Monday, February 26, 2007

pass the northern lights

The sky is a constant gray. What is it now? Has it been snowing for 2 weeks? It hasn't stopped. Planning on going up to Tromso to see if I can catch the Aurora Borealis. I read that it ends around March. And in the summertime it is daylight almost all the time so its hard to see it with all the light. The only terrible thing would be spending this money flying up there, and it not occuring. The dangerous risk.

Norwegian Life and Society was painful. Sitting there going over Norwegian literary history, and then walking to the cafeteria to get some water. There are no water fountains. Alex told me this during our break. I was destroyed. I refuse to start going to the bathroom and drinking the water from the faucet. What am I, a heathen?

I went down to Garage last night around 9. Met up with Tori and saw Ratatat play. It was their last show for their European Tour and they seemed to be pretty excited. They played Wildcat, with a rawrrrr sound that comes in and hypes the crowd. Had a couple beers, chilled. I stood there with my eyes closed, let the sound envelop me. I always think of plasma or seeing red vibrations of the bass and the guitar drone covering my body while I stand there. And I like it when the lights change from red to a bright white and I feel like I am lifted on the ground for seconds. We had a good time. I was hyped on 'em after seeing them play. It was the best show I've been too in a long time.

I tried to buy a t-shirt, but didn't have any kroner so I tried paying in dollars. That didn't work out so well. Now Im hunting for a shirt elsewhere.

I can't seem to place why I keep pausing, like, I just get stopped. Lack of information, lack of anything. I need something to digest. I did my laundry yesterday. I have to say, laundry is the thing I hate most living in Kringsja. It becomes apparent really quick the crazy selfishness of people and their clothes. Because I don't care about waiting. So I will bring a book with me and sit on the cold tiles near the door and just watch everyone moving in and out. And I notice that they are all very impatient to get their shit cleaned.

1. If one is to leave their clothes in the washing machine after they are finished being washed, said clothes will be removed by the stranger fiending for the machine, then he \ she will stack them on top of the machine until one is to come back and find them all about.

2. There is a drastic shortage of dryers in every laundry building. And some dryers are inherently broken. No doubt, if they all worked, the smooth operation would confound the 80 year old mainteance workers that seem to enjoy eating cold cod from a tin can rather than move about inspecting hardware.

3. If one is able to secure a dryer or two for all the wet clothes one has in position, it is imperative that one devises a plan to protect the dryer. I find that placing a thick Dickens volume confuses the eager seekers. Who wish to open the dryer while it is still running, in hopes that your shit dryed miracuriously early, and they can then use the machine. With that book, they are unable to figure out what to do with the book. Where do I put this book? I don't know what the hell this means? And the mumble and move to another machine and anothe person's clothes.

4. People will take one's wet clothes and stack them on top of the dryer, then replace their clothes with theirs. And one will arrive at the scene and find wet clothes and no dryer. And no ability to be as terrible as the rest of the ghetto populace.

5. Vigiliance is key. I sit, I watch, I will read by my dryers until the clothes are dry. And then, the time comes when I have finished and I can leave and retreat to my room, to downtown, to anywhere that isn't the fucking laundry room!

I enjoy the fact that I can see across from the parking lot, over and into the large window that is the laundry room. I met two nice fellows from Zimbabwe. Both linguistic phd students. They imparted the following wisdom upon me.

"5 years is a large chunk out of any person's life." And they danced a bit to their cell phone ringtones and remarked that they are happy, all the time. And with wide grins they folded their clothes and departed to parts unknown.

I am terrified to walk outside and to the train back home. I declined Tori's invitiation to dinner. I realize now, sitting here in the computer room that this was a foolish decision. Because one, I do not cook. Nor do I attempt to cook. I leave that to others. My fascination with food involves eating it. Not preparing the dish. And she and Alex are both fine cooks. And I should realize that this is important, when someone is willing to cook a meal, the offer should always be accepted. Never refused. If there is no time to share a meal, there is no time for anything else. The other things cannot be as important.

I think constantly about returning. And with that same amount of time, in the other half of my brain, I think constantly about moving across Europe and discovering the many pleasures of the world. I thought best that smoking was good because it was a simple activity meant to occupy time when reading, when listening to a story, when talking to people. But the social aspects of smoking have fallen into decline. Smokers are regulated to the outside, and when it is not the summertime, this is definitely not a happy prospect--

An aside! There is a CHILD across from me typing. And he is trying to compete with my own typing, faster and faster. This, this blonde haired baby. But fuck that guy. With his young face and his glasses. I'll stop him with more words than he can muster. And take him weeping to the pole across, outside, freezing his tongue on the cold metal and mustering my courage to leave him there claiming that he should have never proposed such a challenge.

--But smoking, sadly, has lost its social appeal. I study Victorian Literature and very much want to smoke in a lodge somewhere listening to the ramblings of friends and townsfolk. But I don't know about any lodges, and I don't own a pipe. But I think of my Uncle Juandra. God I think I spelled that wrong. And I know he is keeping the smoking social pipe tradition alive.

Wildcats go rawr!

thank you very much. we are ratatat. let's dance!

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