check, and a general understanding that we all follow the news like "news junkies" (plus check the polls for the US primaries regularly). Unlike in the Norwegian system, the final exam is just one of several tests, and class participation counts. I plan to check out the library tomorrow or maybe tonight after class, since I don't like studying at home. If I don't like studying in the library either, there's always LaSource, the closest café, where they have free wireless and waiters who recognize me already. 

 

Image via Heidi. 

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January 21, 2008

General update part 1

This is the first day of school for me here at the American University of Paris. Orientation week is over, which means that real life is starting. I have an apartment  a tiny room ten minutes from school. It's like living on a campus, except it's better. I mean, it's Paris. You know those American movies set in Paris where the Eiffel tower is in the background in every single scene? That is real. I can see the Eiffel tower all the time, which means that my life is a movie now.

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January 14, 2008

Blogging from Paris

I'm not dead. I have recent Facebook activity after all. But there have been complaints about this blog not being updated, and to that criticism, I would like to say: Thanks for noticing - thanks for reading! I have been really busy, and my mind has been on personal things not fit to be put on my blog. When I tell people this in real life, they ask if its serious. No, I'm definitely OK, but since the last time I blogged, I have more or less finished my bachelor's degree, celebrated Christmas, packed all my belongings into either suitcases or my attic, said good-bye to friends and family and moved to Paris.

I know I said I wasn't going to do that, but it suddenly worked out. And although the pain of leaving people behind really makes me realize what a wonderful life I lead in Oslo, I am (so far) glad that I am here. And I will keep you posted.

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November 26, 2007

Svart uke - en oppdatering

I følge Elisabeth er det nå julemelk i butikken. Det vil si melkekartonger med julemotiv på. Siden jeg er politisk motstander av julefeiring før første desember (som nevnt kan man oppnevne seg selv til politisk motstander av alt man bare ikke liker når man studerer samfunnsvitenskap), kan jeg ikke kjøpe melk denne uken. Kaffemaskinen min får altså en svart uke - ingen cappuccino, cortado eller macciato før advent.

Svart uke er et begrep jeg har fra Tim Wendelboe, og nei, det er ikke så emo som det høres ut. Når dette er siste uke før eksamen, og det nettopp er blitt avgjort at jeg ikke skal flytte til Paris likevel, men at jeg faktisk ikke helt vet hva jeg skal gjøre etter jul, er det likevel en viss fare for at det ikke bare er kaffen min som virker svart. Jeg trøster meg selv med at jeg nå i hvert fall kan delta på dette.

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November 18, 2007

Random facts and thoughts

This post is a response to this post. As an alternative to writing “Seven odd facts about me”, I am commenting on seven odd facts about my friend. And being the self-centered person I am, I'm saying a lot about myself at the same time. This is also an exercise on how much I can write about nothing, so if you don't feel like reading a lot about nothing, don't.


  1. You have an exceptional sense of smell; my sense of smell (pardon the pun) really stinks. This is perfect. As long as I stay close to you at all times forever, you can be my sense of smell. I was a little thrown by the comment about someone you like having a funky smell. You would have told me, right? Someone would have told me? Fortunately, my self esteem is great. Someone said to me a few hours ago: “Oh, so that's why you have no sense of competition. You know you're better than everyone else.” Well, it actually sounded much nicer when he said it. Anyway, my self-esteem is good, and I have already decided that there is no way I will ever take any hints from your blog at all (unless they're the good kind). And also, the good thing about having enemies is that they tell you exactly what's wrong with you. I've heard that I'm self-centered (yeah, I know), boring, weird, nerdy, bad at picking shoes (that one hurt), but never funky-smelling. In fact, strangers tell me the opposite, and that (for future reference) is a compliment I really love to receive, since I actually do wonder about this. I wonder if deaf people obsess about how their voices sound.

  2. You don't chew gum or eat licorice. Thank you for being sane. Especially the gum thing. Licorice tastes bad, but gum is bad. It's evil. One of my sad “I guess grown-ups make mistakes too” experiences from my early teens was when I scraped gum off the bottom of desks from the Norwegian School of Management. These were not the desks of the freshmen undergrads, they were the desks of the MBA students. Adults who have been through years of business school, then started their careers, then returned for even more school, and they still stick their gum under their desks. See what this foul stuff does to people and their respect for school property? Sad. By the way, I have no idea why I was scraping this gum off. I know my dad teaches these disgusting people, but I don't know what their desks were doing on our porch. I'm guessing we were using them as extra tables for a garden party. I must have been pretty enthusiastic about that party. (If you become an MIT lab rat, I can go to the Kennedy School of Government or Boston University Journalism, and I won't have to miss you.)

  3. You like skirts better than pants. Well, duh. So do I in general, although I do love my Jeans. There are plenty of random anecdotes I could tell you involving skirts or jeans, but I'll tell you the latest one: Last week, in the elevator at work, a guy from some other office in the building looked at my legs for a long time and then said: “Aren't you cold in that skirt...?” I told him I wasn't – in Norwegian, so I suppose my reply could be translated as anything from: “You see, what with my hand-knitted wool socks and gigantic shapeless woolen sweater, I'm OK, thanks.” to “Actually, I think it's getting hot in here.” I don't know how he interpreted it, but it wasn't the first option. I fled. Don't worry, I wasn't scared, just kind of shocked. Maybe I should write a list of weird elevator experiences (like the list of weird customer experiences at my last job) and mass e-mail it on my last day. I would include the adorable Japanese gentleman (old man adorable, not cute guy adorable) who insisted on opening all the doors for me as I left work, even though that meant I had to wait for him next to the doors, as he was walking really slowly – almost limping.

  4. Your hands are sensitive to heat. Now, listen and learn: First you buy coffee. If at all possible, get it in a real cup. This can be done. Even if you're doing take-away, as long as you promise to come back with the cup. I think it's kind of like getting your coffee upgraded to large without paying extra. If there's a girl behind the counter, send a guy to get you coffee. If there's a guy behind the counter, you can charm him yourself. If that doesn't work, ask for a larger paper cup than the size of your drink requires. If that doesn't work, get two napkins and wrap them around the paper cup. Also, it's a law of nature that if you're carrying two napkins, you won't spill anything. This is a variation of the law that means it won't rain if I'm wearing rain boots (notice how it worked in Bergen?)

  5. You have a scar on your left hip. I must have seen this, but I can't remember. My only scar is a finger-nail-shaped one on my left hand. It's from a fight with my sister. I don't remember exactly when I got it, but I do remember looking at the wound and thinking: “That won't scar.” But it did. I think it's very fitting that she's the only one to have left that kind of mark on me.

  6. Your first musical love was Belle & Sebastian. The first CD I bought for myself (or chose and had a parent pay for, possibly) was the soundtrack to The Phantom of the Opera – the original musical. I was ten, and I LOVED that CD. I think my introduction to popular music (for my own generation, not my dad's music) was TLC at about the same age. A girl in my class who had older sisters listened to that. In elementary school, it was the usual stuff (Spice Girls, No Doubt and Jewel are artists I remember buying albums from at that time). I didn't really listen to music for a few years after that. I went to a middle school where Destiny's Child was considered weird and alternative, so my options were limited. I wish Pandora had existed back then. Or that I had met you sooner.

  7. You grew up in a house where the radio was always on, and now you can't stand background noise. I grew up in a house without music. Not that it was silent – I get my ability to go on and on and on about the most random subjects from my parents. My dad has some stuff he likes, but my mom dislikes the concept of background music, and she's not really a fan of anything in particular. I like background noise (and studying on campus). What gets to me is repeated sounds. Ringing phones that no one answers are bad. Worse is people repeating short messages over and over, like yelling someone's name in the exact same tone again and again and again. Oh and whining voices. Some pop songs (think Fergie) manage to combine all of these annoyances.

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October 15, 2007

"The problem is not your thighs, sweetie; it's your head. Now about the shoes..."

Read this first. Notice how I am being told to shut up. Notice how in the comments I am encouraged to blog anyway. So I am.

Disclaimer: It is possible to read this as a critique of the post I just linked to, or as criticism of the writer Sjokoladepiken for even posting that post. This is not my intention at all. This is a general comment about something that has been on my mind off and on for years.

And then, perfectly in tune with my own blogging schedule, Dollymix links to an article by Jane Shilling about women and food. She admits that she has never dieted and writes: “I’ve been feeling awfully lonely lately, and 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.”

Being a girl with a lot of friends who are girls, I have had hundreds of conversations about food and dieting, not to mention thousands of conversations about disliking one's thighs and knees and feet and seriously, there is not a body part out there that no one has issues about. I usually don't contribute much to these conversations. Firstly, while I do have some issues, I have a lot of other things on my mind, and I find many of these things more interesting than my own legs. Secondly, if there is something about my appearance that I'm really uncomfortable with for whatever reason, I don't want to draw attention to it by constantly pointing it out to everyone. Thirdly, if I think through all the different aspects of my appearance, I really think that I'm happy about more things than I am unhappy about.

This means I can sometimes come off as insensitive, dull, stuck-up and maybe in denial about my own looks. Friends will tell me they feel fat, and when I don't manage to repeat the expected phrase (“Me too”? “No, you are SO skinny”? What's my line again?) they think I'm weird (or they tell me to shut up). So here's what I really want to say in these situations: If you are a close friend of mine, and this is really important to you, listening and sympathising is in my job description as “friend”. But if you are someone I don't know that well, my reaction will probably not make you feel better.

Because this isn't subject matter that I want to discuss with every girl I talk to. I don't believe that this is or should be a topic of conversation that unites all girls. Notice how Sjokoladepiken tagged her post commenting on The Calorie Quiz under “girliness”. This isn't a reflection on her personally, or even specifically, because many people think like this. I just find it interesting that counting calories falls into the same category as peep-toe stilettos, lacy pink bras and bright red lipstick. It all fits into “stuff you might find in Cosmo”, but why? Shilling writes: “(B)ecause body image is implicated with fashion, media and other commercial interests, including the vastly lucrative diet-and-treatment industry, the “madness” continues to be treated as an idiosyncratic indulgence, like a taste for couture frocks or expensive facials.”

While I'm not going to go into the whole “Women's Interests” debate, I will say: Lipstick, lingerie and shoes are fun, light-hearted conversation topics, which I am comfortable discussing with any girl who wants to (and any guy who feels offended that I just wrote “girl” and not “person”). Dieting and self-esteem issues are serious topics that for some people cause a lot of emotional distress. Counting calories is not a harmless hobby. Feeling ugly on a regular basis is not a good thing. Liking your own body, not because it's perfect, but because it's your own, is something all women should do. We should not be ashamed of this. We should not feel abnormal if we're not dieting, considering plastic surgery or hating the way we look.

Studies show that women are more upset about the aspects of our appearance that we believe we can change ourselves (hair, skin and of course weight) than the things we believe to be completely out of our hands (height, shoe size). It appears that the guilty feeling of not having done a good job is worse than the actual “feeling ugly” part. So a natural first step to happiness is to accept that, without surgery, there is a lot about appearance that you can't do a thing about. It's not your fault, so stop feeling bad, and there is no advice that will help, so stop asking. Second step is to get it through your head that your issues are in your head. That I like the way I look has to do with my attitude, not my dress size. I know this because while my dress size hasn't changed in years, the way I feel when I look in the mirror changes depending on my mood. Third step is to stick to normal, healthy habits. No diets, no resolutions you'll break within a week. Shilling's miracle diet regime, the one that has kept her in the same size from her late teens to her late forties, is this:

"Step 1. Eat three proper meals a day, made from fresh ingredients. Eat nothing else in between. You are not hungry. You are bored. Go for a walk or have a glass of water. While you’re at it, think about people who are properly hungry and feel ashamed. 2. At mealtimes, stop eating when you are full. We’re not on the ration now, it is fine not to finish your plateful. 3. Walk briskly around the park in your lunch hour (or walk to work, or walk the dog after work, or whatever). Take the family with you and save the money the gym would have cost you to go out for supper and a movie. Er, that’s it. Now, please can I have my own telly series?”

Just as cupcate writes on Dollymix, we're all different, and we should have (healthy) snacks if we're hungry between meals. However, what Shilling is trying to say is that most of us don't need diets or miracles or to know exactly how many calories we're eating. We just need to establish some healthy habits and stick to them.

Let's get into the habit of having healthy conversations.

 

 

The title of this post is a line Carrie says to Charlotte in "Sex and the City"

 

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September 13, 2007

Think before you act

This week I received an e-mail from the student government telling me that someone had contacted them, wanting me to remove something from my blog. 

I was curious and a little nervous at first, and then vaguely annoyed when I found out what it was all about: someone wanted me to remove a comment because of (in this person's own words) "a pathetic attempt to remove myself from the internet." There was nothing incriminating in the comment - the only thing a reader would find out about the commentor was that he/she liked my blog without knowing me personally.

Although this incident was really minor, I suppose it does set a precedent for how I should handle this kind of stuff in the future. And I must admit that my gut feeling was annoyance. Commenting a blog is like talking to the blogger in real life. Once you've said something to someone, you can't really unsay it. You can tell them to stop telling other people that you said it, which I guess is what this person did to me. You can insist on getting credit for your brilliant thoughts. But if you regret having said something in real life, then, well, that's life.

I feel like I'm constantly telling people this to no avail, but (drum roll) the internet is just like real life. Facebook doesn't change who your friends are, cruelty is still cruelty, and once you've said something, it's out there. Both literally, because of internet tools like Bloglines and web.archive.org (see comments to this post), but also in peoples' minds. Once someone knows that you went to that party, or that you agree with that political blogger, no amount of de-tagging or comment-deleting will save you.

The obvious solution is to think before you act. I've discussed this with friends who claim that there is a difference between how you are expected to act in private and how you are expected to act in public, and that no one has the right to force anyone else to mix the two. This is sort of true. I agree that no one has the right to upload drunken photos of you, but I still believe that the easiest solution to this problem is to avoid passing out in your own vomit when there are cameras in the room. That, and only getting drunk with people you actually trust. And if you think about it, in the good old days before the internet, people still managed to know all the weekend gossip by lunch on Monday anyway. People in China didn't find out, but did you really care what people in China knew about your drunkenness? And do you really care now? 

And all this whining about potential employers googling you? What are people really afraid of? I can just picture it: "You know, this woman has an excellent education, interesting work experience and great recomendations, but she used to write comments on a fashion blog, so she's clearly not serious enough for this company." or "I hear that when this man was in his early twenties, he used to go out with his college friends and (gasp!) drink beer! We couldn't possibly hire someone like that." Or maybe: "I know she's really qualified for the job, and she's beautiful too by the way, but in this one photo I found on Facebook, she was having a really bad hair day."

However, if you insist, I guess I'll humor you. I have now removed the person's name, e-mail and website from this site.

Posted by Julie at 03:06 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

August 09, 2007

Someone give me a reason to stay

Norwegians are simply not rich, thinking in Norway is frowned apon, and the authorities do cruel things. I want to believe that there are good reasons for this, but I'm losing faith.

I was born here, but I don't think in Norwegian. Almost everything I say these days is the translated version of what I'm really thinking. After ten days in Massachusetts, I've started to wonder why I didn't just stay in that place where people say "Excuse me" when they step on your shoes, where bookstores are open until 11 PM, where coffee ice cream actually gives you a buzz and where the local radio station features more relevant and thought-provoking debates than national tv in Norway.

Update November 23rd: Thank you, Michael Moore

Remind me why I live here...?

Posted by Julie at 01:57 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

July 13, 2007

How to travel Part 1: This is a non-stupidity flight

Stupid people should be treated like smokers.

"Live and let live" is an excellent rule when interpreted correctly. It does not mean "Everyone should be allowed to do whatever they want," but "Everyone should be allowed to do whatever they want, as long as the only people they harm are themselves." Unfortunately, as long as you interact with other living things at all, this second part of the rule limits you quite a lot. Norwegian smokers have noticed this in the past two years, since stricter regulations were imposed July 2005. It is now legal to buy boxes of cigarettes with THIS THING YOU JUST BOUGHT WILL BE YOUR DEATH!!! written on them, but you can't smoke them anywhere indoors. And since Norway has about six months of white winter and four months of green winter, this makes being a smoker in Norway a cold, wet and lonely existence. (Or so I hope. I am not a smoker.) And this is ok, because by now everyone knows that smoking is unhealthy and addictive and every smoker knew this when they started. It is a stupid choice, and if you insist on making it, then you should accept being left outside in the cold. Literally.

When I fly, I wish other stupid choices were treated the same way as the choice to start smoking. By now, shouldn't we assume that most people in the Western world know how to behave when they travel? As Eddie Izzard says: if you need to watch the part of the security information when they tell you how to put on your seatbelt, how did you manage to buy a plane ticket? And with all the publicity about the new limit on fluids in carry-on luggage, shouldn't people have gotten the message by now? I don't really see how putting my eye cream in a plastic bag makes the world a safer place, but I just do it. I don't wait for security personel at the airport to remind me and then hold up the line while arguing with them about my economy-size shampoo bottle I just have to bring with me everywhere. I've seen people standing next to a "Remove your laptop and place it in a tray" sign discussing (in the same language as the sign was written in) whether or not they should keep their laptops in their bags. I always manage to stand directly behind someone in the check-in line who didn't realize that not only do you have to bring your passport and your ticket with you when you travel, you also shouldn't bring twice as much luggage as you are allowed to, unless you are prepared to pay for it. And most of all: if you don't show up for the flight, that should be your own problem. At Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands, they say over the intercom: "Mr. ________, you are delaying the flight." which I think is just rude enough.

Part 2 

Posted by Julie at 04:51 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

May 27, 2007

Bilder

Jeg sluttet å tegne da jeg lærte å skrive. Skriving var en så mye mer effektiv måte for meg å uttrykke meg på. Men nå må jeg altså bruke bilder igjen...

Hva er du flink til?

 

Hva er du mest redd for?


 

Hvilket yrke ønsker du deg?

 

Hva ville du sunget på idol-audition?

 

Hvem skulle spilt deg i filmen om ditt liv?

 

Hva er det beste med hjemstedet ditt?

Svar 1 (hjemme hos mamma og pappa): 

 

Svar 2 (hjemme hos meg selv): 

 

Hva gjør deg glad?



Hva drømmer du om?

 

Hvorfor er du ikke kjendis, egentlig?

 

Hvem tagger du?


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

May 20, 2007

To Do List

When I look back at the last few months and wonder what on earth I have been doing with my time, it's good to know that I am not the only one with this feeling of having achieved nothing. Continue reading to see a To Do List I think we can all relate to.

Incidently, this is entry number 200, so I have achieved something. 

Posted by Julie at 11:57 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

April 16, 2007

Countries I have visited

Continue reading to see a map showing where I've been - and which countries are still on my to-do list.


create your own visited country map or check our Venice travel guide

Posted by Julie at 07:05 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

March 29, 2007

Sommer

Jeg har drukket øl i Parken for første gang denne sesongen. Det betyr at det er sommer.

 

Posted by Julie at 03:14 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

March 03, 2007

Back to Rome

I'm off to Rome... again!

Although I didn't throw any coins in the Trevi fountain, I am going back to Rome now, this time with my class. Last year's class trip to Prague was a definitive success, so I'm very excited. I won't be blogging from Rome, but I'll probably be scribbling in notebooks, so I'm sure there will be some travelblogging when I get back.


  

Posted by Julie at 02:32 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

February 20, 2007

Update on the computer situation

Warning: I'm going to write about computers now. 

Thanks everyone, for all comments, both real life and online. I'm typing this on my new computer! And no, it's not a Macbook. The fact that many of you "just prefer Apple to Windows" without being able to tell me why wasn't enough. Maybe if money were not an issue at all. But then again, I really don't like their keyboards. And I don't see what's so great about white. I wouldn't say that this computer is pretty, but I haven't ever called any computer pretty. I think it's relatively not ugly.

I'm going to miss my old computer, which I now refer to as "the little one", but I wasn't willing to spend the extra cash for a new version of the same thing.

I asked for an explanation of the Apple/Windows debate, and I found one. The full text can be downloaded here, but I'm posting an excerpt. It's not going to make my Mac-using friends happy, but Stephenson does say that he "embraced OS X as soon as it was available and have never looked back. So a lot of "In the beginning was the command line" is now obsolete." There is an updated version, now with monkeys, which will make these same friends very happy, and which I've also posted an excerpt from.

When I bought my computer, I wasn't thinking about any of this. All I really need is Firefox and Open Office attached to a good keyboard.

From In the Beginning... Was the Command Line by Neil Stephenson:

Imagine a crossroads where four competing auto dealerships are situated. One of them (Microsoft) is much, much bigger than the others. It started out years ago selling three-speed bicycles (MS-DOS); these were not perfect, but they worked, and when they broke you could easily fix them.

There was a competing bicycle dealership next door (Apple) that one day began selling motorized vehicles—expensive but attractively styled cars with their innards hermetically sealed, so that how they worked was something of a mystery. The big dealership responded by rushing a moped upgrade kit (the original Windows) onto the market. This was a Rube Goldberg contraption that, when bolted onto a three-speed bicycle, enabled it to keep up, just barely, with Apple-cars. The users had to wear goggles and were always picking bugs out of their teeth while Apple owners sped along in hermetically sealed comfort, sneering out the windows. But the Micro-mopeds were cheap, and easy to fix compared with the Apple-cars, and their market share waxed.

Eventually the big dealership came out with a full-fledged car: a colossal station wagon (Windows 95). It had all the aesthetic appeal of a Soviet worker housing block, it leaked oil and blew gaskets, and it was an enormous success. A little later, they also came out with a hulking off-road vehicle intended for industrial users (Windows NT) which was no more beautiful than the station wagon, and only a little more reliable.

Since then there has been a lot of noise and shouting, but little has changed. The smaller dealership continues to sell sleek Euro-styled sedans and to spend a lot of money on advertising campaigns. They have had GOING OUT OF BUSINESS! signs taped up in their windows for so long that they have gotten all yellow and curly. The big one keeps making bigger and bigger station wagons and ORVs.

On the other side of the road are two competitors that have come along more recently.

One of them (Be, Inc.) is selling fully operational Batmobiles (the BeOS). They are more beautiful and stylish even than the Euro-sedans, better designed, more technologically advanced, and at least as reliable as anything else on the market--and yet cheaper than the others.

With one exception, that is: Linux, which is right next door, and which is not a business at all. It's a bunch of Rvs, yurts, tepees, and geodesic domes set up in a field and organized by consensus. The people who live there are making tanks. These are not old-fashioned, cast-iron Soviet tanks; these are more like the M1 tanks of the U.S. Army, made of space-age materials and jammed with sophisticated technology from one end to the other. But they are better than Army tanks. They've been modified in such a way that they never, ever break down, are light and maneuverable enough to use on ordinary streets, and use no more fuel than a subcompact car. These tanks are being cranked out, on the spot, at a terrific pace, and a vast number of them are lined up along the edge of the road with keys in the ignition. Anyone who wants can simply climb into one and drive it away for free.

Customers come to this crossroads in throngs, day and night. Ninety percent of them go straight to the biggest dealership and buy station wagons or off-road vehicles. They do not even look at the other dealerships. Of the remaining ten percent, most go and buy a sleek Euro-sedan, pausing only to turn up their noses at the philistines going to buy the station wagons and ORVs. If they even notice the people on the opposite side of the road, selling the cheaper, technically superior vehicles, these customers deride them cranks and half-wits. The Batmobile outlet sells a few vehicles to the occasional car nut who wants a second vehicle to go with his station wagon, but seems to accept, at least for now, that it's a fringe player.

The group giving away the free tanks only stays alive because it is staffed by volunteers, who are lined up at the edge of the street with bullhorns, trying to draw customers' attention to this incredible situation. A typical conversation goes something like this:

Hacker with bullhorn: "Save your money! Accept one of our free tanks! It is invulnerable, and can drive across rocks and swamps at ninety miles an hour while getting a hundred miles to the gallon!"

Prospective station wagon buyer: "I know what you say is true...but...er...I don't know how to maintain a tank!"

Bullhorn: "You don't know how to maintain a station wagon either!"

Buyer: "But this dealership has mechanics on staff. If something goes wrong with my station wagon, I can take a day off work, bring it here, and pay them to work on it while I sit in the waiting room for hours, listening to elevator music."

Bullhorn: "But if you accept one of our free tanks we will send volunteers to your house to fix it for free while you sleep!"

Buyer: "Stay away from my house, you freak!"

Bullhorn: "But..."

Buyer: "Can't you see that everyone is buying station wagons?"

And now, with monkeys, added by Garrett Birkel:

(...) if you buy an Apple sedan, you also receive a little monkey in a snappy blue suit. Your personal X-Monkey (as the company calls him) is the ideal driver of your Apple sedan. He knows where everything is, feeds and washes himself, drives defensively, and will even tune up the car for you. X-Monkey will accept precise instructions like, "forward 10 feet, right 20 degrees", but he is smart enough to think on his own, so you can tell him "Drive me to a taco stand, then pick up Uncle Steve". He will also keep you out of trouble, by politely ignoring instructions like, "Run over that jogger", and "Floor it", when you're at a red light. Depending on your temperament, this could actually be a downside.

The X-Monkey comes from a line of monkeys originally bred by the military for the purpose of driving tanks. It's a good fit, because the modern Apple sedan is actually a tank in a fancy shell. The X-Monkey's only drawback is that he can only drive a car from Apple. Show him any other vehicle, and he won't even know how to operate the door lock.

Meanwhile, the free-thinking Linux people, displeased with genetic engineering, have created their own smart monkey chauffeurs through a massive international breeding program. Unlike the X-Monkey, the Linux Monkey is capable of driving any car, including the Apple sedan. If you could install a steering wheel on a log splitter, the Linux Monkey could drive it for you. The catch is, you have to train the Linux Monkey yourself. Fortunately there are experts everywhere who will help you out, and the Linux Monkey trains easily.

The Microsoft Gorilla, on the other hand, cannot be trained. Instead, you must keep rephrasing your directions until the MS Gorilla can comprehend them. He consumes both front seats, lowering the mileage of your car, and blocking most of your view. Though he sounds like a bad deal, MS Gorilla is actually extremely popular, because he looks impressive, drives aggressively, and keeps his mouth shut. If you speak in his limited vocabulary, he will take you Where You Want To Go Today ... especially if he can plow monkeys off the intervening road. However, if you touch anything on the dashboard, or try to haggle with him over the exact route, he may become irritated and casually drive your car into a telephone pole. People learn to not argue.

The point to this altered metaphor is that the Microsoft dealership, and the Linux collective, do not really make cars at all. All those shiny automobiles sitting on the lot and lined up on the street corner are re-branded vehicles, manufactured by other companies. However, their modern instrument panels are so confusing that they'd be useless without a chauffeur. ... And the Microsoft dealership gets a cut from the price of every vehicle that leaves their lot, piloted by the Microsoft Gorilla.

If you were so inclined, you could purchase a car from them, drive to the sidewalk, and kick the gorilla out onto the curb. The Linux Monkey can hop right in and start driving for you. Of course, Microsoft already has your money, and what are you going to do with a spare gorilla?

Contrast this with the Apple dealership, that personally designs and assembles every Apple sedan. When a sedan leaves their lot, they pocket the whole amount. You could still kick out the X-Monkey any time, but why would you? The Linux Monkey is basically the same, without the training.

Posted by Julie at 07:03 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

February 18, 2007

Hvordan oppleve en fantastisk søndag

 

  1. Våkne kl. 10 (ikke for sent, ikke for tidlig) på en behagelig sofa hos gode venner.
  2. Spis stor frokost med bacon, omelett, rundstykker, boller og mye kaffe. Veldig mye kaffe.
  3. Gå til toget og vær positivt overrasket over været.
  4. Ring mormor og gratuler henne med dagen.
  5. Sitt på toget og stirr ut av vinduet og nyt følelsen av å være akkurat sliten nok til at du ikke føler at du burde gjort noe fornuftig.
  6. Sitt utenfor en kino og vær helt i din egen verden fordi du har en morsom bok.
  7. Se Dream Girls, gratis førpremiere, langt fremme i salen.
  8. Gå en lang omvei hjem fordi du vil høre hele CD-en til The Magic Numbers.
  9. Kjøp grønnsaker og lag en stor salat.
  10. Gled deg til kake og te med venninner på kvelden.

 

Ja, jeg har det bra. 

Posted by Julie at 05:33 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

December 11, 2006

You know I can't handle stupidity...

One of my earliest childhood memories is blood, or more precisely: my neighbor's arm bleeding. I was about three at the time and the reason she was bleeding was that I had bitten her. And the reason I had bitten her was that she had asked a stupid question. Not a rude or cruel question, a stupid one. She was my age, and I was going to show her something. She asked if it was "over there" pointing in the exact opposite direction of where I was taking her. I thought this was so dumb that I grabbed her lower arm and bit her.

In retrospect, I know that she can't have been bleeding as much as I think I remember, even though I certainly didn't choose the safest place to bite her. Her mother was of course not only furious, but also terrified, and I wonder if she ever stopped feeling that way about me. When I met this girl about six years later, we had a good laugh about this shared memory, then basically forgot about it and went on being classmates and neigbors. Lately though, I've been thinking about why I did this. I wasn't scared or angry, I was really only annoyed. I've stopped biting people now, but I still have extreme reactions to stupidity. So when I say: "You know how I get around stupid people. I can't handle stupidity," I guess this is proof...

Posted by Julie at 02:46 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

December 05, 2006

If there were only six months left...

Some time during the stress of exam preparation (currently three exams down, one to go), I watched a talk show where one of the topics was: "What would you do if you only had six months left to live?" The discussion wasn't particularly interesting, but that opening question was. At the time, I was feeling guilty every day I didn't study at the University from 8AM to 8PM, constantly worrying that I wasn't worrying enough about my frighteningly near future. I thought: "Well, I wouldn't have to take those exams if I only had six months left - and would that be a good thing?" Bored with the discussion on the tv screen, the turned to my laptop screen and wrote what first came into my head. I didn't write it for this blog, or really for anyone but myself, but oh well, here it is:

If I found out that I only had six months to live, there isn’t much I would change about my life style. I would still spend the majority of my time reading, quite possibly at the university, but I would only read what I felt like reading – novels, newspapers, textbooks for random subjects I would never have thought of studying before – instead of signing up for three or four subjects that I need to complete a major. I would tell as few people as possible that this was no ordinary semester – if I could get away with it, I wouldn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t want them to treat me differently. My closest friends would know of course, but only because they had to