Edinburgh, Buses, Brown Turtles and Feminism

The United Kingdom is a breathtaking experience, and I am so thrilled that I have the chance to visit its fair hills and particularily the grand city of York.

Holy flatulent cow on a pogo stick, this country rocks. Since me and my class arrived we have been treated to exquisite architecture and awesome language and beer made by people who obviously loves the stuff. I am stunned, and not even a pirate riding a pegasus could persuade me to leave just yet.

Although you might be able, Captain Chimp-Chimp.

However, I have also visited Edinburgh this weekend, and MAN did that city show me how it's done. When the new day rose grumpily from its bed, scratched its fresh arse and peered over the horizon, we strutted out from our hostel to see the Scottish marvel of our dreams. It was much more. The first thing we witnessed was the incredible phallic marvel of gothic architecture known as the Scott Monument. Wikipedia tells me that it was completed in 1844 and is approximately 6o meters tall. In any case it had nearly 300 steps and it was a delight to skip and hop to the very top so we could witness the imperial elegance that is Edinburgh, and the sturdy and resiliant hills and crags that penetrate and look over the city. Then, to top it all, a street-musician started to play "Amazing Grace" on his bagpipes. The moment was complete.

Aye, certainly nothing penile about this.

While in Edinburgh, we made use of the excellent Princes Street for our shopping needs, and bought enough 360 games to make your eyes bleed. For the cute little sum of £ 50. Yes, for the price of one cheap game in Norway, you can get 5 in Scotland. Guess where I want to go. The HMV Store on Princes Street was also a gamer-haven like you would not believe. I tried Microsoft's new Kinect there, and it actually works. My wish-list for Santa this year just got a helluva lot more expensive. (And if you followed that link, you'll see why that concerns me.) I also bought a scarf with the tartan-pattern of Edinburgh on it, and has added a new life-quest to my list. Collect all of the major cities in Scotland.

Even this one, so help me Obi-Wan

While in Rome, do like the Romans. But when in Edinburgh, hike up the Salisbury Crags! At least, that is what I and my fine compatriots set out to do. Armed with good faith and tickets for the bus, we ventured towards the Crags. At least for the first 10 minutes. After we had arrived at the third town over, we started to be a bit uncertain about wheter or not we would ever start going back to the mighty hills. A quick query with the driver asserted our positions as complete tossers. Still prideful, we strode out of the bus and over to the other side to spend another HOUR backtracking into town. Alas, time well spent; we can boast about having seen the Queen Margaret's University. It was ok. This reminded me only too well about this summer's adventure to the Hove-festival, where I managed to board the train going in the wrong direction and sleeping outside on the bus-station until I could catch a ride to Drammen.

A fair desription of the relationship between me
and collective transport

This whole trip has also led me down the scary and dark and horrid and unspeakable path of thinking a bit. Now I know why many Scandinavians are uneasy around our new countrymen from the middle east: TV-shows for kids.

Say whaaat?

I am genuinely not kidding. Most Norwegians of my generation and a couple of the previous ones sat down each day at 6 and marveled at the adventures of a certain character called Mummitrollet. (The Moomintroll.) This show also aired in numerous other countries, but since its origin is close to Scandinavia, I'll go with what I experienced.

Now, I am under no circumstance trying to endorse racism, or some people's fear of ethnic people. It is silly and unneccesary and as helpful as a Hobbit-basketballer. However, I can now clearly see how some unfortunate people are jarred for life. You see, Mummitrollet is a happy little chubby lad that lives in the Moomin-valley.

In da Hood

Everything is mostly palatable for the spherical little fellow, except when a Hufsa, or "The Groke" steps by to look ominous, sad and infineately scary at the same time. As I said, with no intention of insensitivity, feminist and religious aspects aside: Would you really be unaffected when you see a woman dressed like this:

"Zup?"

After seeing this:

My guess is no, and you might want to lock your door tonight, because Hufsa might be right outside your door, lonely, sad, and terrifying.

Sleep Fighting

Before our summervacation, I was part of a movieproject where an insanely talented young editor from my town asked me to help him with a short movie. Glad to help, I joined him, and wound up with the main role.

Now the movie is edited to completion, and it is among the things I am most proud to have been a part of.
Enjoy it!

All credit goes to Daniel Volle for making this awesome thing.

Cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance then they're NO friends of mine

-Well you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man. No time to talk.
Bee Gees.

So, initially I intended to make this post a casual yet devastating gateway into the mind of an outcast teenager, but what the hey, Awards for Literature will have to wait as I DO have to write about my vacation in Spain and Sweden.





After having a ball back in Norway, even after enduring the tragic loss of a dear classmate, (Rest in peace, Knuttis.) and hanging out with my beloved gang of rascals, (causing incidents like the one below... yes we tried to mow the roof, big laugh, wanna fight about it?) and attending the most EPIC consert of my life. (AC/DC has still got whatever makes us retarded for them, and will continue to have that essence of awesome imbibed in their music and performance for many years to come. Seeing Angus and Brian on stage was like having a religious orgasm and the Devil skullfucking (pardon the offensive lingo)
my ears into oblivion. I was flabber- gasted and speecheless and god knows how many other verbs affected me at the time. It was, in short, sweet.

After rocking Norway, and saying my goodbyes to all the lovely people I continually miss like Coke on a hot day, I set off to the fabled land of blondes and cheap meat. Sweden.

In Sweden I just happened to be the High DJ of my cousin's wedding... okay, I just pressed a button twice, but I do feel that the wedding could not have proceeded successfully
without me. Kinda. In any event, I really
enjoyed being 18 at a swedish wedding,
and it was fun to be liquored up by my cousin and his friends who have known me since diapers was my choice of apparel.
In addition, I felt like quite the little Che Guevara in my brown SNEAKERS at a WEDDING. (Crowd gasps and faints, frail
women are carried out on stretchers.)

Then, ladies and... okay... forget it....lady who is reading this... mom...
anyhow: Then... I went to Spain. Oh dear allmighty Yoda, I went to Spain!
2 weeks of chilling and drinking and hanging with some awesome and lovely people, and then my awesome and lovable bros stopped by for a week in our own appartment. Casa de Sogn was a reality, and we did so much fun, crazy and messed up shit that I am not allowed to talk about half of it. I can, however, tell you that I pulled off a nearly perfect Double Backflip, only slightly hurting my knees... and face... and balls... with a slightly smacky pain. I also went out on the town dressed like a pirate and tried to do the Michael Jackson "Thriller" dance. Sorry, Mike, that was probably the worst tribute to you ever.

Well, that's it for now. The next time I will write about something that makes sense, for once.

Vacation and suchness

Quite scurvy pirates in Spain. Arryarr

The following is an actual excerpt of a dialouge between two of the millions of voices in my head:

-Man, I have really got to stop demolishing my nights like this.

-Shut up gigglebutts, and keep that hand of my lower thigh.

-I mean, why do I keep staying up late just to watch

-PORN!

-No, I keep watching that ridicilously awesome show "Arrested Development" (Ka, and might I add FUCKING POW that show kicks ass.) and chat with my beloved, and scratch my thigh.

-I told you to stay off the thigh, hombre. Now I'm a lay down a thunderstorm of whoop-ass on ya.

-Whatever, I am going to sleep now.

... Okay, I lied. This conversation never occurred, and most certainly not within the fortifications of my highly functional brain. You may now adore me for being funny.

This is a girl whose charms I have grown very fond of.Glad i deg Elice

In other news, I have had a ROCKING month abroad. Headed over to my cousin living in Sweden, the man went and got hitched so I attended the wedding and had one hell of a time. Swedish people can dance.

This was just the beginning of a sweet trip that proceeded onwards to Spain, La Manga.

Two bros in La Manga

You might remember the one on the left as the creator of HappyJuice©

Tellings of that tale will require far more awakenness than I can muster at the moment, so I shall retire and wait for the proper moment to spring my story.

In ordinary-speak, that means: I am lazy and tired, so I'll be posting it later.

-What do you mean about Horse?

Simen

Clubbing, hard!

Leiv Olav in the back
Gøran Rømo Mogaard is the new king of pop.

Woho! <3

Elice-e-tøff!

The Red Bull story and more gladness.

So, I apologize for my absence the last days that may or may not have been caused by a Red Bull induced blackout that may have sent me on a mental roadtrip through Happytown.

Howevvah!
On to my epic tale of semen and Spain.

I was sitting in a bar by the seaside, sipping on the wonderfully blue and silver boxes containing bliss, when a somewhat tipsy Spanish dude dumped down next to me and greeted me with a slurred "Hóla!"
Always pleasured by new aquintances I greeted him back with an overenthusiastic wave and took a sip of 'Bull.
"You know what that means?" I suddenly heard from my left. The Spanish dude had a cheeky grin on his face and pointed at the can where it said "Contains Taurine."
"Naah?" I answered. He laughed, and told me that a can contained 0'4% of the stuff, then he asked me again what I thought it could mean.
Then he revealed the horrible answer.
"Taurine, means bull semene. Bull sperm!" and laughed like a hyena on weed.
I didn't drink RB for a week.

Then I discovered that Taurine is a proteine that is a part of making the bull semen. Not the semen in itself. (Thank god, or I would have a trillion of small calves swimming around in me)
And I mean a trillion. Because - when avaiable I drink it like a gold miner drinks beer.

On another note, this is my bro making his new invention. "Happy Fun Juice."©
The recipe will be guarded with our life, because when he dies, he will be serving the stuff in heaven. It's like a roundhouse kick in the tounge, but in a good way. I mean, like if you see something awesome, and discover its' yours. That drink is rosepetaled bliss covered in chocolate sunshine and happy smiles.

Last but not least... Guess.... just guess which AWESOME band worshipped by me and millions more I am going to see on monday!
I am so excited I need a restraining order against myself! Let there be rock!

Hey, are ya good? Yeah I'm good, I'm doing super!

Hey, yeah. Hi. How are ya, gang??

REDBULL IS LEGAL IN NORWAY!!
Smell ya later, gonna go pass out from insomnia and caffeine!
Gonna tell you an awesome story about Red Bull tomorrow.
I am love Redbull muches!
Sleepy.
I like Red Bull.

I try to behave, yet sometimes....

-Every song ends,but that's not a reason to not enjoy music.

Hey guys.
I'm back from the stack with crack,
now I'm talkin' smack with Mr. Jack 'n shit.

That was a rap in your face.

So, on to my rant of the day, and beware, because today little Mr. Smartypants is gonna whip religion for all it is worth. Am I going to be offensive? Maybe. Will I be controvercial? Perhaps. Will religious people want to hang me by my nuts? All the time, babe!

So, let's back this broad up to start.
I had just gotten out of bed, and was rummaging through my kitchen after something edible that would refrain from poisoning me. Then, all of a sudden, I realised that the radio was on and that some scientist was talking about an archeological find that seemed to be the "missing link" between animals and humans. The fossil in question has been named Ida, and I am a little proud that it is Norwegian paleantologists that research the fossil now. The fossil was found in Germany. Looking something like that --->

"Fair enough", I thought, "then that problem is gone like a cup cake in the hands of the Cookiemonster."
HOWEVER, the media, in their eternal wisdom and pursuit of equality (you might think the last sentence a sarcasm, but I am honestly very supportive of freedom of speech and thought. It is our greatest achievement and a obligatory part of every democracy!) had decided to not only let the excited professors and archeologists jabber on about their find, but stopped by the house of an old codger to interview a creationist about the find...

For those of you that doesn't know what the consept of creationalism is, just check our nearest christian holy book. Basically, it is the conviction that our planet, every sentinent being on it and our entire universe is not the result of billions of years of evolution, coincidences and the survival of the fittest, but that God has created it all. Many also belive that the Tale of Creation is an exact depiction of how our universe was created.

Now, I don't have much in favour for religion in general, and I know that my point of view must not make me indifferent to other opinions. However, it staggers me to no extent that people can choose to ignore evident scientific facts!

The creationist on the radio commented that the pre-historic lemurfossil was "looking like a little lizard" and how "it's only 3... how can it be our fore-mother?"

I started screaming obsceneties to the radio, waking my sister and making my cat look oddly at me. How can anyone be so ignorant? We have Carbon dating! We can now to a T when the critter died, and it was 47 million years ago! Stick that in your bible and pray it! Paleantologists can also see that their teeth and skeletal structure somehow matches ours.

The last argument for creationism the old coot said REALLy tipped me over. "Science proves that during the great flood 96% of the species on our planet died."
Science... he actually managed to use the word science in defence of his believes. According to his holy book, the flood was a couple of thousand years ago. When did the dinosaurs die out? 64 million years ago. Why? Most likely because of a meteor and LEAST likely because they were heathens and punished by God.

I do admire people who have faith in a religion, but using 2000 year old scripts as "proof?"
They are fine guidelines, and make for many good moral questions, but proof of God creating everything? Well... that I do not believe. I find the theory of Big Bang a lot more plausible, for MANY reasons. (fx. our universe is expanding.) But what sparked the massive explosion that created the universe? Well.... that might be a higher being. Who am I to know? But he sure as hell hasn't interacted much with humankind in later years.God, if you do exist, meet me in the woods outside my house. If i'm wrong, you may slap me. If you don't show up. Well, your loss.

I want to save the world, can someone tell me where to start?

Well, this chick has totally seen what we are being tricked into doing. This is the Story of Stuff and it tells us about how we are insane consumers that will eat this planet alive like zombies that has smelled Einsteins' brain.
Yum, small graysies. Zombie likes.l

Anywhoo, that's it for today. More thorough update coming soon.

Peace & love, y'all.

Quote of the day:

NONSENSE, POOPYPANTS!!!
-Jim Carrey as Ace Ventura

Whoring my life, then opening your naughty eyes to the truth!

Hello faboulous beings on the planet earth. It's me, your benevolent bastard.

I have been absent for quite some time, because fate and destiny has conspired and hired henchmen like teachers, organisations around town, ninjas, orange cats and even my own parents to preoccupy me to a such extent that I haven't had the time to sit down and let my art flow unto the net.



The pictures you see around here are some of my utterly awesome and loved friends, the only good explanation to how I care about these people (and the rest of you) can only be described by this song: You're My Best Friend - Queen
There, said in an utterly non-gay fashion. I mean, no one can relate gayness to this band or song? Right?

All righty then, on to more pressing issues.... and we're out of time. Exams are raping me, these months... sorry gang.
However, I promise on my mothers left leg and my fifth born child that I WILL return with random facts and views on life.
Like: Your mom's a lousy lay. (just kidding, she's great)