A Canadian in Oslo!

(kind of like "An American in Paris" but with Norweigan subtitles. And no crepes and no Eiffel Tower. Or men with berets. Actually, upon reflection, it's nothing like "An American in Paris", so forget that previous reference entirely). But the Norweigan people were very glad to see me:



(There actually was a brass band. It may not have been just to herald my arrival, though)

Greetings to you all, my brethren. (Am feeling expansive and magnamious, likely due to the very large lunch I've just eaten). I know everyone's been waiting to see if I got bitten by a moose (particularly Jason, who actually thought I had), but the moose were foiled and I emerged from Norway unscathed. My grand plan to see fjords, however, didn't quite work out. I had this idea in my mind that Norway was a teeny little country. And that the fjords were right next door. But they were a 6 hour trip away, and I couldn't a-fjord the time (SNICKER).

Oslo is green and drizzly. They drive on the right. There were more than a few moments when I could have been in Vancouver.



One thing that struck me as odd was the astounding number of Burger Kings that dot the city. People give directions via the Burger King ("Turn de left at elt Boorgur Keeng") and throngs of golden-haired teenagers loiter outside, possibly hoping that some of the greasy goodness will emote towards them through the air. (Trying to replicate the accent in type isn't easy, but imagine the Swedish Chef with a flutelike, melodic soprano).

People were friendly, helpful and unfailingly blonde and incredibly attractive. There is, of course, an exception to prove every rule:



Poor guy - must have been standing in the wrong gene pool at the time.

I got to my hostel around 10pm or so, and paused as I was about to open the door. From the interior came a deep, ominous rumbling sound, so loud that it could be heard in the hallway through the thick oak doors. Cautiously, I open the door and slipped inside. It was pitch black, and the room appeared to be empty except for the bed below mine. The earthshaking snoring issued from quite possibly the largest woman I have ever seen, curled up into a big blue ball and only recognizable as a human by the ear sticking out from under the blanket.

Exhausted by the trip, I locked my stuff in the locker, had a shower and clambered up to my bunk. Normally, I'm very mild-mannered ...violence is not of my nature (peanut gallery, stop snickering or no candy at Christmas for you!). But I'm also a very light sleeper. Loud noise keeps me awake. So I tossed. And I turned..

By 3am, I was no longer mild-mannered or kind towards all creatures great and small. I was staring at the ceiling, contemplating the mechanics of smothering the behemoth below by any means necessary. Weighing the peace and silence that could only come from the destruction of The Creature that Lay Beneath with having to call my friends and family to bail me out of Norweigan prison stopped me - with a VERY narrow margin. By 7am, I'd given up on sleeping entirely and stumbled down the three flights of stairs to the front desk, where two beaming blonde Norweigan hotel staff awaited. I asked to change rooms, and they looked at each other, concern and worry etched on their angelic faces. "Vhat is wrong vith your ruum? How can ve help?" I explained that the woman below me snored. A lot. And that my eardrums may not recover. They looked at each other and giggled. "Ve think ve know who you be talking aboot. She be leaving thees moorning." I swear I heard a silvery symphony of trumpets heralding her departure. It was a beautiful moment.

Saw lots of castles and galleries and an absolutely amazing sculpture park that apparently covered 80 acres. Vigeland is a world famous Norweigan sculptor. He likes to think about people doing yoga:



He doesn't seem to like the neighbour's children.



Had pizza with this very interesting 60 year old Norweigan man, museumed my little heart out, and came back ready to carry on learning about science fiction-y goodness.

School-wise, we watched the Matrix yesterday for today's class, and have Terminator 2 to watch for next week. I have begun my first paper, based on the following premise: "Science Fiction is no more written for scientists than ghost stories are for ghosts"(Brian Aldiss).

Leaving for Scotland tomorrow morning to visit a friend, and there is more castling to be had. Will attempt to post again once I have returned from Edinburgh, and in the meantime, I leave you with a Norweigan ghostly farewell in honour of Hallowe'en:



PS What do you get when you divide the circumfrence of a pumpkin with its diameter? Pumpkin Pi!

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

Hidy ho, people. Not enormous amounts have been happening lately, aside from my opening the minds of my co-students - Chris and Jason were given the honour of watching The Pirate Movie with me. I like to think of it as a rite of passage that all of my friends should go through (those of you who haven't will at some point)...Jason thinks that it's more along the lines of hazing, but he just lacks cinematic appreciation.

You can find a review (albeit an inaccurate one) here:

http://www.interbridge.com/jamessanford/1996/piratemovie.html

The Pirate Movie, for those of you who have been sadly lacking, is the BEST movie EVER. It's a 1982 remake of the Pirates of Penzance, but with many more puns, pop culture moments and fabulous 80s music soundtrack that I even have on CD (I love you Lins!). It's set in the late 1800s, and my favourite scene is the one with the light saber. And there's also a cameo by Indiana Jones. Seriously - it's a classic. Shockingly, neither Jason nor Chris had experienced the joy. I insisted that this simply couldn't continue (and they had made me watch Alien), so we headed over to Chris's and had dinner and they learned the way and the light. In honour of this occasion, they had gotten me a ceremonial hat. I love my hat. A portrait of Christopher Atkins and my hat and I (compliments of Chris) lies below:



Please note that the hat is not part of the movie backdrop and is not for sale. Chris put the hat on and transformed:



And then Jason morphed into a buccaneer:



After the 1.5 hours of magic, we had celebratory flan (compliments of darling Jon as a belated Thanskgiving accompaniment!) and I toasted 24 years of Pirate Movie goodness:



In other news, I'm headed off to Norway in a couple of hours for the weekend, and return Sunday at 11:30pm after seeing lots of Vikings and fjord-y things. I shall take many photos and wish all of the blonde people well.

Hope all is well at home (and elsewhere - Paul, how's that whole coup situation in Thailand?), and think happy Norweigan thoughts my way.

PS Happy 30th Jon!

But nobody told me I had to COOK the carrots (also known as the Triumph of the Gravy)!

A very happy belated Thanksgiving to you all! I am enormously tired, having gotten cooties from Chris/Jason/Andy (all sci fi people who are sick and thus must practice school bioterrorism by passing it on to me, despite my inherent goodness to humanity and how completely undeserving I am of such poor treatment), but am going to blog regardless. Please note with what internal fortitude I face this task and how stoic I am. And not at ALL melodramatic or even the teeniest bit whiny. I have had several people ask why the boys have not been photodocumented yet - this was due to me needing to find a way to cast them into human forms. Chris (from Luxumbourg) is on the left, and Jason (from Georgia) is on the right.



I did come prepared for the occasional cold with an entire battery of medicinal options, including the amazing Buckley's Mixture. Truly the foulest substance known to man, but works like a charm. I introduced Jason to it when he caught his cold and the horrified expression on his face when he gagged it down will be one of my fond Liverpool memories.

I steadfastly refused to miss Thanksgiving goodness merely because I was nowhere near the formerly known New World, and thus planned a massive Thanksgiving potluck of my own for the North Americans in the crowd, as well as my roommates and assorted other friends - about fourteen in total. My quest for authenticity had to bend a bit as I contemplated our dodgy kitchen. The oven is nowhere near big enough to accomodate even the smallest of turkeys, and so I went with two chickens instead (that way, they'd have a friend to commisserate with whilst being cooked). I drafted various people: Charlotte for mashed potatoes, multiple people for salads (Chris outdid himself with tomato and mozzarella - it was a beautiful thing), Jean on pie duty, Philippa on wine, Keith on carrots (more on that below) etc etc..

This left the question of gravy. I've never made gravy. I knew that it involved some kind of meat drippings and a whisk, but that was the extent of my gravy-making research. As the chickens chatted in the oven, I contemplated the Great Gravy Conundrum. And then went to Google to find a way. Flash ahead five minutes, whisking away, as I stared darkly into the pot and muttered, "Thicken, damn you!" It did, eventually, after much cursing and adding of flour, and that resulted in the Great Gravy Dance of Success. Sadly, no photos - it was too tense to allow for flash photogravy. Hah - FUNNY PUN! (Jens, that was for you). Here I am, post gravy and pre cake, flushed with triumph:




People started to come in around 7, bearing pots, pans and bags full of goodies. It was kind of like the March of the Penguins. But with chicken. And gravy. Has the gravy come up at all yet? Keith, one of the fellow Canadians, was on carrot duty. 7:15 - no Keith. 7:30 arrives and Keith struts in, proud of a job well done He smiles at me with the calm assurance of one who knows he has gone above and beyond the call of duty, and said, "I brought carrots!" Which he did. Raw. Still in the supermarket bag. The Canadian contingent posed for a photo after we all finished snickering:



Overall, it was an excellent Thanksgiving, and everyone ate too much and felt slightly queasy for the subsequent 24 hours, which is just as it should be.

In other news, classes go on smoothly and I'm deeply ensconced in I Robot, which is new to me. Also read Ubik, by Philip Dick - lots of interesting concepts of half life. My quest for random knowledge carries on with great success.

(yawn) I'm sure there's bunches more to say, but in my weakened physical state (please see lack of drama and great strength as per above), I am unable to coherely think of anything. I'll leave you with one of my favourite sights of Liverpool life this week: