Three things have happened since my last blog entry. Well, two things and an epiphany. Which I guess is of equal or even larger value than a thing. It might even count for a thing and-a-half, or perhaps two small-to-medium sized things. Why we don't learn how to solve fundamental everyday dilemmas like these at school is a mystery to me: then again, many things are mysteries to me and maths are certainly not among my strongest talents (of which I have remarkably few). Where was I? Oh, yes: the things. And one epiphany.
Thing one: Replacements for my favorite rubber-based contraceptives arrived in my mailbox last Friday, along with a small, handwritten note from the supplier - no mention of my long-winded (but hopefully humorous) e-mail, just a few words along the lines of "We're sorry the postman nicked yer rubbers, here are some new ones." Which is perfectly acceptable to me. Be nice to the costumer support department, and chances are they just might return the favor.
Thing two: My annual December cold arrived a little early this year, for the last week it's been annoyingly present without incapacitating me. I even somewhat gracefully participated in this weekend's bowling/tapas/"Casino Royale"-combo with my girlfriend and friends M & G. The verdict: Daniel Craig makes for a pretty darn good Bond, tapas make for some pretty darn good grub and my bowling skills make for some pretty darn good entertainment (for all the wrong reasons).
Today - on my day off - I'm at home tending to the last remnants of my cold and feeling slightly sorry for myself among the heaps of used Kleenex and crap mid-day TV. Which brings me to my epiphany: Snot.
Why on earth are we spending precious time and money developing alternative sources of energy, when the power of snot is just waiting to be harnessed? It's readily available - most humans seem to be producing an almost endless amount of it during the Winter season - and completely biodegradable! Surely, an average Norwegian 4-year old could easily power a small apartment building alone, and all those kinder gardens out there are potential power-plants of unfathomable power! Ok, so there are certain bio-hazard issues to solve, and of course trying to figure out how to actually extract energy from runny, bacteria-infected goop, but think of the possibilities.
Sure, it's gross, but it still beats thermonuclear meltdowns and fossil-based energy: if a snot-tanker crashes somewhere, the only thing we'll have to worry about is a large amount of seagulls with the sniffles.
4.12.06
1.12.06
I am legend!
Right, so I haven't done a blog entry in ages, I have a nasty cold, work today has been a total killer and the weather is... well, it is.
Still, two things got me through the day:
1) I am a legend. Well, a Røde legend to be exact. Most of you don't know what that means, and that's quite okay. For me, it means I've been given some cool, free stuff - pretty cool stuff, to be honest. Which will in no way affect my objectivity in my work, mind you: I'll still let you know what's crap and what's not whenever you buy something from me. Promise!
2) It's Friday. Which is my favorite day of the week, for at least one reason that I won't mention here. It's a good reason, though. Maybe even the best. Quite possibly the best. Yeah, let's use that one. Now, get the heck outta here.
Still, two things got me through the day:
1) I am a legend. Well, a Røde legend to be exact. Most of you don't know what that means, and that's quite okay. For me, it means I've been given some cool, free stuff - pretty cool stuff, to be honest. Which will in no way affect my objectivity in my work, mind you: I'll still let you know what's crap and what's not whenever you buy something from me. Promise!
2) It's Friday. Which is my favorite day of the week, for at least one reason that I won't mention here. It's a good reason, though. Maybe even the best. Quite possibly the best. Yeah, let's use that one. Now, get the heck outta here.
27.11.06
Milkman? Worry about the mailman instead
(Warning: the following entry contains at least two things that may shock the casual reader of my blog - 1. the words "condoms" and "sexual" are in it. 2. which imply that I actually have a love life and am not the lonely geek I may appear to be. A sense of humor is thusly required.)
"To whom it may concern,
Today I received in my mailbox a shipment from you (order no. XXXXXX) that was supposed to contain 1 piece of Brand C 30-pack of condoms and 1 piece of Brand P 30-pack of condoms: unfortunately, the sealed paper bag containing these items had been ripped open, and only contained 2 pcs. of Brand C 10-pack of condoms. I find two possible reasons for this:
1) The paper bag has been laying beneath some very heavy papers/letters (electricity or dentist bills, most likely) inside the mailman's bag and was torn open as the mailman transfered the package from his bag to my mailbox. In that case, a somewhat surprised - and hopefully lucky - mailman will find 40 pcs. of high-quality condoms in the bottom of his bag by the end of his shift, and will use these in the best possible fashion.
2) A less than honorable employee with our highly competent Postal Service has - metaphorically as well as literally - secured himself for a good few days to come. The way the bag was torn (very neatly) implies that this is the most likely alternative. The fact that this person consider my condoms a far more valuable contraband than the huge amount of DVDs and CDs that regularly pop into my mailbox tells - I'm sorry to say - far more about him than me.
I am of course aware of the fact that your company can neither be blamed for huge electricity bills nor thieving postal workers, and I fully understand that it would be easy to brand me as a cheeky (but eloquent) con artist - I mean, I COULD have torn open the bag myself when I got home from work this evening and promptly engaged in a sexual marathon of truly epic proportions that would have decimated the number of condoms at an alarming rate - but I consider myself a loyal and honest customer and was hoping that you could help me out of this somewhat racy predicament. Photographic evidence of the state of the paper bag and its contents can be produced if necessary.
Regards,
Bitstreem (bewildered and contraception-impoverished customer) "
(This is a translation of the actual e-mail I sent to the online store where I get my condoms - hopefully the customer support department will have a sense of humor compatible with mine.)
"To whom it may concern,
Today I received in my mailbox a shipment from you (order no. XXXXXX) that was supposed to contain 1 piece of Brand C 30-pack of condoms and 1 piece of Brand P 30-pack of condoms: unfortunately, the sealed paper bag containing these items had been ripped open, and only contained 2 pcs. of Brand C 10-pack of condoms. I find two possible reasons for this:
1) The paper bag has been laying beneath some very heavy papers/letters (electricity or dentist bills, most likely) inside the mailman's bag and was torn open as the mailman transfered the package from his bag to my mailbox. In that case, a somewhat surprised - and hopefully lucky - mailman will find 40 pcs. of high-quality condoms in the bottom of his bag by the end of his shift, and will use these in the best possible fashion.
2) A less than honorable employee with our highly competent Postal Service has - metaphorically as well as literally - secured himself for a good few days to come. The way the bag was torn (very neatly) implies that this is the most likely alternative. The fact that this person consider my condoms a far more valuable contraband than the huge amount of DVDs and CDs that regularly pop into my mailbox tells - I'm sorry to say - far more about him than me.
I am of course aware of the fact that your company can neither be blamed for huge electricity bills nor thieving postal workers, and I fully understand that it would be easy to brand me as a cheeky (but eloquent) con artist - I mean, I COULD have torn open the bag myself when I got home from work this evening and promptly engaged in a sexual marathon of truly epic proportions that would have decimated the number of condoms at an alarming rate - but I consider myself a loyal and honest customer and was hoping that you could help me out of this somewhat racy predicament. Photographic evidence of the state of the paper bag and its contents can be produced if necessary.
Regards,
Bitstreem (bewildered and contraception-impoverished customer) "
(This is a translation of the actual e-mail I sent to the online store where I get my condoms - hopefully the customer support department will have a sense of humor compatible with mine.)
15.11.06
Top 7 signs you're no longer a single geek
Not too long ago, my status as a single geek changed into that of a geek-in-a-relationship. This has brought about certain changes in my life and lifestyle (or lack of such), and I'm happy to say they are mostly for the better (of course, I say this because there's a good chance my girlfriend will be reading this blog). I thought perhaps a short summary of these changes may be of value to other geeks (of one persuasion or the other) in a relationship or about to enter one.
So, here they are, the top 7 tell-tale signs you're no longer a single geek:
1. Your otherwise spotless order history of quality music and cult/action/horror-movies with your favorite web-shop (*cough*Play*cough*) suddenly becomes tainted with Top 20 CDs and chick-flicks.
2. You find yourself - somewhat reluctantly - actually enjoying said Top 20 CDs and chick-flicks to some extent. I repeat: to SOME extent.
3. "Going shopping" no longer means checking out the nearest Apple Store or scavenging for cheap X-Men comics.
4. There are at least 10 new cosmetics products in your bathroom that you cannot identify - and most of their content cannot be found in the periodic table.
5. Two words: "Couple dinners". 'Nuff said!
6. No more careless tossing about of pop-cultural references: if you say something in Klingon, Elvish or Wookie, be prepared to explain it. Thoroughly. In a language spoken on Earth.
7. With the above point fresh in mind: Yes, most sci-fi and fantasy will lose some of its initial attraction once properly explained (read: dissected), scrutinized and lovingly ridiculed.
8. "Playing games" no longer means hooking up your Playstation or dusting off your Star Wars action figures... Which is quite an improvement, really. No further elaboration required or granted.
There you have it, fellow geeks: it's not so bad as it may seem. Life is change, and not all change is for the worse - even if it means a bit less obsessive re-watching of Firefly episodes.
PS! I don't really speak Klingon, Elvish or Wookie - well.
26.10.06
Safecracking 101
You know, sometimes growing up - yes, it's a seemingly never-ending process for me, I admit - is just a long line of crushed illusions and broken dreams: Finding out why your Dad and Santa was never in the same room at the same time, catching your Mum in the act of "planting" the Easter Bunny's eggs, discovering the whole Tooth Fairy scam - I could go on forever.
Granted, as time goes by and cynicism - that's adulthood for you an me - slowly seeps in, the disappointments do seem to come a little further apart and the shock of finding that your head actually won't explode if you hold back a sneeze is a little more easy to bear. Hey, stay with me, there's actually a point to this whole long-winded story and it's coming up any time now!
So, today another of my childhood (and adulthood, for that matter) illusions went bust. Yay. The other day the lock of our safe (where we keep all of our booty, aaarrrr) here at work went all ballistic and wouldn't open, much to our dismay. Locked out of our own safe, we had to call in a locksmith (no, they're not found under "safe-crackers" in the yellow pages) to open the damn thing for us. Now, having never seen a locksmith in action, I was a bit excited as the guy appeared with his bag of tools: I immediately pictured him in silent concentration in front of the safe, stethoscope in place, carefully turning the dial listening for that gratifying "click".
Can you imagine my disappointment when the guy opens his bag, and pulls out a big-ass electric drill?! Dude, what the hell? Where's the finesse? The sophistication? The elegance? Why didn't TV tell me that opening a safe requires a dozen large power-tools, brute force and most of all a bloody great deal of time?! Yeah, the guy went at the steel mammoth for a good three hours with his assortment of power-tools before the thing opened up.
I'm so depressed now.
Granted, as time goes by and cynicism - that's adulthood for you an me - slowly seeps in, the disappointments do seem to come a little further apart and the shock of finding that your head actually won't explode if you hold back a sneeze is a little more easy to bear. Hey, stay with me, there's actually a point to this whole long-winded story and it's coming up any time now!
So, today another of my childhood (and adulthood, for that matter) illusions went bust. Yay. The other day the lock of our safe (where we keep all of our booty, aaarrrr) here at work went all ballistic and wouldn't open, much to our dismay. Locked out of our own safe, we had to call in a locksmith (no, they're not found under "safe-crackers" in the yellow pages) to open the damn thing for us. Now, having never seen a locksmith in action, I was a bit excited as the guy appeared with his bag of tools: I immediately pictured him in silent concentration in front of the safe, stethoscope in place, carefully turning the dial listening for that gratifying "click".
Can you imagine my disappointment when the guy opens his bag, and pulls out a big-ass electric drill?! Dude, what the hell? Where's the finesse? The sophistication? The elegance? Why didn't TV tell me that opening a safe requires a dozen large power-tools, brute force and most of all a bloody great deal of time?! Yeah, the guy went at the steel mammoth for a good three hours with his assortment of power-tools before the thing opened up.
I'm so depressed now.
19.9.06
Product Conundrum
Wrap your head around this, dear readers:
A couple of years ago, one distributor - let's call him A4 - drops by the store to tell us about this wonderful now product - let's call it product P - that he's selling. Product P, he tells us, is made by people that used to work for another and vastly inferior brand that makes product S. Now, product S is made in China just like product P, but product P is the object of a whole lot more love, care and quality control than that generic, made-for-the-money product S. Ok, we say, we'll give product P a chance. You can never have too many affordable thingamajigs in your store, anyway. We already have a few product S's in the store, so it'll be fun to see if product P sells better, we say.
So, time passes, and we sell very little of product P. We try it ourselves, and it's certainly not bad - however, the same can be said about product S, really. We don't think about it too much, and go back to selling product R which everyone likes (both us and the customers) and we sell heaps of.
A month ago, distributor A4 sends out his regular, longwinded and bloated information e-mail about new products and such and guess what: he's dropping product P. It didn't sell as good as expected, and they want to focus on a new, and much better brand. Can you guess which one? Ah, yes: product S, of course. Yes, product S is now elevated to the status of product made with a whole lot of love, care and quality control, while product P - which was previously in this glorified position - is now thrown down in the dirt.
And people wonder why product PR (in all forms) make me giggle. Teehee.
Oh, and anyone who can figure out which products and which distributor I'm talking about will get the wonderful prize of absolutely nothing. Which, coincidentally, is roughly equal to the substance and integrity of said distributor's sales pitches. *giggle*
A couple of years ago, one distributor - let's call him A4 - drops by the store to tell us about this wonderful now product - let's call it product P - that he's selling. Product P, he tells us, is made by people that used to work for another and vastly inferior brand that makes product S. Now, product S is made in China just like product P, but product P is the object of a whole lot more love, care and quality control than that generic, made-for-the-money product S. Ok, we say, we'll give product P a chance. You can never have too many affordable thingamajigs in your store, anyway. We already have a few product S's in the store, so it'll be fun to see if product P sells better, we say.
So, time passes, and we sell very little of product P. We try it ourselves, and it's certainly not bad - however, the same can be said about product S, really. We don't think about it too much, and go back to selling product R which everyone likes (both us and the customers) and we sell heaps of.
A month ago, distributor A4 sends out his regular, longwinded and bloated information e-mail about new products and such and guess what: he's dropping product P. It didn't sell as good as expected, and they want to focus on a new, and much better brand. Can you guess which one? Ah, yes: product S, of course. Yes, product S is now elevated to the status of product made with a whole lot of love, care and quality control, while product P - which was previously in this glorified position - is now thrown down in the dirt.
And people wonder why product PR (in all forms) make me giggle. Teehee.
Oh, and anyone who can figure out which products and which distributor I'm talking about will get the wonderful prize of absolutely nothing. Which, coincidentally, is roughly equal to the substance and integrity of said distributor's sales pitches. *giggle*
15.9.06
An ode to the laundry room
Where the good inhabitants of your apartment building meet to socialize and engage in friendly banter; where strangers' eyes meet in brief moments of forbidden desire or unabashed disgust; where the intelligentsia gather to plot their next reality-altering scheme (such as keeping the laundry closed on Sundays and thus making sure nobody can do their laundry on the only day they have the time to do so); where the janitor's notice board is constantly covered in a glorious mix of complaints, questions and nonsensical, semi-poetic dabblings.
Where quiet battles are fought over who booked the dryer first or stole someone's bleach;
where little old ladies will gently persuade you into letting them have the washing machine for
another 30 minutes (and nobody says no because it would be like saying no to your own
grandmother), thereby nudging the already rickety booking schedule into a magnificent
collapse; where socks disappear into thin air, only to manifest themselves four months later
in a tattered, washed out state after having been stuck in the dark realms of the leftmost
washing machine where not even the keenest of eyes could see them, or strongest of hands pry them free from their ever-rotating iron cell; where the principle of "love thy neighbour" is put to the test every day as you find your clothes strewn all over the usually less then squeaky clean laundry room floor.
Where creatures big and small - of both the human and non-human kind - roam freely among the comforting warmth emitted from the large electrical mammoths that leave our laundry in a state of variable decontamination; where the strong, concrete walls block all cell phone reception and leave you blissful isolation from the brouhaha of the outside world (and prevents your mum calling you and nagging about that thing you were supposed to pick up somewhere).
Oh, laundry room - my life revolves around thy existence and thy etheric booking system!
Oh, laundry room - may thy electricity never be absent, thus leaving my clothes wet and full of detergent!
(I really, really need to get my own washing machine.)
8.9.06
Unwords!
(Disclaimer: This blog entry is mainly composed of things copy-pasted from Unwords.com. I know some people frown upon this kind of creative laziness, but it's Friday - sue me!)
I love words. Big ones, small ones, strange ones, funny ones - they're all friends to me! Now, sometimes words evolve (or degenerate, depending on your point of view) into new words and then they end up on Unwords.com - a super-duper site for new breeds of words! I've taken the liberty to list a few of the entries here, to whet your appetite for more...
Destinasia - a. (n.) Going upstairs or downstairs and being unable to remember why.
Disconfect - a. (v.) To sterilize the piece of candy you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, somehow assuming this will "remove" all the germs.
Docuphobia - a. (n.) The fear of using documentation, usually resulting from some previous traumatic event such as programming a VCR.
Drylowgraph - a. (n.) Any strange, unintelligible symbol that accompanies the washing instructions on clothing labels
Malbingophobia - a. (n.) The fear among some bingo players that they have incorrectly marked a square, and calling "bingo" could cause them not victory, but public humiliation.
Meandrathal - a. (n.) Any person in an exhausted state of mind in which they wander aimlessly, sometimes with low blood-sugar, in a shopping mall, video store or the like.
More words at Unwords.com - go there now!
I love words. Big ones, small ones, strange ones, funny ones - they're all friends to me! Now, sometimes words evolve (or degenerate, depending on your point of view) into new words and then they end up on Unwords.com - a super-duper site for new breeds of words! I've taken the liberty to list a few of the entries here, to whet your appetite for more...
Destinasia - a. (n.) Going upstairs or downstairs and being unable to remember why.
Disconfect - a. (v.) To sterilize the piece of candy you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, somehow assuming this will "remove" all the germs.
Docuphobia - a. (n.) The fear of using documentation, usually resulting from some previous traumatic event such as programming a VCR.
Drylowgraph - a. (n.) Any strange, unintelligible symbol that accompanies the washing instructions on clothing labels
Malbingophobia - a. (n.) The fear among some bingo players that they have incorrectly marked a square, and calling "bingo" could cause them not victory, but public humiliation.
Meandrathal - a. (n.) Any person in an exhausted state of mind in which they wander aimlessly, sometimes with low blood-sugar, in a shopping mall, video store or the like.
More words at Unwords.com - go there now!
4.9.06
A waste of space
Two minutes ago, I realized that none of my MSN contacts where online and I felt a sting of loneliness and abandon - like being locked out of the playground, or not chosen for the "cool" team for the soccer match.
Then, I realized that realizing this was all rather sad - borderline pathetic, some might say - and filled my cup with coffee and started writing this blog entry.
Alas, while writing this I realized that spending time, energy and precious blog-space on this specific theme was indeed a bit sad aswell, and most likely a good indication of my current state of blogger's writer's block. So I'll stop, right here.
Too late now, anyway.
Meh.
Then, I realized that realizing this was all rather sad - borderline pathetic, some might say - and filled my cup with coffee and started writing this blog entry.
Alas, while writing this I realized that spending time, energy and precious blog-space on this specific theme was indeed a bit sad aswell, and most likely a good indication of my current state of blogger's writer's block. So I'll stop, right here.
Too late now, anyway.
Meh.
1.9.06
A blogger's lament
Dear readers of late,
I bring saddening news:
My blog's in a state
of writer's block blues!
So this Blogger entry
(though rhyming quite well)
is quite elementary,
as I'm sure you can tell.
It's not so by choice,
or fate, if you will:
For uttering my voice
is usually a thrill.
It's not that I'm lazy,
or tired or sad,
it's not that I'm crazy
(or ate something bad).
The reason my site
is lackluster and dull,
and lacking in bite
when it should have been full:
The reason is this
(and I hate to admit) -
I have nothing to say,
and thus nothing to submit.
----------------------------------
(Ok, so that last line
didn't rhyme all that well:
I don't always refine,
but at least I can spell!)
I bring saddening news:
My blog's in a state
of writer's block blues!
So this Blogger entry
(though rhyming quite well)
is quite elementary,
as I'm sure you can tell.
It's not so by choice,
or fate, if you will:
For uttering my voice
is usually a thrill.
It's not that I'm lazy,
or tired or sad,
it's not that I'm crazy
(or ate something bad).
The reason my site
is lackluster and dull,
and lacking in bite
when it should have been full:
The reason is this
(and I hate to admit) -
I have nothing to say,
and thus nothing to submit.
----------------------------------
(Ok, so that last line
didn't rhyme all that well:
I don't always refine,
but at least I can spell!)
23.8.06
OMGWTF?! - DeLighTable
| There are coffee-tables, and then... there are COFFEE-TABLES. The DeLighTable from Kloss is one bad-ass table. Woah. Me want. Badly! | |
14.8.06
Master of the Toast
I'm basically a slightly reserved, if not shy, guy. I prefer the safety of a shadowy background to the bright spotlights of centre stage. I don't crave attention.
In spite of this, I have a remarkable talent for ending up in situations that require me to drop a few of my inhibitions and act as if I enjoy being in the spotlight: My day job require me to talk to strangers every day, I've played live music for small crowds a few times, I've given some presentations and speeches and now I have one more thing to add to my growing list of things I've sworn I'd never do: being toastmaster in a wedding.
Yes, my good friend Mikael was married to his Grete this Saturday, and by chance (or Mikael's remarkable negotiation skills) I had ended up as the toastmaster for the event.Woah. Seeing as neither me nor Mikael (I'll refer to him as M from now on) had a particularily good idea about what this whole toastmastering business was all about, M figured it'd be an easy job ("Just announce the menu and the speakers... oh, and stay sober.") and I figured he was right ("How hard can it be?"). So, with this settled, I left for my Summer holidays and M went about his business reassured that he'd chosen the right guy for the job. Ahem.
A week before the wedding, I get the first call from M's mom. Ok, so there are a couple of more minor tasks that I have to see to during my forthcoming toastmaster gig. I take notes, and she says she'll send me a short list of suggestions and questions on e-mail a little later. Now, keep in mind that the job description as written by M was about three lines - M's mother's list was about two pages. Oy vey! At this point, I felt the need to do a little research on this whole toastmaster thing, and stopped by a few wedding-themed websites to get some ideas. Bad move. The first site described the toastmaster as the guy with the responsibility for the wedding dinner. All of it! I was starting to feel a little clammy. A second website described him as a cross between a stand-up comedian, presenter and maitre d' - now, a flicker of panic embraced me for a short time.
So, what to do? Analyze. Sort. Arrange. Prepare. These words are my personal mantra whenever I'm thrown into situations like these - and as I said earlier, I tend to get thrown into them wether I like it or not. Being a methodical geek, I prodded M's mom with questions so I could see what I was heading into. A small family wedding, about 55 guests, mostly people I've never met. Right. I made a list of all my tasks and then a rough schedule for the night that I sent to M's mom. I prepared a few anectodotes, and some light-hearted introductions to myself and a couple of the speekers (that I knew). The schedule was revised a couple of times (new speekers, songs etc.) but we ended up with a nice, structured plan for the day that would be of great help to both me, the kitchen and M's mom.
How did it all go in the end? Pretty good, actually. We were on a tight schedule, so my plan was constantly changing during the day, but all speakers gave their speeches, many a song was sung, and a tired but happy toastmaster could treat himself to some coffee and cognac at about nine o'clock in the evening.
Would I do it again? Well, I can say "no" but like I said: I seem to have a talent for ending up in these situations...
In spite of this, I have a remarkable talent for ending up in situations that require me to drop a few of my inhibitions and act as if I enjoy being in the spotlight: My day job require me to talk to strangers every day, I've played live music for small crowds a few times, I've given some presentations and speeches and now I have one more thing to add to my growing list of things I've sworn I'd never do: being toastmaster in a wedding.
Yes, my good friend Mikael was married to his Grete this Saturday, and by chance (or Mikael's remarkable negotiation skills) I had ended up as the toastmaster for the event.Woah. Seeing as neither me nor Mikael (I'll refer to him as M from now on) had a particularily good idea about what this whole toastmastering business was all about, M figured it'd be an easy job ("Just announce the menu and the speakers... oh, and stay sober.") and I figured he was right ("How hard can it be?"). So, with this settled, I left for my Summer holidays and M went about his business reassured that he'd chosen the right guy for the job. Ahem.
A week before the wedding, I get the first call from M's mom. Ok, so there are a couple of more minor tasks that I have to see to during my forthcoming toastmaster gig. I take notes, and she says she'll send me a short list of suggestions and questions on e-mail a little later. Now, keep in mind that the job description as written by M was about three lines - M's mother's list was about two pages. Oy vey! At this point, I felt the need to do a little research on this whole toastmaster thing, and stopped by a few wedding-themed websites to get some ideas. Bad move. The first site described the toastmaster as the guy with the responsibility for the wedding dinner. All of it! I was starting to feel a little clammy. A second website described him as a cross between a stand-up comedian, presenter and maitre d' - now, a flicker of panic embraced me for a short time.
So, what to do? Analyze. Sort. Arrange. Prepare. These words are my personal mantra whenever I'm thrown into situations like these - and as I said earlier, I tend to get thrown into them wether I like it or not. Being a methodical geek, I prodded M's mom with questions so I could see what I was heading into. A small family wedding, about 55 guests, mostly people I've never met. Right. I made a list of all my tasks and then a rough schedule for the night that I sent to M's mom. I prepared a few anectodotes, and some light-hearted introductions to myself and a couple of the speekers (that I knew). The schedule was revised a couple of times (new speekers, songs etc.) but we ended up with a nice, structured plan for the day that would be of great help to both me, the kitchen and M's mom.
How did it all go in the end? Pretty good, actually. We were on a tight schedule, so my plan was constantly changing during the day, but all speakers gave their speeches, many a song was sung, and a tired but happy toastmaster could treat himself to some coffee and cognac at about nine o'clock in the evening.
Would I do it again? Well, I can say "no" but like I said: I seem to have a talent for ending up in these situations...
11.8.06
Assorted goodies
Ok, ok, so I am resorting to stea... uhm... borrowing nice links from good sites like Ektopia, I-am-bored and other worthwhile places these days - hey, I haven't got the time to write witty blog entries ALL the time, ok? OK? Right.
Let's start with todays musical curiosity: Twink makes sickly cute (but oh-so-great) toy-like music, and their remix of NIN's "The hand that feeds" sounds like a cross between a sugar-coated Goblin and... well... NIN, really. Check it out here: Twink vs. NIN - have a peek at their MySpace page too, while you're at it.
"City Paradise" is a nice piece of audio/visual art by Gaelle Denis - atmospheric and whimsical.
Finally, some game-music nostalgia as performed by the Video Games Live Orchestra:
Let's start with todays musical curiosity: Twink makes sickly cute (but oh-so-great) toy-like music, and their remix of NIN's "The hand that feeds" sounds like a cross between a sugar-coated Goblin and... well... NIN, really. Check it out here: Twink vs. NIN - have a peek at their MySpace page too, while you're at it.
"City Paradise" is a nice piece of audio/visual art by Gaelle Denis - atmospheric and whimsical.
Finally, some game-music nostalgia as performed by the Video Games Live Orchestra:
9.8.06
Eye Candy!
Feast yer eyes on this gorgeous piece of animation courtesy of MTV Asia and Ben Hibon:
..could someone turn this into a series, please?
..could someone turn this into a series, please?
Kraftwerk live in Oslo, August 8th 2006!
At last: yesterday I FINALLY got the chance to see the band that without doubt is THE most influential electronic act throughout the times: KRAFTWERK! Yeah, baby! Ralf and Florian did their thing with Fritz and Henning solidly filling the roles of Wolfgang and Karl (or was it the other way around?). The four old Germans rocked the house - well, shoegazed the house - for a good two hours, running through classic after classic: Man Machine, Computer Love, Radioactivty, Autobahn, Tour De France - they were all there.
Of course, when "The Robots" was finally performed near the end of the concert, the now famous remote-controlled robotic Kraftwerk-lookalikes replaced the quartet to much (and well deserved) applause and cheering from the audience. Speaking of which, the audience was a fascinating mix of young and old, neatly dressed 40-year olds and red-shirt-and-black-tie wearing 30 somethings, goths, rockers and synth-freaks, and the ever present "Look at me, I've got no musical taste, but I go see every major band that plays in this town just so I can wear their official tour T-shirt and tell all my friends I've seen them live!" bunch. Ahem. Nothing personal against you guys, but seriously: an R.E.M tour T-shirt at a Kraftwerk concert? Puhlease...
All in all, this was a great experience: Great sound, great visuals, a sweaty but very enthusiastic audience (I was practically dripping with sweat by the end: Sentrum Scene is HOT during Summer gigs) and the chance (perhaps my only) to see some truly monumental artists within my musical genre of preference. I was grinning like a fool during the whole show, and let me tell you: these days, there are only two things that put a grin like that on my face, and Kraftwerk live is one of them. The other... isn't. ;)
All in all, this was a great experience: Great sound, great visuals, a sweaty but very enthusiastic audience (I was practically dripping with sweat by the end: Sentrum Scene is HOT during Summer gigs) and the chance (perhaps my only) to see some truly monumental artists within my musical genre of preference. I was grinning like a fool during the whole show, and let me tell you: these days, there are only two things that put a grin like that on my face, and Kraftwerk live is one of them. The other... isn't. ;)
8.8.06
Space
(Disclaimer: if my somewhat overactive brain has somehow nicked any central themes or ideas here from your favourite song/movie/book - then I assure you it's purely coincidental and all in your mind. Really)
Space is a strange thing. No, not that big, unfathomable darkness in which our tiny speck of a planet is hanging, but space as in that somewhat smaller area that's surrounding us at any given time. Space breathes, it expands, collapses, twists and warps and can turn from a comfort zone to a cage in a fraction of a second. It can be a massive field of freedom or a suffocating void of emptiness. Space - or lack of it - is what makes a room seem crowded even when occupied by just two people, or a crowded room seem enormous and empty - apart from that person whose space you share at the moment.
Space is a strange thing. No, not that big, unfathomable darkness in which our tiny speck of a planet is hanging, but space as in that somewhat smaller area that's surrounding us at any given time. Space breathes, it expands, collapses, twists and warps and can turn from a comfort zone to a cage in a fraction of a second. It can be a massive field of freedom or a suffocating void of emptiness. Space - or lack of it - is what makes a room seem crowded even when occupied by just two people, or a crowded room seem enormous and empty - apart from that person whose space you share at the moment.
Space has voids: not the mind-bogglingly huge ones, but the small, people-sized ones. Ever noticed that special emptiness left behind by someone close or special to you? It's not the same space that was there before, but a space without meaning, without substance. Space without substance may seem like a ridiculous idea, but I suspect some of you know the feeling (or a similar one, although differently phrased): like the face of a loved one suddenly missing from a family photo, the image incomplete – something is missing.
Why this sudden obsession with space, I hear you ask. Well, my space (not MySpace) has been invaded. It was not a hostile invasion, but a quiet, comfortable one. I made some feeble attempts at resistance, but this space-invader (pun intended) was a cunning and stealthy opponent and I was outsmarted, out-gunned – my line of defense broken and left crumbling in the hands of the invader. Slowly, the space in which I've been residing started growing, its outer perimeters harder to monitor and the invader found a way in – and my space will never be the same again. For now, this invader's space and mine seem to have formed a symbiotic relationship – each person's space leaving a vacuum in the other one's when that person is not around.
My space is no longer empty. :)2.8.06
Holy AT-ST, Batman - It's a Japanese Land Walker!
Right, so it looks a lot more intimidating when NOT moving - even with its high-powered lazer-cannons... uhm, I mean, high-powered plastic-ball shooting cannons - but, dude: it's a walker! A walker! And it walks! Well, sort of...
Hmm, I wonder how much this thing would set me back: I've already injected way too much money into the invisibility cloak, the flying car and the personal space-station - I'm running low on cash.
Hmm, I wonder how much this thing would set me back: I've already injected way too much money into the invisibility cloak, the flying car and the personal space-station - I'm running low on cash.
14.7.06
100 Awesome Music Videos!
Bless the kind-hearted music geeks over at Pitchfork for compiling this fantastic list of music videos... YouTube, we love you!
Pitchfork Feature: 100 Awesome Music Videos
Don't think I'll get much work done today...
Pitchfork Feature: 100 Awesome Music Videos
Don't think I'll get much work done today...
6.7.06
More YouTube Turntablism Goodness
Ok, ok, so I'm a sucker for high-quality turntablism - sue me! Here's C2C at the 2005 DMC team world championship, giving one hell of a performance musically and showmanwise:
So... Anyone want to argue that DJs can't be musicians? No?
So... Anyone want to argue that DJs can't be musicians? No?
Erik Mongrain - tapping virtuoso
Well, well: just when you think you just MIGHT become an adequate guitar-player after all, along comes Mr. Erik Mongrain and crushes whatever confidence one may have established:
Dammit, why can't all you talented people just keep your stupid show-off videos to yourselves? *mumble, mumble*
Hrmf.
Dammit, why can't all you talented people just keep your stupid show-off videos to yourselves? *mumble, mumble*
Hrmf.
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