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"Transformers" exclusive trailer goodness right here
Wow. I think I just turned 12 again. :)
14.5.07
Hell hath no fury
Saturday night, me and Gorgeous eagerly sat down to watch the annual cheese-fest that is the Eurovision Song Contest (for those of you that are outside of Europe: The Eurovision is kinda like American Idol, only with fewer contestants, flashier outfits and less drama. But with much more cheese.) As a self-proclaimed music lover, the Eurovision is a fun romp through the cultural differences of new and old European countries: here you'll find genuine attempts at "proper" songs, some delightfully hideous "sound alikes" (there's a very thin line between plagiarism and inspiration in the Eurovision) and a couple of truly spaced out "What the heck was THAT?" moments that will either have you rolling on the floor with laughter, or desperately trying to stuff snacks (cheese, e.g.) into your ear canals.
Now, me and most of the guys I know have a through-and-through ironic distance to the whole Eurovision thing: we've laughed and cried our way through a number of Eurovision contests fueled by cheep bear and complimentary witty commentary. Gorgeous on the other hand, seem to have a profound interest in the show (no doubt due to her unconditional love for pop music - cheesy or otherwise - in general) and I warned her that I would not be able to endure the Eurovision without periodic bouts of sarcasm, snarky comments and downright disgust. I was assured that this was quite ok. So the night went pretty much as expected: a song would be performed, I would cringe more or less and complain about various degrees of out-of-tune-ness and plagiarism, toss about some snarky comments and generally act like a music snob. Gorgeous would laugh, shush me or poke me, depending on how much she liked (or didn't like) the song being performed. Things were going just fine, until the Romanian entry was performed. I was exctatic: FINALLY an entry that had that perfect Eurovision blend of cheese, weirdness and lack of "gefühl" that makes watching Eurovision such a fun experience!
Having expressed this vocally, I immediately received a quick "Gibbs" (NCIS fans know what I'm talking about), a shush, a poke and something I can only presume was the evil eye. Or eyes: it certainly wasn't the loving look I'm used to getting. I was then given a two hour lecture - complete with examples taken from Youtube - on the magnificence of Romanian pop-music (including the dreaded Manele, which even Gorgeous thinks is pretty crap but still felt I needed to learn about). Oy vey. By the end of the ordeal, I was in a semi-catatonic state, and would merely nod slightly (and perhaps drool a bit) whenever Gorgeous introduced me to yet another act or artist. Trust me, guys: Hell hath no fury like a woman whose music tastes have been ridiculed (even if it was done lovingly).
Today, I've been blasting my eardrums with the soothing sound of Opeth in a desperate attempt to wash away the remnants of the weekend's overexposure from Eurovision entries and Romanian pop-music. It's gonna take a while. Alas, vengeance will be sweet as Gorgeous will receive an overdose of marching band music (you know the charmingly out of time, tune and place variant played by 10 year olds) on Norway's independence day, May 17th. Muahahah!
Now, me and most of the guys I know have a through-and-through ironic distance to the whole Eurovision thing: we've laughed and cried our way through a number of Eurovision contests fueled by cheep bear and complimentary witty commentary. Gorgeous on the other hand, seem to have a profound interest in the show (no doubt due to her unconditional love for pop music - cheesy or otherwise - in general) and I warned her that I would not be able to endure the Eurovision without periodic bouts of sarcasm, snarky comments and downright disgust. I was assured that this was quite ok. So the night went pretty much as expected: a song would be performed, I would cringe more or less and complain about various degrees of out-of-tune-ness and plagiarism, toss about some snarky comments and generally act like a music snob. Gorgeous would laugh, shush me or poke me, depending on how much she liked (or didn't like) the song being performed. Things were going just fine, until the Romanian entry was performed. I was exctatic: FINALLY an entry that had that perfect Eurovision blend of cheese, weirdness and lack of "gefühl" that makes watching Eurovision such a fun experience!
Having expressed this vocally, I immediately received a quick "Gibbs" (NCIS fans know what I'm talking about), a shush, a poke and something I can only presume was the evil eye. Or eyes: it certainly wasn't the loving look I'm used to getting. I was then given a two hour lecture - complete with examples taken from Youtube - on the magnificence of Romanian pop-music (including the dreaded Manele, which even Gorgeous thinks is pretty crap but still felt I needed to learn about). Oy vey. By the end of the ordeal, I was in a semi-catatonic state, and would merely nod slightly (and perhaps drool a bit) whenever Gorgeous introduced me to yet another act or artist. Trust me, guys: Hell hath no fury like a woman whose music tastes have been ridiculed (even if it was done lovingly).
Today, I've been blasting my eardrums with the soothing sound of Opeth in a desperate attempt to wash away the remnants of the weekend's overexposure from Eurovision entries and Romanian pop-music. It's gonna take a while. Alas, vengeance will be sweet as Gorgeous will receive an overdose of marching band music (you know the charmingly out of time, tune and place variant played by 10 year olds) on Norway's independence day, May 17th. Muahahah!
3.5.07
Spring theory
My friend M is spending an uncanny amount of time trying to wrap his head around this little thing called string theory. For the uninitiated, string theory is defined on Wikipedia in this simple sentence (ahem):
"String theory is a model of fundamental physics whose building blocks are one-dimensional extended objects called strings, rather than the zero-dimensional point particles that form the basis for the Standard Model of particle physics."
Got that? Good. Now, as complex and dumbfounding as string theory might be, there is one theory that is even more complex and strange - Spring theory. Each year this thing called Spring (heh) arrives here in Norway, and its mysterious ways and perplexing unpredictability continues to catch me off guard. I don't know what Spring is like in other parts of the world, but here it's like a strangely playful and taunting entity - and by "playful and taunting" I mean "childish and annoying". If Spring was a kid, it would be a spoiled 4 year-old with a slight case of ADHD - fueled by too much sugar.
Basically, my typical Spring day goes like this: I wake up, have a look outside. It's sunny, yay! I then proceed to look at the thermometer, which typically shows something like 0 degrees. "Hmm, fair enough. It's probably warmer in the sun." I think to myself, but put on a warmer sweater anyway. I then go outside, only to be greeted with a gust of wind that brings the temperature down to -5 degrees or thereabout. "Hah! See, putting on that extra sweater was a good idea." I loudly proclaim (and usually get some strange looks from by-passers) while awkwardly trying to pat myself on the back. Then, ten minutes into my walk to work, the temperature rises about 15 degrees and my wisely chosen sweater is turned into a instrument of torment as my body temperature rises above my preference. "Oh, well. It could be worse." I say, scaring a little old lady in the process (who then tries to take a swing at me with her umbrella). "Hey, was that lady swinging at me with her umbrella?" I think to myself - seconds before the skies turn dark, relative humidity shoots up to 90% and rain starts pouring down.
So there I am: warm, sweaty and soaked. "Well, this is Norway. No reason to be depressed about the weather." I say to myself - somewhat quieter this time. Five minutes later, the Sun is gone, the wind is back and the temperature is back down to -5 degrees. At this point, I usually let out a small sigh, break off a few icicles off my nose and ears and contemplate moving to Hawaii - but just for a few seconds, because lo and behold! The Sun is back, the ice is melting and my clothes are pretty much dry again. Freeze dried. Not too comfortable, but it works. After this showcase of weather phenomena (which all take place in a 25 minute period of time) I usually arrive at work more or less happy and prepared for other extraordinary things.
Such as my customers.
"String theory is a model of fundamental physics whose building blocks are one-dimensional extended objects called strings, rather than the zero-dimensional point particles that form the basis for the Standard Model of particle physics."
Got that? Good. Now, as complex and dumbfounding as string theory might be, there is one theory that is even more complex and strange - Spring theory. Each year this thing called Spring (heh) arrives here in Norway, and its mysterious ways and perplexing unpredictability continues to catch me off guard. I don't know what Spring is like in other parts of the world, but here it's like a strangely playful and taunting entity - and by "playful and taunting" I mean "childish and annoying". If Spring was a kid, it would be a spoiled 4 year-old with a slight case of ADHD - fueled by too much sugar.
Basically, my typical Spring day goes like this: I wake up, have a look outside. It's sunny, yay! I then proceed to look at the thermometer, which typically shows something like 0 degrees. "Hmm, fair enough. It's probably warmer in the sun." I think to myself, but put on a warmer sweater anyway. I then go outside, only to be greeted with a gust of wind that brings the temperature down to -5 degrees or thereabout. "Hah! See, putting on that extra sweater was a good idea." I loudly proclaim (and usually get some strange looks from by-passers) while awkwardly trying to pat myself on the back. Then, ten minutes into my walk to work, the temperature rises about 15 degrees and my wisely chosen sweater is turned into a instrument of torment as my body temperature rises above my preference. "Oh, well. It could be worse." I say, scaring a little old lady in the process (who then tries to take a swing at me with her umbrella). "Hey, was that lady swinging at me with her umbrella?" I think to myself - seconds before the skies turn dark, relative humidity shoots up to 90% and rain starts pouring down.
So there I am: warm, sweaty and soaked. "Well, this is Norway. No reason to be depressed about the weather." I say to myself - somewhat quieter this time. Five minutes later, the Sun is gone, the wind is back and the temperature is back down to -5 degrees. At this point, I usually let out a small sigh, break off a few icicles off my nose and ears and contemplate moving to Hawaii - but just for a few seconds, because lo and behold! The Sun is back, the ice is melting and my clothes are pretty much dry again. Freeze dried. Not too comfortable, but it works. After this showcase of weather phenomena (which all take place in a 25 minute period of time) I usually arrive at work more or less happy and prepared for other extraordinary things.
Such as my customers.
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