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Cheers.
Sorry about the wait, but it took me a while to set up the net connection. I also haven't had all that much time to tool around with it.
So, I'm in Skiringssal Folkehøyskole. I think I've only been here three days, not counting the first day when people were just getting their rooms and such.
Heh... My Norwegian isn't particularly good, and there aren't as many people here who speak English as I thought there would be. It seems like more people spoke English in India than they do here, but that's probably just because I keep insisting that everyone speak Norwegian around me (can't get better at Norwegian by speaking English...).
My short time here has been rather... Well, unusual.
For the first two days (particularly the first), I was nervous enough that I felt physically ill. Now I've settled in a bit more, and shifted over from massively stressed to mildly stressed and moderately girl-crazy.
My roommate is a stereotypically tall blonde blue-eyed Norwegian, who is midly scatterbrained and babbles when he's nervous. He also happens to come from the area of Norway known for having the weirdest dialects and speech patterns, so his babbling is of a particularly difficult to understand variety.
I'm in the Film and TV class. When I signed up, I received an email from the school saying how glad they were to have a guy sign up for Film and TV, since it's usually just girls.
Out of the ten people who signed up this year, ten of them are male.
But stifle those laughs, as there's a slight twist. I am one of only two guys in my housing section, the other being my roommate. So it's not all bad.
I haven't really met that many people here, but there are a few faces I can remember between sightings. There's a pirate enthusiast/mild goth down the hall who is enrolled in the music class (she sings. And with quite a nice voice, I might add). There's a guy from Film and TV in the section downstairs who was kind enough to invite me over last night to watch some Led Zeppelin concert clips.
There's actually another native English-speaker here, a metalhead who spends most of his free time on the drumset in the music room. There's an explosion of sound every time someone opens the door, most of it caused by him. He'll probably be quite deaf by the end of the school year, but he's enjoying every second of it.
Speaking of music, my new cell phone, which does not have a SIM card, is utterly incapable of making or taking calls. It is, essentially, a portable music player/alarm clock. What kind of music? Well, I've got Folk Songs from Trio Mediævel, Aerial Boundaries from Michael Hedges (I'd never heasrd of him before. My dad found the album on his computer and decided to upload it to my phone), Wolfmother by Wolfmother, and three Pink Floyd albums.
You'd be surprised how many Pink Floyd fans there are in Norway.
That's actually how I added another person to my list of remembered faces. I can't recall what class he's in, but he had attempted to make contact a couple times before. He's a nice guy, but he looks so damned mournful it's funny.
Anyways, I'm sitting at a table in the rec room and playing cards with a few people. My phone is on the table, providing music for the assembled gathering after someone overheard the ticking clock at the beginning of the song "Time", and said "Oy! Pink Floyd!". It is currently playing "Money".
I see him walking over, same expression as the last few times he's tried talking to me. Then, with perfect timing only a practiced listener can achieve, he mime-yells the titular lyric as it comes up in the song. Good enough for me.
This is a rather strange place. The school is apparently Christian, but the students most certainly are not. There was a survey done a couple days ago where we had to fill out a bunch of questions about what made us choose the school and preferred major, and what kind of things we would expect from them. There was a discussion I overheard later on in the evening, where a group of students (most of whom I am at least mildly acquainted with now) were talking about how they answered one question that asked whether or not the school's Christianity was an important factor for choosing the school. The answers ranged from "absolutely not" to "I don't know" (the closest they could get to "What?").
Heh, it's kinda funny. In Film and TV, a lot of the students wear hats (including one guy who has a very distinctive style, and enjoys wearing either his charcoal beret or his brown fedora). The people in music tend to wear a lot of bracelets, bangles, and wrist-ties.
I'm in Film and looking at music. I'm wearing a navy blue fedora and a wristband. Whoops.
This kind of school prides itself on getting everyong to know each other. It's actually been pretty good so far as cliques and such are concerned, with not too many distinct or exclusive groups in the dining area. What's really funny is that the ones who seem to be flocking the most are the black sheep, who probably just don't think they'd fit in with anyone else.
At the moment, my primary concern is getting a girl. I'd rather not go into specifics, but suffice to say it's been a long time since I last had a girlfriend.
But, hey. It's been three days out of nine months. I've got good time.
On the brighter side, I had to pick up a brand new computer for school. This thing is a 17" widescreen monster, and it also happens to be the only laptop I've seen so far that has a numpad.
It also has a Norwegian keyset. So although I have to retrain the locations of the various keys into my fingers (for instance, the brackets used for UBB code? Those are now "å" and "¨"), I do get lots of fun keys to mess around with. Just see for yourself:
§ | ¤ £ ø æ å € µ
Now I don't have to go to the character set page on the wiki whenever I want to express a crown or a rope reed. Which happens pretty often, as you may well know.
Anyways, time to get out there and do nothing socialize.
My phone just informed me that the lunatics are in the hall. I better go before the paper boy brings more.
See y'all on the dark side of the moon.
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Glad to hear everything is going well for you so far!
My phone just informed me that the lunatics are in the hall. I better go before the paper boy brings more.
Heh. Great song.
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Cool, good luck with the girlfriend issue. I'd enjoy visit Norway sometime, sounds neat.
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Kagus, I really like reading about your "adventures". The only problem is that they make me all sad because I've never left the US. But I will some day!
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It is five minutes past zero. I know I'm going to pay for this tomorrow.
Another day down, and a guaranteed-stress day to follow. I hope things will calm down somewhat, or that I shape up.
Did a test earlier today, where I sat down at an empty table in the cafeteria and started to eat. The test was to see if I could make my wa through an entire meal without anyone joining me.
About halfway through the second piece of flatbread, the singer convinced one of her friends to come with her and sit at my table. A brief conversation followed, wherein I didn't pay attention to what I was saying and ended up phrasing some things poorly. Hopefully, they were taken as they were meant, and not as they sounded.
Yeeg. My problem isn't that nobody's interested in me, my problem is that I don't know what to do with the ones who are. I think the singer is starting to shift her opinion of me from "friend" to "more than friend", but I don't know if I should act to encourage or discourage that change. I think I'd rather have her as a friend, but I am conflicted by the pressing nature of my current desire and the fact that the first choice is not necessarily the last choice, as far as relationships are concerned.
My roommate just informed me that he needed to go to the bathroom. This isn't a request or a question, it's just running commentary. It's also not the first time he's mentioned such a desire.
¤Ahem¤... Anyways, it seems to me that, regarding girls (and this has been going on in some form or another for most of my life), I have my pick of not my pick.
I'll give it a week or so before I start worrying myself over such things. If I don't have at least the budding of a romantic relationship by then, I'll...
Uh... Well, I guess I'll listen to "Young Lust" again. I've been doing that a lot.
Today we got to fill out a form with all of our "extra" activities. We're presented a list of groups/courses that we're supposed to fill out (five of the sections are obligatory, the sixth is not). The groups include everything from boating to guitar lessons to volleyball to philosophy to modern myth (astrology, birth signs, psychic readings and so on). For my obligatories, I picked guitar, minichoir/voice training, band (join the jamming course!), philosophy, and something else which has completely slipped my mind.
For extra extra, I picked salsa. There are a couple Cubans the school managed to pick up during the arrangements for the trip down there, and they're going to teach some of the students how to dance.
That sounds weird. It's late. I've been tired all day for the past three days, and I'm going to be tired all day tomorrow.
You know what really gets me about this whole lack-of-affair affair? My dad figured I should come to the school prepared, and so he bought me what amounts to a starter pack of condoms. He bought extra since he figured I could sell any excess, due to the fact that yes, even condoms are more expensive in Norway.
So now I've got a bag in my closet with what looks like over a hundred Trojans sitting in it. I think I'll start calling it the Trojan Bag (privately, of course).
Well, good night. My roommate's trying to sleep, and will probably complain about the light in a few minutes if I don't shut the computer down and start getting ready for bed.
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Kagus, I really like reading about your "adventures". The only problem is that they make me all sad because I've never left the US. But I will some day!
My thoughts are the same. Good to here you're doing well, though! I was worried about zombie land sharks and such. Wanna trade phones? Mine makes calls somewhat, but is utterly useless for anything else at all. I'd rather have the MP3 player part of it, hah.
Norway sounds like a blast though. Skiriingsal Folkehoyskole. Crap, that's hard to say.
Edit: Whoa. Posted right after you. Sleep? Oh, right, it must be later there then it is here on the east cosat. Damn though, sounds like a lot of fun, whish I got to go to school this year. Bloody expensive unless you live in the same state.
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Hey Kagus you said you have no problem with girls being interested so dont settle with the first one. If you find one dont wait at lunch to see if she comes over ask her to in the halls or something. Either way man goodluck on your adventure.
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It is five minutes past zero. I know I'm going to pay for this tomorrow.
IT'S CALLED MIDNIGHT. DAMN EUROPE.
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Talking to people is a little bit difficult when you can't really speak their language. Ever try to mime someone up? Not easy.
And although the word "Skiringssal" may look dangerous, it really is rather easy to say. SHEE-ring-sahl. If you manage to trill the "r", you're saying it like a real live Norwegian.
Also, we do call it midnight. It's just more fun to call it zero.
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Today was not the day I thought it was going to be. Not only did I forget what day it was, I also forgot what week it was.
So, yeah. Not particularly stressful on this occasion. We've only got one spot for our chosen major, so it's not an actual "school day".
The main point of today was to get everyone ready for the trip we're taking in a couple days. We're setting out to a little island for three days, where we're supposed to get to know each other a little better (this is actually one of the goals listed on the official reasons for taking the trip).
And, while the other majors get to sit around the campfire and listen to one of the music majors who happened to bring along a handy-dandy musical instrument, us Film and TV blokes have to make a movie about the island. Which has to be ready for viewing within a week.
But hey, I just discovered that I have accent keys on this keyboard. Âöñì.
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Good Luck Kagus! Even though I'm a newbie to the forum (1 month?) I still feel inclined (sp?My english is of mediocre quality) to post this nonsense.
As someone who has some experience in trade&sell, I say you should sell the Trojan, bit by bit (if you sell it singlely, you will end up getting more money than just sell them all).
Now I wanted to go to somewhere north (here, in the middle of the world (equator) it is still bad. Flood will come a few weeks after this.) Perhaps Japan. I never saw snow. That's good, because of the God-D***ed Sinusithys.
Thank you, Kagus, to share your experience with us, the non-traveler.
Thank you very much,
IWM
PS:This seemed like a message, does it not? Well, I'm more suitable to type essay than just usual post. Hahahaha
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Who are you going to sell them to, classmates or stores?
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I think it is generally more profitable (in social link, of course) to sell them to classmate. However I don't know much of this (only Junior High School economy. But that is enough to make a store, it seemed to be). Still, only sell them if:a) You, Kagus, has few money and need to buy/spend it on something. b)Your classmate really needs them. However I know only few about condom (And I don't intend to know better until I'm matured....)
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Yeah, per-condom sales were the intended business plan. I can sell them for roughly half the price they'd normally go for here, and still make a lot of profit. And profit is always a reason in and of itself. Even though I don't need the money right now, who knows when I might be in a jam for some cash?
Besides, safe sex is a good thing to promote. And it's likely that potential customers will view the purchase of condoms from a fellow student to be more confidential than going to a store and picking up a batch. And when it comes to condoms or other sex products, people will set a rather amusingly high price on anonymity.
Well, I just got back from film class. We got split into three groups, and each group had to make two different movies. The first one had to be filmed entirely in one take, the second one had to be taken in clips (no moving of the camera allowed. You want another view, you need to cut). No time to edit, just turn the camera on and off and hope for the best.
Naturally, with no prior experience in moviemaking, the results were rather abominable. But they were remarkably good if you consider the situations they were made under.
There's your "just stopping by" update. I'm heading off to the rec room where I will fumble around for something to do. Again.
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Argh! My eyes! Must not read ***!
Arm-ok, forgive me! Argh! I have broken the rules!
UARGHHH!!!
[/kidding]
Hmm, movies.... Well, I myself is a novel/manga person myself....
Still, it IS hard if you never practice (I have tried making a movie myself, a very, very, short movie. Like 2 minutes. Using Cellphones. The result? Just Nothing. Nothing. hahahahaha. I doesn't even filmed the action. I missed.)
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Straying a wee bit too far into the condom zone here.
Just got back from the first part of today's film class, where we talked about camera movement types and general film lingo. Very important stuff, as you may well know.
I made a couple notes, but stopped after a while since I knew everything the teacher (who looks almost like Hugh Grant from time to time) was talking about. Plus one or two minor points.
There was apparently a little bit of an overcrowding on the extra stuff list, so the guy handling that asked for around fifteen to sixteen people to willingly give up their otherwise obligatory activity in favor of three hours free time.
It's just one activity slot, and only until Christmas. But still, that's three hours free every Friday before lunch.
As it turns out, my preferred activity for that time slot was philosophy (film, music, philosophy. Man, I'm covering all the bases) which, since the leader of that particular course isn't at the school yet, only starts until after Christmas.
So, instead of having some activity that I really didn't want to do in the first place, I got some time to myself.
I'll probably use it to play cards.
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Philosophy? You would be like this when you played DF again:
Kagus:Hmm, if the dwarves dig here, then the mountain equibrillium would be destroyed.
Goblins: Urgha!
Kagus: Screw this, I'm going to apocalypse the world RIGHT NOW!
Urist McMiner: :singing
[Urist McMiner,Miner, attack the roots of the Mountain!]
[Mountain has been struck down]
Goblins: [Awesome destroyalal]
Message: The World Has Ended. YOU ARE THE GOD OF apocalypse
Kagus: Sh*t! I forget to record that....
Hahahahahaha
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Figures. When I take the inevitable stumble, i can't just take a stumble. i have to fail spectacularly.
Behold, me. I'm wearing my fedora and my shades which were rather overpriced at $75. I'm in a good mood.
I'm in such a good mood that I decide to stylishly hop down the two stairs in front of the exit door of this lobby-esque section of the main building (rec room to one side, gymnasium and school offices to the other).
I am interrupted mid-flight by a low-flying ceiling, which takes a drop right at the beginning of the stairs.
I crash head-first into the ceiling and begin to tumble in the air. I'm more surprised than hurt at this point in time.
Then, I land on the steps. I have gone forward and rotated enough so that I cushion the blow of the first step's corner with my hip. Just imagine what might have happened if I hadn't been able to make that brilliant save.
I then slide down and give my ribcage a good rattling on the step. It hurts when I sneeze or pull/push open a door.
Finally, to add insult to injury, my shades explode. One lens is sent rocketing across to the other end of the room. Interestingly enough, it is fully intact. It's not even scratched.
The only truly broken thing about the shades is that one lens holder snapped. But it's a pretty clean break, so it shouldn't be too difficult to patch it back together again with some glue.
Speaking of glue, I don't have any. I went around asking some of the other students if they had any, but the absurdity of going up to someone and asking "excuse me, do you have any glue?" made them think I was probably just struggling with the language. I had to repeat myself multiple times, but at least I got to tell the story of my latest AIO (Argument with an Inanimate Object) a few more times.
I was actually remarkably lucky. My phone happened to be in the pocket of the hip I landed on, and since I landed on the corner of the stair I somehow managed to miss the phone. My hip may not like the way things turned out, but who cares what it thinks.
What do I have to show for my fall? A small scrape on the third finger of my right hand. I don't even know how I managed to get it in the first place, but it makes a very fitting battle scar. Even though it won't scar.
The nail below it is also a little dark.
Tomorrow, Hudø. No one really knows how to spell that, by the way.
It's a small island that we'll be packing off to for a few days of fun and sun. Everybody gets to just sit back, relax, get involved in a few fun activities, and generally chill out before getting back to school.
Well, almost.
Introducing, FILM CLASS! Every year, the Film and TV course gets to record the Hudø trip and then show the finished (I.E. cut/edited) film afterwards, in case anyone forgot where they went.
So, yeah. They get to relax, I'm supposed to film them relaxing. And then edit the film afterwards. And make it presentable for an audience within two weeks.
And I still can't pack everything I need into this damn bag. And no, taking the condoms out of it (yes... That bag...) won't help. I'll just have to carry what I can't shove into it.
About sixteen students left earlier today on the Viking boat, which is named "Gaia" for a really idiotic reason. I'd rather not talk about it right now, it's quarter over half one (12:45PM for you types not acquainted with how you're supposed to tell time), and I am very tired.
I need to trim my toenails soon. Luckily, I have some free time Friday morning.
On the bright side, I've learned several new card games since coming to school. Stress, Idiot, and President. There's a joke in there somewhere, but it's far too late for me to see it clearly.
Good night, back in a few days.
P.S.
I just did the numbers today. There are eighteen girls on this floor, and eight guys. Here we have today's fun fact:
Term for girl = pike
Slang term for penis = pikke
We have eight pikker and eighteen piker (Norwegian uses "r" or "er" to denote plural form).
I haven't started work on the first floor yet.
Two over one. That's the latest I've stayed up yet. And it's a busy day tomorrow. Whee.
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Nice fall. Ceiling hits are always the most humiliating. Keep it coming, this is rather entertaining. ;D
Also, how is the food in Norway?
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This is an intresting topic, keep em coming. I'd like to know what studying abroad is like.
Though by the time I make it college I'm more than sure that studying abroad would be as imposible than passing college to get a degree of somesorts.
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Did I forget to mention going to a Folkehøyskole gives college credits?
Y'know, someone recently asked me how the food in Norway compared to food in the states.
There are a few major differences. First, Americans do not have canned mackerel in tomato sauce (for sandwiches), caviar paste in a tube (for sandwiches), pickled herring (for sandwiches), or spreadable chocolate (for sandwiches).
Second, Norwegians do not have all-marshmallow cereals.
Third, Americans do not eat breakfast twice in one day.
That last thing is called "kveldsmat", which amounts to "evening food". Basically the same spread as it is for breakfast, just much later.
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Americans do not have spreadable chocolate (for sandwiches).
Wow, really? I have always thought of that as a very America-y product.
Keep up the updates (dare I say blog), Kagus. It's very interesting to read about your adventures and hear how foreign (or half-foreign) people see Scandinavia. Also I keep getting surprised how similar Norway seems to be to Finland.
For example:
Third, Americans do not eat breakfast twice in one day.
That last thing is called "kveldsmat", which amounts to "evening food". Basically the same spread as it is for breakfast, just much later.
Exactly the same in Finland. Except the name here is "iltapala" meaning "evening bit/piece"
ilta = evening/night
pala = a piece of something.
Breakfast is "aamupala" ("morning piece")
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or spreadable chocolate (for sandwiches).
Spreadable chocolate? HOT DOG! You have to tell me what it's called!
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=\ is it weird that spreadable chocolate sounds discusting to me?
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Personally, I think chocolate simply does not go with bread. It plain does not.
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=\ is it weird that spreadable chocolate sounds discusting to me?
Whaaaat? It's actually really nice - especially nutella (though that's hazelnut as well as chocolate).
And keep us informed on your everyday adventures, Kagus, it's nice to hear how things are going ;)
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Spreadable chocolate is called nutella in canada and I think its a product from the states. Its quiet good, its like penutbutter but tastes like chocolate.
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=\ the more I think about it the more my stomic feels upset by the thought. Weird...It just realy dosnt sound good
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Just got back from Hudø. I'm tired. There's a brand of spreadable chocolate called Sjoko. There's also spreadable caramel. I just misread that as camel.
Well, that was fun. Got to take a trip on the viking ship (which happens to have a rather large motor in it. I guess it's just a compact version of the times when viking sailors would strap five hundred horses to the boat and get them to start swimming), which was interesting. I never knew how they worked the sail before.
We also had competitive rowing, which is quite entertaining when not a single person on your team has done coordinated rowing before (including the drummer). I never knew so few people could hold a rhythm.
Then there was the treasure hunt, which my team eventually just gave up on after suffering two injuries and getting tired of rock climbing. The dark-clad pirate enthusiast singer is still limping a bit.
As for accommodations, I first went to the wrong colony. When I got to the one I was supposed to be in, all the rooms had already been taken. Some of the girls were asked if they would be willing to share a room with a guy (there were a couple rooms that had only three beds taken up, and those were occupied by the feminine gender), but that was of course a fleeting joke of an idea.
So, after a little searching, two more rooms were found. These were spacious, had only two beds each, and were stocked with sinks, cabinets and desks of their own. I ended up in one of these.
But wait, there's more. After a bit of looking around my new room, I found an odd key. I tried it on the cabinet, but that wasn't the right one. I tried it on the desk drawers, but those were all blocked.
Then I saw an odd box on the wall, and stuck the key in. Unlocking it was a little bit tricky, but I managed. Then I saw what was inside.
The power box.
Before you ask, no, I did not succumb to temptation and start flinging switches with malicious glee. I did have some fun with a slight side effect of it though.
The room was directly adjacent to a little open entryway for the rest of the housing complex. One door led to my room, another led to the other "deluxe" room, and the central door led into the main section where all the other rooms were.
On the second night, I decided to go to bed a bit before everyone else. I was tired, and I wasn't getting anything out of the crowd that I wanted. I made my way back to my building and into the room, where I started looking for a light switch.
Well, I found one. Except it didn't turn on any lights in my room.
The entryway was flooded with light as its own personal bulb flared into glory. Two girls who had just entered the entryway and were making their way to the main structure gave shrieks of surprise as they were blasted with light and the image of a groggy me standing in the doorway.
I smiled at them politely and said "excuse me".
This, of course, was solid gold. I waited at the door until I detected someone passing, and then I would shut off the light. The first time I did it, I spooked some guy who started warbling as he shook the shock off.
The second time was perfection. I could hear a couple girls walking towards the entrance from inside the building, and I settled in for the pounce. They started across the small area when the lights suddenly go out. There's an "oy!" of surprise, and then they slow down and wait for their eyes to adapt to the darkness after what is certainly either a power failure or some sort of timed "lights out".
Then it turns back on again. There's a light titter of laughter at whatever mistake caused the slight lapse of light, and then they start off again.
Out goes the light. They stop, there's a little more laughter at the unusual electrical display. The light pops on again, and one of them jokingly mentions "ghosts".
It is at this moment that I put on my best "EEEeeeheehee!" face and open the door just enough to stuick my head out. I chuckle maliciously, and howls of laughter erupt from them as I retreat back into my lair.
I would have to say, bloody well done.
I ranked up a couple other points with the female persuasion that day. Just the little things that have a funny way of being worth more than you give them credit for.
I gave a thorough foot massage to one girl who had tired feet after this one activity that had everyone running around the island. Foot massages are a great way to get in good graces, as they're not exclusively lovey-dovey in their purpose and thus do not have much pressure associated with them.
But then I came across a new and remarkably effective means of getting a good reputation. I was sitting next to a group of girls during the evening singing and fire. I had positioned myself behind the first row of them so I could look over the shoulder of one and read the songbook to get all the lyrics for the current song.
There was a stack of songbooks behind a rock down near the fire, but this was more rewarding.
Anyways, after a while of sitting like that, the second row arrived and took up position next to me. After some time, the girl sitting directly adjacent to me started toying with the hair of the one holding the songbook. All good fun.
I was finding innovative ways of making the absolute most of my jacket, and exposing as little skin to the rigid air as possible. One of these attempts was apparently rather entertaining to the assembled group, so I made the most of it.
Anyways, after a while of this, I realized I must have significantly warmer hands than the girl next to me, who was still tying braids and other unusual things into songbook-holding-girl's hair. I warmed my hands on my stomach for that extra kick, and then motioned for her to give me her hand.
Something as simple as a hand-to-hand warmth transfer managed to get several coos and other appreciative noises from those witnessing it, and also one mention of "I've got a new best friend". She also had to show off her new warm hands, something which sounds very strange in text.
So, yeah. Foot massages (well, extremity massages. Hands are also good) and small heat transfers. Unfortunately, both of those newly-realized talents have become a little more difficult with the return to a school environment.
I also don't have a power box in my room anymore.
But, hey. You know you've got it good when one group of girls agrees that you are "tøff" (lit. "tough". Often used as a Norwegian version of "cool").
Another group told me I looked like Brandon Lee in "The Crow", just without the makeup. I'm not sure how to take that.
EDIT: Just did some more counting. In this entire building, first and second floors, there are 38 girls and 18 guys. You'd think I would see more of them.
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View 290, reply 29. Good timing.
Just got back from a walk with a few folks. It rained. No one was wearing rain clothes, because it wasn't going to rain. I was soaked. My felt hat got quite wet before I decided my head could take more water than it could. I'm hoping for the best.
We went to Kebab King for some food and shelter from the rain. First time I've had a foot massage turned down, but it was done so with a wording that made up for the accepted times.
But I managed to get a certain amount of favor with the group as a whole by showing off my ability to put my foot behind my head. I do, however, know that I'm going to be kicking myself for offering the footrub. It's just the way I am.
I also found out (I think) that this one girl I've been considering is apparently spoken for.
My roommate, on the other hand, was given directions by a girl to her room and was accompanied by a small group of them to tonight's movie.
Speaking of tonight's movie, it was a Norwegian parody of Kill Bill.
You know, there's been a lot of really good humor coming out of Norway. Some very fine comic performances and material claim Norway as their hometown. This was not one of them.
Unfortunately, it seems to have become an overnight smash hit among the students. Everyone is saying things in a mimicked voice of one of the film's characters, a heavily retarded man. And no one here is aware of the fact that they really shouldn't anticipate agreement when they ask for my opinion.
Tomorrow will have a few activities, and then after that it's the official start of the school year. For two days. Then it's vacation time, where we have to vacate the school for a couple weeks.
Also, my phone is behind by one day. And I lost the necklace one of the teachers made for me on the island.
Crikey, time for vacation... My folks are still here in Norway, and were wondering if it was alright for them to take me back to my granddad's farm (where they're staying) for that time. I feel strange with the knowledge that they fully expect for me to have completely integrated and made lots of friends, maybe even found other plans for vacation time. Do you know what it's like, telling your parents that no, you don't have anyone to take along with you?
Heck, even one of the girls I considered to be a friend seems to be avoiding me. Or at least ignoring.
Hell and damnation... I'm really not that bad a guy, I just need a chance to prove it.
Ah, don't mind me. My battery's running low. I start off in the morning with lots of enthusiasm and verve, but as darkness falls the spring in my step seeps away and is replaced with melancholia.
That, and my clothes are wet.
-
Wondrous. And better yet, it's real. This is on it's way to Beyond Quality, I think.
-
Bwahaha. There's a girl running around (one of my first acquaintances, the one I haven't talked much with for a while) wearing a geek T-shirt. Behold:
C:\DOS
C:\DOS RUN
RUN\DOS\RUN
Don't have much time, just popping in. I got everything I wanted on my extras list, a small luxury but an important one.
I missed breakfast today because my damned phone figured I didn't really want to have my alarm set. I'm a bit hungry, but nothing I haven't lived through before.
Gotta dash, talk to y'all later. Ciao.
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Bleegh. We were all assigned songbooks today. And, since we're all so damned creative, we have to give our books unique bindings.
I created an aobmination that I cannot tolerate the sight of. I want to burn it right here and now, stripping myself naked while I laugh and dance in the glow of the flames. It's that good.
I'm going to see if I can't hit the equivalent of the "reboot" button and start over. The faculty here is rather accommodating, so I don't think it will be that big of a problem. Hopefully.
Dinner (which is served at 3:00PM) was Italian in shape and consistency, so I got a fine meal of pasta and pesto. It's nice when they decide to serve something I enjoy.
Think I'll go take a shower. I kinda need one, seeing as it will be the first time since coming to the school.
Meeeh.... I want a shower partner...
I managed to get my phone back on track. It refused to change the date while automatic update was on. Apparently it thought it was connecting to the internet and updating the time from there.
Well, it can't access the internet. So it kept insisting it was yesterday, while preventing me from "screwing up" the very well-oiled time update plan.
I managed to turn off the automatic update thing long enough to change the date. It still thinks it's updating automatically, but now at least it has the right day.
One of my male acquaintances (a tall, quiet guy who's in drawing and painting class. He ended up sharing a room with me on Hudø since the bunks in the standard rooms were too short for him) apparently has a treasure trove of meme-related T-shirts. The first one I saw on him was a stick-figure depiction of the act of laughing one's ass off. He's currently wearing a Domo-kun shirt.
I'm wearing a Volcom shirt, a company that apparently has not quite made it to Norway yet (although I have seen Quiksilver and Billabong, which surprised me). When I was in the rec room earlier, he asked me what it meant. I told him it was the name of a company. He asked what the company did. I said it made shirts.
I guess meaningless tees haven't made it here either.
You know, for a place where mosquitoes are practically the national bird, people really don't seem to know that you shouldn't scratch the damn bites. People have been clawing themselves ever since the Hudø trip, and that really doesn't do any good...
Right, shower. Then it's off to bang my head against a wall for an hour and a half, and then it's story time in the library at 8:00PM. After that, who knows? I might start producing a pheromone that is utterly irresistable to good-looking women!
Fingers crossed.
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Hahaha. Good luck!
Still, what's a shower partner means? ???
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Someone you go into the shower with to get dirty.
Shower partners are, in a word, lust.
If I'm being too vague, I mean a person who will have sex with you in the shower.
EDIT: Oh, and chocolate-on-bread tastes a little bit like that time you thought corn flakes would go great with chocolate milk.
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I feel strange with the knowledge that they fully expect for me to have completely integrated and made lots of friends, maybe even found other plans for vacation time. Do you know what it's like, telling your parents that no, you don't have anyone to take along with you?
This seems quite strange to me. Haven't you been over there for something like 2 weeks? When I went to a new school without knowing anyone beforehand, I didn't expect at all to hang around with the new acquaintances outside school after only a few weeks. It took me almost that long to even find and get to (somewhat) know the people I later became friends with. I am quite a social person and I seem to get to know people rather quickly, but doing things during vacation together seems to require something like at least a month of getting used to. At least here in Finland.
Girls on the other hand are quite different. In the right circumstances things can happen quite fast (even here in the far north) and so I guess you mostly meant this with 'plans' during the vacation.
But still, I don't think that it's at all strange if you don't have anyone to take along with you.
P.S. I just ate a spreadable chocolate sandwich as a part of the "evening breakfast".
-
I just have parents who overestimate me is all. They would not be surprised in the slightest if I came back after two weeks with fifteen close friends and one long-term girlfriend.
Well, today was peculiar, but not overly interesting. I have torn off the foul markings on the songbook's binding, but I didn't get a chance to burn them. I really do want to do that.
Storytime was also slightly unusual. I was the only male among about seven or eight people who decided to go (I guess having a children's story read aloud to you is not a popular young adult pastime), and there wasn't much tea water left.
I would like to take this opportunity to point out that Norwegian children's stories are remarkably different from American children's stories. In a Norwegian children's story, a truck driver happens upon a whale-sized fish and decides to take his family on a trip around the world.
Since it's not really that big a distance across the atlantic and pacific oceans, they manage to do this in fairly good time.
The truck driver has three children; an anorexic daughter, a boy addicted to soda, and a younger boy who urinates on vehicles. By the end of the story, the daughter has (wonderfully) grown a double chin, and the young boy has long since promised never to piss in strange places again. Soda-boy is still guzzling soda by the litres, and pissing it back out again in great detail.
These sun cycles are not healthy...
Official school day tomorrow. I'll probably be spending a lot of time editing (or observing the editing of) the Hudø trip footage. I've got classes all day, which isn't nearly as bad here as it is in other places.
Each session is about an hour long, with ten-minute breaks in between each session. This is again broken by a one hour lunch break at 12:30. There are five to six sessions in a day, all depending on if we have choir in the morning or if there's a special announcement that needs to be made.
Tee hee hee... There are some plants decorating the tables in the cafeteria. When we first came to the school, I don't think anybody knew what they were. It took a few days after settling in before someone realized that they were peppers.
I don't know what kind of peppers they are, exactly... The label just says "spanish peppers". I do know, however, that they are very tasty and quite hot. I've been impressing quite a few people by eating the things, as well as peppering (ha ha) the conversation with what little pepper lore I know.
Such as the fact that capsaicin (soft second "c"), the chemical that gives peppers heat, triggers a reaction that makes your body think it's on fire. This in turn makes your body attempt to keep things under control by pumping endorphins into your system to serve as a painkiller. Nature's morphine.
It is actually possible to get a pepper high, simply by triggering a serious enough response that you get an endorphin rush.
Ta.
-
Well, that was fun. I have proven that my sense of humor is most certainly not shared by the general populace of this fine establishment. Either that, or it just gets lost in the translation.
Anyways, failed joke aside, it turns out that a setting on the camera we used out on Hudø got flipped. This switch prevented any sound from being recorded.
That means all the singing and laughing I and many others filmed is utterly silent. At least I had the vision to take some shots that didn't require audio, but still... Some of the best ones were clips of singing.
So, yeah. There's going to be a lot of music overlay on the latter part of the Hudø film this year.
I've been maneuvering myself in the general direction of a particular girl today, with mixed results. There was a slight mixup where I was waiting to see which table she would sit at, so I could take a seat at the same table before it filled up. I miscalculated, and she sat down halfway across the room from me.
Still though, I was fortunate enough to end up at her table for breakfast today. Many stolen looks commenced.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to coordinate those things? So that you happen to be looking at her the moment she happens to be looking at you? The eye is one speedy little body part...
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Do you have any idea how difficult it is to coordinate those things? So that you happen to be looking at her the moment she happens to be looking at you? The eye is one speedy little body part...
No need for the cloak and dagger maneuvering. I'd just ask if she'd like to hang out with you sometime. It's not that hard.
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Aaaaaah, but he's trying to be romantic, not sensible.
Anyway, what is she like and what does she do?
-
Aaaaaah, but he's trying to be romantic, not sensible.
Well in that case I can think of many things much more spontaneous and romantic.
-
Aww, but I like it. I want to carefully plan my movements so that I instill raging desire within her, and then I'll say something along the lines of indicating a returned interest.
...
Right.
Eeh, lemme put it this way: I'm great with crowds, horrible with individuals. I can shriek my name in a funny voice when attendance is being taken, I can make surprise dance movements while walking, I can do a "Shining face" around doors, I can pretend my sandwich is a piece of modern art at the breakfast table, and I can hypnotize myself with a carrot. What I can't do is talk to people.
I can also fascinate people by eating a pepper. I've really got to get the Pakistani student to try one of those things.
Yes, we have a token Paki. He's ridiculously skilled, I haven't seen him do something yet that he wasn't good at. And I've seen him playing ping-pong, playing guitar, singing, shuffling cards and doing card tricks. Cards are supposed to be my area, dammit. What's Pakistan to Vegas?
What's really funny is that although I can do that fancy double-shuffle, I didn't learn it in Vegas. I just sat down at a table one day in Mexico during the vacation for my fifteenth birthday, and started shuffling. Eventually, I got it.
Righto, it's off to wander I go. I heard someone trying to play Back In Black in the music room earlier, which is always nice.
PRE-POST EDIT: Posting has occurred while you wer writing this post, do you wish to A) Panic x) Review your post 3) Bhurma.
Torak, spontaneity does not necessarily equal romantic. In any case, I would love to see you being romantic sometime. That is not meant as an insult or a rejection of your point, I would just really like to see how you woo.
And I honestly can't remember what she does. I think she might be in clothes design since there's a band-aid on her thumb, but I really don't know. She's got nice eyes, a nice laugh, and an easy smile. Works for me.
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Well, had some luck earlier. I was invited along for some chilling at this one girl's room while she put makeup on another. Naturally this was a group affair, so there were about six of us. Including Girl X.
So the makeup parlor is in full swing on one side of the room while the uninvolved do some YouTubing on the other bed. I earn points by referring them to the works of Lasse Gjertsen.
A few minutes later it's seven of the clock, which is time for evening breakfast. We all pick up and head out, but I'm taking a while to get along since I'm the only one who has to re-tie his/her shoes. This has given Girl X a chance to grab her camera from her room.
This results in three things. One, I find out her room's location. Two, I have a fifty-fifty chance on her name (name placards on the door. This is important, because I've been introduced to her before and can't for the life of me remember her name). Three, I am included in a group photo with her friends.
Oh my, the excitement is nearly overwhelming, isn't it?
Eveningfast provided another chance for me to completely miss the table she decided to sit at. I figured she was going to go to the same table as the rest of us. She didn't.
Aaanyways, lemme tell you about another one of my jester events.
So I'm walking down the hall, on my way to do something in the main building. Someone has been foolish enough to leave the door to their room open on my watch, and I can hear the giggling conversation of females coming from inside.
I set my pace, and prepare myself for the assault. As I pass by the door, I turn my head to look inside. I see them, reclining on their beds and bouncing slightly to reposition themselves more comfortably. I give a wild-eyed grin and cackle madly as I pass.
Utter silence. I have shocked them into speechlessness. I continue on my path towards the door. Behind me, there's a tentative laugh. Probing. Testing.
And then as I reach the door leading out of the hall, a helpless torrent of laughter floods out of the room. My strangeness has once again brought joy to the world. Packaged, as it usually is, along with a large helping of utter confusion.
That'll give them something to talk about.
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Hooph... Can I get half a point for guts?
There were a couple billiard games in the rec room earlier, where she was playing alongside this one guy that I've seen her hanging out with before. They seemed to be at least acquainted, if not together. He was giving her directions on how to hold the stick and hit the balls.
Is it actually possible to mention anything about pool without unintentional innuendo?
Anyways, the guy was going off to do workout a bit and she figured that sounded like a good idea. She was just going to pop back to the housing complex to change into ther workout clothes.
I figured this was probably going to be the only chance I'd get to talk to her alone.
I followed after her, and told her to wait up. Bear in mind that I have absolutely no training or practice in this. Not to mention the slight language barrier problem.
After a very brief hello-hello, I came right out with it and asked her if she was together with that guy. She said no, and asked if it looked that way. I don't know the word for "curious" in Norwegian, but I tried to convey that I just wanted to know.
Small period of slightly uncomfortable silence.
I ask her if she's together with anyone else. She says no. This is good, but is countered by the fact that I should probably be saying something. She fills in the silence by inquiring into my own personal relationship status. I say that I am unattached. Have been, in fact, for a very long time.
Beh... Might as well out with it. I told her, so I'll tell you. I haven't had a girlfriend since I was five years old (she was eleven. I liked them older foxes).
She was naturally surprised, but not repulsed as I might have suspected. Again, a good sign countered by the fact that I should really say something else.
But hell if I can muster the courage to put the floating pieces of unattached-ness together and suggest a mutual solution.
Long period of rather uncomfortable silence. Signs are mixed. She's obviously uncomfortable, judging by the nervous laughs and glancing around, but she is waiting for me to say something else instead of just going away.
But the silence stretches on too long, and the whole thing kinda fizzles. She went off to get her workout clothes, and I went in the other direction to listen to some music and calm my nerves. Now there's a half-completed arrangement clogging the works. Hey, at least now I know she doesn't have a boyfriend!
/facetentacle
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Bring a boom box and play... pretty much any Rick Astley song ever, that'll make her swoon.
-
...
Right.
Well, thanks for bringing a smile to my face with the thought of a real-life Rick Roll. However, I do not have any Rick Astley albums. Nor do I have a boom box. All I've got is a phone with some Pink Floyd, Trio Mediæval, and Michael Hedges.
Not quite the same. But then again, neither am I.
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Well, that's nice. Everybody's going out for bowling. Turns out X is quite the bowler, and is very excited about going out.
Nice big group of people going out to town for a night of bowling. And I can't find my damned wallet to pay the fee.
So, no bowling for me. The only cash I've got is a few five-krone coins for the washing machine and a one-krone in my pocket which I take out to flip every now and then. That low of a denomination is effectively useless nowadays, kinda like the penny.
I'm staying back 'ere for the time, practice a bit on the guitar. I really hope I get a chance (not to mention the words) to fill out the rest of that conversation.
But tomorrow is the start of a quickie vacation, so I probably won't be talking with her for a few days. I hope the right thoughts occur in that period...
Turns out the Hudø footage was not, in fact, soundless. Nobody's entirely sure why it appeared to be that way the first time we checked it.
In any case, we've got some decent footage of some singing that we can still use. Most of the filmed trip was actually rather dull... The high point of the footage my group has been working on is where a huge grasshopper is crawling over someone's arm. Exciting stuff.
Especially when it's compared to the Hudø films from previous years, which we've been reviewing in order to get an idea as to what kind of things we'd like to do on this one. Our grasshopper has to compete with an epic butt-ball goal (several lucky people line up with posteriors proudly presented. One person kicks a soccer ball) and an amateur flame-breather's beard catching on fire.
"Snatch the grasshopper from my hand, Pebble..."
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There's a girl here who insists on helping me learn Norwegian and get socialized. She sat me down at a table a little while ago and proceeded to question me extensively so that I could practice talking in Norwegian.
After a few of the juicier points of interest in my rather peculiar background, she was starting to have a little difficulty finding new things to ask. Instead, she moved towards giving me advice on how to get more friends/acquaintances.
Much later, this one guy walked into the rec room. She said hi to him, and asked for him to sit down next to her. She then left me with him, after giving him instructions to talk to me a bit.
Lemme explain a little bit about this guy. I can't remember his name, but I don't think I'll easily forget his face. His eyes are slightly bulged out of his head, and his distinctive mouth is moved slightly forward and is often left at least partially open.
There's just something about the way his face is constructed, along with his unusual stare and apparently difficult thinking habits, that leads me to believe he is at least mildly retarded.
I don't know why, but I have never been good around the mentally lacking. They radiate an aura that repels me. I'm sorry that I feel that way, but I do. I just don't feel comfortable around them.
Especially when they follow me around and sit right next to me when there are plenty of other seats... I really don't know what this guy wants from me.
He's asked me questions on a couple occasions, but this wasn't one of them. From the time the girl left the table to the time both us guys left the table to find other things to do, not a single word was spoken on either side.
But it felt good to talk. Y'know, get advice on how to make friends and all that.
Hm. I think the modern-day usage of the word "friend" is a little bit slack. I consider a "friend" to be someone you 1) Like, 2) Spend a fair amount of time with, and 3) Confide in.
The modern-day approach seems to be more along the lines of "shotgun". Someone runs into a room and yells "YOU'RE ALL MY FRIENDS!", and then runs back out.
I have five people on my Steam friends list. I never even see two of them, one of them is my dad's account, and I intend to prune one of the remaining ones off my list sometime.
And then ValVe thinks joining a game, having three and a half people from your friends list join, and then proceeding to share seventeen Spy revolver kills with them warrants a medal.
Yeesh, some people... I'm glad I've got all you guys as my friends.
Eh, gotta go.
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Well, more fun. Today was Friday, first day with our extras. But, since I've got free time on Friday mornings, I decided to wander around a bit after breakfast. You know, find something to keep me occupied until my folks came to pick me up around twelve.
So I'm sitting in my room and playing Pandemic II. I hear singing coming from somewhere, and I look out the window. It sounds like it's coming from the main building. I wonder what they could possibly be-
The time.
8:42. Twelve minutes after morgensamling started. My mind was overwhelmed by the information that I had free time on Friday mornings, so I forgot that we still have obligatory morgensamling every single day. For everybody.
Well, so much for getting a perfect record of attendance.
Right now I'm sitting at my granddad's farm up North. I'm going to relish the ability to sleep in as long as I want for the few days I've got it.
The first payment to the school has been made, and my funding from the bank is almost completely worked out, so I won't have to pay the school with my own money for very long.
Speaking of money, I just found my wallet. Yay. Now I can go "bovling".
And that brings me back to the girl. There's a board that's just been set up in the rec room that has pictures of every student at the school, with their names underneath. Now I know exactly what her name is. Oddly enough, she's got the same first name as one of my great-grandmothers.
Very handy tool, that photo board. It'd be a lot better if I didn't look completely brain dead for my own photo. At least I haven't got the worst picture on there...
Jus' gonna relax for a few days. The only things I've got planned are a trip to the bank tomorrow, my granddad's birthday party on Sunday (a few days after his birthday, but oh well), and the trip back to Skiringssal on Tuesday. Hopefully, things won't be much more exciting than that.
Man, I'm tired... I believe I shall take great pleasure in slacking off.
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Hm, how many days did you say you had left?
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Yeesh, some people... I'm glad I've got all you guys as my friends.
Yeah, you have internet friends. We're useful. We make your real friends laugh at you.
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Uh, I head back to the school on Tuesday. Not a very long time, but it's a break. And I'll take all the breaks I can get (yuk yuk yuk).
I have been deliberating over how the hell I'm going to iron out things with the girl after my bold half-assing, and things aren't looking very bright. Relationships need to be worked into, not agreed upon. And I've kinda gloriously f*'ed up the smooth and easy approach. But I really don't like the idea of going for someone who's already in a relationship, so I had to know.
I guess I'm just really out of practice. I haven't the foggiest clue what I'm doing.
Heh. A far more acceptable approach would simply be to do as Torak suggested, and ask if she'd like to hang out sometime. But it's a little tricky asking someone to join you when you don't have anything to do.
Still though, some good signs. She still glances at me from time to time, and she'll smile at me if we pass each other. Not exactly omens of doom.
Anyways, my yammering about this is going to get dull very, very fast. And since I'm not currently at the school, I don't have a whole lot else to update with. So instead I'll gladly answer any questions you lot might have about the school or the people going to it. But I don't like giving out names on the internet, so don't expect much identification. Traits and mannerisms are perfectly fine, however. And there are quite a few of those.
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Once again, this is quite interesting. And about the guy who may be slightly retarded, I usually attempt to be nice and understanding around them, they are often very nice people once you get to know them a bit. May turn out to be a good friend. And again, good luck with your relationships.
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Like I said, I don't like the fact that I don't feel comfortable around them. I do try to be amiable of course, but I know that my actions will seem slightly stiff since I just don't feel right.
He's a nice enough guy, but his sense of humor is just a teensy bit all-encompassing for my tastes.
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There was this one fellow in my High school gym class who was retarded. Oh boy was he fun, he's do all sorts of shenanigans to piss off the teachers. We'd also chest bump from time to time.
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Kagus how are your guitar skills? If pretty decent ask that girl if she would like to hang out, explain to her you could teach her how to play guitar. If you dont wana do that ask her to go out for lunch, dinner or whatever is common there. Im sure you can go off campus to eat..
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We can leave school grounds whenever we want for whatever we want. So long as we're there for the essential gatherings and whatnot, they have absolutely no restrictions placed on where we spend our free time.
As for the guitar, I'll have to think about that. There are a few problems, but it has potential.
First off, I play electric guitar, not classical. It's just one of those things. You don't normally take out an amp and ax for a song around the campfire. Electric guitars just don't have the same widespread use.
Second, teaching guitar is something that tends to require two guitars. Otherwise it gets a bit confusing and/or problematic.
Third, I'm not really that great at it. I know all the major scales and blues scales, along with a few chords and bar chords, but my fingers aren't quite in their natural habitat while on the fretboard. And I don't know a single song all the way through.
Hell, I don't even know the Smoke on the Water riff.
Most of the time, I just mess around on the guitar and get lucky with some of the sounds. I really don't know what I'm doing.
Eeh, we'll see. I'll hopefully find some joint activity to offer up that doesn't seem too boring/creepy. I've been trying to hold back on the creepy until more people get used to me.
Hasn't really been working.
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:( You didn't learn guitar basics on a classical or an accoustic first, tsk tsk tsk. Aw, why did you also just practice on an electrical guitar, too many of those type of guitarists now a days.
Oh well, too late. Also who ever said it was easy to get foriegn woman lied, but hey! Any relationship is usually worth it.
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Also who ever said it was easy to get foreign woman lied, but hey!
If that statement was true, it would make all the women in the world easy to get. ;D
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Dam I was assuming it was a accoustic.. btw smoke on the water, 0350365 on string 6/E. Anyways give up on the guitar thing lol. It wont be the same with an electric.
Since you can go off campus ask her to show you around or something?
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I don't think she knows the city any better than I do. Most of the people at the school aren't from Sandefjord.
And I didn't learn guitar basics on an acoustic or classical, because I didn't want to play acoustic or classical. I wanted to play electric. All three have distinct characteristics and methods of use, and you have to learn the one(s) you want to play.
By the way, Smoke on the Water is not played on a single string. It's played using double-stops, so you pluck two strings at the same time. If I'm going to learn it, I'm going to learn the correct version.
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I play a bar chord version of Smoke on the Water.
e
b
g
d 2 5 7 2 5 8 7 2 5 7 5 2
a 2 5 7 2 5 8 7 2 5 7 5 2
e 3 5 3 6 5 3 5 3
Hope this is understood well enough, the numbers are which frets you hold the strings on.
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Yeah, I can read tabs (woohoo). It's easier to write if you use the [ tt ] code to get monospaced font though.
Ha ha, I just remembered a YouTube video I saw one time of this festival that had over a thousand guitars playing Smoke on the Water at the same time. Well, almost the same time.
It was volunteer stuff though, so you naturally got tons of people who only knew how to play the riff. After a couple repetitions, you hear a few people who could actually play the song start into the rest of it. But they got drowned out by everyone else just playing the riff.
Great fun.
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Here's one song I recommend, if you haven't heard it before, listen to it once on youtube or something. Great song, easy to play.
Whisper A Prayer For The Dying
http://www.guitaretab.com/c/coverdale-page/4161.html - tab
Sadly, the only youtube video has quiet sound (at least played on my machine) and lastfm doesn't have a free full song up. I think. But if you turn up the youtube vid you should be able to hear it.
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Well kagus I tried, im outa ideas. Good luck on your romances in another country. Bout the one string, I was just trying to get you started. To helmarox, thx for the tabs.
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Well, it's just that the meal will probably have to wait until we get a little better acquainted. Seems a bit forward for the first joint activity.
But I hadn't thought about asking her to take me around town, and it's quite possible that she does know more about it than I do. She did go out for bovling, after all. I might try it sometime, once I figure out all the words needed to suggest it...
Going from a silver tongue to a wooden one is not a very fun transition.
And it's not a romance in another country. I'm right here.
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Back to school. Had my first day with extras today, with guitar as my chosen activity.
Well, it was pretty basic. A bit behind where I am, but I expect things to catch up relatively soon. And besides, I am apparently far enough ahead of the others that I could give a couple tips.
And I taught one guy the riff to Pretty Woman. I started with Crazy Train, but that's a bit hard on fingers that are new to a guitar. And I don't have much in my repertoire aside from those two. Mostly just the intro to Sweet Home Alabama, and a few things I've made up.
But I'll probably be of some use when we start really learning chords. I've got a few under my belt already, so I know a couple handy tricks.
If you want to be an expert, just find someone who knows less than you do...
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Five after ten. Seems everyone is in the rec room except her.
I have nothing to do and nobody to do it with. I don't even feel like working on my DF projects.
Bugger it, I'm going to bed. I really do hope I grow some guts in short order, as this silence is starting to get downright painful.
The morrow will bring editing galore. More work on the Hudø film, which has to be ready for viewing by Saturday. Hopefully, we won't suffer a timecode error and experience a system crash that will delay our efforts just a bit longer than we have.
Good night. My brief glow as person-with-better-guitar-skills has come to an end with someone playing Black Dog in the music room. And my feet are tired.
Really, I'm far more interesting at breakfast.
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Howdy fellas. I'm currently logged into one of the library computers because there's something funky with the wireless network.
On top of the obvious problem, I appear to have encountered a user error. I can't remember my password.
We each have personal passwords that we use for both logging into the wireless connection and logging into the public computers that are used around here (like this library computer, for instance). Since I can't remember my own password, I had to log in as the administrator for this machine. Y'know, the one that was never assigned a password.
On top of this lovely little twist, I have come down with a cold. And on top of that, the footage that needs to be done *now* is pretty far from finished. Furthermore, I have to sing at 7:30. I hate singing when I'm sick.
Further-and-furthermore, Ye Olde Lass has been making herself open for advances. I don't want to get her sick with whatever I've got, so I've kept my distance. Bloody annoying, seeing as I don't normally see this much of her. I'm also tired from a rough night, as I caught this bug yesterday afternoon.
Blurgh. I really, really hope this damned virus craps out in short order. I think I'll be clear for one major point that's coming up at least.
A party has been planned for the 20th, with transportation by bus for all the students who want to go and have some alcohol-free fun (very strict substance rules in this school, but it's great for someone who doesn't drink). This thing feels weak enough to die out by then, seeing the state it's in after the first night (normally the turning point from annoyance to full-blown infection).
Hey, a guy can hope, right?
Our main footage problem is tghe time limit. It's been decided that nobody will pay attention to a Hudø film that's longer than 13 minutes, so that's our maximum cap. The film has also been divvied up into three groups, and the time limit split among them.
We need to have 5 minutes of footage or less. We currently have 31.
The singing at 7:30 is the custom song the Film and TV group has been tasked with making for the Hudø film. That's right, the Film and TV group. Not Music.
Oh joy and grandeur...
Three minutes to seven. Well, at least I'll be able to get some orange juice tomorrow morning for a little extra vitamin C intake. I can hope that this thing dies tonight, but I really don't think that's happening.
I am not going to be playing Pandemic II again anytime soon...
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Well, I feel better today. I think I'll either be clear tomorrow, or just be left with the "aftershocks" that come with certain ailments.
Today was the first full Friday at school, so we had a brand new segment of extra classes. I still have the morning free, but I didn't do a whole lot with it other than practice half of the intro to "Sweet Home Alabama" on an acoustic guitar down in the music recording studio (the standard music room is being used for something else, and my neighbour was practicing guitar quite loudly. Normally not a problem, but he was a hell of a lot better than I am, and I really didn't have the self-confidence to listen to him at that time).
I had what's called "Filmkunnskap", which essentially means "the art of film". This is an activity where we all watch a movie and then discuss it afterwards.
Unfortunately, I do not really agree with the teacher. It's the guy who looks a bit like Hugh Grant from certain angles.
Quite sadly, he's not particularly creative. He was giving us all a quick run-down of what the words "genre" and "drama" meant, and from the way he was presenting it I think he believes that the genre defines the movie, not the other way around. Something I disagree with mightily.
He impressed the rest of the class with his statement that he has seen over 1400 movies, a number which isn't that much greater than my own viewing experience (admittedly, I probably wouldn't be able to remember 80% of them. But still, size matters).
The movie we saw this time was "Once Were Warriors". It had its good parts and its bad parts, and overall I found it to be good, but not as good as some of the other movies I've seen that also dealt with family hardships.
The rest of the class found it to be rather amazing and powerful, however. I felt almost like I did in India, like the people here just don't see enough movies to have seen the really good stuff.
Heh. Most people make comments about how the people they disagree with don't get out enough. I make comments about them not staying in enough.
I'll end this update with a question... Is anybody actually still interested in my blathering? If not, then there's really no need for me to keep updating this. And even I will admit that I get pretty damn depressing at times.
You know you're in trouble when you start annoying yourself...
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i for one have read all of this from the beginning, and it has been fun to do so. i'm not sure why... i guess its just nice to know how foreign countries are and stuff...
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I also have enjoyed reading your history, Kagus. You have introduced me to a new genre with your diary/self-biography/road movie. Being a norwegian myself, I hope you'll ask if you need any particular words/idioms/sentences/poems translated :-)
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Keep it up!
It's almost on par with reading the dev. notes!
Maybe a bit better, for length.
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You should rename this topic to "Kagus' Secret Public Journal"
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Kagus, even though you make me feel jealous because I never go anywhere, I still love to read about your adventures. Keep up the good work, though if you find writing this annoying then I guess you don't have to.
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Well, five readers are infinitely more than zero, so I have an infinite reason to continue writing (fuzzy logic is fun).
Tonight was Hudø-night. I am still sick. I do not have a lot of energy or enthusiasm when I am sick. I apparently do not speak the correct dialect of body language to convey this, as the rest of the class still expected me to participate fully in all the shenanigans we tried on for size during our practice times.
The back end of the Hudø film just managed to squeeze in under the five-minute-limit, albeit in a rather disjointed fashion. We were ready for anything. Except, perhaps, actually doing what we had practiced.
Hudø-night presented various shows from all the different majors. Drawing and painting started out first, with impressionist sock puppets that would act out a short scene that we (the audience) were supposed to link up with a particular member of the school's faculty. A rather nice start.
Next up, interior design presented their work. Since nobody came up with the idea for surprise Feng Shui, the demonstration didn't actually have a whole lot to do with interior design.
Instead, it was a fill-in-the-blanks storytime. The audience was asked to provide several adjectives to two young women (interior design is populated almost exclusively by women. I dare you to take a wild guess as to who the one guy is. I've mentioned him before), who wrote them down and put them into the various slots left out in a short story written about the trip to Hudø.
It actually turned out quite well. There was a little strangeness of course, like when we were getting hyped up about "naked" Hudø, and then when actually we got to the "mosquito-eaten" place.
But everything turned out well in the end, as we returned to the "wonderful" school. Quite nice.
Up next, clothing ajnd costumes. This actually had a little bit to do with clothing. It also provided a glimpse as to why there are so few men in the clothing major.
Three chairs, three women from clothing and costumes, six male volunteers from the audience. The men get paired up, and then provided with a woman. For five minutes, the men are given free range of a selection of costumes, wigs, makeup and accessories with which they shall decorate their assigned lass.
Heh. One guy actually had a sense of style, and did a pretty fair job and his model (which is good, because his partner wasn't much help. He just ran around holding a can of hairspray and wearing his usual expression of confused happiness). One girl ended up with a rather unusual combination of effects, including a gold sequin dress and what I think was a Union Jack bandana around her neck.
Aaand one girl ended up with a shirt in her hair and the words "badass mother fucker" written on one arm.
After that, each team had to walk their model down the "catwalk" (center of the stage), and then give a brief description of what the **** they were thinking when they prettied them up.
Peculiar, but entertaining.
Then came the outdoorsman league with a brilliantly executed game show called "what's happening in the tent?" Three contestants were given some sound-making device (read: pair of shorts, drum, and novelty keychain that breathes lustily when activated) which were used as buzzers. For each round, a sheet propped up by a wooden stick (obviously supposed to be a tent of some sort) would be ferried out onto stage. A few seconds later, a couple of the show's staff would begin acting out behind the tent in a form of shadow theater.
Yes, it was all blatantly sexual in nature. The shadow forms would be participating in wild sex while the actors yelled out innuendo like there was no tomorrow.
The contestants had to ring their "buzzer" (poor girl who ended up with the raunchy keychain only tried to use it once, and could barely stand to say anything once it started panting heavily) if they thought they knew what was really going on behind the tent.
They could have worked a little bit harder to come up with slightly more believable actions, but that's just the way it is. All in all, a single point was earned over the course of five tents. And that was only because it was "close enough".
Very well acted out, with wonderful use of sound. Quite lovely.
Then a little break, and theater class decided to do their thing. It wasn't just one act, it was a compilation of little mini-skits that were all done quite well.
There was a "Thriller" dance scene (with our token dark-skinned laddie leading the way, of course), which would have been perfect had the music not acted up so terribly.
After that came something that I really can't remember. All I remember was that they finished with an advertisement-laden version of Romeo and Juliet, which took a turn for the dramatic with that play's final and arguably most powerful scene. The joining of the two lovers in eternal slumber.
Well, it would have been eternal if they didn't keep waking up, noticing the other was dead, and then killing themselves again. It was a sort of suicide leap-frog.
The girl went a little bit overboard with her shrieks, but otherwise the scene was fine. A wonderful presentation from the theater folks.
Aaand then a little blip from music class, showcasing some lipsynching of popular songs from the seventies. Not much to write home about.
Then it's our turn. Goddamn how I hate last-minute changes.
We were supposed to sing, we all knew that. Then the guys figured it would be great form if they all wore really tight stockings and other clothing with homosexual overtones. And then we would all do coordinated knee-bends in time to the song while we were singing it.
Now, we didn't practice this. And it took us three sessions before we could get the timing right on the song without worrying our minds with coordinated knee-bends. Is there anybody else here who has experienced firsthand how much more difficult it becomes when you add just that one more thing to your mind's workload?
But it worked out. I wore my hat, which makes everything better. I did not wear homosexual clothing, however. I'm still sick, and cutting down from my heavy fleece jacket to this dress shirt was already too much of a chill-change. No way I'm baring skin in this condition.
And then came the Hudø film. It wasn't spectacular, there were some really good scenes that nobody noticed because they were too short (we knew about them beforehand, so we didn't think about it when we were presenting the film to people who had never seen the footage before), and the movie developed hitches after it had played for a while (goddamn useless Windows Media Player...).
The applause was deafening. It was that particularly hard applause that comes when the audience is really feeling a reason to clap, instead of just going along with the flow. Felt bloody fantastic.
After that we took a trip down to the gymnasium where the music major held their real performance. A mini-concert with altered versions of several different songs. The musicians were quite skilled, but it was pretty clear that the only professional singer was the music teacher.
And finally, to wrap up the evening, they served cakes. Everyone's probably still sitting out there in the rec room, downing sugar by the bucketfuls.
But then there's me. I'm in here telling you about it. I can also say, with full honesty, that I am literally sick and tired.
The singing, combined with my change into lighter clothes, has done nothing good for my health. It's also half past midnight, and I've just come from a performance where I was most certainly not in any shape to perform.
I'm gonna head on out again, see if things have quieted down a bit. I'm one of those people who can't hear anything when lots of people are talking. And my hamhanded grasp of Norwegian doesn't help matters.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
Asheron would like to inform Kagus that he, indeed, also follows the Sandy Fjord adventures regularly.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
Asheron would like to inform Kagus that he, indeed, also follows the Sandy Fjord adventures regularly.
Argh enough with the italics, Oh yeah I also like reading your blog thing.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
Asheron would like to inform Kagus that he, indeed, also follows the Sandy Fjord adventures regularly.
What they said.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
Asheron would like to inform Kagus that he, indeed, also follows the Sandy Fjord adventures regularly.
What they said.
In the name of God, IWM also want to inform Kagus that he has read the journal and will not abandon it
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Well, that was interesting.
The library apparently is closed down after midnight, because shortly after finishing my long post I walked towards the door and triggered the alarm.
I guess I spent a long time making that thing, because I sat through the arming of the damned thing.
I just waited around for a while outside of the motion sensor's "view", and waved hello to the faculty member that came in to see what was going on. She apologized profusely, insisting it was her fault for not locking the door. I told her that I was in there from before, and triggered the alarm from the inside.
After that interesting little episode, I meandered back towards the party place. The room had almost completely emptied (and I thought people were going to be partying for much longer from the sound of things when I left), and only had a couple little groups left over. One of them was sitting around a Twister sheet, having apparently entertained themselves with it earlier.
Now, as a guy who can put his foot behind his head and who stands on one leg for the fun of it, I'm not half bad at Twister. Shame I didn't get to try my hand at it.
Anyways, I left soon thereafter and went back up to my room for some shuteye. Ahh, glorious sleep...
And that brings us to today. Thank ye lovely little thingies that the school schedule places Sunday breakfast from 10:00 to 11:00. Sleeping in is a beautiful thing, particularly for one who is not in full health.
I'm still not completely clear of this thing, but I am better. Major pain in the ass, I must say.
Sunday has absolutely nothing obligatory planned by the school, which is a very welcome change. they did have a showing of The Lion King at noon (very interesting to hear the Norwegian version of the soundtrack), which was very good but for a few small shortcomings...
It basically boiled down to the fact that James Earl Jones never learned Norwegian. You can't really find a replacement for that voice.
It's quite funny listening to the reactions that film caused in the audience. The people here are really into their Disney flicks, particularly those of the female persuasion.
There's also a planned showing of Fight Club at 8:00. Slight difference in genre, I must say.
Not much else has happened yet today, aside from some interesting stuff at the meals. Breakfast had me invited over to sit at a table, where they complemented the Film and TV major for their Hudø showing. It was even suggested by one of the theater majors that it might very well have been the best out of all the performances.
I probably could've thought of something a bit more modest to say than "Thanks. Theater was pretty snazzy, too. Thriller, and all that".
Lunch was skipped due to the late time that breakfast was served. Instead, we did not pass "go" and went straight to dinner. At 2:30.
It was here that the other mildly interesting thing happened. I settled myself down at a passable table that was already mostly filled with lady-types (I can't be bothered to sit at the guy tables. Even if I don't participate in the conversation, I'd rather have something pretty to look at while I eat).
One more laddie sat down, and then X sat down in the chair next to me. I don't think there was anything more to it than just sitting down at the table where her friends were, but I still thought it was kinda funny that she would sit at my table instead of the other way around.
However, being sick takes all flirtatious energy out of me. Major pain in the arse, seeing as this kind of thing doesn't exactly happen every day.
Think I'm going to go recline in the rec room for a bit. Not like I've got much else on my agenda, what with disease recuperation being top priority.
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Helmaroc would like to inform Kagus that he is still reading this strangely addictive diary-thing. He does not plan on stopping or skipping anything, either.
LASD would like to inform Kagus that he does exactly the same. He would also like to note that Sandy Fjord is one of the very few things he checks frequently on the forums.
Asheron would like to inform Kagus that he, indeed, also follows the Sandy Fjord adventures regularly.
What they said.
In the name of God, IWM also want to inform Kagus that he has read the journal and will not abandon it
ZOMG I missed the quote line! Immortal would also like to inform Kagus that he reads the journal on a regular basis.
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Exactly how well can you speak Norwegian, and do you find yourself becoming more fluent? It would be pretty cool to be bilingual when you're finished, I guess.
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Exactly how well can you speak Norwegian, and do you find yourself becoming more fluent? It would be pretty cool to be bilingual when you're finished, I guess.
i think that the more languages a person knows, the more annoying it becomes. I speak 3 languages, and because of that, i subconsciously switch words from different languages while speaking, making my chatting with anyone that doesnt know these 3 languages hard.
also, when one knows many languages, it's hard to actually know a single language well. For me, i feel that in all 3 languages, my vocabulary, grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc... is limited and sometimes quite horrible, simply because i dabble in all languages but master none.
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Exactly how well can you speak Norwegian, and do you find yourself becoming more fluent? It would be pretty cool to be bilingual when you're finished, I guess.
i think that the more languages a person knows, the more annoying it becomes. I speak 3 languages, and because of that, i subconsciously switch words from different languages while speaking, making my chatting with anyone that doesnt know these 3 languages hard.
also, when one knows many languages, it's hard to actually know a single language well. For me, i feel that in all 3 languages, my vocabulary, grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc... is limited and sometimes quite horrible, simply because i dabble in all languages but master none.
Nah. I have, for example, the feeling that knowing English helps my French a lot, since a lot of words are similar. It probably depends on how similar the languages you know are. I'm tetralingual. Meheh: English, French, Dutch, German, some very basic Russian and some very basic Spanish. Don't ask how that Russian part sneaked in.
Ja gavaroe four talen. Et Sie?
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I am getting better at it, but right now it's pretty lousy. I can understand a pretty fair portion. I do miss a lot if it's a speedy conversation, however. And my pronunciation and grammar both need some serious work.
I will most likely be bilingual by the time school's finished. And I'm already rather proficient with the English language, so I've got the quality base covered as well.
Also, no one has taken a shot at who the interior design guy is! Here's a hint that won't help you at all: He's also one of the three guys who signed up to take salsa lessons (are the menfolk here nuts? You can count the number of girls not taking salsa on one hand! Besides, it's salsa...).
Today was slightly unusual. The film teacher has influenza, so the Film and TV group kinda needed a new agenda for the day. Namely, we were supposed to watch a film. Once the teacher gets back, we can discuss it.
Film and TV f***ing rocks, dude.
Since there were no school-owned films available for such an occasion, the film had to be picked from the private collection of one of the students. A few names went around until we could decide on one.
"Kafka" was mentioned, and when the guy giving us our stand-in assignment found out that none of us had seen it before, he decided that that was the film we were going to watch.
The decision was supposed to be up to the students, but the teacher was unanimous enough for the rest of us. We watched Kafka, starring Jeremy Irons.
I think I may have been the only guy who actually liked it. I suppose I had a slight advantage with being fluent in English, but still...
When the film was over, we still had a fair amount of time left over before lunch. We had no other assignments, so the time was spent goofing around in the rec room and playing pool.
After lunch was choir time, which is always good fun. Then we had to clean our rooms, which is not.
And that's about it. I did get my password reset however, so I'm typing this from my laptop (ahh, sweet relief).
EDIT: Americans have always asked how that Russian sneaked in.
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Nah. I have, for example, the feeling that knowing English helps my French a lot, since a lot of words are similar. It probably depends on how similar the languages you know are. I'm tetralingual. Meheh: English, French, Dutch, German, some very basic Russian and some very basic Spanish. Don't ask how that Russian part sneaked in.
Ja gavaroe four talen. Et Sie?
i know English, French, and Arabic. i guess English and French do complement each other, but adding Arabic into the mix messes all my languages up pretty bad :P
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Evenin'.
Not a particularly bad day, I must say. First Tuesday morning spent at school, and thus a whole new section of extras gets opened up for the students. I spent mine in the music room learning how to sing.
Well, I spent it in a class that was being taught how to sing. I suppose that's technically the more correct wording.
I would just like to say that I am not tone deaf. Not at all. I'm just tone mute.
After that came guitar class, after which I got to show off my meager skills to people who who haven't even got what I've got. But then the new guy came in.
I forgot to mention that we've got a new face around the school. A latecomer who apparently had a good enough reason to not be here for the start of the school year.
He's good looking, stylish, can actually play songs on the guitar, can sing along to his own playing, and lives without a roommate. I'm screwed.
Or, more accurately, I'm not.
However, he has a habit of wearing his glasses when he's just wandering around. These are not stylish glasses. These are glasses that completely remove the boyish good looks and instead turn him into a nerd. Also, I think he may be a poofter.
In any case, he came in and sat with the group for a while. Didn't play anything (I think he might be a bit shy. Which is interesting, since he spends a great amount of time practicing at full volume in a room with very poor sound insulation), but he did talk for a little while. He was also apparently in need of a pick, because he was very interested in one of the ones I had brought with me (my dad bought a sixty pack in six different sizes for me over eBay. Cost practically nothing). I ended up giving him one, but he seemed like he would be willing enough to pay for more in the event of losing that one.
Fast forward through an otherwise uneventful day. Lots of guitar practicing, a few games of Uno, and some other tomfoolery. Fun, but unimportant.
Then it was dark, and someone had the grand idea of going out to the little Viking hut (called "Geirstadir") we've got on the property and tell ghost stories. I got quite a few laughs on the way out there with assorted selections from my "disturbing noises" collection. I felt the need to set the mood, you understand.
Anyways, once we got ourselves settled in and got a fire going in the pit, we realized that 1) Only two or three people actually knew any ghost stories, and 2) We didn't really want to listen to them anyways.
Instead, we settled on a staple of young adult late-night gatherings. Truth.
A person poses a statement with the prefix "I have never...", and everyone who has done that holds their hand up in the air. Took a few tries before I understood the rules. After that, I was having great fun. I am apparently a very sick person. Like nobody knew that.
After many rounds and quite a few guys getting up to "go to the bathroom" and never coming back, I leaked the info that I was selling condoms out of a bag in my closet for half the price of store-bought ones.
Turns out you can get them for free from medical centers. Goddamnit.
I'll probably end up making more money off of selling picks than I will selling condoms. And condoms are single-use.
And, apparently, used quite often around these parts. I had no idea of the sordid sexual histories of my schoolmates.
All good fun, nothing too depraved, and generally good feelings for everybody involved. I think it's easier to get away with weird stuff if people already think you're twisted.
The Film and TV teacher came back today, and he's looking pretty terrible. I've got classes with him tomorrow that I am not looking forward to. He's not particularly interesting as a general rule, but now he's got a stick up his butt that's obviously twisting somethin' fierce. He practically yelled at the people eating in the cafeteria because the big housing structure wasn't cleaned properly (one of the jobs assigned to students). He was hammering in the importance of keeping everything clean.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to not clean when you have a hundred people living so close together? If someone gets sick everyone will get sick. Look at me, I got sick".
Translated version, of course.
There are a couple seminars on Saturday, and the people taking them probably won't get to go off partying. However, I wasn't interested in either of them (hmm... Listen to more environmentalist gunk from the tragic sailor, or listen to a dwarf with an outrageous dialect tell us to make clay wallhangings. I think I'll take the poker seminar instead), so I seriously doubt I will be hindered from going to the party.
I have no idea how they think they're going to do it, but most of the people going think they're going to be drinking. The rule still stands that eight hours have to have passed since your last alcoholic beverage before you can set foot on school grounds again. Not sure if that's occurred to anyone else yet.
But I don't drink in any case, so it's fine for me. Funny how some people get addicted to being drunk. There are some folks here who look like they can't wait any longer for their chance to gulp some booze.
Ever been the only sober person in a party? It's kinda fun, because you get to remember all the stuff that everyone else will forget. And if you happen to take a camera, all the better.
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The film teacher's wife is apparently giving birth (or is having some other pregnancy-related need, I'm not entirely sure), so he won't be back at the school until 10:45. In the meantime, we get to goof off.
Film and TV f***in' rocks.
I think it's kinda funny that the film teacher is most fun when he's not around.
And I think I found out how they're going to handle the alcohol consumption at the party. We're supposed to bring along a sleeping bag and a mat for underneath the bag.
Drunken sleepover. Whee.
At the hut last night, one of the girls mentioned that there are about twice as many girls going as there are guys, so it's going to be a claws-out scramble for the menfolk.
I didn't mention that there are about twice as many girls in the whole school as there are guys. I was just interested by the fact that she brought it up.
And also that she came to the conclusion that they'd all end up having three-ways, due to the ratio.
... I like this place.
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lucky bastard... :P
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And also that she came to the conclusion that they'd all end up having three-ways, due to the ratio.
... I like this place.
Honestly, there's nothing more awkward than two girls fighting over one man's penis. It's not a fun situation for anyone. Unless one's a lesbian, of course.
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Well, that's another aspect of the truth-telling extravaganza which I will not divulge.
*Ahem*... Right, so today we had the other film teacher teaching us. He doesn't spend a whole lot of time at the school, and he isn't the "main" teacher for the film course, but he does have something that the main teacher does not: An imagination.
He talked about a few handy tricks used in filming, and then split us into three groups and told us to make a little movie (one minute long) using those techniques. After lunch, we got a new assignment to make a newscast of some sort for the school. It did not have to be factual, it just had to be a news-oriented piece.
My first thought was, of course, to make a newscast about nothing. The other lads in my group quickly ran with the idea, and suddenly Skiringssal Folkehøyskole was being plagued by an epidemic of nothing. An expert was contacted and and interviewed on the scene.
The camerawork was crap, but the material was solid gold. We're going to need a bit more work on this thing before it can be ready for viewing, but it's turning out to be a very nice item. The main difficulty is keeping our faces straight while we're recording.
A couple girls who got temporarily kicked out of the school for breaking the alcohol laws have come back, and they both speak perfect English. The one loves doing it because she feels like she's in a movie when she speaks "American". So I got to talk a bit in English, which I consider a small luxury. Plus, I got to impress them (for some reason) with my "straight as a razor"-ness (I.E., the fact that I have never smoked, consumed alcohol, or taken drugs. Or drunk Coca-Cola).
EDIT: Before I forget, here's the song we did for Hudø-evening. I know it's in Norwegian, but I want someplace to stick this thing before this sheet of paper inevitably gets lost. Plus it might entertain however few Norskies we've got on the boards.
Melody: Dum og Deilig
1) Jeg kjenner noe merkelig
som setter seg på magen - ooo
Og plutselig begynner det å klø
Denne jævla kløinga
den gjentas hele dagen - ooo
Og je får lyst å legge meg å dø
Jeg får helt noia og løper mot havet
men tusen mygg de venter på meg
Og jeg blir full av myggstikk -auauauau
Jeg har ikke dagen
Full av myggstikk - shitføkkhelvete // That extra syllable was interesting to try and fit in.
Og det klør på magen
Full av myggstikk - faen ta deg
Nei, du ække geri - eieieiei
2) Senga den var kjempesvett
og rommet det er lite - ooo
Jeg vil gjerne hjem igjen
Nabon klager og det lukter vondt
for ingen vil jo drite - ooo
Alt jeg trenger er en klem // Again, a very "interesting" line to sing.
Nå skal jeg sove og høre på bråket
Tusen mennsker snorker i vei!
For jeg vile hjem å sove - i egen seng
savner jo min bamse
Hjem å dusje - shampo er bra
få en klem av mamma
Hjem å drite -de gjør meg glad
Nå går det bra -for nå skal vi dra // Much too difficult to sing, so we just dropped "for".
3) Dassen var et jævla mareritt
For de som brukte den // Changed to "de som måtte bruke den" for the song. The lyrics were never changed though.
Fredrik og Andreas måtte
vaske den
haha
og det klarte de jo bra - aha aha // Just some random laughter.
Det var vår tur id dag til å synge om Hudø
Håper dere syns det ble bra
For vi ble full av myggstikk - juba juba
Hadde ikke dagen
Dassen lukta - juba juba
Tømte ikke magen // Rather shit-obsessed, aren't they?
Hjem å sove - nå går det bra
Juba jubaaaaa.
EDIT2: I've run into a rather interesting problem. There's a small fee for participating in the upcoming party, which can be paid to one particular girl on the party administration team.
I am having a little difficulty contacting this person. I go to the picture board in the rec room, find the girl's name and associated picture, and then go looking for her so I can pay my part.
My problem is that I forget what she looks like five seconds after looking at the picture.
I walked up to a person I thought was her today, and asked if they were handling the party. She said yes. I asked if I should pay her. She said I should go see this particular girl.
I have since seen three people that could be her. My facial recognition skills must be on par with a mosquito.
-
Pay at the door? Ask your roomie? I dont have a lot to offer.
-
Nah, I managed to find the right one this time around. She even had change for the outrageous money note my grandmother gave me.
The cost for the party was 50 Norwegian Kroner (crowns. Awesome). I had a 500 Krone note.
And asking my roommate is not really a viable option for much of anything. I hardly ever see him, and when I do see him he's never standing still. Normally, he'll only stop moving when he's asleep. The only other time I've seen him remain in one spot for any amount of time was when he played Age of Empires on his laptop for five minutes.
-
Bwahaha. I just witnessed someone else get attacked by the low ceiling o' doom. He ended up landing on his lower back, so he's probably going to have a rather unusual gait for a while. But then again, I also had a rather awkward walk with one stiff leg after my hip got bitten by the steps.
Makes me feel better knowing I'm not the only person nuts enough to take the bait and hop down those two seemingly innocent steps.
-
Hmm, when your old and have nothing else to do, you should make a film. called Sandy Fjord. And have it struck by an epidemic of nothing. And have some experts called in on the topic of nothing. It'd be a hit, and i'd go see it.
-
We might make a better version at some later date, and then host it on the school's site. They've got a collection of other student-made videos on a special site somewhere, where you can check 'em out. I've watched a couple of them as part of researching the school before I signed up here.
Get to sleep in tomorrow, since there's no morning gathering on weekends and they also serve breakfast an hour later (two hours later on Sunday). Nice to get some extra rest every once in a while, especially when there's a party happening.
Since it's an evening party, I'll be able to take a shower and have my hair dried and brushed before going. I'll deck myself out in a rather snazzy outfit which will naturally include my hat.
My main problem is that my dancing skills are somewhat... Well... Nonexistent. Hell, I can manage to trip up while grinding.
And I got another sharp reminder of my inept social skills today... It's 9:43, and my dreamgirl is off making Jell-o somewhere.
With a guy she's been somewhat cozy with for a while.
Who's in her class.
Who can actually speak her language.
Who just got back from a trip to the theater with her and two other people.
Who happens to be my roommate.
Gah. To add insult to injury, it was my room's turn to clean the corridor today. Since he wasn't here, I had to do the job by myself.
I spend the evenings with my head down because I've got no one, and I walk past him lying with his head on one girl's lap and getting his hand massaged by another. He's a scatterbrained sports enthusiast, and he's getting everything I was hoping for.
One thing is having someone a bit farther away end up with what you wanted, but it's just got that extra sting to it when he sleeps five feet away from you at night.
And why the hell is it that everyone asks "hey, how ya doing?" when I'm like this? It'd be one thing if they were actually asking, but it's just that well-used greeting where they're expecting a "great!" in return. I can't give it to them.
*Sigh*... Well, I suppose things are gonna get pretty interesting at the party. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who's expecting it to turn into an exhibition of feelings the people here have had for some time. There's just this thing floating around that feels like people are getting themselves geared up for some serious opening up that they can blame on the situation if it goes sour.
And I'm a teetotaler, so I've got no scapegoat.
Damn I feel tired...
-
I Thought The Vodka Was Coke?
-
I don't drink Coke.
-
And I got another sharp reminder of my inept social skills today... It's 9:43, and my dreamgirl is off making Jell-o somewhere.
With a guy she's been somewhat cozy with for a while.
Who's in her class.
Who can actually speak her language.
Who just got back from a trip to the theater with her and two other people.
Who happens to be my roommate.
Wait about Eight or so years, and you'll see who the victor is.
Romance is the siege where the Heart is the Castle.
Man, I'm poetic.
-
The morning after. Crikey, what a night.
The party night started out innocently enough, with me snagging a ride with one of the other students rather than a taxi. However, he didn't know where the place was, so we elected to just follow one of the taxis. Well, the taxi drove faster, so we eventually lost it and started wandering around aimlessly before we asked one of the locals for directions.
I was expecting a big, open room with a significant sound system. Dance extravaganza kind of thing. Well, it was big, but it certainly wasn't open. The place was packed with tables and chairs, and everyone there was sitting down. The sound system was a boom box sitting in the corner, playing a mix CD one of the students had made.
At first, everyone was just sitting around, making smalltalk, and sipping drinks. That awkward period before a party actually gets into gear.
But then the drinks started multiplying. People thawed out that first barrier and were starting to get chatty, but they didn't stand up. They just kept drinking.
Things kinda went downhill from there.
I was personally expecting a party, with some drinking on the side. It turned into a drinking, with some party on the side. Good grief, how did they even manage to carry that many bottles in?
Fast forward a few hours. Everyone is utterly hammered, with the exception of me. I've been drinking Sprite all evening, just so I can have a glass in my hand (one of those things about a party. It's better to have a non-alcoholic drink in your hand than no drink at all).
The floor is pretty damn filthy. Potato chips are sticking to the spots where drink bottles have been knocked down and smashed. The boom box has apparently been damaged somewhere along the line, and is adding its own beat to whatever song is playing. At the moment, it happens to be the fourth or fifth time someone's put on "Lollipop" by Lil' Wayne.
One guy is singing along to the song. He has for every repetition of the song since the very beginning. Probably a result of starting the evening with tequila shooters. He also has one girl on his lap and another cozying up next to him.
The girl who had originally presented the idea that everyone was going to split up into threesomes is too busy getting shitfaced to engage in any such close contact. She's started exhibiting a slow weave in every movement she makes.
But she's nothing compared to another girl who had gotten right into the party. There's always one who has a harder time holding their liquor, isn't there? Anyways, this one's stampeding around happily and occasionally careening into stationary objects. She's needed someone to help her with the bathroom a couple times now.
There's a guy from Film and TV who is running around and belting out every song that starts playing on the box. Even if he doesn't know the lyrics.
Another guy has asked me to watch his beer. This is actually a valid concern, as people are paying less and less attention to which can they're drinking from.
Engaging chronological shift: Now-Then.
So, yeah. Everyone was tanked up. The place had gone straight past party and right into "The Wastedlands".
One guy got buzzed by his buzz, and started making rounds and checking on everyone to make sure they were having a good time. He started acting like it was his party, and that he had to keep everyone doing happy things.
I was problematic for him. He gave me instructions on a couple occasions, and while they were duly noted, they were also duly ignored. I started migrating away from his position.
And towards X. Boy, was this my highlight of the evening.
The Jell-o she had been making with my roommate was spiked. Rather significantly spiked. She wasn't quite as drunk as some of the others, but she was still quite locked into party mode. And man, she really liked that Jell-o.
I took a couple gambles, and lost both times. First time, she had clenched her Jello (f*** the dash) cup between her teeth and tilted her head back to get the last drops out. This naturally resulted in her getting Jello on her face. She goes off into the kitchen to find something to clean it off, and I follow after her in the hopes of helping out.
Well, she'd gotten it all off by the time I got there. I guess there wasn't much to begin with, because I wasn't exactly that far behind.
So I suppose that's more of what we Blackjack players would call a "push". No win, no lose.
Second time was a loss.
It was a bit later on in the evening, and she was sitting down with a friend and looking through pictures on someone's camera (it might have been hers, it might not). I was sitting behind her (the seating arrangement at this point was not particularly organized).
I tapped her on the shoulder, and when she turned around I asked if I could tell her something. She said sure.
I said she was the reason I came to the party (which is true, actually. I waited until I saw her name on the list before I signed up).
"Oi." is not a particularly heartening response to that statement. She seemed a little bit uncertain for a few moments, and I could see a "shit, how do I get out of this" expression on her face. She eventually said, with a little laugh, that I also came for the party. I said I wasn't really getting that much out of it. I got another "Oi." in return. I didn't see much of her for the rest of the evening.
Well, I'd rather certainly not have her than uncertainly have her. Turns an ongoing torture into just a chestpain. Funny how hope can hurt.
I didn't get a girlfriend out of the whole deal, but I think I did get a girl friend. I opened up to this one really sweet girl who just gets nicer as she gets drunk. She's got a pretty hefty dialect, but it's one I have a bit of experience with.
So, provided she remembers what happened, she may feel more inclined to include me in social endeavors (part of my opening up always seems to include something about how asocial I am, and how I never talk with people).
It was around this time that people starting getting set up to go to sleep. There were two main areas where we could lay down our sleeping bags 'n' such, and someone had puked in one of them. The other one was crammed full by the time I go there.
So, I went outside. I eventually found a rather passable spot on this one outer part of the building, and settled down for the night. Would've been much nicer if I'd had a pillow, to be perfectly honest.
I listened to the nightlife for a while, the people coming out to piss in the grass (around fifty people went to the party. The building had two bathrooms), the songs being repeated on the boom box inside, the spontaneous laughter bubbling up from the people sitting on the picnic table outside.
It wasn't particularly comfortable out there, seeing as it was frigidly cold. I was doing fine if I could keep all my bodyparts over the insulating mat, but that was slightly difficult to keep up. But even through all that, I managed to be asleep enough to be awakened by my name being called.
A couple girls had apparently heard that I was sleeping outside, and had come out to convince me to come inside where it was warm(er). I asked if there was any space left, they said yes. Without vomit, I amended. They said yes.
So, I packed up and went inside. After a bit of searching, I found that the area was still either human-filled or puke-enhanced. I went to find the girls who had brought me inside.
After she realized that there was indeed no space left, she unblocked one of the doors leading outside and locked it shut to keep people from constantly passing through it. And with that, I slept in the mud room.
Locks do not pose a particularly useful inhibitor to someone who isn't playing with a full deck. I still got several people stepping over my bag to get to the door, where they'd rattle it and fiddle with the lock for a while. Nevermind that there were two other doors out of the place, they needed to use *that* one.
Someone eventually managed to complete the complex ritual of turning the lock switch in the right direction, and the door was open for business again. It was five thirty in the morning, and people were still going for it.
I managed to get a couple hours of sleep before it was time to go. A few people are going to be sitting around for a while in order to fulfill the eight hour requirement before coming back to school.
Next time one of these things is planned, I'm either not going or I'm bringing a video camera. Sitting in a chair and watching every piss-drunk fool get cozy with a girl while I'm the odd one out is not particularly fun.
Especially when it's the girl I've been infatuated with ever since I first saw her.
I must admit though, having someone come up to you and ask you what they did last night is somewhat entertaining. Being the sober dude means your memory is not hindered by the healing effects of alcohol.
However, being the somber dude means you didn't keep your head up enough to see the good stuff. I did get to see one girl holding onto the back of some guy's shirt so that he wouldn't fall over while taking a piss outside.
And now, I am going to brush my teeth. I feel like shit, but that's the way it flows.
Next weekend is the start of a vacation. I don't think I'll have any plans other than heading back up to my grandparents' farm by that time.
-
Man, people are still reeling from the hangovers. Sunday has basically been spent "sleeping it off". I wonder if anyone can actually remember having a good time, or if they just assume they had a good time because they can't remember anything.
Heh. Major pain getting infatuated with a girl who's interested in someone else, but at least now I know that things aren't going to work out. Back to stage one.
And I found someone to offload my troubles onto, so I feel a bit better. I even got to do it in English.
Speaking of which, I don't think the girl I talked with last night has any recollection of our conversation. Pity. That's one of the things where I was hoping they'd actually remember what I said/did instead of just forgetting it.
Oh well. Cleaning day tomorrow, get to get rid of some of the gunk that's collecting in here. The dust bunnies seem to be multiplying like... Well, rabbits.
Ah, it'll be nice to sleep in a real bed... Without drunkards stepping over me to try their luck at that confounding locked door.
-
And I got another sharp reminder of my inept social skills today... It's 9:43, and my dreamgirl is off making Jell-o somewhere.
With a guy she's been somewhat cozy with for a while.
Who's in her class.
Who can actually speak her language.
Who just got back from a trip to the theater with her and two other people.
Who happens to be my roommate.
Wait about Eight or so years, and you'll see who the victor is.
Romance is the siege where the Heart is the Castle.
Man, I'm poetic.
So you're saying one should wait it out, and love will fall into one's hands like an overripe fruit, or that we should expedite the process by shooting flaming arrows at them and launching dead horses at them to cause disease?
-
And I got another sharp reminder of my inept social skills today... It's 9:43, and my dreamgirl is off making Jell-o somewhere.
With a guy she's been somewhat cozy with for a while.
Who's in her class.
Who can actually speak her language.
Who just got back from a trip to the theater with her and two other people.
Who happens to be my roommate.
Wait about Eight or so years, and you'll see who the victor is.
Romance is the siege where the Heart is the Castle.
Man, I'm poetic.
So you're saying one should wait it out, and love will fall into one's hands like an overripe fruit, or that we should expedite the process by shooting flaming arrows at them and launching dead horses at them to cause disease?
Don't forget treachery from within.
-
I'm unsure how sappers would enter the mix.
-
You should try punching a hole in to the portculis then. However, beware the falling lava coming from the walls.
-
The portcullis already has holes in it. And with that, siege talk shall cease. I'm not feeling too great right now.
-
THE POETRY IS OVERWHELMING
-
Fun fact: According to Norwegian law, women reach the age of consent two years before men.
Because of this, a 17 year old boy and a 16 year old girl can have sex, and the guy can sue for statutory rape.
Not that he would, mind you. That would mean he wouldn't get to have sex with her again.
Eighteen is the age where you can legally drink, screw, smoke, get your driver's license and join the army. They kinda lumped all the age requirements into one birthday.
Except for the girls, who get to have some experience (and thus expectations) by the time the boys are allowed to play naughty with them.
Which is why there are so many recruits out drinking, smoking, and driving.
-
Fun fact: According to Norwegian law, women reach the age of consent two years before men.
Because of this, a 17 year old boy and a 16 year old girl can have sex, and the guy can sue for statutory rape.
Sorry to break your game, but the norwegian law on sexual crimes (http://www.lovdata.no/all/tl-19020522-010-023.html#196) says otherwise (§ 196: 16 is the age of consent for both sexes).
(Norwegian only: translation of the text is left as an exercise to the reader).
-
Huh. Well, I don't think that's the way it used to be.
Pity. It was one of those really stupid Norwegian laws that could actually be laughed at.
Couple weeks of vacation coming up on Friday. I'll have to carpool to the train station, and then it's a bus ride from there up to a location where my folks can pick me up.
I have decided that I have neglected Dwarf Fortress for far too long. During that period, I will be spending as much time as possible working on my new story.
Death and Glory will remain dormant, as will my old secret project. If someone feels like taking over DnG for the time being, by all means contact me and I'll set you up as a temporary host.
I like Death and Glory, and I think my secret project is rather creative. But I have to admit that this new idea is an epic the likes of which I have never created before. Here's hoping I can get the necessary preparations done in short order.
[SPEED:1] my friends, [SPEED:1].
-
10:00PM. Watched Boondock Saints. Part of me wants to socialize, the other part wants to hit the sack.
Other part wins by convincing the first side that socializing for two more hours isn't going to do diddly. Sleeping for two more hours will.
Crap. The party, for all its drunken forgetfulness, has resulted in two more couples and one couple-to-be for me to look at. I get to watch even more people relaxing in the comfort of each others' presence while I wallow in my own self-loathing, waiting for someone to walk up to me and do all my redemption for me.
And goddamnit, now that I'm trying to stay away from X, she's friggin' everywhere! Thankfully, only in the mild sense of that term. I'd go even more batshit if she were in a deep relationship already. I need more time for that.
Uggh. My problem is that I never impose on anyone. People make friends by taking up someone else's space and talking at them until they're liked. I have always tried to respect the comfort of others, and so I try to never do anything that might force them into something they may find uncomfortable.
Aaaand there go the party people up into the loft to play some Blind Man's Bluff. I tried it once, because I figure it's one of those children's games that translates well into the college age, where things can "accidentally" get more serious (good grief, I really am pathetic).
I found out three things from that. One, the rafters are just a tad too low for me to walk upright under. Two, nobody is going to spark a relationship through a coincidentally-placed grab. Three, I suck at Blind Man's Bluff.
And since the currently scheduled programming is my evening lonely-funk, I think I'll refrain from giving myself an invitation.
I think I'm getting worse... Normally, my mood goes in a pretty smooth curve from "spring-in-the-step" in the morning to "emotional slum" in the evening.
But I noticed that I've lately been having some carry-over from the evening funk into the morning hours. That's not good.
I do have my good moments, though. I was sitting in front of a couple girls who were sitting with one of the guys from FnTV (I think he may be more girl-desperate than I am, actually), waiting for the film to get properly set up. Time passes while the assigned film-wrangler struggles with the controls. I notice my imagination is beginning to kick in.
Let me explain a little about myself. Several years ago, when I was a kid, I would get bored if I spent five seconds without doing something. I would have to keep up a constant stream of activities in order to stave off that creeping feeling.
Then, one day, I was in some situation where I did not have access to anything entertaining. I got bored. I had nothing to do. I got more bored.
Eventually, my boredom reached critical mass and began tearing at my sanity. My brain, in a desperate attempt to preserve itself, began working overtime in order to find some activity - any activity - that would help me.
I've never really been bored since. My mind is capable of keeping itself occupied in any situation, and with any object (or lack thereof).
It's nice, but it comes with a price. I will sometimes stare off into the distance while my mind retracts from the outside world and begins some serious thinking to pass the time. I will also sometimes find ways of entertaining myself which are mildly disturbing to bystanders.
So, anyways. I'm sitting and waiting. My mind is beginning to work its magic.
I look at my foot.
My feet are not really used to being in confined spaces. I've spent many years of my life walking around in nothing more than flip-flops, so my feet have grown naturally rather than spend their life confined by too-tight shoes. As such, I have 5E+ flippers which are remarkably dexterous (for feet).
I've also been spending a lot of time at the school wearing either boots or tennis shoes. I noticed recently that my feet had reached a stench that could qualify as a biohazard, and so I switched back to flip-flops for a while to let them "air out".
This means I have a dexterous and unhindered alien foot at my disposal. I am ready.
I nonchalantly kick off one flop and prop my legs into a comfortable ninety-degree cross (shin of one leg rests on the knee of the other). I then start cracking my toe-knuckles, and getting the kinks out.
But then my foot starts acting strange, and begins making its way towards my face (I'm quite limber). I try to restrain it, but it keeps on coming.
After a few seconds, I am locked into a vicious life-or-death struggle with my own foot, with me trying to hold it back and strangle it into submission before it rips my nose off (I'm really quite limber).
More tense seconds pass as I wrestle with my own appendage for the pleasure of my miniature audience. Eventually I gain the upper hand (ha) and put my foot down (ha ha).
Then it's time to pull the folding theater-seat next to me out from the back a couple inches and peek behind it. I quickly slam the seat back into place and begin edging away from it, throwing wary glances back at it all the way.
Next show, I make a point of looking for something else to toy with.
The movie has finally been figured out by this time, and is just about to begin. For my final performance, I settle for giving my head a light flick and turning it into a metronome as my head ticks back and forth from the force of the blow.
Well, looks like I've almost used up one of my extra sleep hours. Bugger.
-
...
:D I had to try very hard not to laugh out loud so as not to wake up the whole apartment :P
-
I swear, if someone made a video of you bored and sold copies, Bill Gates would have serious competition.
-
There's an impro thing on the school seminar list for this year. I don't think it's an actual seminar, I think it's just a bunch of people doing impro. Naturally, I signed up. I wonder what I'm going to do...
I'm taking off in the morning for a quick vacation, and that's probably going to be an interesting ordeal, seeing as it's not something I'm used to doing on my own.
Someone is going to ask tomorrow morning if there's anyone else taking a train around that time so I can share a cab, but that's probably not going to happen. My schedule is just a teensy bit too weird for such luck. Hrrmph. That means I'll have to pay for the whole thing. Blight.
Very very little going on here. As such, my brain started working again. I just went through a little free association game in my head. I'd think of a word, and then think of what that work made me think of. I would then take that word, and think about what it made me think of. Here's my chain of thought:
Steam
Punk
Steampunk (this was a bit of a jump. I don't think "steampunk" when I think of "punk")
Goggles
Latch
Rank
File
Toe
Nail
Bird (?????)
I stopped that train of thought before it got too disturbing.
-
Uggh. My problem is that I never impose on anyone. People make friends by taking up someone else's space and talking at them until they're liked. I have always tried to respect the comfort of others, and so I try to never do anything that might force them into something they may find uncomfortable.
I have that problem too, I'll wait five minutes for people in my way to stop conversing before I'll say "excuse me" and walk by.
-
The vacation turned out to be only one week. I hope I can get *something* done on my project. Or at least a +something+.
I've still got until Sunday, but still... I was hoping for more time. Ah, but doesn't everybody say that eventually?
Soon as we get back to school, we've got three days of planning for the boy/girl party. I can't remember if I mentioned this thing before, so I'll go over it again to provide some filler for this post.
Basically, all the guys in school get together and plan a party for the girls. The feminines do some planning for a boy party. When the day comes, they hold both parties one after the other (I think guys throw their thing first, but I'm not sure. We do have a track record of coming first...).
Anyways, that's supposed to be great fun. Both sides are also apparently supposed to pamper the other gender for that day as well, but I already do most of the stuff they suggested. Not sure what I'm going to do as far as that's concerned...
So, yeah. Three days of planning, one day of (???), and then the boy/girl party day. After that, we've got a pretty standard schedule up to the 20th, at which point the first student night is held. I can't remember if it's interior design or clothing that has that night, but it's going to be a Halloween-themed night. As such, they've asked everyone to bring a costume.
I've got two gripes with that. One, I was already packed to the ears on my trip up here. Costumes have a habit of being bulky too, so tacking that on top of everything else I've got to carry around doesn't sound very appealing to me...
Two, I don't have a costume.
So I was deliberating as to what I'd use for the Halloween night... I've got one costume idea that I've had for a couple years now, but it requires some things that are not what one might call readily available. At least not on such a short notice.
So that's slightly out the window. I started trying to think about what would be relatively easy to pull together, while still providing a reason for me to wear it.
Then it occurred to me. The Crow.
Under normal circumstances, I would never consider putting that on. But seeing as I've already got a couple people talking about how much I look like Brandon Lee, it suddenly takes on a humorous slant. Good enough for me.
The makeup is slightly problematic... But I'm sure I can find someone at the school who would be willing to do me up like ol' Draven.
I'm sorry, but this is all just striking me as extravagantly clever. I'm going to have to go off and giggle in a corner for a few minutes. Excuse me.
-
The Crow costume is being more problematic than expected. I thought it would be a pretty simple deal to pull together, but apparently not.
Anyways, there's going to be a little jump over to a different house tomorrow, so my story preparations are going to get interrupted slightly. And then on Friday, we're hopping over to a different house. Saturday my folks leave for Sardinia, and Sunday I go back to school sometime in the afternoon.
And I haven't written a single word yet.
Silly me, I had to go and think about a special kind of backdrop that doesn't exist in native DF. As such, I have been forced to mod and build it myself. This has taken up the entirety of my time here, even with 41 [SPEED:1] dwarves. And I'm not finished laying everything out.
Just peeked in at my stocks screen. I don't have a bookkeeper, so they're all rounded off rather significantly. Even so, I've got 10,000? blocks in assorted constructions, with 4,000? still free. I'll probably end up needing more than that, but that's okay. I've got smelter reactions that can give me 20 of the desired building blocks per use.
This thing god damned better be epic, for all the work I'm stuffing into it...
I most likely won't be able to finish the backdrop by the end of this week. I'll try to put some time into it while I'm at school though. I've been wanting to do this for some time...
-
Maybe the forum could vote for which far off country you "blog" from next ;)
That being said you really could use some time management.... as for the chicks.. hmmm... maybe try the lonely foreigner angle? without being overly pathetic of course.
The costume.. ypu have long hair right? (I remember the India thread.) It's pretty blond so you could go as David Bowie. Your in Europe so the necessary cod piece shouldn't be that hard to find.
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I've got longer hair than David Bowie. It's not quite as light though... Also, this is Norway. Norway is not a part of Europe.
Seriously, they're the one European country that isn't a part of the EU. Euro coins have a little map of Europe on them, and Norway is missing. Idiot isolationist Norwegians...
But anyways, a David Bowie costume isn't nearly as entertaining as a Crow costume, since nobody has ever likened me to David Bowie. I dunno, I just find it strangely funny to go dressed as a popular costume character, being someone who has actually been compared to the original.
As for the alluring "lonely foreigner" angle, I've got that down pat. It isn't working too quickly though...
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David Bowie is a cool guy, though. And likely more well-known than Crow. Keep up the good work!
-
Kinda depends on which group you're talking to... Besides, it's too late now. I've got shiny black jeans and a turtleneck shirt for my Crow costume (apparently, nobody wears leather in Norway anymore... If this was the US, I could just hop down to the friendly neighbourhood goth-shop for all my Crow needs).
Also, which incarnation of David Bowie are you talking about? He hasn't exactly conformed to one outfit for all his life...
Well, my folks took off for Sardinia, and I'm spending the night over at my father's cousin's house. I've got to get up early tomorrow for my train. There's no reason for me to get there early, it's just that there are only two trains on Sunday that have cheaper prices. One at 7:30AM and one at 9:08AM.
Pity, since it would have been nice to stay here a little longer.
Well, dinner is just about ready, and I should probably pack up my stuff so it's ready in the morning. You'll hear from me sometime Sunday.
Hopefully, I'll catch the right train this time...
-
Okay, so it's Monday. Us guys have spent most of the day doing some preliminary planning on what we're going to do for the girl side of the party. We have some good ideas and some... Well...
Some college-age male ideas. What can I say?
We're planning on holding a bachelor auction where 5-6 guys get put up for sale. A bought guy has to do whatever his owner wants for all day Sunday.
This is one of those things I'm half anticipating and half dreading. On the one hand, it would be great fun, and it's something of a compliment if your price happens to go up rather high. On the other hand, I'm not sure if Norwegian female preferences happen to include me. That would be rather depressing.
And I don't even know if I'll be one of the ones picked out for the auction. There are going to be two guys picked as the auctioneers, and they will decide how they want to approach setting up the whole thing. They will choose which guys are put up for auction.
Seeing as I'm not really a part of any of the guy-groups (I just don't socialize with them all that much), I don't know if they'll even think to pick me.
Time for dinner, I'll get back to this later.
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You never know what might happen Kagus, you might get picked just for standing out. I dont actually know if that may be a good thing, but still. Whatever happens, goodluck!
-
I'm highly experienced in the art of not being noticed. I'm so good at it, I don't even have to try in order to do it.
The bad thing is, I don't even have to try in order to do it.
Since we're planning multiple events for the party, we got split into smaller groups that each have one thing to focus on. Just a little bit easier to manage, don'tcha know.
I'm in the group that's working on making up some little sketches that we'll act out. We spent some hours sitting around brainstorming what we were going to do. Since I didn't really have that many ideas (or at least wouldn't be that good at communicating them), I basically just went about entertaining myself with the inanimate objects inside our brainstorming room.
I did have one idea though. I imagined a parody thing of one of those old "private eye" films, where the lead character would be asking around and trying to find out where all the girls had gone (we don't get to use any girls in our stuff, since we're making the party for them). The actors would basically just mime whatever was going on, while the voice of detective's thoughts (someone with a microphone) would provide a running monologue. Also, I imagined a scene or two where the detective's thought-voice would have some trouble pronouncing with a particular word. As such, all the actors would have to stop and wait around while the voice sorted itself out and got back on track. I dunno, seemed worthwhile to me.
I tried suggesting it to the rest of the group. There wasn't much of a reaction until I got to the part about having the guy's thoughts being read aloud. That got some good reactions, and then someone started talking about how you could use that to show "normal guy thoughts" ("mmm, apple pie... Breasts..."). That got lots of attention.
Eventually, they decided that the detective aspect wasn't really conducive to the comedic process. A different scenario would probably yield more humorous content.
And then that got edged out by cavemen, stripping failures, and egg tossing. I went back to the inanimate objects.
As far as the girl arena is concerned, I've started having some different thoughts. First, there have been no girls showing such outstanding interest that they become likely candidates. Second, there are no girls that I feel drawn towards enough to actually make a fool out myself for. This situation is not particularly good for promoting a relationship for me.
As such, I figure it's probably best if I just forget about it and focus on other matters. Not really a whole lot of sense wandering around hoping that someone will just walk up and throw their arms around me, and I'm not doing much more than that.
I've found that intentionally losing hope is like pulling a bad tooth... The process is painful as hell, but you feel a lot better when it's over.
... Wait a second...
Goddamnit, I think my roommate just went out to the cinema again.
Guess which room is set to wash the restrooms today.
EDIT: Caught him. He was just going out to jog or something. It would've been funnier story-wise if I had to wash the toilets by myself, but I really wasn't in the mood.
EDIT2: He left his phone in the room. That has got to be the most annoying ringtone I have ever heard. It's not even funny-annoying like the Crazy Frog ringtone. On top of that, the caller ID looks like a pet name for X.
WELCOME TO FUCKING SKIRINGSSAL!
-
9:41PM. Socializing hopeless. Tired of listening to all the happy people. Going to get a couple extra hours of sleep.
Good night.
-
Guutu nuchtu.
Yeah, that's supposibly mock-Scandinavian for good night.
-
Good night Kagus. Sweet dreamsies :)
-
Well, there went another day. Boy/Girl party planning hasn't really been top-notch today. By that I mean my group sat around, watched Human Tetris and listened to music. All on time that was supposed to be used for actually writing a script for these sketch ideas we've come up with.
Another group got carried away with supplying the girls with counterintelligence, so we weren't the only ones who didn't do anything constructive.
The auction coordinators (which includes my roommate) went through and picked out their wares today. I wasn't even on the candidate list, let alone the final list (which happens to include someone who won't even be here on the day of payment, and who doesn't want to be on the list in the first place).
Bit of a sting, but saves me the embarrassment of not getting much interest on the market.
Also, the prize has been shortened from a full day to three hours.
We've got one more day for preparations. On that day, we need to write, set up, and practice all the skits until they're ready for performance. And that's just the sketch group, I'm also part of a massage parlor section that's supposed to be getting some training before they go out and manhandle the shoulders of sixty girls. That's not too much of a problem, but still... Oh, and I may also end up as a doorman somewhere. Luckily, I have experience in such matters.
But those skits worry me... We'll have to work overtime.
Oh, and for those of you who are wondering, "Good Night" in Norwegian is "God Natt". "God" is pronounced "Goo", so it's basically "Good" without the "d".
-
I was planning on just going to bed, but the door right across from mine was wide open. I walked past it on the way down to the bathroom, but when I was coming back I decided to stop and peek in. One girl fiddling with a Playstation controller in front of a TV, and two girls on the other bunk watching her play.
They notice me and look up. I don't trust my Norwegian enough to be able to pronounce the difference between "what's going on?" and "what's spooning?", so I used English. "wwwWWhat's happening?"
Got a chuckle, and they told me they were playing The da Vinci Code. I came in and watched for a bit while the one girl was fumbling around the first area in the game. After some random button-mashing she managed to turn up a few clues, but after that it was just running around in circles again. I asked if I could try.
Two things gave me an advantage: First, my understanding of the English language was far superior to theirs. I could, for instance, actually read the menu. And, I knew what the word "combine" meant.
Second, I've seen the movie. And I've listened to the audiobook. Twice.
As such, I managed to smash my way through the game at an increased rate. That is, until we reached a closed window.
Damn that closed window.
Basically, we had to open a window. In the film, they used a trash can. But apparently, that was much too intelligent an action for the gaming crowd. Instead, you had to stand in front of the window and pop your back while trying to lift the damn thing.
When you get up to the window, a button appears in the middle of the screen. It has an arrow pointing down. Having played a few cheap adventure games before, I knew immediately what this meant.
*IT'S MASHING TIME!*
So I expertly mashed the X button with my thumb until it glowed green. But then a couple more buttons flashed and then went away. Shortly thereafter, Bobby let out a groan and let the window back down.
After a few tries, I managed to make out "L" and "R". Left and right buttons, naturally. Next attempt, I smack those two babies right after I've finished mashing X.
Nothing happens.
What follows is a long and arduous attempt at getting the damned thing to open by mashing buttons. Those poor L and R keys were getting punished for not working properly. Everyone got to try their luck at button-stomping. Cries for "Crash Bandicoot" could be heard. Other cries of "you're closest" could also be heard.
I edged closer to the console while the one girl continued to compact Mr. Langdon's vertebrae, waiting for a brief spell where I would be able to switch the games for everyone else.
But since I was sitting closer to the screen then before, I noticed something weird about the L and R button indicators that came up. The arrows were pointing UP, not down.
Peculiar... I reached my hand over for the remote. After another fruitless attempt, she gave it to me.
First time I tried it, I tried to find some way of releasing the L and R buttons when that thing came up. Nothing.
Second time was gold. I moved the LEFT and RIGHT joysticks up simultaneously. Lo and behold, the window FINALLY opened up and we could continue.
I also got through an anagram and a cypher. Slightly easier for someone who has a pretty good control of the language, not to mention a not-too-distant memory of the story.
Some more people came in and were made witness to my expertise with this second-rate game. Then one girl came in, sat down, complained about being thirsty, and then suggested that everyone go down to the rec room.
So I saved the game, shut down the console and the TV, and grabbed my coat. The rest of the group had quite a bit of a lead on me, so I figured I'd just sit down at whatever group activity they'd decided on.
I get down there and they're all watching Grey's Anatomy.
They don't lay me enough to watch Grey's Anatomy at 10:00PM. I'm goin' to bed.
-
LOL.
Hey, why don't you see the faq for the Da Vinci Code NOW?
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Thursday. I think.
Today was a standard school day, so we got to work on our old projects a little bit. The first nothing commercial was finished off, and we managed to begin and complete the "nothing: eXtreme edition" commercial in record time.
But there was something else as well. Every day at morning collective, a few people from one particular major will do something. They can do whatever they want in ten minutes. We've had slideshows, musical performances, "name that song" competitions where the other students have to come up with the answer, and all sorts of other stuff.
Well, next week is Film and TV's turn to "host" collective. Every day with collective (in other words, Monday - Friday) requires at least one person in charge of setting up what's going to happen on that day. He/She does not have to do it alone, but they do have to take responsibility for providing something good.
Well, the students of Film and TV decided to have two responsible people per day instead of just one. Since we've got ten people, that means everyone gets used. There was a bit of a shuffle as people picked their days.
You know have every school has one? Well, I got buddied up with him.
This guy has somehow earned the nickname "Drops", which is a type of candy. He has braces, glasses, nervous tics in both eyes, a truly unfortunate hairstyle, and one of the most befuddling brains I have yet encountered.
He insisted that our discussion about the plans for Thursday's collective (the one we've got) be held in as private a place as possible, as no one should hear about it. He was going to hide inside a storage closet with me, but I convinced him that the empty gymnasium was private enough for something so trivial.
I can understand a certain amount of cloak-and-dagger stuff for the Boy/Girl party, mainly because half the fun is surprising the other gender. But ten minutes on Thursday morning? Ten minutes that no one really pays attention to anyways?
Then he wanted to find out where we would sit and talk over the plans. I felt like stretching my legs, and I tend to like pacing around when I'm thinking anyways. I said that I like to walk when I'm thinking.
This was not intended, in any way, to come across as an invitation. Apparently, it was received as such. He started walking alongside me.
I don't "do" organized walking. I meander around. As such, he kept changing direction in order to maintain the exact same position next to me while I wandered around and entertained myself with a hockey stick.
This gymnasium does not have problems with sound. I could have heard him just fine if he had decided to sit down on the sidelines and talk in a normal voice to me. Nope. He followed me. He even ended up blocking me on a few occasions, since he was walking so close and kept misjudging where I was going to go.
What we're going to do for Thursday is have a little competition, wherein we will play various movie themes and people will have to guess the movie it is from (the original idea was to show scenes from various movies, but that ended up being more hassle than it was worth). I really had to fight for that one.
No, we are not going to have "acting cards" for some volunteers to follow. No, we are not going to mime Star Wars. No, we are not going to show pictures of you. No, we are not going to play the themes ourselves.
If he were working with people about ten years younger, he would have fit in just fine. Unfortunately for me, he's not. I hope it works out.
We also have to agree on a song from the songbook that we'll have for collective. That's going to be an interesting ordeal...
Uggh. But enough Drops, lemme talk about the FUN STUFF.
The sketch deal is still looking pretty sketchy. We've written one sketch and had a start-from-scratch spontaneous change on another. We haven't practiced anything yet.
But. Yesterday (I think it was yesterday...) one of the other party-planning groups was working on filming some music videos for a compilation film that they'll show at some point. We bumped into them while they were setting up for the death metal video.
After some last-minute band member changes, a request for some help with the filming, and various questions as to who had good clothes, I ended up as one of the band members.
Now, I don't have any really good death metal shirts. But I do have black leather police boots, tight black jeans, and some extra-long fingerless gloves (that's the best description I can give you for them. They're basically cloth tubes with a thumb-hole). I figured that I could just wear those articles of clothing, without a shirt, and then headbang with my hair in front of my face (I got in a little late for the white facepainting).
The effect was actually pretty damn good. But it was also pretty damn cold, since we were filming this outside.
Man, what a blast... Prancing around like idiots while scraping our fingers in random patterns against our instruments. Just the messing around part was fun, but when we got around to actually editing the thing and putting the music in? Abso-fuckin'-lutely priceless.
We managed to get a lot of things to sync up almost perfectly with the music, which was amazing considering how we were just randomly hitting stuff. There's a masterful bass solo that is just painfully beautiful to watch (the guy doing it is wearing some awesome Ozzy-shades), and I even get to have a nice little riff where it looks like I'm actually playing.
I am personally going to make sure that film goes on the site when it's finished. You really have to see it.
The song is something from Cannibal Corpse, but for the music video we changed a few names around to make it more personal. The song is now "Dollrape Rectum", from the band "Satan's Forhud" (Satan's Foreskin). The music video is dated 1992.
We've also got a very homoerotic version of "Take On Me", and we're planning on having a gospel video in there as well.
We really need to do this stuff more often... It's just too much fun.
-
Things to do before I die #27: Watch that video!
Oh, and...
The sketch deal is still looking pretty sketchy.
Was that incredibly obvious pun intended?
-
Of course. I don't get many opportunities to make horrible jokes at school, so I have to do it here. Y'know, relieve some of the pressure.
So, there was an obligatory meeting in the gymnasium for all the guys. I thought we were finally going to practice the skits. We didn't.
Instead, we were there to practice the song written by a couple of the other guys, which we are to sing at the very end of all the other Girl party festivities. All of us are to sing it.
He probably should have made more copies. Even with most of us huddled together, there were a few guys who didn't get much chance to look at the lyrics. I was one of them.
But hey, that's okay. When you've got thirty voices all singing at roughly the same time, nobody can hear you.
After a couple times through the song, we noticed some big ropes attached to the ceiling and started a climbing competition. Then it just devolved into random swinging until most everyone filtered out of the gym.
But we're going to be meeting up again tomorrow! Sometime around four. And then we'll practice the sketchy stuff. Maybe.
Or maybe we'll just spend an hour proving our primate ancestry again.
I also hear rumors among the Film group that we're going to have interviews with more members of Satan's Foreskin. There's a little interview with a couple of the band's more prominent members at the end of the music video, but I guess they felt they needed more.
Naturally, they have to be real pansies for the interview. Talking about the time when they played in a kindergarten and a couple kids ended up getting pretty scared. Almost to the point of tears.
Almost.
But, naturally, it's all in Norwegian. Not that it's that great of a loss though. The video itself is undeniably the show-stealer.
-
Well, that was interesting.
The day of the party started out slightly earlier than I would have expected. I was lying in bed and trying to snatch a couple more minutes of sleep before my alarm was set to go off when I heard some sounds coming from the door. I look up and see a group of girls slowly opening the door and peeking in.
The only time I lock the door is when I'm not in the room. When I'm inside, the door is either unlocked or downright open.
Anyways, in come a group of girls in their nightclothes (or at least "comfy clothes"), padding along very softly and carrying cups of cocoa. We each got a cup while we sat in bed, along with some softly spoken "good morning"s. Not to mention some titters of laughter at our groggy states.
Hell of a way to start a morning, I'd say.
It moved from that to breakfast, which was decidedly unremarkable aside from the buzz of anticipation and general good cheer everyone had. Some time after breakfast, the guys assigned to massage duty went into the gymnasium to set up shop and go through a quick recap of what we were supposed to do when massaging our clients.
The massage group had fifteen guys in it, and with roughly sixty girls to massage we were going to need four shifts. For me, the first round wasn't quite what I might have hoped. I was a bit tense about getting the massage right, and the girl who sat down at my station wasn't leaning on the front of the chair, so she was using more of the muscles to keep herself upright (why'd it have to be a shoulder massage? Things are damned difficult if you're gonna do it right). I don't think it went smashingly, but I can hope that she at least got something good out of it.
The second shift was incomplete, so my station was empty. One of the guys was sent out to look for more girls to fill the spots, but there weren't any around. I assume that they were still sleeping (it was about 10:30 at the time, and on a Saturday that's still within sleeping range). Third shift was missing one girl. Namely, my station. I got sent out to see if I could find anyone, and I managed to find someone who hadn't gotten her massage yet. She seemed a bit confused about the whole thing, since she thought she had a later appointment.
That round was better, but again, not perfect. For the first massage, I was nervous. For the second massage, she was nervous. Took quite a bit before I could get her to loosen up a bit...
Fourth round was incomplete yet again. My station was open, I'd relinquished my pillow to someone who actually had a client, and there wasn't a whole lot for me to do in there. So instead, I stepped outside and decided to wander around a bit.
Right outside the gymnasium is a little sitting area, and the chairs were occupied by several girls who were just relaxing from their massage, along with a couple guys who had either given their shift to someone else or didn't have anyone at their station.
When I stepped out, one of the girls asked if I was one of the excess masseuses. I acknowledged this (truth be told, I didn't understand what she had said. I just shrugged, figuring that would answer the question). So, since I was free, she asked if I would mind giving her a massage.
One of the other girls sitting there was the one I had covered in the last shift, the one who took a bit of loosening up. The reason I said that massage went better than the first one is because she piped up at that moment and said that I gave a very good massage. A "thanks" after having the massage is almost demanded by polite standards, but a recommendation to someone else is an actual compliment.
So although I didn't give an "official" massage for the fourth shift, I did end up giving a massage. Woo.
For the whole massage thing, there were really only two people who knew what they were doing. The British metalhead, who coordinated the whole thing, and one other guy who has been practicing the art of massage for several years. Apparently he needs some sort of exercise for his fingers, and there aren't a whole lot of activities that can provide that.
The Brit was walking the rest of that massage group through the movements while the other guy paid absolutely no attention at all and went about actually giving his client a massage. Hell, the guy even knew how to work pressure points.
So, that was that. Afterwards, there was a bit of random wandering around until lunch, which the girls had laid claim to. Not a whole lot of interesting stuff, but there were a couple girls clothed only in foil and plastic wrap who were lying on the food table and serving as platters for assorted sweets.
Some time after lunch, we were treated to one of the bigger things the girls had pulled together. All the guys walked into the big theater-room upstairs while the girls sat farther back and provided us with thunderous applause. The lighting was rather romantic, with the only sources being numerous candles, and with the projector displaying the title image for a slideshow (basically, a reddish background with lots of hearts and something along the lines of "for the guys" written on it).
The rest of the decor was primarily made up of a line of big paper hearts going around the ceiling, each with the name of one of the guys written on it (one for each).
After everyone was present and somewhat accounted for, they started up some music and let the slideshow roll.
What came next was a series of pictures where there were either two or three girls in some provocative pose (often holding up a related object as the only means of covering themselves), accompanied by the name of one of the guys. A miniature fan club for each and every one of us blighters.
We went through the show once, laughing and ooh-ing at the pictures, and finally gave a big round of applause when it was over. But it wasn't really over, not quite...
The slideshow was brought up again, but this time was gone through picture-by-picture. When a guy's picture came up he would be accompanied up to the stage by the girls in the picture, whereupon they would give him his trophy. The trophies were generally sorted into either crowns, sashes, or decorative t-shirts. On each item was a little rhyme about the guy's shining traits, which was read aloud to him by the girls on stage. Some were cute, some were quite clever, some were romantic, and some were downright raunchy.
Female adoration is the greatest gift that can be given to guys like us.
So, that was fun. I was given a sash proclaiming me to be "Mr. Las Vegas", with a rhyme that was even written (and recited) in English. For reasons of paranoia, I shall censor my name.
"
Name, you're such a nice guy,
The door is always open when we pass by.
You're also such a gentleman,
all the way from another land.
"
Amazing how so much information (I am an American who leaves his door unlocked) can be conveyed in only two verses. Well, the sash has gold glitter on it. And it sends hugs from the girls who made it. Pity it doesn't have the picture though...
I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but the only thing I can remember after that was dinner, which the girls again had coordinated. Everyone was assigned specific places to sit, so that all the guys got to sit next to their admirers for the evening. Cozy. Especially considering the places were marked with little notes for the guys which contained bullet-point lists of how great they were.
Some time during dinner, a little giftwrapped box was given to one of the guys while the upcoming game's instructions were announced to those in attendance. Inside the first box was a second box, along with a message. The message contained a rhyme that the person had to read aloud for everyone. They then had to follow the instructions on that note.
The first note (since it was first handed to a guy) was for him to give the second box to the girl he thought """""""" (I can't remember. Something complimentary). She would take the box, open it up, and get to the third box with accompanying instructions. It bounced back and forth between the genders for a while, going from sweet or playful things to " give this to the girl who has the most exciting breasts" and culminating with "give this to the guy you think the most girls would like to take home".
Which, naturally, was my roommate. Why in the devil's name does it always have to be him?
(Hawkfrost, this is your cue to say something about using the lord's name in vain)
Inside the final box was a little note that basically just talked about how great guys were to have around, particularly those at this school.
Dinner continued, then came dessert (where I got to exercise my gentlemanliness by giving away my chocolate heart), and then came the speeches. First the male representative gave his speech about how wonderful girls are, and then all the guys stood up and toasted them. The feminine representative then got up and gave her speech about how great guys are, and then those of a manly persuasion got to be toasted by the women.
There was a brief respite after dinner, and then we went up into the theater room to see the big show the girls had prepared for us.
It started off with two girls coming out and presenting "Girl's Evening". They asked the guys if they were having a good time. "YES". They asked if they were anticipating the show. "YES". They asked if we were horny.
...
"YES!"
Then they asked if we were ready to get even hornier! The response was naturally an affirmative. Now we were really interested in seeing what was going to be presented to us.
The girls who presented the show walked offstage while the curtain drew back and some sexy music started to play. The anticipation was building.
And then two girls clothed in the baggiest, most ridiculously colored clothing available jumped out and started thrashing around in a pseudo-erotic manner. These were supposed to be understudies who were standing in because of issues with the previously scheduled programming.
After that, the real skin show started. We got several different themed groups coming out one after the other to dance in a coordinated provocative manner. Everything from secretaries gone bad to athletic gals to cowgirls to dominatrices (one girl was enjoying that role just a wee bit too much... And one had forgotten to bring her thick leather belt so she had to mime everything).
And then there was a short series of skits that showed us menfolk how we are supposed to treat women. For this, the used two girls dressed up as man and... Well, woman.
Things would start off with the woman instigating a situation, and the man hopelessly buggering it up in stereotypical manly-man fashion. After that, they would reset their positions and start again, except this time the guy would do it the "right" way, thus earning the delighted approval of the woman.
After that came the games. First game had several girls line up while two teams of two guys tried to identify them through touch. There actually wasn't that much touchy-feely of inappropriate parts, but there was one instance where a guy got a perfect feel just as the girl he was examining was looking somewhere else. I don't know if he intended it or not, but he certainly got plenty of applause.
Next game was a strip quiz. Answer the question correctly, and your assigned girl takes off a piece of clothing. As with most strip quizzes, the questions were dreadfully challenging. Not very many clothes were taken off, but one did end up taking off her outer layer. But I think that's just because she wanted to.
The other girl ended up taking off more than she bargained for. When removing her stocking-pants (anyone wanna tell me what those things are actually called?), she ended up taking off one pair of panties as well. Definitely not intentional, but she had at least two other pairs on.
Then there was the reminder for the guys to always use protection. They then showed us why, with several different STD's coming out and singing about all the nasty things they did. Really, the most interesting part of that was the finish, where one of the presenters came out and started tossing condoms and single-serving packets of lube (no idea why) into the crowd.
Finally, all the girls step up and sing the boy song. It was alright, but not quite as clever as it probably could have been. There was one bit that poked fun at the duplicate names we've got among the male students, but other than that it was pretty much just a recital of all of us.
Lots of applause, much appreciation for all the stuff they did for us and so on.
Then it was our turn.
The gymnasium has a stage of its own, in case I had forgotten to mention that. That's what we were using.
To start off there was a brief instrumental number while everyone was getting ready backstage. Just a little piano and drums to keep the audience satisfied, and our own presenters were doing their stuff when they had stuff to do.
Then came the bad boys after they had spent the past fifteen minutes oiling themselves up and doing some quick push-ups to appear more muscular. They did their homoerotic stripping/dancing routine to thunderous applause and not a small amount of laughter after they revealed their heavily-stuffed underwear.
A quick intermission, and then 'twas time for the sketch. After the numerous revisions and logistics failures, it eventually came down to three skits, only one of which involved me. But oh, what a sketch it was...
"Man Through the Ages"
Essentially, it's just a quick rundown of how masculinity has been trailing off as time goes on. We had several different eras, each one represented by a different guy in a costume. It went from Stone Age, to Viking Age, to Renaissance, to Cowboy Era, to 60s, to 80s, then wartime in Norway, then the Modern Age (represented by a picture taken of one of the teachers, who is wearing a frilly pink bra. He's the very male athletics teacher), and finally the Future.
I got Stone Age. And gosh darn it if I didn't make a good caveman. Hell, I've been receiving compliments on my performance ever since. I guess the role just comes naturally to me.
A few moments after the future boys went onstage (E.T., Essentially Transvestites), all the other eras came out and had a nice little spastic dance together, just to show how far we've come from the days of masculinity.
Heh, just found a picture of that last dance. Not a very good one, but it's the only one I've seen so far. I am concealed except for a foot and my spear (a broken broomhandle I found in the auxiliary costume closet. Who knows what it was doing there). This wasn't actually intentional, just so ya know.
(http://photos-a.ak.facebook.com/photos-ak-snc1/v348/4/45/555685399/n555685399_1891648_5955.jpg)
Left to right: Cowboy, Future, Viking, Renaissance, 60s, Future, Caveman, 80s.
We had lots of other stuff as well, and it all went over relatively well. The auction went a bit strangely, however... The first guy to go up for bidding (played the cowboy. He's the one I have suspicions about being mildly damaged upstairs) got up to 15Kr before bidding stopped. Bid increases were 5Kr per bid, roughly one dollar.
The next guy went for somewhere around 30, then there was a guy who went for 45, and then there was one who went for 75.
The big blast was when one of the school helpers was put up. I really don't see what's so amazing about his looks, but he's been something of a sex idol in the school. I guess girls just go wild for mid-length "shaggy" hair.
He went for 500 Norwegian Crowns. Roughly a hundred dollars for three hours on Sunday. Eek.
Lemme see... There was one musical intermission during the competition (the competition wasn't that interesting, just had eight girls dealt up into four teams and then sent through various tests to get points. Actually, it was pretty interesting, but I'm tired and this post is getting ridiculously long) where Drops sang a song from Elton John. During the first practice session, we were all expecting to either laugh or moan when he opened his mouth to sing.
The guy actually has an amazing singing voice. He nailed that song perfectly.
And then there was the final sketch... Two guys from the sketch group had offered themselves up to the mercy of the womenfolk in a barbaric ceremony of ritualistic torture.
They got waxed. Literally. The screams...
...were hilarious. It all went over quite well, and many swatches of hair were taken as souvenirs. Not to mention the pictures. Damn that skin was red...
We also showed off the movie which included the death metal music video. It was set up as a gay porno, complete with bad acting and horribly cheesy lines. But before you get to see anything fancy, the view drifts over to a TV screen which i splaying the first music video. The transition was actually quite well done, and a similar shot is shown at the end of the death metal section, where they zoom out from the screen and return to the two happy lovers for a couple more one-liners before the end.
And then, for some unfathomable reason, they slapped on a blown-up animated blowjob smiley at the end. I personally don't think it added a whole lot... But still, the movie had quite an appreciative audience.
For the finale, we all came out and sang our song for the girls. I had decided to wear my caveman outfit, supplemented by my navy blue fedora and "Mr. Las Vegas" sash.
The song was an absolute hit. Easily the greatest part of the whole show. The applause was so great that we felt the need to do a spontaneous coordinated theater-bow. Unfortunately, this was not something we had practiced.
I don't know if anyone else did it, but I ended up bowing as everyone else's linked hands were going up. And then again when it was actually time to do so. Slightly embarrassing. Not to mention the fact that I was holding hands with the stressed-out Brit, who felt responsible for the whole show (he tries to take responsibility for most things, actually...). And especially not to mention the fact that I smacked his hand into a speaker when our arms came down.
Oh well.
After the boyparty was all said and done, the girls set up the final word. Basically, it was supposed to be a movie and a sleepover in the gymnasium. Everyone was asked to bring along sleeping equipment (top mattresses and comforters). Some people even did.
So we watched "The Most Fertile Man in Ireland" until 1:00 in the morning. And after that, everyone left. I guess not enough people had brought along mattresses, so the people who did didn't really feel a need to stay, and then those who were left felt a bit self-conscious about being the only ones in there.
So I slept in the gymnasium. And that was that. Boys and girls will be boys and girls. We should do this again sometime.
There's a half hour left until Sunday's evening movie, and I can hear karaoke coming from the room across the hall. I'm going to see if they've got Walk This Way.
Kagus out.
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Kagus in.
Just got back from watching Sunday's movie, called "The Man From Earth". Rather interesting little movie, but it apparently didn't appeal to the majority. Of the fifteen or so people who were there when I got in (a few minutes after it had started), about ten of them left halfway through.
Anyways, after the film and some light chit-chat with the people who watched it (including the guy who had set up the movie for watching. Rather peculiar character... He's wearing some decorative contact lenses that give his eyes a very wild look. He's also the one who actually knows how to massage), I played a game of billiard with one of the gals who watched the film. She was one of the first people I met here at the school, but for some odd reason we sort of dropped off connections shortly thereafter. I don't really know why, she just didn't seem all that keen on being around me. It was good to get back on her good side, she's a nice gal.
Anyways, while we were playing, I asked her a couple things about the girl party. In particular, I asked her how the girls were picked for the various admirer mini-clubs.
As I had suspected, they drew from a hat. There were of course some obvious choices (those who actually had girlfriends), but mostly it was just sticking to who you got.
I lost the round of billiard (actually, I think it was better that way), but I gained some valuable information. I'm actually feeling pretty good, even though there's really no reason I should be. I just found out that the praise given to me was created with no real feeling or even knowledge of who I am (one of the things on my bullet-point list is that I am nice to talk to. How those two girls could possibly know that is beyond my ken, seeing as I've never really talked with either of them. I asked one of them who I should pay for going to the party, and I was paired up with the other for singing practice).
The guy-raffle was probably the best way of handling things. If they'd actually gone by preference, Mr. 500 would have so many girls stuffed into the picture that they wouldn't be able to breathe.
...Not that they could breathe anyways. I mean, it is just a picture. They're not real. Well, I mean, they are real, but the picture-...
I should probably go to sleep.
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Nothing particularly exciting to report today. The film teacher is worrying about our student evening again, and has put everyone into groups for handling different things we were planning on having for that night. I decided I could offer myself up for work on some music videos, seeing as they're generally a lot of fun.
The teacher then does some spontaneous rearranging so that everyone is in a full group. He adds two people to the music video group in order to make it complete. Those two people are Drops and a student who wasn't there that day, since he or someone he knew was in for surgery on something.
That means I got to brainstorm one-on-one with Drops again. Will my joys never cease?
You know, I really thought I could have more respect for that guy after his singing. Then he started talking.
I need to work on a side project with a couple of the other guys, just so that my brain can be cleansed of that twit's yammering. Good grief... Not only is he demented, he's also remarkably dense. He's asked me four times now if he should write down the camera angles in the synopsis for our project. And I suppose I speak in a not-too-clear fashion, as by the time his subconscious has pieced together the meaning behind the latest idea I described, he will have forgotten I said it and then present the same idea to me as his own.
Those are just about the only times I'll hear something sensible come out of his mouth. It's sort of been agreed-upon that each of the three people in our group will have control over one video. I have decided that my video will be "Born to be Wild", where I shall run around as my caveman persona in the modern world, with lots of running and jumping. Drops suggested that he could portray my stone-age wife who I could rescue from some foul danger.
It took me five tries before I finally got him to drop it. That was downright scary.
In other news, I have received two more compliments today on my performance at the party, one of them from one of the guys who saw me during the practice session, and thus knew what to expect. I'm beginning to wonder if I was maybe a little *too* good at that role...
Also, I've lost my jacket.
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Found my jacket. Someone had put it into the costume closet.
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I really want to express my interest in this blog by commenting on your adventures, but I haven't come up with anything worthwile to say. Also you have made so many consecutive posts that I felt the need to tell you how very interesting your adventures are and that people are still reading every word of them.
Oh wait. Now I have something to say about something you wrote.
Your name.
I'm quite surprised that you will make sure that we can see a video you perform in and so see your face (unless you have been made undistinguishable), but not tell the readers your (first) name. For me, the former one seems a lot more paranoia-inducing.
I'm not trying to make you tell your name. This just seemed really strange.
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It's death metal. My hair is in my face for the entire video, save for a couple moments when I'm passing by in the background. So unless you've got image-enhancing tools to coax forth my face, you're not going to see a whole lot.
I do believe it's possible to see my awkward cross-shaped chest hair though. The stuff hasn't exactly grown in a respectable manner...
And besides, it's a hell of a lot easier to get information on someone if you've got their name than if you've got a picture of them. At least until image-recognition technology reaches new heights that are mildly unfathomable today.
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LASD put his comment very well. Keep it up Kagus and good luck again! I can't really think of anything else to say.
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Well, I've spent the last hour reading all of your posts, Kagus. I usually browse through such threads for a minute or two before disinterest sets in, but something about your adventures has me hooked. I MUST HAVE MORE. THE BLOOD GOD DEMANDS IT.
Oh yeah, I feel your pain when it comes to unrequited love interests and uncomfortable silences. I've got a major crush on a girl I'm aquainted with in my commercial cookery class. The thing is, there's another guy (who I'm sort of friends with) who always makes her laugh by saying, for the most part, idiotic things.
I'm not a funny guy. I occasionally say things that make people laugh but its usually unintentional on my part. When I TRY and make people laugh, I fail. It kills me that I can't get her to laugh and he does it so casually. Plus, there's usually uncomfortable silences when we talk, and I always struggle to find things to talk about with her. She always makes me think of the line "Better never to have met you in my dream than to wake and reach for hands that are not there" by Otomo no Yakemochi. WOE IS ME.....
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Another dreadfully interesting day today. It's late and I'm tired, so I'll cut this down to what I really want to say.
I made a funny.
So there are about five of us sitting in someone's room, including the Brit. I've made a couple comments on things he's been saying, and we've started a full-fledged conversation in English. It has gone over to matters of perception defining reality by this point.
He makes a statement to the room, about how "when we look up at the sky, we just see a bunch of pricks and dots, we don't actually know what..."
I pop in and say:
"I don't need to look up in order to see pricks"
And the crowd goes wild... Damn I wish I could do that in Norwegian (everyone in the room had a good enough grasp to get it, but still...).
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Okay, recap. Day before yesterday, we went out and filmed Drops doing his music video. He makes an absolutely ridiculous cowboy, by the way.
Got to see him pretend to smoke a stick, fumble with a gun, look utterly out of place when chopping some wood, and generally make a fool of himself (we've got a couple takes of him running around with his arms out, doing an "airplane". He seems to think this is what cowboys did in their spare time in order to relax).
Yesterday, we started clipping the footage. Turns out he wasn't even close to holding the right rhythm, so we're going to have to film all the singing sections over again on Monday. His lips don't synch up with the music at all.
He also seems to think that you actually need to hear him singing for the music video. His reasoning? "Because everybody knows he doesn't sound like Elton John".
Who the bloody hell cares? The boyfest film contained two music videos in it, and I can assure you that the students pretending to sing couldn't even try to sound like the people they were pretending to be.
Answer: He cares.
What's strange is that I was at least expecting him to be smart. Call it a stereotype, but you normally expect the awkward glasses-and-braces character wearing the pastel turtleneck to be reasonably intelligent, and that people are just put off by his speech patterns and appearance.
Well, Drops is most certainly not intelligent. I'm sure there's some redeeming quality in him, but he's done a pretty damn good job of hiding it.
Anyways, the morning gathering worked out alright. I also helped the guy who had it today, since his previously assigned partner has been AWOL for the past few days. It's so damned nice to work with someone I actually like for a change...
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Oookaay.
Today was a pretty standard Saturday, with most people telling breakfast to go bugger itself in favor of sleeping in for a few extra hours.
The only real points of interest would be the conversation I've been having with one of the girls here, and the seminar for this weekend.
The girl is one who is quite proud of her (surprisingly good) American accent. Her personality is what I can only describe as blatantly outgoing.
In any case, she sent me my appreciation picture from the girlfest. Funnily enough, it's not quite as good a picture as I remember it being... Hmm.
Right. Anyways, she has been informed of my "evening sickness", and has been telling me to think positively. Hell, she even sang a song about it. While sitting on one of the tables in the rec room. At full volume. With accompanying guitar (made up primarily of the altered chords from Wonderwall).
If she can even comprehend the emotion of insecurity, all it does is make her act even more outrageously. An admirable trait, but it can get somewhat uncomfortable if you happen to be the object of such a spontaneous serenade... Especially if she's making up lyrics on the fly, and hasn't quite thought of something positive that rhymes with your name.
Her Facebook profile lists her as a 39 year old wife with four children, who is apparently in an open relationship with her wife. All things considered, she's holding up remarkably well.
What a delightfully insane person.
Next on the list is today's "seminar". It was supposed to be centered around advertisements, and how a person would go about making them. The film teacher had equipment to handle 15 people willing to take that seminar. He ended up with 45.
As such, everything got changed last-minute because ordering ten more cameras was a bit out of the question. instead, it turned into a northern film festival.
In essence, we got to watch movies. There were two different screenings, so people had to pick which film they wanted to see. Of all the movies being shown here, I've only seen one of them. I opted to see it again. Just as good as last time.
My first film was "Tillsammans", a Swedish film about a commune in the mid-seventies. It's a highly enjoyable film with some good laughs in it, and I can vouch for the English translation being funny enough to do it justice. The film is sort of in between serious and comedy, but leans towards the more humorous aspects of life among the clinically disillusioned. I would have to recommend it.
Second film was a Danish horror/thriller which was only mildly memorable. Still though, free movie. And we get cake.
It is forty minutes past midnight. Although I could potentially find something sociable to do, I'd rather not be half-dead throughout Sunday. Besides, I've actually done some talking with people tonight. Makes me feel like I can almost be a functioning member of society.
But then I look over at one of the other tabs in my browser, which is currently open to the IMDb page on "Slither". My mind automatically rearranges the letters into "Shitler".
Probably best if I go to bed before I hurt someone. G'night.
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Ahh, yes. Monday. We got to finish up the music video today, and now we're trying to figure out what to do for the next project. What was once below-average footage has turned into an abomination that melts higher thinking capabilities if a person is exposed to it for extended periods.
A few of the other guys got to see it as well, so now word is circulating around about Drops' music video. It makes me feel good to know that I'm not the only one who finds him unbearable.
In fact, it's not even just the Film and TV guys who have a problem with him. I've mentioned him to people from a couple of the other majors, and from their reactions it would appear that his personality (or perhaps just his reputation) has spread to all corners of the school. Hell, I think even some of the teachers are annoyed by him.
But enough of that. We need to talk about me more. Namely, the fact that I have started becoming confident enough in my Norwegian to begin adding things to the conversation. It's a tentative start, and not without its pitfalls, but it's something.
I also had a little jam session with one of the F&TV guys. Jamming is only fun when you're just as unskilled as the other guys. We managed to butcher Wonderwall, Knocking On Heaven's Door, and Random Striking of the Guitar. You know, the timeless classic.
Later on at evening-food time, I was sitting at a table with him and one other guy from Film and TV. After we started bouncing off each other in a little chit-chat and quipping, I realized that I was grouped together with some of the most hopeless nerdy wackos around. Good grief we're peculiar.
And you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.
EDIT: Got the room to myself tonight. The theater majors took off for Oslo this morning, and they're gonna be gone for a while. Pity it won't go to any better use than just having a bit more P&Q.
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Tuesday. Had song training in the morning, which was only remarkable because a hefty portion of its members are from the theater major, and are thus off doing whatever it is they're doing in Oslo.
Later, we had guitar. Only remarkable thing is that not many people showed up, so we were dealt up into two groups instead of three and as such were given more time.
From the practice sessions before and after that, I discovered a few new chords and a slightly butchered version of "Velvet" by A-Ha. Dreadfully exciting.
But then we had interesting stuff. We had a concert up in the theater-room by the band "Hooter's Blues", led by a bassist who calls himself "Hooter". He's American, but he's been living in Norway for some time.
The drummer is Danish (it was also his first day with the band. He was pretty good for not having rehearsed anything or played before with the guys), and the guitarist/singer was the Mississippian Travis "Moonchild" Haddix. Not to be confused with the guitarist/singer Jimi "Voodoo Child" Hendrix.
So we got to have a little blues concert. Great fun. The songs were a little too similar to each other to warrant my shelling out 20 bucks for an autographed CD, but it certainly beat sitting around doing nothing.
And the guys were rather amiable as well. Got to chat a little bit with them after the show, and they were naturally quite surprised to find someone from Vegas in a Norwegian school (the Brit introduced himself as an American from Seattle. If he can say he's from Seattle, I can say I'm from Vegas). We found out that "Moonchild" is having a birthday on the 21st of December.
His 70th.
If you got close to him it was obvious that he was getting on in years, but 70? You would never be able to guess that. He's been playing blues for fifty years. He even got an award from a mayor somewhere.
Needless to say, he can play a bit more than just a slightly butchered version of A-Ha's "Velvet".
Another thing of note was the way the Brit was acting. He was high as a kite. And this wasn't the first time, either. He'd kissed Mary Jane before the girl party of Saturday past.
I don't have a problem if he gets high on his own time, even if it is expressly outlawed by the school, but it annoys me that he feels the need to dope himself up before going to see a performance. It just seems like all the work that went into the actual performance is given lesser worth since he's too stoned to know the difference.
I would like to add that this guy is a spokesperson for weed. He is an active member of a marijuana forum, supports various medical marijuana groups, and will barrage you for hours with unsourced facts on how much better hemp is than cotton, and how there is absolutely nothing bad or even mildly unpleasant about anything related to marijuana or its usage. This man does not argue, he insists.
He's been trying to get me to smoke the stuff for some time now, saying it fits my personality so perfectly that I practically have to do it. I have so far remained courteous in my rejections, but if he brings it up a third time I'm going to tell him which orifice he can smoke it with.
And that's the news from lake Sandefjord, where all the teachers are wrong, all the girls are uninterested and all the students... Are about average.
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Today was interesting. It started off with principal's hour, which was only interesting because the principal is resting with a nasty tear in his Achilles tendon. Instead, we got someone who is actually engaging and mildly interesting. And it included a demonstration from the kitchen chief, who is about as nice and exuberant a person as you are ever likely to find.
From there it went to standard class hours. But not quite as standard as I might have thought. We talked a bit about the upcoming student evening, and how we really needed to get our asses in gear if we wanted to have stuff set up by then. Progress reports were given on how everyone was moving along. I mentioned that although we had finished the first section of our project, I wasn't entirely sure the quality would be up to standards (Drops had conveniently stepped out to use the bathroom a little while before I said this). The teacher asked if he could see it later on, and give his opinion.
Then we broke to work on our different projects, and I took the rest of the class aside for a quick private showing of the music video. They'd been chomping at the bits to see this thing, and I think they got what they were asking for. Drops, to my knowledge, was still using the bathroom.
I had suggested when we were in the classroom that, instead of trying to sort out what else we would work on, we could just blend into the other groups and help out. The teacher seemed to consider the idea, but wasn't completely set on it just then. But since the subject had been broached, I felt perfectly fine sitting with the other guys in their group while waiting for everyone to settle in.
In so doing, I missed a lot of time. When I poked my head out the door and looked down to the room where the video was being kept, I could hear the teacher speaking with Drops about what needed to be done with the video in order to shape it up a bit. After a little while the teacher popped out and started walking down the hall. I made myself noticeable. He noticed me.
We had a little chat about my doubts regarding the quality of the film, and how he could understand where I was coming from. He seemed to be treading very carefully around the subject, as though he might hurt my feelings by saying something bad about the film.
Anyways, when that was over he told me to go ahead and sit in with the other group, since he needed to talk with Drops anyways and there wasn't much point in my just sitting around being useless. I proceeded to do just that.
This talk that he needed to have was part of an ongoing thing here where each of the teachers have one-on-one conversations with their students in order to make sure everything is going well for them, and that their Skiringssal experience is tweaked to suit them perfectly.
An hour or so later, a late arrival to class shows up. His arrival also brought strange news.
He had apparently been looking for the film teacher, and after finding his office empty was redirected to someone else (this someone else is basically there to help out with all person-related logistics, including mild psychotherapy). Her office was also empty, and so he went to another someone else's office (this one is sort of the vice-principal, but he does more to run the school than the "real" principal. He also happens to have a personality).
Inside, he found the film teacher, someone else #1, someone else #2, and Drops.
That's pretty drastic stuff. We were certainly expecting strange things from Drops' scheduled conversation, but this was way out there.
Much later, the teacher pops in on our planning session and gives us a heads-up. After a very long talk with Drops, it has been decided that the best course of action is to get him in on some projects where he is not given control over the process, like he was with the music video. The guy is ridiculously domineering, and so they think it's a good idea that he get in on some stuff where he has to follow orders instead of give them.
The teacher also mentioned, cryptically, that Drops has a hell of a lot more reason to go to a folkehøyskole than the rest of us. As such, we should try our hardest to help him out and make things alright for him, even though it is a bit tiresome.
Wow. I thought the guy was just annoying. But after hearing all this, I think he may really be f***ed up.
We are going to try and make things work out for him, and we're finding places for him in our projects. It's taking him a little while to settle into a less authoritarian role, but it's obvious that he is actually trying (of note is the fact that he doesn't know about the heads-up. He just said that he would like to be in on whatever we were working on, if we had space for him, and that he was too tired to do any planning or idea consultation).
So anyways... Drops gets in on a group that really wanted him, and my group gets to do some really professional filming (I got to be the sound man, boom and all). That was absolutely wicked fun. Hell, I'm still grinning.
We're making a semi-spoof of "24", with a few other parodies thrown in for good measure. We're also making a "behind-the-scenes" portion, and there are plans of spoofing our own spoof later on. With dubbing (this thing's going to be in English, the language of high-profile filming everywhere. So it would be a Norwegian dub).
I think this is going to end up being damned good. I really can't wait to get back on it.
That took up most of the afternoon/early evening. After that was a film picked out by the film club, called "Battle Royale". A Japanese creation that lies on the borderline between "so bad it's good" and "just bad". After that came some random goofing around, and some mutual showing-off of minimal guitar skills. Then it started getting a bit late, and I decided to pop into my room and write an update for y'all.
Then came a knock at the door. The door opens, and a couple of the guys are out there. They ask me if I want to break a record. I ask what kind of record.
They were apparently having a miniature party on the building's miniature balcony. The record was to have fourteen people on it at once. I was Mr. #14.
So we just sat (or stood. There wasn't a whole lot of space left) around for a while out there, chatting. some people came and went, and the record was eventually (although only briefly) pushed up to sixteen.
After some time out there things started getting damn cold, so we went inside. Namely, to the room of another one of "the guys". He and his roommate had redecorated since the last time I was there. A semi-finished string of taped-together Coke and 7-Up cans descended from the ceiling to the floor. Apparently, it was an unfinished stripping pole.
I stuck around for as long as I could manage, but I really hate being tired in the morning and it's already inching towards 1:00AM. I bid adieu, and made my way back to my personal chamber. Where, as you can see, I completed the update.
Now to see if this damned forum is willing to cooperate with the posting...
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Hmm, folkeh. I wonder what caused that.
Anyways, it's good to have my ranting grounds back. I've stockpiled a lot of really good stuff over the last week, and promptly forgot most of it since I didn't have a place to write it down (first person to mention "text file" gets a kick in the nuts).
Too tired to fix this up right now. I just spent two hours dancing with Downs, and the washing machine is brutalizing my clothes. I need to take a shower and put some more vinegar in my armpits before I offer someone a spontaneous foot massage and call it a night.
Yeah, it's me again.
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Text file.
*puts on a chastity belt*
;D
Good to have Sandy Fjord back. One gets attached to such things as another one's misery and suffering.
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A pity we missed nearly a week.
This post is half to tag it in my "show new replies to your posts" thing, and half reminding you that some people do, in fact, read this, so you have reason to keep doing it.
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Phoo... Okay, lemme try to recap.
Obligatory choir seminar last Saturday, not much to say about that. Sunday had a Red Cross seminar, which I thought was going to be something where they'd teach the students basic First Aid. Instead, it was an info-thingy for the Red Cross/Red Crescent Humanitarian Movement (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Red_Cross_and_Red_Crescent_Movement). Naturally, it included lots of pictures of children and a donation call (pay every month, get a free shirt!).
Monday has slipped my memory.
The music teacher took off for a few days, so my two music-related classes on Tuesday were led by different people. Minichoir/voice training was headed by one of the helpers here at school.
Of note was Drops, who also has that class. He disagreed quite loudly with the choice of song (For the longest time), stating that it was horrifically boring. He kept interrupting the class to say we should take an Elton John song instead.
He also sang when he wasn't supposed to (intentionally), made a big show of being annoyed and bored, started flipping through magazines when everyone else was singing, constantly requesting that the class take a fifteen minute break, and generally making an ass of himself. Eventually, he just walked out and didn't come back.
Guitar class was headed by a very soft-spoken guy who introduced us to some "advanced basics". In essence, they were the basics of playing guitar, rather than the basics of playing certain songs on guitar. If that makes any sense at all.
Then we had Wednesday. Oh glory, Wednesday.
Every Wednesday (what a ridiculous thing to spell), the school holds a dance party for the mentally retarded. This is hosted and attended by the students who had the heart to sign themselves up on the volunteer list (it counts as an after-dinner class, like ceramics and Salsa).
However, in addition to this, it has been ordained that every major will have a particular Downs-Disco night. All the students from that major will attend, regardless of whether they want to or not. The alternative is an absentee mark.
Wednesday was Film and TV's turn.
There are three points about this event that I would like to list.
I do not generally feel comfortable dealing with the mentally retarded, or those with afflictions resulting in reduced mental capacities.
I can't dance worth a darn.
I do not like the Barbie song.
[/list]
From those points, I hope you all can decipher what the evening entailed.
Not to say the folks who show up aren't interesting. There was one guy with Downs syndrome who could really bust a move out there. Quite the rocker, too. And then we had one kid who spent the entire time staring fixedly at the breasts of whatever girl he happened to be dancing with. Seriously, he didn't even blink.
When the evening was over, I was beat. Two hours of dancing about is quite exhausting. I took a shower while washing my clothes for the first time (I'm a cheapskate, and wanted to wait until I had a lot of clothes to wash before spending $1). Which reminds me, they're still hanging up to dry down in the washroom.
And that takes us up to today, which has been somewhat interesting. We've taken some action on what all we're going to do for our student night, and we've filmed an interesting scene from the comedy-action series we've been working on. My legs are stiff as hell from dancing, and the fish dinner today wasn't particularly remarkable.
Some other things I forgot to mention include the fact that I had about a week of privacy, since my roomie was somewhere in Oslo practicing for a theater role. Also, Film and TV is going to be teaming up with Clothing and Costumes for our respective student nights. The reason for this being that the only major with fewer students than F&TV (10) is C&C (8), and only four of the girls from there are interested in doing something for their student night. Little difficult to arrange 2-3 hours of exciting stuff if you're only four people.
That's where we come in.
And, in return for helping them out with their night, they're going to help us out with our night. Being a class full of guys, we kinda lack the feminine touch when it comes to decorating and meals.
Oh yeah, my student-teacher conversation was on Wednesday. It went quite well, actually. Especially considering I told the teacher to his face that he had no imagination or mental flexibility concerning alternative viewpoints.
He seemed quite pleased with the whole affair, actually. I told him the 2007 census for Las Vegas, and he told me how irritating he thinks Drops is. Very important stuff.
That's all I can think of now. Gonna go make my rounds. Maybe play some more Resistance 2 with one of the guys from F&TV.
EDIT: I also thought about the dope poster hanging in the Brit's room, and my mind conjured up a Monty Python "cheese shop" sketch with various varieties of Cannabis being used as the wares. Thought you'd want to know.
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Okay, newsflash. My laptop has been buggered by Daemon tools and will no longer start, we're having a school party for our parents/friends/romans on Saturday, and someone I know just got picked up for possession.
Of all the people who smoke weed here, he is the probably the one I would least like to see caught. Why they picked him and not one of the others, I don't know. We received a notice after lunch today, and that's where we found out what had happened.
There's a chance that he might be let off and allowed back into the school. I hope he comes off clean. A lot of people here miss having him around, me included.
And now for our other stories. In a fit of depression one night, I asked English-speaking goth girl if she, as a woman, found me in the least bit good looking. She said yes, and confirmed my likeness to Brandon Lee (at least while I had my Crow costume). I confided in her that I wasn't feeling particularly attractive, judging from the reactions of the local girls. I had caught her just as she was heading off for a little mini-party (more booze. I just can't be bothered to deal with that), and after assuring me that I was indeed a worthy candidate for attention, she said that she would put in a good word for me among the XX-inclined.
The day after, I discovered a talent for moving a chopstick with my ear. I also discovered a distinct lack of talent for Singstar. I begin to fear if my skills lie in the wrong areas.
That's everything off the top of my head. The only thing I have to add right now is a picture I just now found. The timing still wasn't particularly good, but at least you can see me. Cheers.
(http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v373/142/106/624175098/n624175098_4645670_1300.jpg)
--Kagus
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Major news story today.
Shortly after the last update, I bumped into the accused student (I'll call him "John Smith" for simplicity's sake) in the hall, surrounded by his usual group of pals. I was naturally surprised, and quite happy, to see him back at school.
His room had been searched, he had been put through at least one drug test, and he had been interrogated for a significant portion of the day.
He had nothing unlawful to admit to, the drug test(s) came up negative, and what they found in his room was a special "legal high" herb blend called Spice Gold and some "equipment" (a cigar roller and a bong that he had found the day before up in the loft in the big housing complex. Bad luck that he thought it would make a nice decoration for his room).
But the happiness was short-lived. Although he had not done anything illegal according to Norwegian law, the school had its own ideas of how to proceed. John Smith is under serious threat of being permanently banned from school grounds.
He tried to give his side of the story to the vice principal, the person who told the school that he had been arrested for possession (not suspected possession, possession), but the door was slammed in his face. Afterwards, he attempted to talk with the Film and TV teacher, but got just about as far. He has been told that he is not allowed to defend himself in this matter, because he is "unwilling to cooperate".
So we gathered around, the people who love him for the crazy person that he is, and helped keep his spirits up during this rather stressful time. If he is not allowed to defend himself, we'll just have to do it for him.
We spent some time cycling through the usual hangouts, just chilling out and talking about the injustice of the affair. Eventually, we came upon the idea of gathering together our sleeping bags (and warm clothing), and going outside on the frigidly cold Norwegian autumn night to just lie about and look at the stars.
And so we did. In a little circle of candles, we talked, took comfort in the company of each other, watched a star shower, and were simply "there" for John Smith until 2:30 in the morning.
The main argument for the strict punishment being considered for John Smith is that he is destroying the school's reputation, and that his drug use creates a bad environment.
Quite frankly, I've never seen it warmer.
Admittedly, he's not exactly the most innocent person around. He has broken certain school laws by being under the effects of Spice Gold while inside the grounds. However, this in no way makes it right for them to ban him from the school. If it was just a couple days or perhaps a week of suspension, there wouldn't be nearly as much uproar as there is now. But since the school called in the narcotics department of the police for this matter, I think they feel the need for a scapegoat.
The teachers are currently holding council as to what to do with John Smith. They have not yet received an official statement from the police as to what should or should not be done. They will not allow John Smith to fight back.
Bad environment? A hefty portion of the school has banded together to protect one student from injustice. They have done so of their own accord, exposing themselves as supporters of a "lawbreaker" and "drug user".
Today is John Smith day. Regardless of what happens, this day will be remembered.
An hour to go before we find out the council's decision. I'll update sometime this evening.
Heh heh... John Smith's situation is generating more interest than Barack Obama getting elected (woohoo!, by the way).
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Your right eye shining is rather horrifying if you see it at the right time.
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I knew as soon as I said "I'll update sometime this evening" that something would come up and prevent me.
Well, it did.
Slightly crowded in here right now, so I'll see if I can sneak in a report later on today. A lot has happened.
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You rebelled and formed the former Macedonian Republic of Sandy Fjord land?
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Alright, here's what went down:
We werer called up into the big theater-room for the announcement from the teacher council.
Everyone was in a slightly down mood from the affair, teachers included. Things only went downhill from there.
The principal came up first, still forced to hobble about with crutches after having his Achilles tendon worked over. He used a presentation device to display a copy of the school's "laws" on the projector screen. This did not bode well, especially considering John Smith had not actually broken any of the rules on that page.
The principal then gave a little announcement, stating that the council had been debating over this for a long time, and that they had come to a conclusion.
Smith was to leave the school, effective from the fifth of November through the rest of the school year.
This is the point where things started to get really nasty. I really wish I could provide something more than just my faulty memory of the event, but this is all I've got. Since I can't provide a full transcript, you'll have to settle for a general overview.
The students who were not shocked into silence began to question the decision. The teachers would respond, citing some place on the list of rules or some piece of evidence, and the students would shoot it down by simply questioning deeper.
They started with trying to kick Smith out because he had used and was in possession of narcotics, something clearly listed on the rules list. This was destroyed because the stuff Smith had was not a narcotic substance, and was not illegal to own or use. They then moved on to the police having found "traces" of narcotics in Smith's room. Admittedly, it was Smith's own damned fault for holding on to three empty bags that had held marijuana about half a year ago. But the argument still couldn't hold, because there was nothing saying those traces were from narcotics taken to or used at the school, or even if they were Smith's.
Next came the statement that the police had "made some finds" in Smith's room. This may sound very suspicious, but the kicker is that the teachers had not been told by the police what those finds were. They were trying to kick him out based on what was, quite frankly, nothing. You can't say evidence is damning if you don't even know what the evidence is.
There was a lot of back-and-forth between the teachers and the students, until finally the only thing the teachers could hold on to was a portion of a small-print clause in italics at the bottom of the screen.
What was it that eventually ended up Smith's one and only reason for being kicked out of the school for good? "Unwillingness to cooperate".
They tried to back this up by saying that Smith had lied to them, saying first that he had not ordered the package, and then admitting that he had. Smith stood up at this moment and asked the teachers if they had ever been in a situation where several police officers, with drug-sniffing dogs, had taken them aside without warning and begun interrogating them about a package that, while legal, could be misinterpreted a something illegal and thus get you into a hell of a lot of trouble.
Smith said that he didn't know about them, but he had never been in such a situation before. He apologized profusely for not having acted with as much calmness and rational thinking as would be best. He admitted to being scared shitless, a reaction which I don't think would be too uncommon in such a situation.
Eventually, they just settled on Smith being "unwilling to cooperate" in regards to creating a drug-free environment at the school. They refused to budge on that one.
Not like we really had a chance to begin with. I mean, the thing started right off with the principal saying that they had already come to the conclusion that Smith had to go. At least we got to get the other students in on it.
Furthermore, the deadline for Smith's departure from school grounds was 11:00 that night. The principal had decided that, in order to create order amongst the teachers and the students, he would have to leave the grounds as soon as possible.
After the meeting, we were supposed to have a ten minute break before heading off to class, like nothing had happened. Everybody was either depressed or confused. Most were a combination of both. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.
I headed up to the F&TV classroom in the little outlying building on the grounds. I was just pacing around, waiting for the others to come up. I looked out the window and saw Smith surrounded by a group of friends in the parking lot.
I've got an almost spotless attendance record. I decided it could do with another smudge.
Just as the film teacher -who had been a raging animal in the theater room earlier- was sitting down, I walked out the door and down the steps to ground level. I managed to catch up with Smith and a group of others who had decided to skip class in favor of just walking around town for a few hours. I think it did Smith a hell of a lot of good. I know it helped the others.
Afterwards, everyone was just trying to figure out how to make Smith's last hours at Skiringssal the best possible hours he could have. We ended up taking over a room down in the cellar of the big housing complex and stuffing it with mattresses so that we could all just lie in a big pile of togetherness. I don't know how many hours we spent down there, but I think they were probably some of the best hours anyone could have asked for. People just kept coming into the room until the place was packed with mattresses, comforters, and well-wishers. And, naturally, Smith's sound system and highly eccentric music collection.
When it finally came time for Smith to go, we had a little gathering outside before he was driven off by one of the other students. While out there, Smith broke open a pack of cigars that had been given to him as a going-away present. Eventually, as a ceremonial thing, we passed around a few things so that everyone in the circle of friends could touch it before it was given back to Smith. First went the pack of cigars, then a pack of cigarettes which happened to be lying around, then a cigar-cutter (naturally, this was to be referred to as "scary drug paraphenalia"), and finally the lit cigar that Smith had been smoking. Everyone was to take a puff, or at least go through the motions of doing so before passing it on to the next person.
First time I have ever stuck a smoking device into my mouth. I can't say the experience was pleasant. I wasn't daft enough to actually try inhaling from the damned thing, but even just sucking smoke into my mouth was enough to put me off. Took me ages to get the taste out of my mouth.
After everything had made the rounds, and after Smith had finished off the communal cigar, we bid our final farewells and watched as the crazy hippy left Skiringssal.
Well, almost final. We decided to have an extra little party for the grimy bastard, but the day of his departure didn't really work out for most folks. As such, we're having it today at some time. We'll head out to the house of one of the other students, and we'll bring booze.
I'm still not a particular fan of drinking parties, but this is a very special occasion. I won't drink, but at least I'll be there. That's really all that's needed.
Although Smith has been kicked out of school, he has been given the right to make a formal complaint to the school. If it is convincing enough, they may reconsider the decision and let him back into school. He's looking around for a lawyer to help him write the thing.
I think he's got a much better chance of getting back into school than he did of staying in. From the information that was revealed, it sounds like he got hung up as a scapegoat by the school after they embarrassed themselves by calling in the narcotics division without actually having anything illegal for them to find. They felt the need for a criminal, and the need for that criminal to be punished. So they made one, and they punished him.
Hopefully, things will have cooled down enough by the time he makes his complaint that they do reconsider. A lot of people here really miss him.
This all makes sense to me, but then again I've been here the whole time. If there's something here that doesn't seem to line up, bring it up and I'll try to fill in the spots.
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Just read through all of that. Kicking someone out of school because he is unwilling to co-operate? and they cannot even give an example of his unwillingness?
People that have been kicked out of my last school were at least given the reason, and it always was a much better reason than those up there.
Here to hoping he gets a good lawyer.
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"Unwillingness to cooperate in creating a drug-free environment". A real stretch, but they're sticking to it.
A few people drove out to see him last night, and they apparently talked him into driving back with them for a quick visit to the school. He's not actually allowed to enter school grounds, but what are they gonna do? Kick him out?
So we got to talk to him for a couple hours. Standing out in an asphalt parking lot in the middle of a cold night. We had a few good moments there, but I think it was probably a bit rough for him to be so close to the school again.
He actually pissed on the wall of one of the buildings. We have since dubbed that spot "Saint Smith's Place", and are working on writing a blues song about "Going down to Saint Smith's Place". We're considering putting it into the film we'll make which will dramatize his return to the school.
I got to spend a lot of the evening earlier that night hanging out with some people, and I managed to make myself seem like more than just a fifth wheel. I mention that because it's not exactly a common scenario.
While I'm here, I'd like to mention something else. The primary film teacher, who is well-known among the students for his rather short fuse (or lack thereof), has apparently had a few official complaints made about him to the school board. If enough students complain about his treatment of the students, his employment here will be put into question.
He really does get frighteningly mad at times. He has cornered students and yelled at them for not doing their cleaning assignment or something. He swears profusely as well, and has even written a rather scathing complaint on the wash list that's hanging up on my floor. If his position comes into question, that wash list will be shown as evidence that he is unfit to be a teacher here.
One of the guys from Film and TV said that if we were to get John Smith back and the film teacher gone, he would orgasm with such ferocity that the entire school would be covered by his gleeful spooge. Someone else agreed. They both began miming the action to make their point clear.
This place is incredibly weird. I wouldn't want it any other way.
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Wierd places are everywhere. We don't remember the sane ones. Unless we remember the seemingly insanity of a place's sanity.
Why don't you continue Kagus, before I blow my head up with a paradox.
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Student night this Thursday. We're still not done with our film project. We have no other material. We are screwed.
Film teacher was not particularly shiny on Monday. He was simmering the whole time, but managed to keep from boiling over. Still not a lot of fun to deal with, but better than it could have been.
We managed to squeeze in a scene last night, but the picture ended up being a bit dark. I hope we can fix it to the point of usefulness.
This evening has been another grand example of some twisted magician showing off his "watch as I make every interesting student disappear!" act. Gonna head out and start looking again. I had hoped to get some filming done tonight, but it doesn't look like that's gonna happen. Someone in the group is currently busy sleeping, so production has halted.
Whee.
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Just when they thought I couldn't get any stranger... I discover the bread burger.
When evening-breakfast is served, they provide two types of bread. One that is large and slightly soft/fluffy (although not sickeningly so, like some popular American "breads"), and one that is smaller, darker, and denser.
I recently took a chance and decided to try something new (insane). I took two slices of large-soft bread, slathered them with ketchup and mustard from the ever-open condiment table, slapped a slice of small-dark bread in between and finally added a piece of lettuce and several pickle slices (I don't think anybody ever eats those things otherwise. At least I've never seen it happen).
The result is filling, tasty, and utterly ridiculous. Not to mention 100% vegetarian.
I just have to laugh at the people who end up staring at me. Which isn't really a good idea if you happen to have a mouthful of bread and ketchup.
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That sounds like something I have to try one day. Maybe you can get the names of each type of bread for us! :D
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Nothing interesting in the past few days Kagus?
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Honestly? No. But there was something today that might spark a bit of interest. Namely, Film and TV class managed to arrange their way out of both choir and wash duty while simultaneously blocking off both the kitchen and the rec room in order to film a few scenes.
Power is fun. Obey the camera.
In other news, I'm sick again. Just a little cold, but annoying nonetheless. 'Twas good to get out of choir practice and let my throat rest a bit.
Not that I took things as slow and easy as I probably should have. Dancing around in a monkey costume that's just a teensy bit too small is not exactly a restful pastime. But, hey, I do what I must in order to complete a quality episode of this particular action series.
We're also practicing some on-scene things for our student night, including both serious and not-at-all serious productions. Sometimes we even blend the two themes into one show. We've got a "Stomp" band where I play percussion on my laundry hanger (what the heck do you call those things?), a regular band where I might end up playing rhythm guitar for "Country Roads" (and where I also play a voice inside someone's head, but that's for a different song), and a "Skiringssal's Got Talent" show where I will be playing two roles. The first will be as "The Amazing Snake-man", where I will demonstrate my flexible abilities, and the second will be as a caveman, where I will show off my talents for both hunting and gathering.
There's also an on-stage sitcom planned, but I don't know much about that.
Then we have the filmed sections, which will include "Saturday Facts", a short program that aims to bring more respect to those afflicted with such obscure diseases as "Bicyclemania", "Chronic Uselessness", and an as yet unnamed personality disorder which resulted in a poor man becoming convinced that he is, in fact, a potato.
This will be precluded by the scheduled news broadcast, which includes a riveting story about the rising pornography culture in Sandefjord and how it is affecting the locals. Not to mention our short warning about nothing, along with a couple commercials for nothing, and a news story about how the previous year's students have been slaughtered and used as food for this year's group.
John Smith had his first meeting with the school board today regarding his return to school, the lawyer who is representing him was present.
The council has decided to not make a decision yet. They'll do it tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, because they're very busy. And they can't submit the case to the higher-up board, because the person they'd need to submit it to is exceptionally busy until two weeks from now.
So, yeah. Nothing is certain, and it sounds like they're trying to keep him out by making a decision when he's not there. I really hope this thing works out.
The fun part is that John is currently allowed on school grounds as a guest, so he gets to hang out for a little bit. We'll have to show him the stuff we've worked on in his absence.
Student night is this coming Saturday. I misread an announcement. We have slightly more time. Still not enough, but we'll just have to deal with it. Boo hoo.
We really should have worked over the weekend, but no one could be assed to do it. I've only got myself to blame for that though, since I'm the one in charge of assing them. At least for the action series. And the pornography report. Which, by the way, is actually far more interesting than it sounds. What we did was interview a few people outside of F&TV. Completely normal, boring interviews.
Except we geared our decidedly open questions towards answers that can have their meaning changed in the editing room. A few snips there, a few here, a few new questions, and suddenly we've got a porn star, an innocent student who doesn't know what he's getting into, and a child prostitute. We'll be interviewing one of our own in order to provide direct answers that fill in the blanks.
Ohh, sweet glory that there happen to be a couple world-class Counter-Strike players here... And I do actually mean world-class. These guys were pro for a while, representing Norway in various competitions.
But saying "aim", "shot in the back", and "communication is important" without once mentioning that you're talking about a PC game, that's solid gold.
Now I'm going to wander off in the general direction of nowhere. I'll see if we're going to do any more film work this evening. If not, I'll go play Rainbow Six: Vegas on someone else's Xbox.
Oh, by the way. Last year's music class will be performing a concert at 7:30 tonight. Great fun.
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Quick update. Music class concert was fun, and included a bassist who looked almost like a cross between Dan Aykroyd and Andrew Stockdale. Luckily, he played better than he looked.
Fast forward to today. We've been rushing like madmen to try and patch together a working student night before it's time to run the damn thing, and we're a teensy bit strapped for time as you may have figured out. I actually have doubts that we'll push it out in time.
The action TV-series is so horribly bad it's almost painful to watch. But I do laugh when I see it, if only because it is so bad. I'm sure it will be highly appreciated. I'm also sure we won't make the same mistakes next time.
No one is going to have the foggiest clue what's going on, to be honest. The thing is patched together so roughly that even I get lost when I watch it. And I know what's supposed to be happening!
Well, sort of...
Anyways, I'm hoping that the individual quality of the scenes will provide the necessary enjoyment. Really really hoping.
Then we've got a sitcom parody which will be performed live on stage. Since we're a little strapped for actors, I will play Ross Geller. I do not look, sound, or act like David Schwimmer. Especially not in Norwegian.
That was a peculiar sentence.
I'll also be playing someone's wife in a parody of some children's show gone wrong. This is particularly fun, since I haven't shaved since last Saturday and you can make a wool blanket out of my leg hair. Plus a hat.
And my dress is exceptionally tight. That helps.
The show-gone-wrong thing is part of a sketch where some program exec is trying to bring back the "good old" children's shows, to replace the brain-melting cartoons of the modern day. However, it's been a long time since these childhood icons have performed, so they might not be quite the same as you remember them.
We have Postman Pat, who has become an alcoholic who ate his own cat in a drunken stupor. We have Bear in the Big Blue House, who has gone stark raving mad. We even have two Teletubbies who have become debauched loonies who run porn on their stomach-screens.
Did I mention my parents will be visiting?
I'd better go and work on. But before I leave this truly horrible library keyboard, I would like to say that my respect for Drops has dropped even further. I didn't even know that was possible.
More on that later. My fingers are aching.
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Whoog. Well, that was our student night. Hal-lay-lu-jah was it ever.
We were practicing like madbeasts up to the very last second. The scheduled opening time was even put back by a few minutes because we were still working. We ended up heading out and giving a performance that was thrown together at the last possible minute, a performance that we soon discovered had numerous holes that needed to be patched up in record time. That, and we also experienced several mistakes.
And ya know what? It was spectacular. I've received word that some of the other classes are dreading their own upcoming student nights since F&TV set the bar so high.
Let that day be remembered with a warm smile and a glow of pride. We aced it.
We started off with the show of children's programming gone wrong. The program exec, Drops, made a few mistakes in his speech, but nobody really expects a whole lot from him anyways.
I did a particularly well-received wife. Although it was a relatively small role, I did my hairy best of it. I even managed to shove some toilet paper into my dress to give me a couple boob-bumps that kept shifting into disturbing locations.
The pornographic teletubbies had a minor problem, however. In order to display the porn in all its bumpity-bumping glory, they had to duct tape a flat monitor to the stomach of one (in fact, I think it's actually the monitor I'm using right now...). Since we kind of lack wireless monitors, he had to remain attached to two cables supplying the screen with power and information.
Due to one of the many last-minute changes, a chair on stage was a little bit farther back than it was supposed to be. This caused the cables to be put under strain when the pornotubby got into position. A minor stumble from the other caused the power cord to pop out and render the screen black.
Luckily, pornotubby had already turned halfway to the side as part of his routine. Some quick thinking made him turn around fully, allowing the audience to continue painting porn onto the screen with their imaginations.
There's a lot of other stuff to go through, but I'm tired. Rest assured in the knowledge that we pulled it off with style, grace, verve, and only a few forgotten lines.
Also, hope for Facebook media updates over the coming week. There were a lot of pictures taken, someone is going to upload at least some of them.
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Speaking of Facebook media...
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v702/52/65/860585136/n860585136_4987727_5925.jpg)
There's me showing off my feminine side. Sorry about the quality, but there's not much I can do about that.
(http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v702/52/65/860585136/n860585136_4987736_8162.jpg)
The big projector screen we used for showing our films. Currently showing our "Saturday Facts" program. The man depicted is afflicted with chronic uselessness. He later appeared on our "Skiringssal's Got Talent" program where he did nothing. He is useless, after all.
(http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v702/52/65/860585136/n860585136_4987734_7646.jpg)
This is us pretending we're the music class. We're performing "Country Roads". The one most musically-inclined person in our class was unable to attend, since the keyboard had crapped out at the last moment and wasn't functional. I'm playing bass, back behind Drops (who needed a bold-print sheet with the lyrics to the one single bloody verse he was supposed to sing. You can sort of make out the stand he's got it on).
Mind you, I also needed a cheat sheet. But chords are much harder to remember than lyrics. Right?
And, finally, there's also a picture taken from when we were filming the action series.
(http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v702/52/65/860585136/n860585136_4987723_4953.jpg)
The only thing funnier than a monkey smoking a cigarette is a man in a monkey suit smoking a cigarette,
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Do you know exactly where your roommate is from, Kagus?
I just saw this, and excuse me if I'm not reading it all to find out.
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Etne. A place known for its tractor-centric culture.
You cannot make this up.
Yesterday was not a particularly wonderful weekend for me. We had to spend a couple hours cleaning up after ourselves in the gymnasium, and after that it was my turn to wash the bathrooms in my housing section. That, and it was another "Bad Moon" night for me, where I sat around feeling sorry for myself for no particular reason.
However, Monday came with some fun surprises. First of all, this is the first of several weeks that are entirely devoted to our chosen majors. So that means there's no special cleaning duty today, nor choir practice. Nor minichoir on Tuesday. I really don't like singing when I'm sick.
Furthermore, as a special celebration for managing to pull together a good show, we've been given the rest of the day off. So long as we clean up the editing rooms, that is...
So Monday is making up for Sunday in terms of slacking off and relaxing. We're on call for morning gathering next week, so we'll probably be working a bit on that. Luckily, we happen to have loads of deleted scenes and outtakes from the stuff we put together for student night, so we're set.
Ha ha... Oh man, I really can't wait to show off the outtakes from one of the shows... We ended up having to drop most of that scene because we just couldn't film it. There are around thirty-five clips that just dissolve into desperate laughter as we all lose control and let the pressure out. I was cameraman for several of the clips, and I had to bite down hard on my tongue in order to keep the camera steady and my mouth shut.
The show that's from is a documentary on people living in places "Where no one would believe that anyone could live". The only complete interview was with a guy who had been living in a shower for the past four years.
Mind you, this was a fully furnished shower. We had a TV, a film poster of the latest neo-James Bond film, a pillow, a lamp, a cup, and several other odd knick-knacks.
Apparently, "we" (I wasn't there for that shoot) forgot to clean up everything. I can just imagine someone opening up the shower door to find a TV, a poster of "Quantum of Solace", and a pillow. Slightly weirder finds than the usual chewing gum or snus (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snus) wad.
Tee hee hee. Film and TV all the way, baby.
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Gentlemen, I have an announcement to make. My excrement is magnetic.
Here's what happens: I go into one of the communal bathrooms, pick one of the four stalls, and conduct my business. I then exit the stall and go over to the sinks to wash my hands of the whole affair.
While washing, some attractive girl will walk into the restroom. Without fail, regardless of which one I used, she will go directly into the stall I just came out of. Most of the time they pop right back out again and pick another, but not before I have a silent little chuckle at how fate toys with my lady-related chances.
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Wow. That was a fast turn. Average evening to bad moon in under a minute.
The evening hadn't been exactly great, but I had gone out for a walk with a group of girls. I even answered a couple questions, which is about as much socialize as I can expect to get with my limited initiative.
After the walk, I was doodling around on a guitar in the rec room when I get called over by someone in one of the evening knitting groups (one of the "extra" classes here is knitting, and a significant portion of the girls picked it. My roommate also picked it for some reason). She informed me that since the TV was on, the sound clashed with my guitar playing and made an awful racket. So I should either play out in the hall or not play at all.
Now, I would have had no problem if she had just asked me to please stop playing since it was clashing with the TV. But the manner in which she told me to stow the instrument ruffled my feathers. So I put the guitar down and played a round of billiard, smacking the balls as hard as I could. When the board was clear, I picked the guitar back up, sat down next to the pool tale, and resumed my musical doodling.
Short time later, it happened.
Girl X came in, walked right over to the board, and cheerily asked me if I'd like to play a round.
I had a very short exchange with her regarding my inability to be her friend due to my feelings for her. She found a rather lame excuse to leave the room. I started incorporating more minor chords into my playing.
It's strange. You really can play better blues if your heart hurts.
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Kagus, I've read this all and granted, I'm definitely not an expert on love or college, but you need to stop being so obsessed with getting a girl. From what I remember from page 1, you're only here for a year or two, so if you get a girl, you're gonna leave her. I mean, don't stop trying altogether, but stop kicking yourself so hard everytime you don't get a girlfriend for saying "hi".
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Sounds like a hell of a school compared to the one i used to go to. (well, i guess you can't really compare them though. the one i used to go to wasn't a boarding school)
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Umm, you can't be friends because of your feelings for her?
That sounds a bit strange; I would imagine it would be easier to get her as a girlfriend if you were friends first.
It happened to a friend of mine, so I advise you to go and apologize or something.
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Dude, there is no chance of getting her as a girlfriend. She loves someone else. As such, it hurts to look at her. And that is why I can't be her friend. I can't help that I have stronger feelings for her at the moment, and pretending that I could be comfortable with being "just her friend" would be a lie both to me and her.
And I've been kicking myself for many, many years of my life. It's a long-standing tradition, and I'd hate to cut off a beautiful thing like that just because I'm a daft pansy who likes to whine even though he's got no damn reason to.
Besides, would this thing be half as interesting if I didn't ridicule myself in such witty fashion? That's aaall practice, pal.
So today we had the closest thing to real school-time as I can remember here. We sat down and watched the Shawshank Redemption, while simultaneously stripping that wonderful film of all entertainment because we had to be on our toes and write down several points about it during the screening. We'll have to present those points sometime soon.
Other than that, the class has been dealt up into three groups that have each been assigned the task of creating a "10-minute movie". That is to say, a movie that is ten or more minutes in length. Quite an upgrade from the 2-3 minute films we were making in the beginning.
But then again, the action episode was twelve minutes long. And we're not only allowed, we're encouraged to "borrow" people from the other film groups and even the other classes if we feel the need.
In offtime news, I received a supply crate from the states today. It included one of those chocolate-stuffed Christmas calendars, a packet of sweet and spicy pecans (???), a packet of puffed Inca corn, a miniature treasure chest that swells when immersed in water, a box of tea, a carton of fruit leather (apricot), a Simpsons sweatshirt (the person I'm getting this from works on the Simpsons), and a DVD of Robot Chicken Star Wars.
I'll also be getting a new hat sometime soon. This one will be black, and will thus make a very stylish combo with my granddad's leather coat.
I hope he doesn't want his coat back too quickly.
As for my obsession regarding persons of the feminine persuasion, bear in mind that I, unlike a fair portion of other folks, have never experienced such an arrangement before in my life. That's a hell of a lot of time to go without companionship. And no, despite my reputation, I do not mean that in the blatantly physical sense.
Wednesday today, and unlike all other classes and activities and such, "Downs Disco" is apparently a much too important event to be put off just because the school has gone into "crunch mode". At least I'm not involved this time.
The Brit was sitting at one of the library computers. He's one of the people signed up for the dance affair. He got up just a few moments ago, most likely to get himself properly stoned before the guests start arriving.
Scratch that, he was off taking a piss. Damn, I am one judgemental bugger, ain't I?
Uhh, can't think of anything else to write. Gonna go wander around for a bit, maybe eat some Inca corn. Much as I'd like to see that DVD, I find myself slightly lacking in the area of things that are capable of playing it.
My laptop has been purged of the Daemon, but although it is now in perfect working order, it is no longer in my general area. My dad took it back up to my granddad's so that he could hack it into shape.
I think computer science is one of the few areas where you can fix something by hacking it...
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This is Skiringssal, where the kitchen chief plays the Crazy Frog song during afternoon aerobics, and nobody laughs at "Airplane!". Except me, of course.
Did I mention that Smith has been accepted back into school and will be able to rejoin the routine on the fifth of next month? I know I told someone...
Anyways, aside from that, not much has happened. Drawing and painting class was off in London for the past week, where they all slept in the same room, got sick, and saw the "We Will Rock You" musical.
My ten-minute movie (which has now been changed into a ten-minute max movie, expected to be around eight minutes in length) group has had some problems with planning, since the third member is currently MIA. Since we couldn't just sit there and do nothing, we began laying down the plans for a zombie film. Since I am somewhat learned in such matters, I have been a great aid in working out the pointless details.
If he doesn't like what we've put together in his absence, he's got no bloody right to complain.
I've been getting the eye from a gal in Sports and Outdoorsmanship. Gonna go ahead and encourage it. Who knows, might be fun. I have no idea about her personality, but her roommate's a sweetheart and they seem to get along quite well.
Speaking of fun, I'm bored out of my skull. I think everyone left to get hammered, considering it's a weekend. Think I'm gonna go wander around for a bit more, maybe start writing out the rest of that scale I've been working on. Or doodle around on one of the perpetually out-of-tune guitars around here.
What gets me is that I've got this nagging feeling that I've got better things to do. But that's not something I want to think about right now, I'm too tired. We had pizza this evening, you see. I'm worn out from all the eating.
Whee.
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I've been getting the eye from a gal in Sports and Outdoorsmanship. Gonna go ahead and encourage it. Who knows, might be fun. I have no idea about her personality, but her roommate's a sweetheart and they seem to get along quite well.
Go get her! You can do it!
Coincidentally, we seem to be in quite similar situations. I'm 18 years old, and I avoid drugs and alcohol just about as much as you do. It can sometimes be difficult finding friends who don't want try and get me into them...
I've also had literally no experience with women. Like, none. The closest I've been to one is a brief hug. I know how that is, and it sucks, doesn't it?
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Last night, I watched Kung Fu Panda. It was better than expected. Since then, I have eaten a bag of Inka corn snacks and one strip of organic fruit leather. I have also played a solo game of billiard, which ended in a flailing and pathetic fashion (although the early game was downright impressive). I have listened to the entire Pink Floyd album "The Wall", and doodled around on an out-of-tune guitar. The time is eight minutes over four-thirty, and it is as black as midnight outside. Oh, and it's raining.
What a pointless weekend. Here's hoping that tomorrow is more interesting.
On the bright side, my roommate is nowhere to be found. I've got the room to myself. On the downside, there's not really a whole lot I can do with it.
Most of the interesting people are either out boozing themselves to oblivion or sleeping. I have a slight craving to play Survival Crisis Z, but I don't have a computer. Everyone else is sitting in the rec room and knitting.
Everyone's just bundled up into one big group, which would be a nice opportunity were it not for a couple individuals.
One, X is sitting there. Two, sex-idol school helper is sitting there.
The problem with sitting in the group as Mr. Idol is that all attention will be centered around him, whether he likes it or not. He's never really encouraged his image, he just sort of sits around and plays board games. This earned him the nickname of "Gameboy" at the girl/boy party.
Also, since I'm not exactly the greatest Norwegian conversationalist (a bit difficult when you can't even follow what people are saying. I've always been bad with big talking groups, and it's even harder with a language you're not comfortable with), I usually try to find something else to do so that I'm not just sitting there. That activity is almost always playing guitar. Well, Gameboy happens to be significantly more proficient in that area than I am, so even that position is taken up.
Since I have nothing (and no one) better to do, I think I'll try and find the tabs to Tristram.
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9:00. Nothing is happening. Even the knitting club has stopped knitting and is now watching TV. Interesting people still missing. Some went to cabin for drinks and sex. Wasn't invited.
Sweet 'n' spicy pecans weren't that good. Out of Inka corn. Have breath mints and fruit leather left. Still feel like playing SCZ.
I know three people with gaming consoles here. One of them isn't here, another is (probably) sleeping, and the last one is most likely using his to play Singstar. Either that, or he's playing FIFA with the guy that X has fallen for.
Weekends aren't supposed boring, dammit.
Can't bring myself to go to sleep yet. Don't know what else to do. Meh.
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If all else fails, use fire, unleash the pyromaniac inside of you!
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Uggh, memories...
Anyways, not much to report. The tab I got for Tristram is faulty, and I watched the Norwegian version of "The Aristocats" around noon (Sundays always have a Disney movie playing at twelve, another peculiarity of this school). Other than that, nothing has happened.
Supposedly going to be some sort of party at midnight tonight, on school grounds. I might attend, seeing as I actually managed to get some sleep last night due to an early bedtime.
Just dug up the old SCZ thread here. Bad idea. Now I really feel like playing it.
I can't even get the other PC gamer here to download it and try it out. Know why? Because he's busy reading a book!
A book! It's not even a strategy guide for Crysis' sake! The man's a disgrace to our breed.
On top of that, it's Eragon. That twerp hasn't got a clue about writing stories.
But, hey, what can I expect from someone who divides his gaming time between Final Fantasy and World of Warcraft? Shame, shame.
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Glory be, we're having a Secret Santa event.
Except for the fact that traditional Norwegian folklore was never really edged out by the more Christian Santa. As such, we are not secret "Santa"s, we are secret "Nissefar/mor"s (a "Nisse" is essentially a type of beneficial gnome. So we're gnomefather/mothers, about as close to a fairy godmother as is likely to be found around here).
We pick a name from the pile, and that person is then our charge. We are then supposed to do little things for them over the following weeks. Stuff like tidying up the room, leaving sweets for them to find, and hiding fanciful rhymes under their pillows. Y'know, stuff like that.
All this is supposed to be done without leaving any trace as to who the person's gnome is. However, since it is naturally difficult for us mundane humans to come into a locked room, it is perfectly acceptable to ally yourself with their roommate if you need to get in.
I think this is going to run for a couple weeks or so. Afterwards, there's going to be a little gift-giving party where we reveal our true selves by giving a present to our charge.
Naturally, I got assigned someone that I have almost no clue about. I haven't got the foggiest clue what I'm going to do for her present.
As for gnomish things, I'm gonna take the easy street and just pluck out the chocolates in the Christmas calendar I got and stuff them in a little pouch or something that I'll tape to the door. I didn't particularly care for the chocolates that were in that thing, so I may as well give them to someone else.
Otherwise, the day has been relatively uneventful. Had a couple interesting glances exchanged with the girl I mentioned before, but nothing that would exactly be counted as particularly important. But it is fun watching the reactions of people you catch looking at you.
Wednesday today. Downs Disco has been cancelled for some reason. Quite possibly for a combination of the dangerous snow/ice, and the fact that theater class has taken over the gymnasium (where we normally hold the thing) with lots and lots of props and sets for the Jungle Book play they're practicing.
Which reminds me, they've been practicing like mad for a couple weeks now. They spend almost all their off-time in organized practice sessions, and are even excused from otherwise mandatory things in order to practice.
That play had better be damn near spectacular. I mean, hell, we spent three evenings practicing for our play, and people loved it.
Oh well.
Anyways, still working on our film project. Speaking of which, we've had a change of plans. Instead of doing a zombie film, we're going to do a psychological/fantasy thriller involving the nightmares of a man whose wife killed herself after a heated fight. Through the nightmares he discovers that his wife had a secret torment that was what really drove her to suicide, as a spectral version of his beloved attempts to communicate with him through the nightmare world.
But there are darker things that lurk in the land of spirits... Namely me.
Progress has been... Well, not really worth calling "progress". We're struggling to fill in the details of this 'ere story, not to mention the logistics and cast preparations.
We're also trying to work out the soundtrack. Naturally, something like this requires music that lies between melancholic and haunting. If anyone has some gentle, sad-but-also-kinda-creepy music they'd like to recommend, please do.
One of the group members is looking through the soundtracks of "Carnivale" and "The Village" to find something appropriate. We'll probably find something passable, but it's always nice to have a wide selection.
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I don't know about sad-but-also-kinda-creepy music, but Polymorphia by Krystof Penderecki from The Shining is probably the creepiest song I have ever heard.
Works wonders for creating a haunting atmosphere into a movie. I used it in a film project with my friends that was inspired by Steven Spielberg's "Duel".
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Ooh, that's good. Thanks mate, I think we may just end up using that.
We had morning-gathering today, showing off the outtakes that had been edited into a more pleasing sequence just the night before. Turned out to be a smash hit, with the whole school bellowing with laughter loud enough to drown out the yells coming from the clips.
After that was done with, we attempted to sing the shortest song in the songbook (we've been getting pestered about having songs for morning collective, and we never really feel like singing anything), a song aptly named "this song isn't that long".
Unfortunately, we had no idea how it went. Neither did anyone else. If you haven't got a clue what the melody is, it's a bit difficult to sing something.
It actually worked out quite well, with us just reading the absurd little thing out loud. Managed to garner a few laughs, seeing as the second verse is "tra la la la, la la la, la la la la". Especially funny when you read that little continued tone (no idea what it's really called. 'la - a') out loud with absolutely no feeling.
So, that went well. Then we got around to planning out a significant amount of the film we're gonna make, which is good. We've made a lot of progress, but we're still quite behind the other groups.
Speaking of which, fate decided to give me a real kick in the nuts that I just can't help but laugh at. It's just so goddamned coincidental.
The group that got stuck with Drops is making what is essentially a pretty basic ghost story. Without going into details, I shall simply say that the film's climax is where the great-great-niece of some woman kisses a boy who has been possessed by the ghost of the man who fell in love with the great-great-aunt when she was a teenager (and he a middle-aged man).
What's so nut-kicking about this? The possessed boy will be played by Drops. The great-great-niece will be played by X.
The girl I am infatuated with will kiss the most annoying, mean, selfish, and stupid person I know. And it will be filmed. And eventually shown to the rest of the school. Now that's just funny.
I finally got around to doing something gnomish for my charge. Bleggh, I'm not good at this stuff. Luckily, her roommate is an almost absurdly cute gal who is a lot of fun to conspire with.
Speaking of which, I still haven't received anything. There's apparently quite the lethargy epidemic among the fae-folk this season, as quite a few other people have gone without so much as a "good day" notice on their door.
My roommate, naturally, received a cookie and handmade note on the first day. Wonder who it is who plucked him from the bag.
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Damn me and my memory, I forgot one rather interesting piece of information. Last night was John Smith's first night back at school.
A few members of "the group" drove out to pick him up, while everyone else and their friend packed into his room. There really wasn't any space left. Cramming 25 people into a room that's 12x12' on a good day does not equate a lot of leftover space, when you factor in the beds, closets, tables, and all other accoutrements of one of the rooms here.
So we're huddled in there, big "welcome home" poster on the wall, a platter of his favorite candy put on display (his enjoyment of this particular treat has earned him something of a reputation), and with candles providing the only lighting.
We receive a heads up from the group members who went out to pick him up, and everyone goes quiet. John Smith opens up the door to his old room, still with all his decorations on it, and is greeted by a cheer from the mass of people inside. We then use his sound system to play his theme song for the evening ("Safety Dance" by Men Without Hats).
The poor sod actually started crying.
Well, good to have him back, and it's obviously good for him to be back. He's been in exceptionally high spirits all day. He even got up early, which is astounding. Today was actually the first time he had ever eaten from the breakfast board here at school, and he seemed quite proud of himself.
I was feeling quite groggy with myself, but that's a different matter.
Friday today, so I've got the morning off (except for assemblance, naturally). For film-study in the afternoon we watched Pink Floyd: The Wall, which is actually the first time I've seen the whole thing. The film teacher stated that he would be very impressed if anyone managed to figure out what the hell any of it meant. Having listened to the album several times (while wholly sober, I might add), I already had certain theories about what was going on.
Uggh, speaking of morning collective, I helped out the guy who had it today... The original idea was to play some of the sound from some Christmas-time TV specials, and have two teams try to guess what it was.
Unfortunately, his computer developed a sudden inability to produce sound. This was troublesome.
Eventually we just maximized the screen size and showed them the video. Whole thing fell flat on its face. That was horrid. Especially after the masterpiece of an assemblance that was the day before (outtakes and shortest song in the world).
Also, I put on a very Norwegian sweater for today, which I think is the first time I've ever really used it. I managed to get ketchup on it. Which is especially bothersome, since I just washed my coloured clothes this morning, and this sweater doesn't count as white (except for the area where the ketchup hit, naturally).
Oh yeah, and I got a card from my gnomeparent. It includes not one, not two, but three sketches depicting me as a squat, big-headed gremlin of a thing with a psychotic and slightly blank smile stretched across its massively wide head. The resemblance is decidedly canny.
It also has a couple clues that lead me to believe I've got a gnomefather, rather than a gnomemother. Pity.
These clues include two things: 1) A short rhyme about how the gnomeparent really thinks we click, but doesn't want to see my dick (this is an obvious sign, as I am most certainly the secret burning passion of every girl here at school). 2) A tiny little drawing off to the left that depicts a pelican eating a pigeon. This undoubtedly relates back to when we were planning our side of the boy/girl party, where I showed a very tasteful video to the assembled lads (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PO5ifLzLYiU).
I can't recall bringing that thing up anywhere else, so unless there was a spy hidden in that room, that means that it's a dude who picked me. I might even know who it is, too. I'll have to examine the drawings again.
Meh, all I can think of to say right now. Can't be arsed to do another gnomish thing for my charge until tomorrow. I think a routine of every other day should work out alright, saves me from having to think up a new horrible rhyme every damned day.
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Well, just as this Saturday was turning out to be another massively dull weekend, I was reminded that Outdoorsmanship and Sports was holding their student night this evening.
Now, these poor buggers had a lot on their plate. After all, they were the first ones up to bat after our obviously godlike performance, and so they were still under our far-reaching shadow of awesomeness.
All things considered, it went smashingly.
We were treated to a parody sketch wherein most of the girls from Outdoorsmanship played all the guys in Film and TV. It doesn't matter how much they poke fun at you, if you are important enough to be parodied, it's a compliment. They even managed to loan the jacket that our teacher always wears, and I must say the girl who played him did a smashing rendition of one of his psychotic rampages.
Then we moved over to some scenes (and, in fact, movies) wherein they showed us how Skiringssal would be if it didn't practice the freedom of belief it does (most schools of this type are highly Christian). Quite the performance, I must say. But then again, I happen to like jokes like that.
There was also a delightful little sketch where the kitchen chief was parodied in a rather amusing fashion. One rather psychotic lad from Outdoorsmanship played the part, but with a special twist. He put socks and shoes on his hands and stood his new makeshift feet on the table that was to be used for the performance. An accomplice stuck his/her hands through the sleeves of the shirt the frontman was wearing, and served as the hands of a now very size-challenged kitchen chief.
Naturally, the person serving as the hands was blind to all goings-on in front. This, of course, had to be milked for all it was worth. After carefully mixing together the various cleaning agents required for a thorough wash into the water bucket (and, of course, mixing it all together with a spoon), our dearest kitchen chief took a little break for some food. Namely, some whipped cream from one of those pressurized cans, a jelly sandwich, and some cola (shaken, not stirred).
There were many other sketches, scenes, and other fine productions, but it's getting a bit late and I suspect I might get kicked out of here if I linger too long. Toodles.
Parting words: a truly splendid student night, quite a nice end to the day.
Oh, and I've got a glorious Sunday on the horizon. Namely, a seminar at eleven and cleaning the shitter.
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And, of course, by "seminar", I mean play games for three hours.
Behold the "games" seminar. From 11:00 to 12:00, we played "Fantasi", a game where you have to mime several things on a card, and your team is supposed to guess what you're getting at. More things they guess, more points you get.
After that, we had a quick pause and then went on to more traditional games. This introduced "the newspaper game", "the orange game", "sheriff", and "the shoe game". My team, I am proud to say, won absolutely none of these competitions.
If anyone wants to know more about these exciting pastimes, simply leave a note and I'll get back to you sometime.
So, that was the seminar. And as for scrubbing the johns, my theater-inclined roommate managed to wriggle out an agreement with his teacher, since he had a very important performance that night (they all did, actually. It was a trial run of the school's Jungle Book show). As such, no doo-doo duty. Heck, I even got to watch the show. Not a bad arrangement, I must say.
Today has been pretty average. We've got a new co-teacher who's going to be on call just in case our standard teacher gets a call from his highly pregnant wife who needs him for some reason or another (such as, say, the childbirth which is expected sometime this month).
The fastest-moving group has filmed and halfway-edited another scene, and the next group in line is just about ready to start some filming of their own. I took a peek at their script, and I have to say that that thing is solid gold comedy.
Unfortunately, they're making a thriller.
Then it falls back to the wee little group in the back. We're still trying to figure out what happens in the story. However, even though we're the slowest of the three groups, we're cooking up quite a production. If we can manage to keep the footage quality high enough to give justice to the story, we're gonna have a very impressive work of film coming out.
A work of film that will most definitely be over the ten-minute maximum we were assigned. But we've gotten the go-ahead from our standard teacher to make it as long as we want, if we really feel the need.
Aaand, that's just about it. Nothing else newsworthy is popping to mind right now, so I'll let it sit until I do something else interesting.
Cheers.
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Bored. To. Tears.
We've finally managed to work out a very basic story from beginning to end. It's got holes in it, but it's what we managed. The way was laid clear for us to begin with the interesting stuff, after some almost assuredly minor logistics considerations.
And now it's Thursday. One member of the group is off taking an exam, another is in bed sick, and I'm stuck trying to write up a footage plan, something that I do not only not know how to do, but that is so boring I feel my life getting sucked out straight out of my bones.
In other news, outdoorswoman seems to have taken an interest in one of my classmates, who also happens to be very keen on her. They've been spending a very great deal of time together, and my classmate is putting what few moves he has on her at every available opportunity.
Watched "Across the Universe" last night with a few other folks. It's one of the musicals that I am least annoyed by. I would rather have slept, but a movie has got to be really bad for me to walk out on it halfway through.
Regarding the gnomefather business, things haven't been going as smoothly as might be hoped for. Coming up with silly rhymes is one thing, coming up with silly rhymes in another language is entirely another.
Furthermore, my charge's roommate (a gal whose innocent and playful nature is so geared towards a secret gift-giving event it's not even funny) had not received so much as a single card from her gnomeparent.
Feeling somewhat sad for her (after all, this is exactly the kind of thing that she would get a kick out of), I decided to take her on as a "niece", planting little secret goodies for her as well. Of course, since she knows who's doing it for her roommate, I'd have to use other methods when dealing with her so that she wouldn't find out. So I bought a couple Christmas cards.
Unfortunately, these Christmas cards are blank. And I happen to have truly awful handwriting. In order to supplement the card, I would have to have some sort of candy to stuff into the envelope, a candy that was of course different from the one being provided to her roomie.
Well, I don't have any other candy.
After some asking around, I managed to semi-arrange some candy for her. But then I found out that she had just received a card from her (real) gnomeparent.
And to think, those two cards cost me about eight bucks. So much for Christmas cheer.
Gonna go check out the other guys in FTV, see what they're doing. If I bump into our substitute teacher, I'll ask him about the finer points of making a film plan.
Oh, speaking about the other guys, the group that caught Drops found a rather unusual way of getting him out of their hair during the filmmaking process.
They asked him to write the script.
That made me feel a hell of a lot better about the other two guys. I was astonished that they could write such drivel. Turns out they didn't.
This, my friends, is no ordinary stack of paper. The contents of this paper can melt your brain even if you don't inhale.
I'll see if I can get my hands on it at some point and translate it for y'all. The important thing to remember is that he was dead serious all throughout the writing of it.
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On top of that, it's Eragon. That twerp hasn't got a clue about writing stories.
But, hey, what can I expect from someone who divides his gaming time between Final Fantasy and World of Warcraft? Shame, shame.
Hey! Eragon wasn't a bad book. Just predictible to the extreme. That's an acceptable viewpoint, but insulting FF in the same post?!
Shame, Shame.
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On top of that, it's Eragon. That twerp hasn't got a clue about writing stories.
But, hey, what can I expect from someone who divides his gaming time between Final Fantasy and World of Warcraft? Shame, shame.
Hey! Eragon wasn't a bad book. Just predictible to the extreme. That's an acceptable viewpoint, but insulting FF in the same post?!
Shame, Shame.
Yeah, we agree to attack the eveeeeeels that is WoW, but you shall not stack FF in the same post!
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Mind you, I'm probably going tl=o ask a girl on a date after reading about Kagus's life. It's an inspiration.
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Lot of stuff to go over, but I don't really have the time right now to go through all of it. I'll try and fix up an update later on.
Suffice to say that this weekend would have been just as mind-numbingly dull as the others, were it not for the fact that dearest John Smith (who took off on a cabin trip with a few others for the weekend) said I could use his computer for the time he was gone.
A computer that has a Super Nintendo emulator with around 750 SNES games on it, not to mention several gigabytes of music (a fair portion of which happens to be my type).
You do not waste hours on Harvest Moon. You waste days.
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So, anyways...
The folks from theater, who have been working very hard on the whole Jungle Book affair, were awarded a little "celebration party" on Saturday. They took off to a few rented cabins where they drank themselves silly, as is the Norwegian way. However, everyone else caught wind of this and invited themselves along for the show. There were about six or seven people who stayed behind. Since I hadn't heard anything about partying before they actually started to leave, I didn't even get a chance. Not that I would have actually gone, mind you.
One of the folks going was pirate-goth-Pythonite girl, and so I got to get a report on some of the more interesting goings-on at that party (in English, no less).
I was awarded with a list of some of the people who attained high enough levels of proximity/intoxication to "mess around" (mind you, I don't know exactly how "around" they "messed". Could've been relatively tame, or it could have been a full-blown orgy. It's just folks around here tend to get too drunk to actually do anything beyond slobbering on each other).
One couple was slightly expected, since I'd seen the two of them cozying up at the first party (well, actually, she was cozying up to him. He was utterly oblivious, as he usually is). Another was not too surprising, as it involved one of the slightly more promiscuous (my English is going down the shitter...) girls around here, and a friend of the guy involved in the first mix.
Third one was a shock. The female component wasn't too interesting, as it was a girl who just really gets into the party and had probably had too much to drink. Male component was the Greek guy. The one X's heart was beating for.
That... Was unexpected. I commented that X probably wasn't too happy about that particular combination. In response, PGP said that X had said that she was "over" him.
I feel sick after writing that last sentence. It reeks of empty-head teenage girl, and not in a good way.
Well, okay. That was a highly unexpected development. Not sure what I'm gonna do about it though, since I'm pretty sure I've squashed just about any chance I might have had with her, even if she isn't interested in anyone else.
Combine this with the relative timing of her proclaimed "overness" (that is to say, shortly after finding out that he had been decidedly more interested in someone else), and the statement which might not have helped me in the first place just lost credibility.
Right. I have gone from buggered to double-buggered. And I'm the one who keeps buggering myself. Abusing one's self is supposed to be fun, dammit...
Moving on... The Fairy Gnomeparent thing is finishing up on Thursday, and I still haven't gotten anything more than one card proclaiming a disinterest in seeing my genitalia.
However, someone else hsa had it even worse. A gal in outdoorsmanship was almost in tears yesterday, since she hadn't gotten a single damned thing from her secret friend. She hung up a poster repremanding whoever her gnomeparent was, and telling them that she had a heart, too. A heart which had really been hurt by not having even the slightest hint of affection from her secret gnome.
And it was particularly bad for her, since all her buddies knew who it was who had her, and were refusing to tell.
Well, I can't stand to see people like that. And I had a couple Christmas cards left over since incredibly-cute girl had started actually getting stuff from her gnomeparent.
I still didn't have any candy though. So I jammed about $6 worth of washing machine coins (which equates to six washes, if you were wondering) into the envelope and said it was from her gnomeuncle.
Okay, my time's just about up, gotta dash. Suffice to say that she was beamingly happy after finding the thing, and went around telling everyone about it. She even hung up a new poster thanking her gnomeuncle.
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Whee. Thursday was the school's big Christmas party, where everyone's gnomeparent exposed their true identity by buying a gift for their charge (and tagging it with their name).
I happen to be relatively close to the dude who ended up with me, so the fact that he only drew up one card was acceptable. Especially since the loot he got for me included a pack of very high-class marzipan and a DVD ("Cry Baby", with Johnny Depp). Plus, I got another delightful drawing of me as a psycho gremlin.
The wrapping paper was particularly nice as well. He'd grabbed a few sheets of economic advice for young adults that one of the administrators here had left out so we wouldn't be completely clueless. The really funny thing is that using those free sheets of paper (he was forced to, since he had forgotten about getting a gift and didn't have any wrapping paper) was indeed more economical than purchasing wrapping paper.
My own charge was quite happy with the minor trinkets I picked up last-minute. Unfortunately, she's somewhat lactose intolerant. That means the milk chocolates I've been passing her all this time haven't been used in quite the way I was expecting. But she seemed happy enough about the whole ordeal, so it worked out.
The evening also included lots of traditional Norwegian Christmas food (animal parts you were never meant to eat + salt), and some dreadfully uncoordinated dancing around the tree. Dancing which somewhat required the person to be well-acquainted with traditional Norwegian Christmas songs in order to follow along in even the slightest amount.
Well, just remember my motto: "If at first you don't succeed, fail in a spectacularly entertaining fashion"
Friday was a little traditional goodbye to all the students before the school closed down for Christmas vacation. I got to sing along with the rest of minichoir. But since people didn't quite show up early enough, we didn't get any time to warm up. And since the night before was a rather late one, most of us had "morning voices". Yay. Not embarrassing at all.
Well, now I'm sittin' around in the apartment where my parents are currently squatting. Nice to not have to get up every day at 7:30.
The only thing that's kinda depressing about all this is that we don't have that much left of the school year left after we get back. In fact, we've only got 9 full weeks. The rest is pretty much vacation time.
Dammit... I'm really gonna miss that place. I almost feel like enrolling again, but I know that that's probably not the best course of action.
Y'know, if the F&TV guys could manage to pull together and make a miniature film company that could actually keep itself afloat, that would be friggin' Nirvana (or Nerdvana, whichever you prefer). I love working with these twits, and I don't think I'd be able to really get into the Film industry under other conditions.
Hell, nobody knows what they'll be doing after this year's over... But hey, we can always dream.
Right?
In other news, MY COMPUTER!!! Ohh, this is wonderful... Finally get to work on a functional machine once again... And to add to the fun, we've apparently hit the jackpot.
My uncle, who organized the attainment of this machine for me, recently came into possession of an external hard drive that someone he knows used to have.
An external hard drive with 300+ Gigabytes of music on it.
Now, to get all this onto my phone...
Cheers,
--Kagus
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Congratulations on the computer :)
And did the girl in outdoorsmanship find out that you decided to be her gnomeuncle?
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Yeah, guess I forgot to mention that. Someone else told her, which is really the best way of getting that info across. She then told everyone nearby.
I'm starting to get a reputation as a really, really nice guy. But although that is indeed a very "nice" reputation to have, it's not really what the gals are most attracted to (despite whatever they may preach from time to time).
Plus, I still smell weird.
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My relatives are insane. I can't sleep until noon tomorrow. It's 2:08 in the morning right now.
Merry Christmas everybody.
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Just found another picture of me as a caveman.
(http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v344/202/115/834150639/n834150639_4447309_9679.jpg)
Here I am trying to get the lighter to work, in order to properly discover fire.
EDIT: Quick question while I'm here: Any of you folks hear of a CS player called "executer"?
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About what I imagined you as looking like Kagus.
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What, no tentacles?
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Don't make me photoshop them in.
-
Don't forget the mysteriously flying black cloak.
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I like cloaks. They can conceal my writhing mass of tentacles when not flying mysteriously.
Anyways, newsflash. I have finally discovered what women (well, anyone really) are really attracted to. It's quite simple, really, but also remarkably difficult.
Confidence.
I spent some time trying to figure out what the common link between all the "desirable" guys at school was, and discovered that they all had confidence (or at least were comfortable with themselves). It's merely unfortunate that these guys are confident either because A) they're so blown up with their own ego that they can't not be confident, or B) they're too daft to realize they've got nothing to be confident about.
This revelation was backed up by an article my dad just read about a couple Brits who run a "boot camp" for checking out girls. These guys are by no means made in the image of Adonis. One of them's a short ginger with dreadlocks. However, they are capable of getting into the "good graces" of a girl inside of five minutes. Any girl on the street. A claim made by many, I know, but these guys can actually do it. All boils down to confidence.
This led to a chat with my parents, who then shared some stories about guys they used to know who had absolutely nothing going for them, except confidence. Damn lady magnets, at least by the aging recollection of my parental units.
So, yeah. Guys of the world, I give you your revelation: We're all screwed.
And not in the way we want to be, either.
My only hope is to realize that there's really no reason to be worrying myself about this stuff (it'll either happen or it won't), and just relax. That would give me confidence, and thus make me attractive.
My only problem is that I think too goddamn much, so I can't fool myself into falling for that. Damn me and my plan-foiling ways, I'll get me back one of these days...
But yeah, think I'm gonna try and focus on just goin' along for the ride when I get back to school (which starts this Tuesday, by the way). Since we're getting closer and closer to the end of our year at Skiringssal, I'm starting to wonder what's going to happen afterwards... Where we're all going to go.
I've had fantasies, of course... Thoughts about getting the guys together and making little shorts and comedy sketches, maybe trying to get some money out of it... Sandefjord's kind of a "local" place, we might be able to sneak some time on a very local station if we're good enough. It'd be a lot of work, but damn would I love working with these loonies.
Ah, the dreams of children... But hey, why the hell not? Isn't that how a lot of these famous groups started up? Besides, it's a fun thought. Think I'm gonna share it with the dudes when I get back, just for kicks.
The 300+ Gb of music has gone back to the person we loaned it from, but I managed to snag a nice amount of stuff to go through. I'm certain that there's more stuff on that disk I would've like listening to, but such is life. My uncle (the one we loaned it from. He got if from someone else) said he would put the whole thing up on his network, so we could log in and download stuff if we felt like it. So I can check in if I feel I missed something, or if my collection starts getting a bit stale.
I managed to find some bands I'd never heard of before, and that I like listening to. Including The Cult (forgive me, I've been living under a rock), Tora Tora, Thunder, Nazareth, and several other unusual picks including the entire Led Zeppelin, Rolling Stones, Beatles, Queen, KISS, Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix collections. I even managed to find some really weird stuff, like an album from Syd Barrett's solo career that includes failed studio recordings and some really, really strange songs.
Fun stuff. I'm gonna be occupied for a while...
EDIT: Found a picture on Facebook that I thought y'all might like to see.
(http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-sf2p/v649/190/43/588025665/n588025665_1685243_1974.jpg)
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Anyways, newsflash. I have finally discovered what women (well, anyone really) are really attracted to. It's quite simple, really, but also remarkably difficult.
Confidence.
... blabla ...
My only problem is that I think too goddamn much, so I can't fool myself into falling for that. Damn me and my plan-foiling ways, I'll get me back one of these days...
I know this too. Fortunately, I seem to have less problems with this than most people. However, I must say my confidence tends to get quite a boost every time I am near another near-alcohol-induced-coma ( dwarfy ! ). Not the most desirable solution, unfortunately. Since your think "too goddamn much", something that might help is thinking why you shouldn't have confidence. I challenge you to find a reason. :)
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I spend most of my day trying not to think about that, thank you very much.
Heh, I used to joke that I'm intelligent, nice, funny, good-looking, and most of all modest. The only thing I lack is self-confidence.
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Nucking futs. Got to bed at 3:30 last night, after spending a couple hours running exterminator duty on a neighbour's PC, which was hit pretty damn hard by numerous flavors of malware. I've been decidedly smashed for most of the day. And the damn thing still isn't clean.
Not feeling too hot right now. After a jam session where I sounded like a chimpanzee with diarrhea trying to play guitar, I felt a little less gung-ho than usual. I have a few people I try to find when I'm looking for a bit of companionship and entertainment. One of them was half-sleeping in his room with one of the girls in our "group", one of them was in the jam session and had wandered off with the third member, and the last was trying to get a picture into an old and very stubborn frame.
Not much else to keep me occupied. There were a couple gals from interior design going around and taking pictures of how people fancied up their rooms. As I walked past, one asked where it was exactly that I called home here. I pointed over her shoulder just as her traveling companion told her that I lived in my roommate's room.
To add to that somewhat insulting recognition, they didn't ask if I could open up and let them take a picture. I don't decorate, and the only decorations my roommate has put up are a cloth on the table and a poster that says:
WARNING
PRIVATE PROPERTY
KEEP OUT
UNLESS YOU
HAVE REALLY
BIG BOOBS
As such, the room was not exactly a candidate for interior design consideration. Can't say I blame them, but that kinda means that our room is going to be the only one left out.
On the bright side of things, we got around to showing the film teacher our synopsis. He's very enthusiastic about it, and has been encouraging us to give this thing our full effort so that it turns out as good a film as it can. I think this means we get a little more leeway in regards to deadline and maximum length.
I mentioned the miniature film company thing to a few of the guys, and they all agreed that it would be really cool to do something like that. I'm pretty sure the idea stuck in the heads of at least two of them, so we might end up talking about it a bit more. Hell, it's just fun to think about stuff like that. Nothing wrong with a daydream, right?
On Friday we're going to be visited by the students from last year. We'll have to entertain them with some of the stuff we've cooked up so far, and just try to make things a little cozier for their visit (after all, they will be coming back to "their" rooms and seeing strange people living in them). This thing's kind of a Skiringssal tradition, with last year's students being given a little tour of their old stomping grounds. Afterwards, the kitchen chief takes them up to a special cabin and throws a party for them. We're gonna get similar treatment when it's our turn next year.
My roommate is apparently off doing... Something. He won't be arriving back at school until next week. Means I get the place to myself, which is quite the luxury.
Eh, gonna try finding some companion-esque folks again. I can hear a couple of them next door watching some Wind in the Willows series. And I know that one of them is off with his film group, trying to keep a straight face as the rest of the team attempt to butcher a script so screwed up there's really nothing left to butcher. Drops has proven, in writing, that he is mentally disturbed. I have honestly never seen anything quite like this before, it is utterly astounding. I don't really know how to describe what's tainting that paper.
EDIT: Adding injury to insult, my partner in film suddenly remembered that he had a doctor's appointment tomorrow. Earliest projected time for his return would be 2 in the afternoon, around which time the sun is already dangerously low on the horizon.
This means I have to take control of the filming tomorrow, and try to figure out some last-last minute logistics problems we're still dealing with (and we can't proceed without fixing them). On top of this, I'm actually playing a relatively important role in the film, and thus can't stand behind the camera the whole time.
Unfortunately, the position of cameraman has to be assigned to someone who actually has a vision of what the scene is supposed to look like, otherwise it will be completely wasted. The third member of our group is remarkably useless in creative affairs, and thus can't even be trusted with a position as cameraman. I'll need to find someone who I can explain the setup to. And we can't just film the parts that don't include me, due to continuity issues with terrain and light when we try to fill in the blanks afterwards.
Woogh... Tomorrow's gonna be a backbreaker... Or at least a headbreaker.
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Good luck. I've got no advice though.
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Yeeg. Got to bed at 11:30. I'm even worse off than when I went to bed at 3:30.
Nobody has a big, old-fashioned key. The theater teacher is making one out of clay for me that I hope will turn out alright, as there seems to be a shortage of the real deal around here.
She also says that she has 30's-style dresses in various sizes that I can borrow.
I'm trying to figure out what's worse... Having all this stuff ready, or not having it on hand. With the props ready, that means it's just up to me to get things in gear. Whee.
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Well, that went poorly.
After a whole morning spent stressing over actors, props, lighting and scenery, I was greeted by my film partner arriving back a couple hours early, in time to help me out with the whole ordeal.
We managed to get everything together, and then we decided to contact the last actor required for the shoot.
He'd gone home.
Just like that. We had talked with him for weeks about making this thing, and had told him yesterday that we were going to be filming today, which he said he was game for. And then he just takes off.
Everything had to be called off. There's nothing we can film without him, and not really much else we can take care of aside from filming.
Furthermore, tomorrow is the party with last year's students, so no filming. We might be able to get the scene worked out on Saturday or Sunday, however.
But that's just one location. In total, we'll be filming at three different locations, and we'll need to devote a whole day to each of the other ones just so we can coordinate stuff. And we can't use either Saturday or Sunday for that, since we've got seminars.
Then comes Monday, which we might be able to use. Then comes Tuesday, which we can't use since that's when we have side classes instead of our majors. On Wednesday there's an optional but highly recommended event where the students can get some information on education possibilities after Skiringssal, so it's probably off-limits for a film day. After that is Thursday, which is our appointed deadline and last day of editing for the class.
There's no bleedin' way we're making that. Especially not now. I'm going to have to talk with our main film teacher (we get the secondary teacher on Thursdays, and he's the one who's most concerned about getting something done before the deadline) to see if he can get the hounds off our back. He should be here on Friday.
So, yippee. Everything went splat. And we're getting lip for it, too.
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Weekend again, with most of the interesting folks taking off to Oslo to get hammered and puke because it's fun. I begin to wonder how much of this is just habit.
There was supposed to be a seminar for me today, but it ended up getting canceled. But that's alright, since "Impro" didn't sound like it would be that much fun since all the fun people were dropping it to get to their train on time.
I've pretty much just been sitting around and playing Survival Crisis Z all day. I really should've been reading the translated works of Plato from philosophy class, but I haven't gotten around to it and I can't be arsed to do it now. I'll see if I can start memorizing it on Sunday.
Oh yeah, I haven't told you guys about the "Fjorårsfest" (last year's party). All (well, all those who could make it) of last year's students came down here to mingle with the current batch of Skiringssalians. We got to talk with last year's Film and TV class (fourteen people, half of them girls... Lucky bastards) and see some of their work, including how things can go spectacularly (and hilariously) wrong when you're doing a live sending.
It would appear that there's just some special vibe with F&TV. Found a lot of parallels. Fiercely proud to be a part of Film and TV, not the most active class in school, suffering from bouts of chronic laziness, and going through the same problem of coming up with a spectacular idea that's only spectacular until you actually start working on it, whereupon you find it's just lame and tedious.
Also, a rivalry with Outdoorsmanship. Funny thing that, since outdoorsmanship decided to call all of us gay on their student night... I wonder if that'll grow into anything like last year's F&TV students were describing.
Well, in any case, the whole school was shown a movie created by last year's F&TV crew, which exposed the shocking truth about the Outdoorsmanship major, revealing that it was in fact a government movement to keep young adults possessing mental capabilities below those that normal schools would allow. They were put into various programs aimed at keeping them busy and away from the public eye. Sports were a prime choice, as it also gave an excuse to dress them up in protective wear, in order to prevent them from hurting themselves during a normal day. They would also be sent out on trips frequently, as extended contact with the other students might arouse suspicion.
The film showed secret footage taken during a normal day of Outdoorsmanship. Probably the best scene in the whole film was where they got to see a film, and the teacher left to let them set it up.
In order to do so, someone put it on the little light-thingy used for displaying documents on the screen (I have no idea what they're called). This resulted in a DVD-shaped shadow appearing on the screen.
The class hurriedly shut off the lights and went to their seats. After a few moments of rapt silence, they suddenly burst out laughing. All except one, who apparently didn't understand that scene.
All in all, they just weren't as packed with raw humor and talent as we were. But their hearts were in the right place. And Outdoorsmanship got theirs.
So yeah, that was that. Plus chips and brownies.
There are of course other details, but it wasn't exactly the most amazing event we've had here. Some students from last year showed off their stuff with some songs and a couple movies, and one rather impressive display from theater which had one actor on stage, and one guy doing all the sound effects off to the side.
Then we had some stuff from this year, with more singing (including one song that was sung by one of the gals from theater. Certifiably insane, but a great voice. She blew everyone away with that performance), a couple of movies (one from Outdoorsmanship, where they did an advertisement for a Christian Skiringssal, and the boy-girl party prono/music video), and a stage performance.
That stage performance was the sexually-transmitted disease dance from the boy-girl party. Those poor gals thought they were just putting a show on for "the guys" when they thought that up, but then they have to perform it in front of all their parents and relatives, and just now they had to perform it for all of last year's students. I wonder if that thing's going to get recommended for any other large events...
Since it's been a pretty hectic week for Film and TV, we didn't get to show off any of our stuff (hadn't set it up). However, just to prove that we weren't completely useless, I took one of the guys from last year's class aside and showed him "Where Nobody Would Believe That Anyone Could Live", and some of the outtakes. He said it was pure genius. I hope he told a few other folks about it, since he was the only one I managed to show it off to.
Ooh, speaking of the boy-girl film (which y'all should see, if only for my death metal performance), anybody know a place where I could host a 1.25Gb video (I could just zip it into a file for download), preferably without exposing my identity in any possible way?
Well, that was that. Or, more importantly, that's all I can be arsed to write about it right now. As for this evening, I was starting to feel a little down because of the various interactions between the late-night folks around here, but then I invented a fingerpicking thing on the guitar that sounds friggin' professional. I'm going to have to come up with a stable pattern and then transcribe it, 'cause there are some nifty chords in there.
Oh yeah, also had a miniature jam with a gal, where she played rhythm and I played lead guitar. That's because the guy sitting next to me (who had gone through guitar class) couldn't be buggered to play along with me.
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Filedropper (http://www.filedropper.com/) has a 5gb limit.
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And I apparently have a ridiculously slow upload speed... I'll see what I can do some other time.
Well, another weekend come and gone. No filming was accomplished, nor did I read the philosophy assignment. However, I did shoot thousands of zombies in SCZ.
Actually, I did get some filming done. Just not on my project.
Tonight was the first night with me in my role as the janitor, where I had to play opposite X. It actually worked out alright, I think I'm finally starting to get over her. And since she's been acting like nothing ever happened straight from the beginning, things worked out.
Well, except for that time I accidentally jammed my shin into her crotch. That was awkward. Surprisingly enough.
Anyways, this movie's going to be one of those "so bad it's good" horror movies. Continuity goofs, clichés around every corner, lame story, ridiculously bad writing, and decidedly mediocre acting to boot (X is actually not that bad of an actress, but she keeps bursting out into laughter. I'm bad, but I can hold up if I've got something to go on. Which I didn't).
So we managed to film a couple scenes, and I tried my best to be creepy. I was actually looking forward to the role, as I thought I would play an actual character. You know, a lovesick janitor driven to the point of madness by a young girl. There's potential for a real person there, and real people are fun (and, actually, relatively easy) to play.
However, one of the directors enlightened me as to what my role was actually going to be. A creepy dude.
He was actually trying for an effect like in "the Grudge". That wasn't a person, that was just a creepy inexplicable ghost. And that's what I have become.
I tried inserting a little humanity here and there, but it was difficult. I hope I was being creepy enough... That's actually kind of a fun reputation to have. I've been first choice for every creepy, scary, or evil character so far.
Well, filmed some stuff, gave some advice that prevented a couple scenes from being utterly hopeless, and had some laughs while doing it. Unfortunately, my costume is ridiculous...
Ah well, such is life in the film business.
ADDENDUM: Oh yeah, my roommate just got back. Fortunately, this is just in time for the room cleaning tomorrow, which he owes me. Unfortunately, this also means I have to share a room with him. Hmm.
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Another party coming up on the 30th. Can I be arsed to go? I doubt it. Had a mini chat with X wherein I tried to convince her that going to a party and remaining 100% sober through the whole thing is not fun.
Thing is, I think she manages to have fun under just about any circumstances.
If I recall correctly, I've actually only been to one of the school-wide drinkfests. And even the heaviest drinkers admitted that that one went a bit overboard. But still, looking at the pictures from some of the other ones, I really don't see how anyone could have fun without being completely and utterly hammered. Unless you delight in watching and remembering all the drunken exploits of those around you, which admittedly is a bit fun. But only for the first half-hour or so.
The first and only time I've ever really tried drinking an alcoholic beverage was on New Year's eve, with the glass of rat-piss champagne. As such, I've never been drunk. People don't seem to understand why I don't want to get drunk.
I try to tell them that I don't like losing all control, which is what seems to be the whole point of getting drunk in the first place. You lose your inhibitions and start doing things you never would have done in your right mind.
Under other circumstances, I might have tried doing this, if only to try and have a good time. However, this is Kagus of the wonderfully corrupt intentions we're talking about here. Considering the fact that I can scare myself with the suggestions (I can't really call them "urges", since I don't feel any strong desire to do them) when I'm not following through with them, I shudder to think what would happen if I lost the self control that keeps the demons inside my head.
Someone could get seriously hurt. Or repulsed. Or... Well, I'd really rather not discuss that.
However, I am protected by my ridiculously stubborn personality. All I need is someone to try and push me into something, no matter how gently, and I can safely say that I will most certainly abstain from whatever that happens to be for the next few months. I cannot abide people trying to tell me what to do when I have already stated that I have no intention of doing so.
Ironically enough, I was wondering if anybody had opinions as to whether or not I should sign up for the upcoming party. The cost is at most a little under $6, and they'll be providing transport to and from the place. I will also be armed with the knowledge that I can call a cab at any time and just hitch a ride out of there. Unfortunately, knowing my cheapskate ways, I'd probably wait through a whole night of drunkards stumbling over me and indulging in personal pleasures with each other just so I could save $30 of cab fare.
Good points: - Several gals who might be at least mildly interested in me, and who might get drunk enough to do something about it
- Free Sprite
- The chance to observe and mentally record lots of nasty things
- The chance to observe and record lots of nasty things with my phone's built-in camera
Bad points:
- Annoying Brit
- Disgusting Sri Lankan
- Runty Greek that X is still gaga for
- My roommate
- Several girls who might be at least mildly interested in me, and who might get drunk enough to pass out and remain unconscious for the rest of the night
Hmm. Well, now you see the point breakdown of why I don't bother with parties. Essentially, I'm enough of a paranoid control-freak that I can't stand the thought of letting loose, and I'm too much of a nice guy to take advantage of someone who is under the influence.
Of course, I could just go around complaining in as strong of an Irish accent as I can muster, tossing in outdated university-grade English terms and sayings while jabbering on senselessly about why I'm really the nicest person in the whole school, now fuck me.
Please.
Only problem with that is the annoying Brit, since he can't stand it when someone is using a U.K. accent, and he is one of those people who actually thinks it is not only possible, but also prudent to try and get everyone to do things his way.
I suppose I could just do Texan... That would ensure a failure t' c'myunicate.
As it stands now, I think I'm probably just gonna stay here, listen to the music that I like (woohoo 20Gb of newly-acquired tracks!), and play guitar and video games. Maybe I'll browse through that illustrated Kama Sutra again (for those of you who haven't, it's actually kinda funny just leafing through it. The stuff that's talked about in there is ridiculous outdated mumbo-jumbo), or perhaps pick up the book on Tarot.
Or I could try memorizing the bible... I've been meaning to do that.
Nah, too difficult when it's in another language. Besides, I don't think my willpower is quite strong enough to power me into such an ordeal.
Any comments? Mind you, I reserve the right to completely ignore any and all of you should the whim strike me to do so.
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I say go, because if you do then something interesting might happen whereas if you stay nothing interesting will happen. Also, you could somehow prove your confidence at this party.
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You're almost exactly like me in this drinking thing. The Finnish parties consist of identical heavy drinking and I just don't get the point of getting really drunk. I've even tried few different degrees of drunk (although never totally wasted), but still I don't see any point in it.
It might be because I'm not a shy person at all and not afraid of making a fool out of myself, so there's no limit's to break there. Also I don't have things that I'd desperately want to forget. Another factor is that I'd rather not become an asshole to others like most people do when they get really drunk.
However, I am protected by my ridiculously stubborn personality. All I need is someone to try and push me into something, no matter how gently, and I can safely say that I will most certainly abstain from whatever that happens to be for the next few months. I cannot abide people trying to tell me what to do when I have already stated that I have no intention of doing so.
This is me. I don't know why, but I violently refuse to succumb to peer pressure. If I convince myself that there's no reason to do something or someone tries to force me to do something without a particularly good reason, I just won't do it. Whatever the circumstances. Although I call this strength of mind, not stubborness, which might be more accurate.
The only difference between our opinions about drinking is that I'm not that afraid about what I would do if I was drunk. The stubborness goes a long way even if you've taken quite a few drinks. Although I have never even thought what would happen if I got so utterly and completely wasted that I'd lose all control. That wouldn't be pretty I guess, but that's true for everyone.
So yeah, although being (one of) the only sober one(s) in a party isn't fun at all sometimes, I've had some really good, quite unusual discussions in parties with people that are sober or enough so. Parties are also good to get to know new people that you wouldn't otherwise talk to.
So, it's nice to go to parties occasionally, if you haven't been in one for a while (as I gather), now might be a good time to go.
EDIT: Edited some silliness caused from not having time to read this carefully.
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I was called out last night to do some more filming with the Grudge crew. I can hardly bring myself to talk about it.
One thing is having a script that would've been rejected by even the lamest teen horror film (you know the type, they're a genre unto themselves), another thing is having an uncanny knack lack for scenography and camera angles, not to mention some absolutely dreadful actors and a continuity editor who doesn't exist.
But it's another thing entirely coming up with some of the lamest and most out-of-place ideas while filming on location, and then running with them.
Well, I managed to entertain myself. I do not believe I will be proud of this picture, but that's pretty damn tough luck considering I'm in it. Let's just say that this thing will put Final Destination 3 (something I consider an epitome of the cheesy horror genre) to utter and complete shame. At least in terms of stupidity.
Unfortunately, FD3 could hold its own on breasts and gore alone. We have neither.
For today, I went to the further education and career opportunities exhibition. Went around picking up free stuff from the various stands for several hours, and didn't really find anything that jumps out as me as being my direction in life. Wasn't really expecting it to, but that's a moot point.
As for free stuff, there was everything from candy (almost every stall had a bowl of assorted candies), to waffles and pancakes, to deli meat, to fresh produce (including the lamest pear I have ever eaten), to a memory stick that holds just under a gigabyte of space. John Smith, who was also attending, snagged a stuffed bird-ish animal toy from the University of Southern Queensland's stall. I don't think it was put up for that purpose.
His bag (complements from University of Bergen's stall) ended up looking like the bag of a very busy trick-or-treater, with various candies filling in all the space around the brochures he picked up in order to get the candy. He also picked up an apple and an orange for some reason.
And that was that. Not particularly interesting or enlightening, but it had its moments. And sugar.
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Today we had a special thing at 12:30 instead of normal Friday afternoon classes, where two guys set up some presentation stuff about different subjects (wildly different subjects, in fact).
The first guy came up and said a few things about Gandhi, some interesting facts about his early life and his way of furthering his beliefs (I'd seen a special about Gandhi during Christmas vacation, so there wasn't a whole lot of new information). Also a bit of background on the relationship between England and India.
Then the second guy gave his own presentation. He quickly switched the topic over from Gandhi and India over to Rwanda (his homeland) and genocide.
This second presentation was a little less well-absorbed, seeing as Norwegian was not one of the five or so languages he could speak. Instead, he spoke a heavily accented English that even I occasionally had a hard time making out what he was saying.
He also wasn't a particularly skilled public speaker, but he managed to get by on virtue of being African (funny how well that works). He also talked about how we should always be very careful when listening to the media, and how we should always critically inspect our views so that we don't just go blindly rushing off into something. As an example, he mentioned how so many people completely disregarded global warming, but then several scientists came along and proved that the environment was indeed in imminent danger.
I immediately decided that it'd be interesting to have a chat with this guy afterwards, and mention that although there are several high-standing scientists who have "proven" the dangers and inevitability of global warming, there are just about as many high-standing scientists who have disproven it. It's a better example than he thought it was, regarding taking things critically.
So I ended up sitting across the staff table from him in the food hall. After a while we started talking, and I brought up the subject of the environment.
Well, that was interesting. Turns out he's about as open-minded as a brick, and is locked into a very specific belief about the world, which oddly enough includes making people see things from another person's angle, and opening your mind to conflicting ideas. Meanwhile, he is completely disregarding everything I'm saying about contrasting scientific reports regarding global warming.
However, he did seem like a nice guy with his heart in the right place. Even if his head wasn't quite there yet.
Then his partner piped up about something (I'm pretty sure he's Norwegian. Speaks it like a native, and he just kinda has that look about him), and I ended up chatting with him for a little bit. Behold a guy who reveled in the differences in culture and background of different people, and thrived on the exotic-ness created by having such wildly different beliefs and traditions. I think it's kinda funny that this guy was so much more accepting of different cultures, when the African sitting next to him came from a place where indescribable atrocities have been caused by lack of just such an acceptance.
They had to take off shortly thereafter, but I felt quite good about getting to talk to both of them while they were here. I think that I would've had a much more interesting conversation with the Norwegian though... Just seemed more my type of guy.
Also, the principal was running around snapping photos of the whole thing (this presentation was apparently a big deal for him). He happened to have the camera with him at the table, and around the time everyone else had left the table, he got up and took a picture of me having the little heart-to-heart with the Rwandan. Naturally, if you get your picture taking when you're talking with an African (without being forced to), you look like a politically or environmentally-minded intelligent person. In think I may have buggered up on the "intelligent" part of that equation, but at least I'll look minded. Impressive.
In fact, I think I was actually the only student here who got to have a real conversation with those two. Or at least the first, it's quite possible that someone got a chance to talk to them when they were packing up their stuff.
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I personally must say that I haven't seen any reports of global warming being false (at least not by scientists.) It might be because in Finland global warming is mostly regarded as a fact and the media likes to keep it that way.
However, it doesn't really matter if human-caused global warming is an absolute truth, as we need to act that way unless it's unconditionally disproven, because:
Case 1:
People take global warming as a serious threat, develop alternate fuels, use more renewable energy and do other enviromentally friendly things. Few decades later turns out that global warming wasn't true after all. What have we lost then? Virtually nothing, as we have achieved cleaner air, reduced pollution throughout the world, reducing the risk of cancers, and saved valuable, unique ecosystems, amongst other things.
Case 2:
People keep wondering if global warming is a real threat or not and keep living as is, using the last of the fossil fuels until turning to cleaner power sources. Few decades later turns out that global warming is true and there will be absolutely nothing humans can do to make the impact less severe anymore.
Then we're screwed.
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If you do a bit of reading around, you'll find all sorts of reports and claims. A fair number of them by some high-profile(-ish) scientists.
You'll find everything from the "vanilla" (it's happening, it's happening fast, it's deadly, and it's our fault. This is the most widely-distributed one, thanks to various environmentalist groups), to ones that say either that it's not happening, that it's happening so slowly it will go up by about a degree (Celsius) in the next hundred years, that it's just a natural warm/cold cycle of the earth and isn't severe enough to do much damage, that it's a natural cycle and IS dangerous, and that it's just happening because of outside influences.
There are also some things showing average temperatures from England a century ago, and what they are today. Some groups say this is because the world-wide pollution increase has caused global warming, others say that the England-wide pollution decrease cause England to heat up (the older coal-powered factories have been replaced, and the field of smoke particles they emitted are no longer causing moisture to stick around and cause clouds and frequent rains. Therefore, it's hot, and it's going to get hotter the more England cleans up its air).
As for the well-known cause of global warming (CO2 buildup in the atmosphere), there was a study that somehow looked into historic global heat patterns and atmospheric contents. That study showed that heat would go up, soon followed by CO2 levels. Seems slightly backward, don't it?
There was also something looking at the recent heat changes on Mars, which has been showing a trend quite similar to Earth's own (according to that study). So unless there's an invisible Martian SUV factory chugging out vehicles that we're not aware of, it's pretty safe to say that pollution is not necessarily the cause of planetary warming.
But regardless of what the truth really is, staying away from cleaner and more efficient energy sources is just stupid. Alternative fuels and renewable energy sources are just a smart move.
But more of what I was getting at was not his position in the matter, but more that he clung so fiercely to it without even giving so much as a thought to the prospect that he might be less than 100% correct.
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From what I've heard, it seems that the global warming is part of a cycle - its happened several times before. This brings up several worrying issues, at least in my mind - what happens if we actually manage to prevent global warming and screw up the cycle, what happens if we make the cycle worse (what most people think we are doing) and most importantly, what about the global freezing that comes afterward?
I'm not joking, global freezing seems a far worse problem than global warming to my mind - even if I won't live long enough to see it.
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Currently 1:02 AM, but life is beautiful because I get to sleep in tomorrow. Also, I think my roommate is packing for a trip, which means I'll have the room to myself again.
Then again, he may just be looking for something. Hard to tell.
Sleeping in on Saturday is actually a difficult choice, since the school tends to serve especially good food on the weekends, and it means I miss breakfast. But bugger it, the best food gets served later anyways, and I can always just wake up earlier on Sunday.
For now, my bed is harking for me... Which disturbs me, because that's actually a word.
EDIT: Also, could we please leave global warming out of this? That always leads to problems, and I'd rather not have my bastion of egotism get locked down because someone got in a fight over how they're going to die.
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I agree, just thought I should mention the global freezing thing - I love the irony of it. ;D
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Fate seems to be intent on stopping our film project...
This day has been quite nice, really. I managed to get up a little after noon in order to get my washing in order and to attend the delightful and tasty meal at 2:00. It's been a bit nippy today, and there are big fluffy snowflakes falling down in a very gentle blizzard.
Wait a second... Snow? Aw, shi-
Remember that long-delayed filming that we finally managed to take care of? Well, guess what. It wasn't snowing then. In fact, there wasn't so much as a speck of snow anywhere. Now there's about six inches of it on the ground, and we've got more scenes to film outdoors.
Damn it... First we lose an actor, and now even the weather has turned against us. Next film, we're filming every goddamned scene indoors.
Uggh... If the snow is set to last through next week, we'll have to try and fit it in. We might be able to pull it off by re-filming a little bit of that one scene (the change of weather could even help with the split between dream and reality), but it'll be difficult. Not to mention damn cold. But if it suddenly disappears before Wednesday, we might be able to continue with the original plan.
Somehow, I doubt that's gonna happen...
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Okay, big day tomorrow. We've finally worked ourselves into setting up all the required preparations (well, all the ones we've remembered), and we're going to be filming all day tomorrow. We've arranged for transport (and even set up a sort of half-schedule of location hopping due to our famous last-minute logistics), acquired the necessary costumes for the characters involved (excluding the shoes for one character, which we intend to procure at one of the locations, hence the hopping), and have even made a shopping list for the ingredients we need to buy for fake blood.
So, everything's ready. We're still not completely comfortable, and stress levels are high, but hopes are right up there with them.
We've asked everyone to pack lunch. I've already done it, but that's just because I can't really trust myself to remember something like that early tomorrow morning.
I'm feeling a bit sick, but a diet fortified with honey and fizzy C-vitamins have kept me from being completely obliterated. At least for today. Don't know how it's gonna be tomorrow.
Today hasn't actually been that hectic, since we've had unavoidable classes (I.E., not Film and TV). Speaking of which, our first actual band class occurred today. Turns out the radio/philosophy teacher is a friggin' hardcore musician. Throughout the course of the three hours, he played guitar (both rhythm and lead), bass, piano, and harmonica. He even sang some spontaneous Blues lyrics, which is actually somewhat impressive. The voice isn't generally the easiest instrument to jam with.
Well, first off, we split the class into two groups. Those who wanted to play Blues, and everybody else. "Everybody else" (actually called rock/pop/stuff) ended up being four people out of an eleven-strong class. Naturally, I'd opted for Blues.
Problem with that is that we had three guitarists, one of whom had picked up a bass because the "guitar slots" were taken. Two people were playing the same drumset. Now add me into the mix, a mediocre guitarist with a mildly out-of-tune guitar. I tried doing something that was sort of halfway between rhythm and lead, but after a while I found out that the feeble amount of sound coming out of the amp I'd brought down was utterly drowned out by the ridiculous level of sound blaring out of the one guitarist's amp, which would have been placed at "11" if it had such an option. Not to mention the bassist, who was pumping sound out of a titanic bass amp that takes a minute to warm up. Which also happened to be my seat. Vibro-massage Blues.
After placing my amp a little closer, I found out that what I was playing was completely buggered. Being completely incapable of tuning it in such a ruckus, I simply shut the thing down and watched what the bleedin' hell the other guitarists were doing. Figured I might learn something.
Some time later, the teacher comes in and beckons for me. Turns out that the other group needed a guitarist. considering my current position in the Blues group was fifth wheel, I accepted the offer.
So I ended up playing in the other group, complete with a rubber-fingered pianist, a psychotic drummer, a singer who had come down with a cold, and a singer-guitarist who refused to cooperate with anybody or anything. Including his own voice.
The teach tried to give me a quick run-through of the required chords and rhythm for the song they were playing just then, but had apparently overestimated my abilities as a rhythm guitarist. It takes me ages to get chord sequences and timing straight if I'm playing with a group. I really don't understand why, since I can pick up a guitar and automatically start into the oddest beats and abstract chord combinations with barely a moment's hesitation. But then again, that's stuff I'm making up on the fly, so that means I can play it better than anyone else in the world... Heh.
So, anyways, I started butchering the chords, said "fuck this", and started soloing. This worked out just fine, and it even managed to sound only half-retarded a couple times, instead of the full-blown nguuh (major scales do not agree with me).
Next came another song, where I ended up with rhythm. Again. And I ended up buggering the sequence yet again, but it worked out to some extent because I was doing fingerpicking instead of strumming. I managed to blend it in somewhat, shall we say.
This pretty much carried on until the class was just about over, but the teacher walked in on me playing something simple with the rubber-fingered pianist, who was currently playing drums. It reminded him of a Creedence Clearwater Revival song, and he immediately got us into trying to play it. Guess what I did with the chords handed to me? Yup, I buggered them up.
The good thing about this, however, was that I could use a Blues scale to play along instead of a major scale. Now, Blues scales are what amounts to my specialty. It sounded pretty damn alright for a while there...
The class pretty much filtered out after that, seeing as it was dinner time. I stayed around for a while because I felt like doodling around on my guitar for a bit, and ended up jamming along with the teach and the pianist to some Rolling Stones song.
Now, apparently, the teacher thinks I'm a pretty good guitarist. I don't really know if being able to find the A Blues scale qualifies as expertise, but whatever.
So, yeah, that was that. Pancakes for dinner. With some pasta-packed tomato soup for dessert. After that, logistics and planning for our film tomorrow.
Speaking of which, I should really be sleeping right now. It's 11:30 at night, and I have to get up at 7:30 with bright eyes and a bushy tail.
Now if that isn't a strange saying, I don't know what is. Apparently children in China -the world's leading producer of traditional sayings- grow up with tails and excessive body hair. Or maybe I just really, really need to go to sleep. Like, now.
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Okay, well, that sort of went well.
Everything shapes up quite nicely in the beginning, with everybody showing up and taking along what they needed. We went to the one location, picked up all the required things from there, and then went down to the store to buy the other required things (plus a bottle of vinegar and two packs of cigarettes. My film partner was out of smokes, and didn't manage to find his wallet in time for us to take off).
We got to the film location, scouted out where we were going to film the first scene, and started rolling.
It was really, really cold.
This was an old abandoned house, naturally quite drafty thanks to doors that couldn't close all the way, not to mention windows that looked like the neighbourhood brat had smeared C4 on the panes and then detonated it. We were filming in a little room that had a lovely view of the countryside provided by just such an obliterated window.
My costume consisted of a 1930's-style cotton undershirt, jeans, and a pair of nondescript leather shoes. The undershirt was unbuttoned down the front of my chest. And, being a lost soul, I had to spend a significant amount of time standing perfectly still and staring off into space.
It was cold.
Filming went quite smoothly for that first scene, hit a couple very minor snags as we progressed into the unknown (trying to figure out camera angles, actor movements, and filming location on the spot is not a particularly glorious thing to do), and then went along relatively smoothly as we passed from dream sequences #2 and #4, and brought out the other actors for dream sequence #5 (which technically isn't a dream sequence, but that takes too long to describe properly so you can technically bugger off). We began filming for a little bit, did a number on one of the costumes as the lead female role got roughed up and tossed around a bit, and then we discovered a delightful little mistake we had made.
The story essentially centers around one particular room in this house. Dream sequences #2, #4 and #5 all take place outside the door to this room, and dream sequence #6 ends at the same spot.
Well, we had made quite a few on-the-spot decisions as to where we would be filming the various scenes, trying desperately to find which rooms worked best for that particular scene. Well, we had made the slight mistake of not filming in the same place each time.
We now have a door that leads to two different rooms. That's pretty freaky stuff right there.
But as it turns out, we didn't manage to get all the filming we needed in one go. It was quarter to five when we were trying to crank out dream sequence #5, and the sun was starting to get pretty low in the sky. We need that sun, since the place lacks all electricity required to power an artificial light source. This is an indescribable pain in the ass.
We're going to have to go back and finish up the filming anyways, and since we're going there again I might as well bring up the continuity issue as an excuse to redo those first two scenes (which, quite frankly, was composed of cramped shots and crappy maneuvering). Unfortunately, that means I'll have to stand still in light clothing again.
But y'know, I'd rather be cold for two hours than be unsatisfied for three months.
The only mildly disappointing thing about this is that I managed a rather creepy stare during one of the takes. I'll just have to try and do it again.
When we decided to leave the location and head home due to light deficiency, we had some minor problems that were not exactly related to the film. Namely, the bus we had been using had melted the snow underneath it and was sitting in a lovely little ditch of frigid water that it couldn't get out of due to the piles of snow right under the tires.
Introduce improvised plank-shoveling and synchronized minibus pushing to our list of activities for the day.
So, anyways, we spent the whole day filming in a pseudo-professional manner. What we got was a little over thirty-four minutes of footage, about five to ten minutes of which will make it into the finished film.
We've been remarkably productive, I must say. What bites me right now is the fact that we're going to spend ten to fifteen hours editing the stuff into something usable.
We've already gone over the deadline for our film project. Twice, actually. We currently have nothing to show for it aside from the raw footage (which, without the aid of color filters and musical scores, is donkey excrement). As such, I kinda feel like making a trailer for the damn thing, just to prove that we are indeed doing something.
We were assigned the task of making a ten-minute film. We have pretty much ignored that completely and gone off to do our own goddamn thing, thank you very much. Personally, I'm impressed. I don't think the teachers will be, though.
What I do find kinda funny though is that the other groups (both of whom are still not finished, which means that they both missed just as many deadlines as we have) are riding the time extensions that we ask for, while never saying that yes, it would be nice if they could also have a little extra time. Hell, the blighters even boast about how much farther ahead they are.
They are quite a bit ahead, no doubt about that. But they still haven't finished yet. Bloody freeloaders...
So, yeah. Need to film some more. Also need to edit in ways that will leave me drained in ways a sick man does not want to be drained. I supposed a person could find several different meanings in that last sentence, but I will leave that up to the reader to define.
Woohoo, Film and TV... Hey, at least we managed to bugger off from principal's hour. That kinda makes it all worthwhile, really. I wonder if we need to schedule some heavy-duty filming next Wednesday... Hey, it could happen.
Anyways, cheers y'all. It's quarter to midnight, and I have so many things I would like to do right now it's annoying. I really want to sleep (more importantly, I don't want to wake up tired. Again. Again-again.), but I've also got three different games I recently downloaded that I want to play, not to mention starting up a new character or two in Dungeon Crawl or blasting a few hundred zombies in SCZ.
Bleh... Can't wait 'til the weekend...
Oh, speaking of the weekend, music's student night is on Saturday. They've been crunching rather significantly this past week, which means they are spending considerably more time on preparing than we did. Should be fun. The only hitch is that they've asked everyone to dress as a known artist. The problem with that is that I don't have any known artists that I could dress up as. No, I am not going as David Bowie. I told you, my hair's too long. And I'm not cutting it, dammit. I don't care how many people come up to me and say "Hmm, I really wonder what you would look like with short(er) hair", I'm not trimming the bleedin' stuff until I damned well feel like it.
One thing is getting that line from your mother, it's another thing entirely getting the exact same statement from schoolmates. Schoolmates who have absolutely nothing to do with each other, and are thus stating completely unrelated opinions.
Now, where was I? Ah, yeah, dressing up as a musician. I briefly considered going as a Blues Brother, but then I thought about the possibility of going as myself (remember that boy/girl party with the death metal music video? I've still got all the clothes (that is to say, lack thereof) for that costume). Might be fun. Might also be damn cold, not to mention a joke that nobody gets.
Meh. I've also got a singing and voice usage seminar on Saturday, something a sick man with severely stuffed sinuses does not often look forward to. On second thought, maybe I can wait until the weekend...
Right, that's enough yammering. I've sufficiently worded this digital location for the time being. As such, I bid you all a good night. I was about to say "and good luck", but that would've caused me to mention the black cat which started to cross out path when were driving out to the film location, but then changed its mind and went back the other way. I also would've mentioned that this was interpreted as meaning that a great catastrophe would happen, but everything would turn out alright.
But I didn't say that, so I didn't have to start mentioning it, thus extended this already over-extended post. So there. Ha.
Gonna shut up now.
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Relatively unremarkable day. I've been completely shattered in terms of energy ever since I got up. I told myself I would make damn sure to get to bed earlier tonight, and indeed I have. Rather than lights out at 1:00AM, it is now the much more reasonable time of quarter to midnight. By the time I've finished my evening rituals, it should be a nice round 12:00 (or 00:00, as it is here).
Some stuff I'd like to mention, but I'm too tired to do it right now. So sit down and wait yer goddamn turn, ye blighters.
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Hrmm, still haven't updated to talk about what happened then. Can't be buggered to do it now, it's one in the morning and I have to get up at the unreasonably early hour of 10:00 tomorrow. Second seminar in a row this weekend... Damnit, weekends are made for sleeping.
Music had its student night tonight. Quite fun. Everyone dressed up as some sort of musical artist (except for one of the school helpers, who dressed up as a smurf. I'm not even sure if I want to know). Certainly not as grandtastularific as F&TV's, but that's an unreasonable expectation under any circumstances. I actually helped them out, they needed a lot of music videos put together, and they still had just the raw footage last night. I was called in along with a few other guys from F&TV to come down to the editing rooms and help out. We each made a music video, thus contributing to yet another student night.
I ended up making an Emo video. Monsoon, by Tokio Hotel. I had about ten scenes to take clips from, and I needed to put them together into a minute-long video. It worked out alright, but I'm still not happy with that video...
Okay, that's a lot about me, and almost nothing about the student night. Bad ratio, but I'm beat. The onl other thing that I can add right now is about my costume. Yay, even worse ratio.
Basically, I had decided to do what the sign said and go dressed as "a musician". I mean, c'mon, only a musician would dress like that.
Essentially, it was just black jeans, my black CIA boots, black arm-warmer thingies, black leather coat, black fedora, and no shirt. Pretty much what I wore for the death metal video, plus coat and hat.
I was walking around for a while, and then I heard someone talking about Slash. I figured that would probably work, and set about grabbing the other stuff I needed. I borrowed the top hat I'd given to someone else, and snatched a pair of little round sunglasses. Behold, Slash. With straight blonde hair.
Unfortunately, the shades weren't quite right. They were more Ozzy glasses than Slash glasses. I was mistaken for Ozzy twice, even while wearing the hat. I was also mistaken for Alice Cooper, because of the hat. I can't remember seeing Alice Cooper with a top hat, but then again I haven't really been watching too closely.
When I first heard Slash mentioned, I figured it was someone else commenting on me and telling a friend who I *obviously* was dressed as. Later on, after hearing some other stuff, I think it may have been that person talking about what they were going as...
Which is a bit strange, since the girl who said it is short, fat, has one of the most grating voices (and personalities, at least in my experience) in the school, and lacked coat, hat and shades. She didn't even go bare-chested.
Tired my ass... Looks like I can write just fine, so long as I'm talking about the right thing (namely, myself)... Blugh, 1:18. I honestly do want to sleep...
Okay, that's all for tonight. I'll try and fill in the blanks tomorrow, if I get time.
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Okay, I did it again. But you all knew it was going to happen, didn't you?
To make things all better, here are a few pics of me dressed as Slash.
(http://photos-f.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2130/4/45/555685399/n555685399_2467973_7436.jpg)
(http://www.snakepit.org/b5.jpg)
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2130/4/45/555685399/n555685399_2468007_6992.jpg)
Okay, so maybe that second one is actually a picture of Slash. Bet ya wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't pointed it out though, eh?
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Right, so, last Thursday. We reported to the teacher that we still weren't finished with the project. In fact, we weren't even finished with the filming.
His response was to ask us if we could go and ask the required actors if they could go back out to the house and finish up filming.
As in, right there and then. After the day had already been ticking along its course for some time. With absolutely no prior planning or logistics.
I'm still not sure why exactly he told us to do that... There was really no point with rushing, since regardless of what we might have accomplished that day, we still wouldn't have been finished. Not by a long shot.
We weren't particularly happy about being told (not asked, told) to go and rush into getting back out there and filming, but we did it. Luckily, both of the people we needed said that they were busy and couldn't be used that day (what's ironic about this is that this is exactly what the teacher had been hammering into us before, about properly planning a film date beforehand so that your crew can organize their schedules). It's not like we were just going to sit around and do nothing. We were planning out when the next film date would be, what we would need, and how to go about arranging everything necessary. Not to mention doing some preliminary editing of the footage we'd managed to film so far.
I ended up having a chat with the teacher (I seem to be the only one out of the whole class who can stomach being around him for extended periods. He doesn't seem that irritating to me, but he does get a bit peculiar at times. He just needs a little resistance to put him back on track), and things worked out. I also told the teacher about my decision to make a trailer for our film, and he seemed rather pleased with the idea. I think that bought us some more time (or at least potential time) as far as deadlines are concerned.
We went about editing our stuff, and filled out the day with that. Nothing amazingly spectacular.
Friday was philosophy (which was much better than last time, since part of the assignment was to actually get together and talk, also known as philosophizing. Or philosophising, for the not so z-centric peoples of the world). Then we had film studies, lead by the philosophy teacher, where we watched "The Prestige" (second time I've seen it. In fact, he had around seven DVD's with him, and I'd watched all of them. The Usual Suspects, K-PAX, The Prestige... Damn, I can't remember the others). Good movie, fun to see it again. What was also nice was that he said he'd bring Memento with him next time. I really liked that movie...
Then the weekend, which included a voice training seminar (unremarkable. A couple new breathing tips, other than that it was just what we've been getting in minichoir) and music's student night.
The student night was fun, but not really spectacular. It was of course fun to see all the various costumes people had decided to use, but it was also something of a pain having to dress up for the whole night. Kinda the same deal as it was with Halloween, except that this time I was fortunate enough to not have put on any makeup. Eating is a major pain when you have to take the food past paint-coated lips...
We were treated to several songs, some peculiar live commercials, a couple of unfunny bits which were stuffed in to add more time, and the music video awards (two of the five videos were put together by F&TV boys, due to deadline problems).
I believe they also played some songs that they had written, which (if true) is quite impressive. They weren't that bad either. The Brit made a weed-related version of "let it be", which was actually remarkably clever. Especially considering that he'd written it two hours before the show.
A fine enough evening, but I believe that expectations were raised a tad high from the excellent performance put on by us dudes. And even the next-best performance of outdoorsmanship.
The final sketch was a tiny little thing called "Skiringssal in Five Minutes". One gal read a summary of the school year aloud, and two others acted out certain important aspects. Quite clever, and left things hanging on a good note.
Especially when combined with the crazy dance that they ended (and started) the show on. I don't remember what the song is called, but it was used at the boy-girl party as a stripper song for the guys.
One aspect of the Skiringssal in Five Minutes sketch was that they continued it up to the point where music's student night was hailed as the greatest of the year. Which, technically speaking, is indeed true.
In fact, it is so far the only student night of 2009.
Then came Sunday, where we had a great big seminar-type giving us important information about further education, and how to go about securing our futures. Unfortunately, although I attended, I wasn't really there. That, combined with a still not 100% grasp of Norwegian, and a distinct lack of experience in the Norwegian school system (which happened to be something that the teachers were kinda counting on when they were giving out information... Frequently referring to how it's a lot like things from when you went to videregående (high school)), led to me not picking up a whole lot of information. In fact, there's really only two things I remember from that seminar. April 15th, and some website which is highly important for reasons I can't remember.
Sunday continued in the usual fashion of slacking off and ignoring the constructive things we could have used that time for (such as editing the film or working on the aforementioned trailer). Then came Monday, which is today for some strange reason. Not much to report for today (Monday). Dinner was spaghetti, and I got a vegetarian special-order omelet (that does not look right...) for lunch, which was envied by the meat eaters. I informed them that it's perfectly possible to life your butt up, walk into the kitchen, and get some for your own damn self. They took my advice (eventually), and were soon grinning mischievously after having rebelled against the system and receiving omelets (AAAGH) for the trouble.
My plan for world vegetarianism is gaining followers... I'll have to work on my evil laugh.
So, yeah. That's it. I've spent the evening playing Northlands and listening to Pink Floyd, Dire Straights, Guns N' Roses, Jimi Hendrix, Alice In Chains, and now Led Zeppelin. Goddamn I'm a weirdo.
Good night. With any luck, my roommate will put away his computer before 1:00. I was kind hoping to get to bed a little earlier tonight, but I was thinking that about an hour ago as well.
And besides, I can usually count on being utterly scratched in the mornings of every day except Sunday. One more day isn't going to make that much of a difference.
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Zoinks.
Well, went to the party last night. This time, I carried expectations far lower than the first time... Figured it would be safer.
It started off rather dully (at least for me), with the exception of a little tidbit of information I picked up. Apparently, Drops (who had decided to attend, oh joy) had decided to bring along some party games. First off, this is ridiculous. The only "party games" that would fit in with this kind of party would include shooters and some sort of boisterous singing.
Second, the games he brought along were chess and Clue. I really don't have anything appropriate to say to that.
After a while I ended up getting into a conversation with piratey-goth girl, who was of course wondering how I was doing (most people were curious as to what it was like to be sober at such a party. Others merely wanted to know why I didn't drink. Regardless, all were quick to start off by saying how deeply they respected my decision to not drink. It's kinda nice the first two or three times, but after the seventh time of getting the exact same words it just gets funny). I started chatting with her about my various reasons/excuses for why I consider myself a bleedin' fuckup, and she began assuring me of my worth. This carried on for a while, interrupted only by the half-Scottish metalhead next to me asking to borrow my hat, and also wishing to clink his beer bottle against my head (he had first asked where my beer was, and I tapped my temple. He interpreted this as meaning that I have a magical supply of beer in my brain. As such, whenever he made a toast, he would tap his drink against my cranial object).
I'll leave the details of that particular section of the conversation out of this. What I will tell you are the rumors she had heard about me. Apparently, it is very very healthy to talk to people, and even better if you make your points perfectly clear. I really have no idea how some of this stuff started circulating.
Apparently, I spent three years in Vegas as a hobo before coming to Skiringssal. I'm not entirely sure what logic failures were required for that non-sequitur, as I don't know of any hobos who would have the cash to fly to Norway and attend a school there. Not to mention the fact that the homeless don't often have all the passports and citizenry proof required to get a stipend for attending said school.
Also, I apparently cannot be entirely blamed for my strange faces and movements, as there is a voice in my head telling me to do such things, and I am helpless to resist (I might have an idea as to where this came from, as I discussed psychotic tendencies with some people at one point. But there's a difference between psychosis and schizophrenia, dammit!).
Well, that confirms it. I am a crazy hobo who smells bad. Single file, ladies, single file...
Anyways, she eventually wandered off to find her other bottle of wine, not to mention a small bottle of Bailey's which she insisted I at least taste, just to prove that alcohol wasn't all bad. Frankly, I prefer ice cream without the taste of alcohol in it.
The next chat I had was with said half-Scottish (according to his account) metalhead, who informed me about how Scottish people need to spit more than British people when they talk, how the Pogues and the Dubliners are godly when listened to drunk (doesn't matter how drunk, it spans the whole spectrum), and how he wasn't really drunk yet, since he needs to drink whiskey in order to get drunk (it's all part of being Scottish).
He also told me about how awesome it is when mass-murder takes place, because not only are there fewer people cluttering up the world, but it also means more money for you.
Actually a rather pleasant guy, but he did have a few metal quirks.
Then I spent half an hour being told by a girl how I should really trim my hair. She informed me that she had, in fact, been spending the whole school year thinking about how I should cut my hair (not just a little off the ends, but short. Guy-short. "Normal". I didn't get around to explaining the futility of a haircut in regards to my abnormality). Funny how alcohol puts some people on the "loop" setting. I heard the exact same sequence of words from her twelve times.
Quite the interesting exchange when I got the half-Scot (who, being a metalhead, had of course cultured a righteous mane of hair) talking to her. I left the two of them discussing what I should or shouldn't do with my hair while I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.
This of course means stepping right into the group of five smokers who are clustered around the door. One of them insists on hugging me for some reason.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to mention the hazards of combining alcohol, mental retardation, and seething lust into one package. For quite some hours, the dance floor was being patrolled by our delightfully delighted bongo-brain. He'd stagger around for a bit (he already has something of an odd gait, and being drunk does not help the condition), and literally seize a dance partner before attempting to rip them limb from limb through an assortment of erratic dance movements.
He actually chased after a fleeing female, picked her up, and carried her back onto the dance floor. He then did an out-of-beat boogie that could have dislocated someone's shoulder if they weren't careful.
It actually started getting a bit scary. Various people would get up from their chairs and form a protective barrier between him and his target partner, and John Smith had to steal his partner a couple times in order to protect them. Unfortunately, he soon learned the trick himself.
After a long time spent dancing with him, one partner (goth-pirate, in fact) attempted to get away by insisting that her feet were too tired to keep dancing (quite plausible, and probably quite true. She was wearing some rather steep heels after all, and this dude's dancing would take a heavy toll on anybody). He cleverly maneuvered around this excuse by picking her up and dancing around while carrying her like that. I don't think she was too pleased.
Anyways, food time. I haven't eaten since 7:00 last night, and I'm really hoping for something good. I think I've covered most of the party-related stuff by now.
Also, getting pretty damn close to five thousand views. Woohoo!
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Wee, it's breached the milestone. How incredibly exciting.
Anyways, I forgot to mention one thing about the party... There were numerous different CD's and external devices that were being cycled through on the music-making-machine, and the party was going on just fine with some nice beats that you wouldn't listen to on your own, but which made suitable tunes for a party.
And then the next song in the mix came up. Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up".
Yes, that is correct. Everybody got Rickroll'd. Twice, actually.
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I've never been Rickrolled, what is it exactly?
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Its when someone says "Hey guyz look it this its super cool"
and links a video of Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up".
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Several information-saturated walls of text, and it takes a Rickroll to get people commenting.
Second place to a second-rate meme. Feelin' mighty impressive right now.
We've encountered another continuity error that we're going to have to work around. It might be possible to pull it off cleanly, but it's going to be tricky. You see, we filmed two different scenes in one location, and these scenes take place at different times. The lead character was supposed to be wearing a rosary during one of them, but not the other. Unfortunately, we forgot about the rosary and just kept filming. We figured we could just have him wear the rosary through the space between the two dreams, and thus explain it away.
Only problem is, the first scene we filmed takes place between those two. He wasn't wearing the rosary. Heck, we didn't even have the rosary then.
So if anybody knows a perfectly likely way of accidentally flinging a rosary off your neck, please speak up.
Did I mention he's also wearing a hat?
Anyways, great fun. We've got a new, slightly stronger deadline for end of this week. I honestly have very little hope for us finishing up by then. But hey, at least we've got a trailer!
Heh, speaking of which, the idea of a trailer has been forcefully spread to the other groups by means of our secondary teacher. One of the projects is having a difficult time with this however, since their film is only five minutes in length. They fear making a trailer that is disproportionately large in comparison to the film.
So, our 10-minute film assignment has yielded a 25-minute film, a 5-minute film, and a 30-minute (probably. We might be able to cut it shorter than that) film. I'm too busy laughing to find words that accurately describe us.
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Sorry. I always read the updates though!
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If it makes you feel better, I read the entire thing. And look forward to all the silly things you do day by day. And want to have it explained in GREAT DETAIL.
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Drinking can be the difference between a -pickup line- and a +pickup line+. At least in your head. What is this school anyway, that seems to have a lot of 'tards in it? I know it's a boarding school but for what ages?
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I thought it was a university.
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It's a college\high school\fuck all. Essentially, it's a social school. Minimum age is 18, and I think the oldest student here is around 23\25. Actually, I think the sound guy might be older... But I'm not sure.
And it's not that we have a lot of mental leakage cases, it's just that the one we have makes up for the lack. Drops doesn't count as mentally retarded. He's just infernally dumb.
About the school... There's really nothing like it in the states. It's a special kind of optional school that's taken after high school (or rather, the equivalent thereof. Videregående). I can't speak for all the different schools of this type, but this one has a nine month school year (which is drawing perilously close to its end...) and no tests. There are assignments from time to time, but aside from putting on a good show there's no "real" incentive to complete them, since there are no grades. The only thing you need in order to complete the year is to show up more than 90% of the time.
Also, don't drink or do drugs on school grounds. That'll get you kicked out. But that's just this school, might be different in other spots.
Codezero, I don't *do* pickup lines. Furthermore, that's only a one-step increment of quality, bumping a relatively crappy line up to a slightly less crappy line. The amounts of alcohol consumed by these people can quite easily cause major quality leaps. For instance, one girl was on the verge of being wooed out of her clothes by a large metalhead kneading her shoulders and bellowing "I know what I'm f%&!in' doing!" in a Scottish accent.
Maybe I should try that some time...
Well, not a whole lot of excitement today. I made the brilliant decision of going to bed at 9:00 last night, so I've actually been slightly awake for most of the day. Rather impressive.
Apparently, Film and TV has morning collective this week. A deal was struck with one of the other classes so that they could show off some drunken dance footage from the party at yesterday's collective, so I wasn't aware of it until now.
Anyways, we had something special today. One of the other groups needed footage of a morning collective, and had decided to film the real deal (with some special lines fed to the teacher who starts things off). This is the same group that I've been working with off and on, where I play a scary janitor ghost.
Honestly, these poor saps have no idea what they're doing... I was sitting in the back row (and thus elevated above everyone else), wearing clothes that helped the contrast between me and the blank wall behind me, and not even pretending to make myself hidden. I had to yell at the one filming to inform him that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have a 50-year-old ghost sitting in on morning collective.
While wearing a Quiksilver hoodie.
However, judging from their previous decisions and filmmaking savvy, they're probably going to pick one of the clips with me in it anyways. And they're going to explain it away with "nobody's going to notice anyways".
You know, there's a rather noticeable amount of things "nobody would notice" in that film of theirs... And they still think they can save it from being an utter and complete comedy (hopeless).
Then I got to sing some of "the circle of life" in minichoir. Drops was being an idiot, as is to be expected. Oh immeasurable joy.
Band class was actually kinda fun. Thankfully, the teacher picked the song we were going to work on, instead of letting ego-pumped bodybuilder-man pick another Rihanna or Cold Play song. I tend to agree with the teacher's taste in music a lot more than that of a lot of other people here...
Instead of Scared of Heights or Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, we played Hotel California. Or at least pretended to. The teach is still somehow expecting me to perfect a chord sequence after demonstrating it for me once.
Anyways, it worked out. As usual, the other band members trickled away and left me, the Brit drummer, and the teacher to jam for a while. Now that was damn fun. I managed a burning (well, okay, maybe just blistering) Blues solo in that session, and followed it up with some more fine lead guitar work when we played a Bluesy version of "Born to be Wild". When class hours were just about over, everyone came back to the music room (where we were) and we all had a massive jam. I even managed to contribute in a non-retarded fashion.
Well, that's that. We're probably going to sneak off and do some filming tomorrow, preferably "missing" principal's hour. Good god that man is dull...
Woog... Just remembered that I have to write half a page about my roommate for the yearbook before Monday... I've got several pages of things to say, but how much of that is appropriate for a yearbook? That'll take some creative thinking. And some even more creative writing...
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Film day tomorrow. Five minutes to midnight right now. Wanted to go to bed at 8:00.
Gotta wrap up some logistics. That should push me just over the midnight boundary.
Yay.
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Gadzooks and jumping singularity devices, what a day.
I am, of course, referring to Wednesday.
Here's the scoop: We took off from school after surviving principal's hour (that man is not only incredibly boring, he is also demented in ways that can only mean severe childhood trauma involving large bats and a tea kettle), and were chauffeured up to the film location (namely, the farm of the guy we had previously intended to be the lead role).
We got there, took his chair inside (we had borrowed it for some filming, and never got around to bringing it back), told him to go and build a wooden cross for us, and then started preparing for the first scene we were going to film.
We filmed the entire day. We were forced to film some scenes when it was pitch black outside (luckily, they were indoor scenes) since we took so long. Did I mention that those scenes were directly attached to the ones which were filmed outside in full daylight?
I was the one who packed the camera bag before we left, and I had the brilliant forethought to bring along an extra battery, in case the one we were using got drained. I didn't take an extra cassette though, since the last time we filmed for a day we only came away with half an hour of footage (the tapes we use can hold one hour).
Well, the monster of a battery we used was at about half capacity when the day was through. However, the tape was a jumble of clips due to my having to search through what we had already filmed in hopes of finding some failed takes that we could film over. Yes, that's correct. I was completely backwards in my preparations.
We ran out of tape space, but had plenty of electricity to go on.
Luckily, we did manage to film everything that needed filming. We (I) also filmed several things that most certainly did not need filming, such as our host dancing around with a funny face and clapping his hands together during a take to distract our current lead actor. Hey, it'll make for a nice blooper reel.
At first, we thought we would probably be able to get back in time for dinner. Dinner came and went (3:00PM). Then we thought we might be able to make it back in time for evening food. That also came and went.
We ended up ordering pizza for dinner. And, of course, since no one thought to bring their wallets, our delightful host paid for everything. And since I still don't know how much I owe him for my share, that means I currently owe him nothing. Muahaha.
So, yeah. It was cold. The camera managed to accumulate a layer of snow (our secondary film teacher would have had a coronary if he saw that...), we had to bring in a floodlight and shine it at the ceiling for some of the indoor scenes, and we poured raspberry-sauce blood on the floor, on the actress, and on the actor. And then we spat some of it onto the snow outside.
We were all very, very happy when the filming was over and done with. We managed to get back to school some time around eleven. I lay down in bed quarter to midnight.
Then on Thursday, we took care of the very last bit of filming that was required. This was done on school grounds, since we were fortunate enough to take care of all the farm scenes in one swoop.
Ironically, this bit of filming included the very first image seen in the film.
I had to appear in some of the clips on Thursday, which of course meant getting back into my delightfully warm costume of an unbuttoned cotton undershirt and brown leather shoes with no insoles.
Then I had to stand in a foot of snow and get into character. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to point in a direction and not look utterly ridiculous?
We've spent a fair amount of time just going over what we've filmed, and we've started patching the film together. We've made it about halfway into the intro. Yippee.
However, it would appear that fate is not quite finished with pestering us. I took a look at the exported .avi file of our trailer. I noticed that it looked slightly different than what it looked like in the editing program...
Frankly, it looked like something not even a dung beetle would touch. In short, it looked just like amateur home camera footage.
Except it was blue. But then it was brown, with spots.
The reason for this, I believe, is because the editing program is not capable of showing a high enough rate of frames per second when previewing the footage. However, a packaged-deal video file can show as many bleedin' frames as there are to show. The result is overly-smooth footage that looks absolutely terrible.
The blueness and brown spottiness are results of using the tinting abilities inherent in the editing program itself, instead of a designated effect program.
Speaking of designated effect programs, did I mention that the school recently ordered some copies of Adobe AfterEffects, a designated effect program, and then installed them on the editing machines? No? Well, it gets better.
Two out of the five editing machines have had AfterEffects installed on them. Guess which one of the other three we're using.
So this means that we are practically forced to drag the whole project onto one of the other computers, and then examine the wreckage, with the hope that there's something in AfterEffects that can save our bacon. Either that, or we can try taking the cheapo route and just slowing down the clips some.
That second option has the slightly disturbing result of making the film even longer than it already is (I swear, we're making the longest ten-minute film in the world), and also screwing up every single second of syncing we've done with the music (and what few sound effects we currently have).
The cherry on top? Deadline is either Wednesday or Thursday next week. We're going to be rubbing some hairs in what is most certainly the wrong way if we take longer than that, since winter vacation starts next Friday, and we're supposed to dedicate all the time between winter vacation and easter vacation to cooking up a TV broadcast.
That is, of course, not mentioning the student night for clothing and costumes, which takes place shortly after getting back from vacation. Perhaps I mentioned that we have to pay our side of the bargain in regards to helping out with student night?
Speaking of fate, today's philosophy class dealt with astrology and tarot readings. The teacher read the fate of one student, as full a reading as it gets (ten cards). Tarot is actually pretty cool, I may just have to check a bit more into it for fun. I love the illustrations, and those specially-shaped cards are just too cool.
Well, drawing class has student night tomorrow. Everyone is supposed to come dressed as a hippie. Unfortunately, I do not have any hippie clothes. I figured I could try to compensate by putting some hippie music on my phone, but I don't really have hippie music either. I've just got music from that era.
And I was even silly enough to shave yesterday. This means I can't use any of the scruff I had built up from several forgotten shaving arrangements. You can't be a clean-shaven hippie unless you're female.
Hell, I don't even have a good headband... I'll have to use a formal black tie I've got for my dress suit. That's just silly.
Yay, I get to spend Saturday trying to pull some colorful clothes out of my predominantly neutral wardrobe.
Oh, just remembered something even more fun. I still haven't written anything about my roommate for the yearbook. Half a page is due by Monday. Joy to the world.
Speaking of the yearbook, the title voting took place today. However, it took place at a time when one of the classes was starting (we start half an hour before the others), and nobody said anything about it happening. I don't know how many people actually voted.
I had asked one of the members the night before if it might be possible to add in a "Crazy Hobo" category, due to the rumors I'd heard about me. She said she'd bring it up with the others.
So there's a chance I may be immortalized in the yearbook as a schizophrenic vagrant.
Fingers crossed...
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Absolutely 100% lovalicious.
Hippie night tonight, also known as the student night for Drawing and Painting. As everyone was preparing their costumes, I got to see that I was not the only person with a decidedly non-hippie wardrobe. Most folks just went with colorful T-shirts and some small woven headband, with maybe some shades if they were lucky enough to find a suitable pair. But there were a few people who had released their inner flower child with full radiant bloom.
I would've slid in as one of the many, just another brick in the wall. Sure, my costume wasn't a T-shirt, but it wasn't particularly hippie, either.
But I am both resourceful and agile, things that come in handy when the door to Theater's costume storage area is kept under lock and key.
I clambered over the top, taking the same route I took when snagging some of the clothes needed for our film project. Inside, I found several highly suitable items, and after checking out some possibilities, finally ended up with something that was quite remarkably hippie. My sense of style even managed to prevail through the ordeal, and I must say that I make a rather fashionable hippie.
I was at first slightly worried that this costume would be a bit cold... After all, it's mostly light material, and I of course insisted on wearing the shirt slightly open to display my wild and free tangle of chest hair. However, the pants I had picked out were quite large, and I ended up wearing three pairs of legwear in the end (long underwear, jeans, and baggy hippie pants). This provided me with all the warmth I needed.
The excessively huge headcloth was also a factor.
Dinner was a widely varied assortment of foods, ranging from asparagus wraps to tortilla chips and salsa to egg rolls and sweet-sour sauce. Quite tasty, although rather confusing. This was apparently a trend to be carried out throughout the evening.
The entertainment started off with a song and dance routine, wherein the four dancers were clothed in white bodysuits that looked like they were supposed to be easily disposable or something. Four people stood in the background and pretended to play various "instruments" (one guy was soloing on a plastic shovel, while someone else was swinging a broom for no apparent reason). One guy stood up front and actually sang, the only part of the song that wasn't a recording.
We moved on to some assorted videos, most of which I had seen part of the editing of. One was a short Charlie Chaplin parody, wherein the lead character was trying various methods of growing his hair to an appropriately long hippie length. His first attempt was tying string to his hair. This was naturally quite unsuccessful, but he eventually moved onto a hairspray which gave him a full Rasta flood of locks.
There was another video which was essentially a parody of the parody that Outdoorsmanship made of the school (instead of an advertisement for a Christian Skiringssal, it was an advertisement for a Hippie Skiringssal). Quite fun, especially since Film and TV was apparently the class you went to if you wanted to have a massive orgy.
Actually... That might not be that great. We've already received homosexual jabs for being an all-male class, and there's nothing explicitly saying that you need women for an orgy... Eep.
After that there was a "stomp" (improvised instruments) skit, which was actually a teensy bit long... Personally, I think F&TV did a better job when we had our own student night. Still quite fun though, especially with the painting-related instruments (one guy was providing bass-percussion by slamming the legs of an easel together).
Then came another batch of confusion, as the next skit came into play. One of the gals from the stomp sketch, as part of the final hardcore solo, had fallen over onto her easel and was lying there in mock sleep. This went on for a little bit, and then she was rudely awakened by the sound of an alarm clock ringing.
I started to feel my anticipation grow significantly. Why? Because this was no ordinary alarm clock, or even batch of alarm clocks (more started chiming in after the first). This was the opening sequence of Time, one of my all-time (haha) favorite Pink Floyd songs.
She got up, and started looking around warily at the stage around her. Dark shadows moved across the curtains, and strange noises were coming from backstage. She got her easel upright and started trying to paint as the sounds continued. She was obviously quite distraught from the various things going on around her.
Eventually, one of her classmates walked onto the stage from the side, pinging away at the cup she had used during the stomp segment. She walked purposefully towards the other side of the stage, completely heedless of the excited calls of the painter girl. The painter followed her offstage, calling out "Hello? Hello!" repeatedly. The other sounds continued, and grew in strength. More shadows moved across the curtains.
After a while, the painter girl ran back out onto stage, still crying out her hellos. A few moments later, the classmate pops out from the side, points her finger at the girl on stage, and says "I kill you" (in English, no less). The girl drops dead, and the music fades out.
I was thoroughly and completely confused, not to mention slightly disappointed that the song got cut short.
The girl then stood up and introduced the next segment, which included the philosophy teacher (who has been subbing for Drawing class for the past couple of weeks) playing guitar for several songs, while the rest of the class sang along. The songs included Hey Jude, I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-to-Die, Heart of Gold (which was thrown in for reasons along the line of "just because"), I Am the Walrus, California Dreaming, and other suitable hippie songs.
I'm screwing up the chronology here, but there was also a segment where three of the class members got out and gave what was actually a very clever and well-performed rap about how they were the greatest of all the majors (misguided, of course, but still entertaining).
There was also an Indian-esque dance in the beginning, with four girls holding candles, long skirts and lots of hip-waggling. It started out relatively "serious", but was given the gift of humor when the unusually tall, gangly and peculiar male Drawing student came out in similar garb as the gals, and began doing his own hip-waggling.
The show wrapped up with some more singing and guitar-playing. A nice, solid evening, but not spectacular. The main problem was really that it seemed so short. It could've gone on for much longer, as the content they had was all good.
After the show, folks sat around in the rec room for a while. I had started feeling the guitarist's itch, and had picked up one of the available guitars in order to scratch it for a while. Some time later, I heard a bit of a commotion and looked up.
Several folks had collected together on a batch of mattresses in the corner (hippie furniture), and they had started singing Kumbaya (and they were doing so without a guitar, which is sacrilege). The philosophy teacher came in and started playing for them in an attempt to save their poor misguided flower child souls.
This of course led to several of the previous songs being played, not to mention having all attention focused on that corner of the room (the guy is, after all, a great musician). However, he was just one guitarist. Feeling the urge, I plopped down next to him and started playing lead to his rhythm.
I have no idea how long we played like that, but it could have easily been an hour. Whatever it was, it was fun. He would take song requests from those gathered, and I would figure out what key he was playing in and try to follow along with something appropriate. The guitar I was playing on wasn't particularly great, but it had at least some sound in it.
So, yeah. People have started filing off to their rooms, as they're quite tired right now (it is almost 2:00AM...). I'm still wearing my hippie getup, and I've got the extra choices lying on the floor. I'm starting to build a mountain of clothes on the side of my bed, the reason for which essentially boils down to laziness. I really didn't need the extras...
The string on my key-medallion ended up snapping rather early on, but someone was kind enough to find the damn thing and return it to me. I should probably get around to returning that to the teacher we borrowed it from, oh-so-many weeks ago...
Uggh... Still have to write half a page about my roomie, and I have to do it tomorrow. Yay.
Maybe I can tweak my screen resolution way down, and thus have an excuse for a lower amount of text... That'd be smart.
Anyways, it's way past my bedtime. Goodnight everybody, peace out.
P.S.
Oh yeah, I came up with a sign-combo. Make the peace sign, the "L", and the rocker horns in that order. "V-L-U", "Peace, Love and Understanding". I showed it to John Smith, who was more impressed than I thought he would be. But then again, that kind of stuff is right up his alley.
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Un-friggin' believable, all this time later, and there's only been one photo of hippie-me posted. And it's not even a particularly good one... I know there are more out there. I just need to lean on a few people and get them to
cough 'em up...
(http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2190/158/83/809575214/n809575214_5862347_9628.jpg)
Dude on the left is the philosophy\band teacher, who has also been subbing for Film and Drawing classes. Dude in the middle is one of the guys from Film, who is trying to play on the hated -7 Guitar of Stupidity. That guitar has the loosest G-string of any physical object in the school.
Dude on the right is me wearing my guitar face. Why is it that you always end up looking so damned moronic when playing lead?
Anyways, our turn for morning collective today. Showed off our trailer. Actually managed to spook a couple folks, and I think that most of them liked it.
Which is good, because if they thought that was good, then we've got absolutely nothing to worry about for the actual film.
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Rumor spreads at the speed of sound...
Okay, so apparently word does not spread as fast as the plague. If it did, we wouldn't have healthy people who had heard of the plague, now would we?
Anyways, it would appear that word has gotten out about my being almost convince-able on the subject of trimming my hair. Earlier today, someone at the table I was sitting at brought it up. Just now, right before kveldsmat (I'm getting tired of translating it into "evening food". Just accept that that's what it's called), I was mobbed by a group of gals who tried their damnedest to enlighten me as to how incredibly awesome it would be if I would just let them trim my hair. And, of course, take "before and after" pictures. And film it.
They would put it in the yearbook. Hell, they'd put footage of the trimming in the yearvideo which is being made alongside the book. They would, essentially, do anything to get me to trim my hair. Why? Because, as they repeatedly insisted, it would be freakin' awesome.
I heard again the "if you don't like it, you can just grow it out again" shtick. People seem highly surprised when I inform that yeah, it would indeed grow out again. In six years.
I've decided to start pushing the democratic method, and encouraged them to go around and pick up votes from everyone at school as to whether I should keep my hair long or cut it short (this latest group was at least willing to let me have a couple inches, which is essentially the "'shag me' shag". A length which can net you looks from the girls like no other. It is also an incredibly annoying length, as it is PERMANENTLY stuck in your eyes).
If they do decide to start gathering the tally, I'm going to hope that there are more long-minded people around here than short-sighted. If the sheet shows a strong majority on the short-hair side, I will give a moving speech about how they gathered the votes from all the people who do not know me, do not care about me, and will not have their opinions changed of me if I cut my hair short. I will state that I am a human being, not just a doll that they can play dress up with and then cast aside once I've gained the same style as the other dozen.
Or, then again, maybe I'll let them trim me. After all, it is my decision. And heck, 24 is a great age to have long hair. Manage to get a few years in before it's written off to mid-life crisis.
I think that's what I had to say... I'd just like to comment that I think it's funny how many people are more interested in my hair than they are me.
Think I'll head back down again. I was having a conversation about my hair possibilities with one girl when we were interrupted by the coming of kveldsmat. She said we would continue later on, and I think she's probably hunting for me right now.
It's such a warm feeling to be wanted... Which is nice, because it's bloody cold in here. Roomie left the window open after cleaning today, so we've had an open portal to the frozen realm for half the day. It'd probably be snowing in here if he hadn't also left the heater on.
90% of the heat went out the window, of course. His logic defies my comprehension from time to time.
-
He was combating global freezing...
-
And here we are brought to another Tuesday. The plan was to have one of the other groups show bloopers from their film project as part of morning collective, but then the social teacher said that she had been contacted by a couple guys from the music technology section of the Rose Bruford college in London, who were making their way around Norwegian schools to see if anyone might be interested. They would use the morning collective period to say a few words about the school, so the blooper showing was called off to accommodate for the demonstration.
Well, as it turns out, they were held up and wouldn't be arriving at the school until later. As such, morning collective was decidedly shorter than it tends to be.
Anyways, after collective, I went back to my room to chill for a while, since I had a little over an hour before minichoir was set to start. When I went over to the main building, I saw the guys sitting around in the lobby. One of them had picked up the screwed-up acoustic and was doing a pretty impressive job of making it actually sound good.
I started chatting them with a bit, talking about guitars and music and whatnot. While we were talking, the music room was unlocked and the class started to file in. I wasn't that concerned about it, since I had read an announcement that the minichoir teacher was in sick that day, so we were supposed to just practice on our own.
Considering the usual effectiveness of such a setup, I figured it wouldn't be hurting productivity too much if I showed the Brits (one of them was actually a student from Norway who had gone to the school. Apparently, they were checking out Norwegian schools because they had had a lot of luck with guys like him) around the music room.
Inside, I found not only the minichoir class, but also the school's vice-principal, who was giving the class the details regarding their current teacherless situation.
After a quick introduction, the Bruford Boys asked a bit about the school and talked a little bit about their own academic facilities. Then, in order to let the class commence, they decided to excuse themselves. I offered to show them around a bit more, particularly the sound recording studio which had been mentioned during the little chat inside the music room.
And with that, I proceeded on a little tour down to the studio, pointing out various items of interest along the way.
When we got down to the studio, we decided to have a little jam. I won't say that my performance was particularly great, but the one guy had been hankering for a jam for so long that he didn't seem to care.
They wondered if they could check out the actual sound tweaking room, which is normally kept locked. I set off to find someone who could open the thing, and got to show them inside. My tour abilities kinda stopped there, since I haven't the foggiest clue how to work most of the stuff in there. Luckily, they did.
Soon after that, a couple guys from one of the other classes filtered in and started talking with the Bruford Boys. Over time, more and more people ended up collecting there and ended up getting some info about the school, which was provided quite willingly. One of the students they ended up talking to had actually already applied to the school.
A few of the interested folks got to write down their contact information on a list, so that if they do decide to apply, they'll get preferential treatment due to having actually met some people from the school. I'm not particularly interested in the school (I'm more interested in the music than the technology), but I decided to put my name on the list anyways. Hell, free bonus if I opt to check it out.
After the sound room session, I showed them to the office of the social teacher (they were going to leave extra information with her, so that she could distribute it to any other students who might be interested). The tour was pretty much over, but I got to chat with them a little more, loosen them up a bit. By the time they had cleared everything that needed to be done and were getting ready to take off, it was 11:15, which is when a lot of classes let out so that the students get a little breathing time before lunch. I bid farewell to the guys, and then went back to chilling, having successfully avoided warbling my tone-mute voice in minichoir.
Man, a guy's gotta go through a lot to skip class around here...
After that came band class, which is of course great fun, but got to be a bit much for me since the group I was in was being dominated by two guys who have some music tastes that are drastically separated from mine...
The point of today's class was to work on "Imagine". Some time later, while the teacher was checking on the other group, the two guys moved the song over to the significantly more limp-wristed "Apologize" by OneRepublic.
After listening to that for a while (and following along for a little bit, which was hampered by the way one of the two would abruptly stop playing at various intervals, sometimes just to comment on how well everything was going), I stepped outside and started listening to Money on my phone. It was then that I bumped into the teacher, who promptly asked me if I wanted to play that.
I started explaining that I had just stepped outside to listen to something I liked, but the factoid that I know how to play at least part of the Money bass line slipped out instead.
So, yeah... During the sort of "afterglow" period of band class, we made a slightly pitiful attempt at Money (it's been a long time since I played that bass riff, so I ended up slipping quite a bit). The teacher said that if I worked on the bass line, he would see what he could do about the guitar work in that.
And with that, I think I may just have gotten myself into yet another delightful situation where I am expected to play a Pink Floyd song. Have I ever mentioned just how ridiculously complex Pink Floyd beats are? If we really do try playing this thing, the drummer is going to be ripping out his hair and eating it.
Which, of course, is totally worth seeing. Think I'll head down to the music room and see what I can do on that bass...
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Brain-damaged loverboy is beginning to get out of hand... Speaking of hands, he was walking back from having taken a shower (and was thus clothed only in a towel and some shorts) last night when he grabbed the posterior of a gal he passed by. She happened to be talking with a friend of hers, who had previously had her breasts groped in passing by the same guy. He seems to have escalated from just ogling since the last boozefest...
I will admit though, the guy has some priceless expressions. I've got a picture from the hippie party that I'd like to share with y'all.
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs012.snc1/2170_2982605395502501708_2908_n.jpg)
I would like to comment that he doesn't normally look that intelligent. And yes, that's his hippie costume. He had a little band around his head at one point, but I guess he took it off.
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I'll just keep my stunned silence here.
Oh and keep writting Kagus! Sandy Fjord is one of the higlights of my day. Although I've taken to only reading it when I have time to spare.
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FINISHED. Oh, sweet smell of completion...
We've finally managed to finish off the film project. I'd say we did it last night, but that's technically not true since it was 3:00 AM today when we finished. We had to make special arrangements with the staff in order to stay in the editing room that late. It was the final crunch to get this film done before we took off for winter vacation, our final-final deadline, and we managed it. We crunched a little the night before, but we only stayed up until 11:00 then.
So, yeah. Over half the day spent staring at a screen and trying to make up scene transitions that didn't exist. While editing, we noticed something interesting. The film can essentially be summed up with three things: Fall on knees, dip to black, and slow motion.
We also noticed that when you are sleep deprived and have been working on the same damn video for twelve hours that playing that video at very high speed is incredibly entertaining. In fact, quite a few things were incredibly entertaining, including the grunt that the lead character makes when he's shot in the stomach (if you're listening for it, it sounds like he's saying "dust", which is the Norwegian equivalent of "jerk". It is, after all, highly impolite to shoot someone).
So it's finished. We even managed to slap on some rudimentary color schemes and functional rolling credits (which are actually damn hard to get, for some idiotic reason. I've grown to hate our editing program).
Uggh, I'm beat. I'm currently up at my granddad's farm, where I'll be spending winter vacation. My current agenda includes sleeping through the whole damn thing. My eyes are still burning from last night.
The film is somewhat passable. At least to someone who is sick and tired of working on it, and who hasn't had a good night's sleep in a week. We still haven't exported it to a finished moviefile yet, so it'll probably look even better (I.E. worse) when we've taken care of that.
The thing actually managed to maintain a relatively good length. 22 minutes. We were actually expecting it to be a little over half an hour.
As for the other films, well... Y'know, maybe our film really isn't that bad after all.
I hope we get to show our film after the others.
The film that Drops has been working on went from promising (idea phase), to okay (preliminary draft stage), to doubtful (filming stage), to even worse (rough clipping stage), to downright laughable (fine-clipping and editing stage) and finally to brain meltdown (after-effects stage).
Oh, speaking of which, I managed to snatch a partial copy of the script Drops wrote for the film. This script luckily never saw the light of day, as far as the actual film is concerned. But boy, did we get a kick out of it... In light of just how insane this thing is, I decided that it needed to be shared with the world. So, here it is folks, one of the more infamous excerpts from the script that should never have been, translated as faithfully as possible. All punctuation, notation and formatting is preserved as closely to how it was on the original copy (he prints everything). The following scene describes when the two main characters (Jonas and Maria) are going on their ordained rounds, where they must shut off all lights, empty the trash cans, and essentially lock the place up for the night. Jonas is played by Drops in the film. Maria is played by X. I am the janitor. The only place this scene took place was the demented happy fun land of Dropsville.
- 11. Rounds day 2
- This is what they hear:
- Crackling
- Creaking
- Footsteps
- Mumbling
- Sobbing
- Screams
- Angry voices
- Threats
- Gruesome murder
This is what they see and experience:
- Shadows that are acting strangely (stressed, angsty, scared etc)
- Blood running down a wall
- Objects that spontaneously move or fall over.
- A shadow (the janitor) grabbing a young girl (Maria) in a stranglehold
- Ghosts peeking up from a toilet or through a window.
- The students begin to feel limp, dizzy, disorientated, dehydrated and nauseaus.
- Suddenly a ghost puts out a leg in front of Maria. She trips and falls forward. A ghost grabs Jonas in a stranglehold and pinches him in the penis. The ghost also shoves him hard into a wall.
Both Jonas and Maria suddenly have their ears pinched or are punched in the stomach. They feel pain and collapse.
- Jonas gets cramps and has an epileptic seizure. Maria begins to vomit.
- Their skin goes dry, they feel lethargic and their eyes begin to burn. They are weak and notice that their bodies are becoming paralyzed. They understand that they must get out quickly before they are incapable of moving a millimeter. Then the ghosts would most likely beat them up. The problem is that the ghosts have encircled them and are proceeding to hem them in.
- While Jonas and Maria lie helpless and petrified on the ground they see that more shadows are closing in on them.
All the shadows laugh at them derogatorily. They have all manner of murderous items. Knives, axes, pitchforks and rifles.
The ground they are lying on begins to get colder. Jonas and Maria begin to shiver violently.
They eventually get cold damage. Almost frostburns. They also notice that they are having trouble breathing and that their voices are hoarse. Suddenly it gets very warm. Then it gets even harder for Jonas and Maria to breathe. They also notice an intense itching and burning sensation over their entire bodies. They suddenly get amnesia and ask each other why they are where they are.
Eventually Jonas gets a serious stomachache. Maria begins to have a headache and goes into hysterics. Jonas shivers from fear.
Suddenly the ghosts disappear. Jonas and Maria fall asleep for a couple minutes and wake up whole and healthy without remembering a thing.
--END TRANSMISSION FROM DROPSVILLE--
So, that was fun. Yes, he really wrote all that. Yes, he was being completely serious. I have no idea what goes on in the weird little head of his, and I would prefer that things stay that way.
Stunned silence perfectly acceptable. I don't know if there really is anything that can be said about this.
In other news, a pretty girl was stealing glances at me on the train ride. Whee. I shall use this mildly pleasant thought to cleanse my mind of the poison that is Drops.
Ahh, vacation... Sleep, eat, work on secret project that may or may not go anywhere, and update Facebook profile far more often than needed. Such is life when you're driven by corrupt intentions.
With so much talk about Drops, I feel almost inclined to include a picture of him, too. There's not really anything in the picture to show the infernally-enhanced stupidity or the deranged state of his cognitive functions, but you can at least see that he has no idea what a hippie looks like.
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2314/148/102/518755358/n518755358_2571623_4910.jpg)
Yes, that's his costume. Now, to show you how it's really done, here's my costume:
(http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2314/148/102/518755358/n518755358_2571606_6436.jpg)
I know I look pretty creepy, but that's actually progress for me.
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Okay, forgot a couple things. First of all, since our last day of work was Thursday, we had our secondary teacher. He gathered everybody together up in the classroom, and started talking about what the class agenda was after winter vacation, when we're going to have the film night, and what the arrangement was with the Clothing class, regarding their elevkveld.
He had told us about what we were going to do after winter vacation last time, we didn't give a damn about laying down an absolute date for the film night, and we knew more about the arrangement with Clothing than he did. That didn't stop him talking about it, even when we made it quite clear that we did remember our agreement with Clothing, we had spoken with them about what our role was to be, and we weren't all flopping into it without a plan and reducing efficiency. He just kept telling us what we already knew, and what was not at all important enough to take priority over the final film editing that we were going to do that day. We could just have taken it up after vacation, when it would actually have some bearing.
We had spoken with some representatives of Clothing several weeks before, and had talked about some of the potential things that we would be involved in. There was a solo act involving one of the other class members, and he was going to talk with them again on that Thursday to act as our own representative, and just discuss some of the other possibilities.
This was brought up when the teacher suggested that we might want to talk with Clothing class at some time, to talk about some of the potential things they might need us for. Again, even though we already said that that's what we had done, he had gathered up so much momentum that he just had to say it a couple more times.
Then he stopped the guy from going off and doing just that by trying to get ideas from the rest of the class regarding the elevkveld, so that we could tell them to the rep and he could forward them to Clothing.
Not only was this against the agreement (we were going to help Clothing carry out their ideas, not try and take over the show with our own stuff) and repetitive, it was also counter-productive. We had already spent half an hour talking about stuff that could just have easily been taken up after the vacation period, and we were steadily losing our last hours of editing time before vacation (a deadline that was, as most other deadlines, strongly enforced by the teacher that was currently making it harder).
By this point I had started getting a bit annoyed at being kept around doing nothing when I could have been finishing off the film. So, not long into the silence following the teacher's request for elevkveld ideas, I spoke up.
"Hey, I have an idea! How about we go down and work on our film, and you can talk with the other guys? Because we actually have a lot that needs to be taken care of".
Well, that broke his momentum. Shortly after that, the groups that needed to work on their projects were released, and only the group that had long since completed their project were kept behind.
But not before he reminded us to spend some time thinking about possibilities for the TV broadcast we're going to have after winter vacation. Like we've got time to think about that.
I really have no idea how long he would have kept us in there, but I know that it was time I didn't want to give up. Plus it just felt really, really good to speak out so openly against an authority figure. I don't give my respect freely, people have to earn it. And he wasn't doing a very good job of that.
Oh yeah, one last thing. On the last day, morning collective was held not by Film and TV, but by the members of the Blues group in band class (except the drummer, who has been spending his time in my class. But they kind of had to use him, since the Blues drummer couldn't keep a beat to save his life). They had an on-stage Blues jam for our pleasure.
At 8:30 AM on a cold winter's morning. And one of the guitarists hadn't tuned his guitar before the show.
Let's just say that being tired, having cold fingers, performing in front of the whole school, having an out-of-tune guitar and not getting a chance to warm up your playing abilities beforehand will not lend themselves to a stellar performance. The bassist and the drummer were really the only guys who were awake enough to do anything.
Still though, considering the circumstances, it wasn't bad. Certainly one of the more interesting collectives we've had in a while.
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Okay, so my granddad has a demented dog. The thing has been ecstatically been trying to defy the laws of physics and get his matter to occupy the same location as my matter ever since I got here, and has thus been spending a lot of time snoozing on the couch I'm using as an office chair.
I recently just left to grab some breakfast/lunch, and I think he sneezed on my keyboard while I was gone. When I came back there was a semi-solid glob of "something" sitting on the casing...
Luckily, it was easy enough to remove. However, it bounced in a most disconcerting manner...
Of course, that dog's head is so filled with crazy it's not surprising that whatever comes out of it must be unusual as well. You know how some animals will sit and stare at a TV screen and watch the animals that are running around in there? Well, this dog does it when the set is turned off.
He'll sit there for hours. I really wonder what -if anything- is going through his head.
He's also been trying to lie down on the computer whenever he feels he's not getting enough attention. This would be relatively unimpressive behaviour for something like a Chihuahua, but this bruiser's a Drahthaar.
So, uh, yeah... What did you expect, content? I'm on vacation.
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Well, I'm back. Apparently, it's now my turn as slave for the week. Clean up after each meal, take out the trash, restock the plates and cups, and go around school shutting things down for the night.
Mind you, it's really not that bad. The kitchen staff is a blast to work with, and the stuff they put us up to isn't all that demanding. The rounds are relatively easy too, just go around locking doors and turning off lights and jam your foot in the occasional trash can to mash the contents down into a smaller-looking pile so you don't have to take it out just then.
And I get to do all this while travelling around with a couple relatively nice gals, and playing Scorpions, Aerosmith and Led Zeppelin off my phone to ward off the downright creepy silence of making the rounds (mind you, I get a kick out of creepy stuff. However, I am highly courteous, and would never allow two young damsels to get creeped out just for my pleasure. ... Well, alright, maybe just a little...).
Only unfortunate aspect of this is that I seem to have lost my keys somewhere along the line.
Got a package of Inka Corn shipped over from stateside. I've managed to get a couple folks snagged on it, and I've been handing out some bags to set the hook even more firmly. With any luck, I'll be able to control them utterly through the use of my addictive corn snacks... MUAHAHAHA!
Only problem is, I've only got six bags left now, and I'm hooked too. Should start charging to fund my own habit.
Class today was mildly dreadful. We had our secondary teacher today, since he switched some days around with the primary teacher. Focus was centered on the films, and on showing them to the rest of the class so that those who hadn't been involved could give their thoughts. First up was the five-minute film, which I think everyone had already seen.
Time to talk about it. Or, rather, time for teacher to talk about it.
...
Good lord, has he really been talking about the possible morals, hidden meanings and advanced narrative techniques in a plotless five-minute gore flick for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES? Egad.
Anyways, next up was our film. Coming back to look at your own work after a long period is one thing. Coming back after a long period and looking at work you completed at 3:00AM is another. Coming back, converting something you completed at 3:00AM into a workable video file (which makes it look even worse) and then playing it using the notorious Windows Media Player coupled with an evil sound system which delights in screwing everything up is something completely different.
Luckily, when it was finished we only had eight minutes before class ended so he didn't get a chance to talk our ears off again. And, we had an entertaining question and answer session with the other classmates (including one guy who saw a chronological error that we had joked about throughout the editing process because it was so dreadfully obscure and difficult to notice that it was hardly worth mentioning)
Un-luckily, we're going to be continuing tomorrow right where we (he) left off. However, we've got one more film to see... One that I am very, very keen to hear his comments on.
Also, the planned screening of these features is tomorrow at 8:00. Should be fun, showing something that you are NOT proud of to 90+ people. We need to work out what we're going to say beforehand...
We also had a little prescreening yesterday. Things didn't go as well as might have been hoped. Of the three people who were brought in, one left without saying anything and another came back later (after the screening) to ask if we had finished it yet.
But I wasn't there to witness that. I was mopping the dining hall floor. And dammit, I was proud.
On a completely unrelated note, someone found a creepy gas mask around here and used it to scare the daylights out of a gal who was stepping out of the shower. Later, I got to try it on.
Naturally, I had to go and put on some other things as well. A few moments later, I'm decked out in my black leather trenchcoat, black leather gloves, black fedora and black CIA boots. The main point of contrast was the pale gray of the rubber gas mask. Seriously freaky, if I must say so myself.
Unfortunately, the mask is completely ass-backwards. The valves are reversed, so you breathe in through the unfiltered side and then filter your exhalations. Really useful.
Also, there was no one around to show my costume to. I'd even managed to acquire a black-and-silver cane to add to the effect... Ah well, always another night.
Gas masks make awesome noises when you scream psychotically through them. At least I assume they make awesome noises, because the reactions were certainly awesome. Belching also illicits favorable reactions in others, but may cause minor suffocation depending on what you last ate.
I am seriously tired right now... Have been all day. I had intended to go to bed as soon as possible, but now it's quarter to 2 and I'm blathering this nonsense instead of sleeping. Good night.
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What happens to Sandy Fjord when the school ends? If it ceases to exist, I'm going to miss it as it's always great fun to read.
I felt the need to comment as I noticed the comment to blog-post ratio at the start of the thread and your nights spent without adequate sleeping. Let's just admit that we're afraid to comment as our posts are bound to be absolutely inferior to yours, Kagus.
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Well, yes, Sandy Fjord will most likely be finished when the school ends. I may decide to resurrect it when it comes time for my turn as visitor in the "last year" party event, but that's gonna be it. Same as how the India thread strangely stopped updating after I left India.
But the future will likely hold other opportunities for me to rant late into the night about. I will probably go to some establishment of even higher education after Skiringssal, and due to the increased stress levels of a "real" school, I'll have even more interesting stuff to say and even less time to say it. Woohoo.
Speaking of he future, a rather amazing opportunity has been plopped on our doorstep... NRK, the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation, is holding a comedy competition. We, the fine students of this fine establishment, have been finely invited to join in with our own fine material. Fine.
This would just be cool, but the prize is beyond belief.
Winner gets their own program.
Right here is the opportunity of a lifetime. And it was on a piece of paper that was just lying on top of a stack of college magazines that nobody ever reads. It had a little note on it that said "HANG THIS UP!", but that obviously hadn't happened.
If we manage this, and I honestly think we've got a shot at it, that pretty much does it. The chances are certainly not favorable enough to count on, but hell... If we somehow pull it off, we're set.
If not, oh well. I'll probably find something else to do. I can learn how to do those full-body painted costumes. And forget to bring the brushes, naturally.
Yeah. Don't know what I'd be willing to do, really... I know! I'll be a writer!
Only problem with that is that it means I wouldn't be doing any other stuff interesting enough to write about. There's only so far you can go with describing just how terrible your grandfather's dog smells. After that, you're reduced to posting pictures of cats, and then you've just degenerated into the lowest form of self-expression; The Net Blog.
But that's much too far into the future to think about. I mean, hell, I've still got a couple weeks of my life left before I have to get on with living it! Speaking of which, Film class just got back from talking with Clothing about the upcoming elevkveld.
I'm going to be Jesus.
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Okay... Tonight was film night for us dudes in F&TV, where we got to show off all our poorly-made amateur shorties to the rest of the school.
First up was the five-minute wonder, with its utter lack of plot and acting talent. This was actually a good start, because it was easy to watch (no complicated storyline to figure out), was edited professionally and was just downright stylish. Much enjoyment ensued.
Then we went up. We introduced the film, mentioned that there was no dialog in the film, that we didn't have enough time to make it the way we wanted and just gave a little background on the basic premise.
The silence in the film was matched by the silence in the audience during the screening. This was at first just because we had caught their attention, but later on it seemed like it was due to a lack of things happening.
The player also decided that our film was the only one that needed to have its transitions f*ed up, so much fun was had cursing at the thing for ruining the already fragile atmosphere of the film. The spook scenes, however, remained intact. This did not make them elicit any greater response from the audience, however.
And finally, it was over. We received applause, and we went in front of everyone to answer some questions and say a few words. It was actually alright, managed to sneak in a few appreciatively humorous comments in the las segment, and the applause sounded at least somewhat heartfelt.
Lastly, the Drops movie. We had been waiting all evening to hear what the response was to this truly horrific production.
Well, we heard it. The very first spook scene (which, compared to the rest of the film, is actually well done) caused a massive screech to rise from the assembled. The second, which was a transparent me popping up from behind a wall (accompanied by a truly grating violin screech that is so dreadfully cliché that I can't help but wonder why anyone could possibly imagine using it) pulled forth yet another scream. The third, which was a repeat of the second, got them again.
And it continued on like this, with roars of laughter followed by howls of terror. All the way to the end, which received a cacophony of applause from the assembled.
This film, which is the epitome of "Teen Horror" films, somehow managed to supremely entertain the collection of, well, teens. How strange. Much as I am unsatisfied with our own film, I still think it's better than that debacle. And I bloody well made it, so that means I know (and see, each time) every damned shortcoming that the film possesses. I see the editing mistakes, the continuity errors, the chronological goofs, the acting failures, the camera movement that looks like it's being handled by someone with cerebral palsy, the poor transitions, and all the other delightful subjects in the court of pain that is our movie. And I still think it's better than theirs.
But, hey, why not. Let the last glory go to the group with the asylum reject. Let them control the excited discussions and the taglines supplanted firmly in the memory of those who watched. Let them have their pedestal of worship.
I have succeeded in scaring the entire, damn, school. I am an icon of terror. My soulless stare has chilled the hearts of all those who dared glance at it, and my shadowy exploits have caused those who witnessed them to look over their shoulder every so often as they walk down the corridors of this school, just to clear the suspicion that I am there, watching them, following them, counting the last moments of their lives...
In other words, my lack of acting ability was apparently not noticed. Cheers.
I still haven't found my damn keys yet, though...
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Friday today, which means philosophy. Started out by having a little explanation of drama and dramatics, and we were then supposed to group up in twos and try and tell each other the beginning of something in such a way that they would get interested and want to hear more. Didn't have to tell all of it (in fact, it was recommended against) and it didn't have to be truthful.
I figured this would be a piece of cake. But after a remarkably lackluster start phase (as most of our philo assignments tend to go...), my partner took off to take a phone call and I was left playing a guitar I had brought up with me. Everyone else was busy recounting stories in one group.
When the time ran out and the teach returned, he began asking people how they had started their tales.
After going one-by-one down the line, he ended up with me. I hadn't been talking with anyone, and since he had just heard about how the phone conversation went with my partner, he knew it. He mentioned that I didn't tell any story, and was about to move on.
That's when I said "actually, I started off a little like this" and then started playing what I had been doing on the guitar. Hey, I'm sleep-deprived. I thought it was funny.
Well, the thing I played sounded a little exotic, and was actually pretty interesting. He commented on how it sounded like Flamenco, and how Flamenco generally follows pretty much the same pattern as I was playing (intro, slower period, intro repeated with more energy, so forth) in order to tell a story. So, since I had started "telling a story" in a fashion that got people interested in hearing how the rest of it goes, I had completed the assignment.
Man, guitars fix everything.
After that, we watched the Drops film. The philo teach had heard a bit about it since he had subbed as Film teacher back when it was being made. He had made several assumptions about the film, and seemed to have relatively high expectations for it. He was using it as an example of standard film storytelling techniques, which is why it popped up in class (to illustrate some more dramaturgy).
Well, we watched the whole bleedin' thing, now didn't we? I think the teacher was slightly shellshocked afterwards... I think he was expecting the latter half of "so bad it's good", instead of the whole package.
Anyways, while watching, I thought again about how it'd be kinda nifty if the story told in this movie actually happened (at least in some degree) previously at the school. I'm pretty sure the only reason I thought this is because it was the only film that actually took place at Skiringssal...
Well, after the viewing, the teach stood up and started discussing the film with us. What was nice was that he sounded more like a viewer than a teacher, and could thus more effectively speak with us instead of at us. Probably a side effect of finally figuring out what the film was actually like. There was really no reason for saying that. I'm tired.
Anyways, after some smalltalk about getting spooked and how scary I am (not was, am), the teach jokingly said how he probably shouldn't tell us the real story about the janitor.
Speaking of how to start a story and get people interested...
Turns out, something did happen here a long time ago. I don't know exactly how close the story is to the one depicted in the film, or if there is any relation at all, but still... Saying that there was indeed a "true story" about the janitor got everyone on their toes. He semi-promised to bring along the VHS with the interview telling the story sometime. I eagerly await that moment.
Well, that's pretty much that. Not a whole lot happened today otherwise. During the evening lockup rounds, I showed the script written by Drops to my two week-slave companions (always three to a week). I delighted in showing off the madness inherent in the system.
Also, I took a trip down into one of the basements in order to shut off a couple lights. The reason *I* went down there was because the two gals accompanying me refused to go down there. "Too creepy".
Admittedly, the place is pretty freaky. That's why it was used in the film (and on Halloween). I don't think the added spook-factor the film provided made anybody more intent on going down there, even if the "scary ghost" happened to be doing your job along with you while wearing a "Kiss me; I'm three-fifths Irish" t-shirt and holding a couple trash bags. Ooh I'm shakin', I'm shakin'.
Anyways, turns out the light switch wasn't even IN the basement. I was just wandering around in there for nothing.
On the upside, I actually find such spook places invigorating. Guess I just feel at home.
Well, Saturday tomorrow. But is it a free day for me? Hell no. I've still got the same duties as the other days, plus a seminar after breakfast (again, the term "seminar" is used very lightly. It's a Texas Hold'Em mini-tournament. I expect to lose all my money in the first round), and quite possibly some elevkveld work after that. Same deal for Sunday, except no seminar.
Ah well... No rest for the wicked.
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Actually, I may end up getting to sleep in on Sunday after all. The kitchen staff are nice enough that they're willing to do all the jobs themselves on Sunday so that WE get a break. Sweet deal.
And since a lot of the gals from Clothing have got the seminar on Sunday, it's been decided to meet up after the seminar and just do everything then.
Means I get to sleep 'til the end of the seminar.
Anyways, poker tournament today. I didn't lose it all in the first round, but the second one took my chips quickly enough (well, two hours). Still though, that means I was second place in the finals.
Yes, "Mr. Las Vegas" lost at poker. Imagine that.
Still though, since I won at my first table, I do get a small prize. Don't know what it is yet. Probably candy of some sort...
Not bad for a first time though. Never played a real Hold'Em game before. My only experience has been online, where I lose every time.
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Had a little talk about what we were going to do for the broadcast, and I ended up working with my old partner-in-crime, the one I made that mildly dreadful "ten minute" film with. We decided to make an insane music video based on an equally insane song ("Lie To Me" by Tom Waits). The result was fun to film, fun to edit, fun to watch, and was completed in a day.
I'd say we're a hell of a lot better at comedy than drama.
As a side not, we were chatting last night and he started telling me about a film idea he and a buddy of his had thought up a long time ago, and were planning to get official funding for so that they could make it into the real deal. It was a completely original film idea that they had come up with, and he was very proud of it.
He then began to outline the synopsis of "He Was A Quiet Man" (2007), starring Christian Slater.
The news of his idea's contested originality was met with a less than joyous response.
Anyways, the big deal is something my roommate just informed me of (and, of course, he wasn't the first one I heard it from. Word travels fast between the people who have no business talking about it), namely that he had talked with the social director here at school and had arranged for a single room.
This means, regardless of where he goes, I get a room to myself. As in, without him. Or anyone else.
I feel the desire to put on some loud music, rip off my clothes and dance around while bellowing excitedly. However, I have deemed it prudent to only do so after he's left the room.
Now I just have to figure out where I want to go. The open room is in the other housing block, and it's my choice if I want to stay in this room or move to the new one.
Although there are some very nice things associated with this block, I think I'm going to have to choose the new room... The reason being that the sink in here is STILL clogged. Utterly.
Don't know... Gonna chat with a couple other folks to see if they have any opinions.
In other news, I'm officially off week-slave duties. Woohoo!
I do feel kinda sorry for the kitchen staff though... Due to the setup, they went from having me (a guy who, although inexperienced, takes pride in his work and tries to do things in the most efficient manner possible. Also very willing to help others and make things go as smoothly as possible) to Drops (... Yeah). I have yet to hear how many times the various tasks need to be explained to him, and I'm still waiting to see a fork show up in the spoon basket.
He's also remarkably lazy and brutally stubborn. Whee.
So that's that. I need to give an answer as to where I'm going by end of today, but that shouldn't be so big a deal.
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Picked the new spot. The sink works. Awesome.
Y'know, you really have no idea how much useless junk you have until you try to move it from one place to another... I've got a box of Kransekake (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kransekake) that's been sitting around for a while (I've got loads of the stuff, and I don't spend a whole lot of time eating it by myself).
Opening it up, I discovered that it had taken on the aroma of skunk droppings. Figuring it was just something weird with the plastic box it was in, I sampled a piece.
Although that experience was not entirely unpleasant, the clove aftertaste was a bit disturbing as I don't believe the recipe includes cloves. Hmm.
Anyways, I've shoved all my junk (and some other junk that happened to be in the right place at the right time, and got to come along even though I don't explicitly own it) into the room and set up my bed. There are a couple minor things with this room that aren't fully appreciable, but overall it's great. It's bigger than the old room, I don't have to share it with anyone, it's got better light fixtures, I don't have to share it with anyone, there's a desk, and I don't even have to share the room with anyone! Neat.
As promised, I ceremonially confirmed the room by putting on some music and dancing around stark raving naked. However, seeing as it was half past midnight, I decided to leave the excited bellows for another time.
I've still got to unpack, as all my things are still in the bags I brought them over in. I might find some time to do that in the future.
That's negligible, however. More importantly, I have not one but THREE chairs! I'm even sitting in one of them right now. It's awesome.
Also, DOUBLE BED FUCK YEAH. Only problem is that the mattress is missing from one of them... Also, my bedding is wildly mismatched, so if I were to suit up a second mattress next to the one I'm using now it would most likely confirm the suspicions of schizophrenia surrounding me.
Now that I've got a room to myself, there's nothing preventing me from inviting over a few, shall we say, "feminine" guests... Heh heh heh h-
Ooh, buzzkill thought... Ditto for my ex-roommate. Hmm.
However, considering he's about as observant as your average sea cucumber, I somehow doubt he'll be playing the market too expertly.
But then again, considering I'm about as observant as an above-average sea cucumber, I don't expect much more from my side of things.
So, yeah. That's life as it is when you're a crazy person. Speaking of crazy, I've taken a peek at the sketches being cooked up by one of the other groups. It includes ninjas, Batman, snowballs, a Beastie Boys song, an abandoned burger that has grown up to be a small furry mammal, and a compilation of random stunts that are simply too far out there to adequately explain. Loads of fun. And I've never seen Batman look so good.
Think I might end up missing the big housing complex... But I'm pretty sure I made the right choice.
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Well, the school was visited by some famous dancing/acting woman whose name I apparently can't remember. I thought the name was Larene Vardell or something, but neither Google nor Wikipedia seem to have any idea what I'm talking about. She appeared on the Muppet Show, and had a show of her own for some time. Being from California, she didn't speak a word of Norwegian.
She was visiting the theater class in order to talk with them a bit, give them some pointers on dancing and pantomime, and a few other things. I really don't know the details.
Anyways, I ended up "meeting" her face-to-face at lunchtime when she as asking what the rice pudding was. All I noticed was an English-speaking person asking one of the theater students about the food. He was having a little trouble finding the right word to describe it, so I decided to step in with one of my expertly worded presentations.
"It's rice pudding... -ish... Thing. I recommend the soup"
It was only later that I found out she was very famous. How impressive. She's also very old, apparently. Now that actually is impressive, because she really doesn't look it. Amazing what an active lifestyle can do to keep a person going.
Found out about it all at morning collective, where it was also announced that next Thursday the school will be visited by a psychologist/psychotherapist/psycho, who apparently has a lot of experience working with folks our age (our age... 18-27?), and has been coming here just about every year.
Uh oh... Somebody hide me. I am *not* going back...
*Ahem*... Obligatory asylum joke aside, it should be fun. Don't know if I'll be here though, as F&TV is taking off for a two-day trip in to Oslo on Wednesday so that we can look at cameras and stuff.
Work went really slowly today... The five people who actually got out of bed were hampered by the secondary teacher telling them to stop working on their projects and write up an overview of what they're doing, along with a plan for what they're going to be doing, so that they don't have to go and ask him what they're doing.
His logic fails me from time to time.
Just came back from a practice session with Clothing. About time we got into it, since none of us are dancers and we need to be ready by Saturday evening.
Which reminds me, we need to finish their films by Saturday evening... And after about a week and a half of work, we're halfway through. Doesn't really help having teach hanging over our shoulders and telling us to work on our own projects at the same time, so that everything's ready for the TV broadcast. Which is in five weeks.
Gonna have to ignore him on that one. That, and when he told me to write up an overview of all the stuff we've produced for the broadcast, all the stuff we're going to be working on, and the progress/length of each project.
On the huge whiteboard.
In the editing room.
Which isn't locked or restricted in any way.
But enough about that. I want to talk about something happy. Like, for instance, the obligatory seminar on Saturday, which will prevent me from sleeping in. Or the other seminar on Sunday, which will again prevent me from sleeping in. Or the LARP double seminar next week, which claims both weekend mornings yet again.
Speaking of which, that's gonna be nasty... First time I've ever been involved in an official LARP thingy, and we're going to be playing double roles.
That is to say, we're pretending to be someone pretending to be someone else. And, knowing my penchant for perfectionism, I'm going to be stressing like hell to make sure I'm as deep in character as possible. Whee.
Oh yeah, that reminds me, got to watch the "real" story of the Janitor. But that's a story that has to wait for another time, since one of the gals from Clothing just put one the pressure to get me working on those half-finished films I mentioned earlier. Cheers.
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Well, the school was visited by some famous dancing/acting woman whose name I apparently can't remember. I thought the name was Larene Vardell or something, but neither Google nor Wikipedia seem to have any idea what I'm talking about. She appeared on the Muppet Show, and had a show of her own for some time. Being from California, she didn't speak a word of Norwegian.
Karen Prell (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0695891/), perhaps?
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Nope. Her first name was definitely Larene or Laureen or something to that effect. I apparently just don't remember how it was spelled.
And besides, she was more famous-er than Red Fraggle.
It is currently 2:04 in the morning. I've been practicing a couple dance numbers and editing films. The practice sessions are tons of fun, and the content isn't generally that difficult to grasp. The editing is editing, combined with amateur footage that is dreadfully hard to clip together. That, and I have to put together a couple scenes with music that got completely F*ed up in the recording process. I've done all I can do for tonight, as I need to get those songs before continuing.
Goddamn... Film and TV: the art of slacking off until a day or so before due date, and then staying up all night editing. Booyeah.
And to think I was silly enough to think I could go to bed at 7:30 today... Ha.
To top everything off, WinAmp is being a bastard and smearing molasses on my Aerosmith. I do not want molasses on my Aerosmith, thank you very much.
I am really, really tired. I think it's beginning to show. There is honestly no sane reason we should be allowed to have creative editing duties at this hour, the product is, has been, and will always be regrettable.
For example, I decided the best method to clip a particular aerobics scene (set to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen) was to include an unintended clip which turns a relatively harmless lyric into a heavy drug reference.
The problem is that no other clips really work in that space.
Storytime will have to wait. Haven't got the strength to tell you about the ancient school video we got to see, nor can I do much of anything to describe the eccentric dude who told us ghost stories (quite professionally, I might add).
EDIT: I don't think I have any plain white T-shirts... This is actually unfortunate, not to mention relevant.
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Lorene Yarnell. That's the one. As you can see, my memory works exceptionally well after five hours of sleep.
Anyways, Thursday. We got to watch a movie made several years ago here at the school which incorporated elements of the "real" janitor story. Unfortunately, there's not that much of a connection... That janitor simply burned alive, while the current janitor story included themes of unrequited love, tragic accidental murder, and exceptionally bad dialog.
However, the film was actually rather impressive (for us film-schooled folks who know what to look for), especially considering that it was made the old-fashioned way. That is to say, snip-snip-snip with scissors x200, then tie it together with really really tiny thread. I don't think I could ever bring myself to edit a film without the programs we have now... Even if Premiere has a habit of nuking your project in some way.
The movie was a fictional piece, but it was "based on true events". Just like a real movie.
After that, the lights were turned down and several candles were lit. From the shadows emerged a dark, gaunt man wearing the garb of a privileged man. He looked to be a man with several secrets, which he obviously took pleasure in teasing us with as he spun his tales of morbid deeds and the eternal fight of light against dark.
The guy was a damn professional. He carried an air of theatrical performance that simply oozed out of his very being. He didn't do anything silly during his storytelling, like pull a face and jump at the audience while shouting "Boo!", but damn did he spook them. He would build everyone's tension and weave them into his story before suddenly changing his tone and mannerism. All he was doing was telling the story, the shock parts were where he was embodying the tense or scared feelings of the victim in his tale, or simply explaining something quickly.
Nothing scary about that. But he did it right. He got people ready to jump, made them want to jump, and then simply gave them an excuse. Damn professional.
Unfortunately, I was too busy observing how well he was performing to actually get swept up. The only time I jumped during that entire evening was when my foot slipped during the movie and I hit a button which turned on a bright light right in front of me. Luckily, I managed to spook a few other people along with me.
Very moving performance. After all the entertainment was done away with, we gathered together again to get a status update on the LARP seminar which will be taking place next week. Turns out storyteller man is the one presiding over most of the affair, as he has done at several other LARP occasions.
Oh, speaking of which, I need to write an email to him... I haven't received a role yet, as I didn't get to talk with anyone that night... Damn, I wonder how this thing is going to turn out. Never been to one before, and we're getting double-layered roles. I'm already schizo enough as it is, dammit!
... But all depending on the role, that might just be a benefit.
Anyways, we got to watch a low-budget (but rather well-known) Norwegian film today. Guess who was playing a supporting role as a an aspiring narcoleptic actor? Storyteller LARP man.
Turns out he actually went to Skiringssal. What major? Why, Drawing and Painting, of course.
Same as the star.
Look, the brochure just says it will open up more possibilities for you after taking a year here... Never said that they'll have anything to do with your chosen major.
Did a load of laundry today, as I need a (preferably clean) hoodie for the performance tomorrow. However, since this building has only one functional washing machine, I put my stuff in the other building. This means I need a key to put in or take out laundry. Three points to the person who figures out what the problem is.
So, yeah, all my clothes are locked away on the other side of campus. And, unless someone else has done it, they're still sitting in the damp 'n' cozy washing machine. All clumped together.
Did I mention that sweatshirts take a ridiculously long time to dry out?
Oh well. I'll just have to remember to set them out tomorrow. At least I can sleep for a couple more hours tonight... Yay.
Not much stress regarding the upcoming performance. We're still a bit hazy on the "coordinated" part of the coordinated dance scenes, but that tends to just add to the enjoyment. Plus, all the films are done, finished, and packed up with a pretty little bow. They even work, which is an added bonus.
And yes, the drug scene is still in there. Managed to get a good chuckle out of the people who understood the joke.
Both of them.
I was ridiculously tired at eveningbreakfast today... Could barely bring myself to eat one slice of bread. Well, I naturally payed for it later by getting hunger pangs right before we declared the evening's elevkveld "test run" a success and started leaving.
No other food being served, so I did the only reasonable alternative. Went back to my room and ate kransekake (the fresh-ish ones) and inka corn. Yummy.
Had a discussion with the Brit about the theoretical Balance of Nature. Damn it's fun to argue with him, it's like talking with a parrot that just keeps turning up the volume and urgency. The guy has absolutely no idea how to ease someone into a different opinion, and he didn't even listen to what I was saying because it didn't sound like "Yes, I completely and utterly agree with everything you just said!" or "Whoah, awesome.", which are his two acceptable responses.
When I broke off the futile thing in order to get something done, he got seriously pissed. He growled "Fine. Have fun" at me before grunting loudly in exasperation and storming off. Poor chap... Entirely too easy to get worked up. But, like I said, lots of fun.
I think he's still mad at me, actually. Quite impressive, seeing as how I even said that I wasn't trying to fight his position, I just have a bad association with one of the arguments he used due to the way a lot of people use it.
Well, ten over eleven. Bedtime for Bonzo. G'night, y'all. Wish me luck with my roles as Jesus, a self-absorbed greaser from the fifties, and a dog.
Speaking of Jesus, my costume is a sheet with a hole in it. I feel like a pillow when wearing it. The really annoying thing about this is that there was a perfect robe in the Crappy Costume Closet earlier in the year. As you can probably tell from the way I said that, it's not there anymore. Medammit...
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Just finished reading this entire thread from page 1 to 18 in one go. Good stuff, often funny and always entertaining. I guess it might be extra interesting for me, being a norwegian myself. Getting a cahance to "see" your own country throught the eyes of non-native is always facinating.
I'm also a little surprised that I've never heard of this school. After all it seems like a pretty decent place.
I must also say I'm a little surprised by your fellow students apparent lack of competancy in english, pretty much all of my friends here in Oslo are at least capable of holding a passable dialogue in english.
Gah this post is really badly written, but hey it's 04.09 in the morning, I have the flu and I can't sleep even though I'm so tired my eyes are burning.
Anyway, keep up the good work, I'm looking foreward to your next post. (See, you've got another follower.)
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It's not so much that their English is that bad, it's just that my English confuses even native speakers more often than not. I have a tendency to use multisyllabic and archaic terms in place of "common" words. I've grown so used to speaking this way that I sometimes (particularly now, after spending so much time adapting to Norwegian) am unable to think of more understandable words to describe a thought.
That, and I don't enunciate quite as much as I should...
I've been trying to get more into speaking English with folks, just so I can get used to actually talking, but I just feel weird "pushing" them into a language they're less comfortable with.
By the way, are you aware if there was a big concert in Oslo on Friday? One of the guys from F&TV had to skip the elevkveld practice round last night because he was going to a concert in Oslo. He still hasn't come back, but we're hoping he'll be back in time to actually attend the damned thing.
So, we had a seminar today. Obligatory for the whole school. It was about Cuba.
A Norwegian gal who had been living and studying in Cuba for a while got up and talked for three hours about Cuba's history, Cuba's politics, Cuba's whatever.
Now this actually felt like a seminar. Some of the stuff was interesting, but after three hours of "condensed" info, we were all a bit tired. Especially with the thought that you forced yourself to get up early for *this*?
I did learn some things. For instance, there was a rumor that certain pizza stands would melt condoms on (I'm hoping decorative) pizzas to make them look cheesier. Also, in certain parts of Cuba, people who take a liking to you may follow you and jack off. The gal told us about a kid who was cycling alongside her as she was walking through town. One hand on the bars and one hand on the pole.
Aside from these interesting factoids, most of the stuff being described was a lot like India. The hordes of kids (and adults) who will cluster around you, the insane traffic, the less-than-pristine quality of vehicles (however, all the Indian cars I saw at least had floors in them), and a penchant for ice cream.
However, the structure of waiting lines was noticeably different. In India, people will squeeze as tightly into the person in front of them in hopes that, through some miraculous physics anomaly, they will pass right through and appear one spot ahead in line.
In Cuba, you may go to an ice cream shop and see five people standing around loosely in front of the counter, and about 20-30 people wandering around or sitting on a shady bench. All of them are waiting in line.
Because of this loose structure, it is best to ask who the last person in line is, as it's quite possibly not the one standing at the end of those five people.
But that's all for now. Gonna take a shower. Really need one. Can't actually remember the last time I took one, but that may be an indication of poor memory rather than poor hygiene. Or perhaps both.
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It's not so much that their English is that bad, it's just that my English confuses even native speakers more often than not. I have a tendency to use multisyllabic and archaic terms in place of "common" words. I've grown so used to speaking this way that I sometimes (particularly now, after spending so much time adapting to Norwegian) am unable to think of more understandable words to describe a thought.
That, and I don't enunciate quite as much as I should...
I've been trying to get more into speaking English with folks, just so I can get used to actually talking, but I just feel weird "pushing" them into a language they're less comfortable with.
By the way, are you aware if there was a big concert in Oslo on Friday? One of the guys from F&TV had to skip the elevkveld practice round last night because he was going to a concert in Oslo. He still hasn't come back, but we're hoping he'll be back in time to actually attend the damned thing.
Ah, that puts the whole english speaking deal into a bit more perspective I suppose.
And I was aware that Reel Big Fish had a concert yesterday, I found out a little late otherwise I might have gone myself. Beyond that the biggest thing playing in Oslo yesterday was apparently a famus ABBA tribute band. Hope the guy from F&T went to the former not the latter.
Oh, and I've been wondering, how exactly did you end up going to school in Sandefjord, Norway? I understand that you have some family here, but I don't think I've read any explanation beyond that (mabey I missed something).
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Yeah, I remember hearing something about Reel Big Fish.
And I ended up here because there's no such thing as a Folkhighschool. The only place you can find stuff like this is in Norway, and the life direction that would be most likely be most beneficial to me was going to a Folkehøyskole. There's no US equivalent to this kind of school.
Real shame, too. Great system.
Anyways, I supposed I should probably get around to telling you louts about how the Elevkveld went yesterday evening.
I can sum it up in one word-ish thing: Smashingly.
Dinner was quite good (the choice of food plays a remarkably big role in how well the evening works), and the costumes were either relatively easy to procure or highly creative.
Speaking of the costumes, every class was assigned a musical that they were supposed to take after in their dress (I've probably mentioned this before, but can't be arsed to go back and check). Before the evening's festivities, each class was called up to the collective room so that a full class picture could be taken of them in their costumed glory.
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2504/179/107/862440607/n862440607_6136257_4469381.jpg)
No, not Grease. We Will Rock You. The fact that we were almost coordinated in our garb is pure happenstance. I don't think any of us have actually seen We Will Rock You, so finding a costume beyond "generic rocker" was not a particularly viable option.
I believe I should mention that my shades (which I of course *had* to put on as part of the outfit) fell on the floor and went splat yet again. The glue used to fix them last time was apparently not meant to last under conditions of, y'know, use.
Since it's the frame that snapped, I can't get the other lens to stay in. Strangely enough, the one-lens look is not quite as dopey as I had expected to be. In fact, I think it just makes me look even more psycho than usual.
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2607/26/33/1532430700/n1532430700_30257505_3975680.jpg)
Yes, that is the unholy sacrilege of a mirrored photo. However, I plead mercy on account of my cellphone not even having a photo timer that I could spend time and energy on learning how to use. Plus, the photoapparatus is not included in the shot.
The mirror's actually clean, by the way. It's all the stuff that's attached itself to the mirror that's dirty.
Anyways, once the food had been dispensed with, and after a short last-minute practice and readying period, the show was totally on.
People were let into the performance hall and treated to cups filled with popcorn (again, showtime snacks play a very important role, and popcorn is highly appreciated), all while Jesus and two faithful followers stood on stage (yes, we were there the whole time people were being let in. "Just look down, and try to keep a straight face" was the personal mantra of all three). Once everyone was seated, the music started and I began my messiah-walk to the front of the stage. A rather short and undemanding performance, but hey, it works.
That kicked off the whole deal, with one musical reenactment after the other. Next up for us was when Grease rolled around, where the F&TV boys went out with slicked hair and tight white t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up. We performed in an almost coordinated fashion, and managed to pull off the whole thing quite well. People were howling when we first came out on stage, and they were applauding heavily when we went back behind the curtains.
We were allowed a brief period of rest and preparation while one of the movies was shown (the drug reference scene did not induce heavy laughter or comprehension, but I did hear a couple delayed chuckles. Not bad for something put together at that hour of the night), after which was a rather demanding scene for the Clothing gals. A reenactment of a scene from Cats.
This was a long-rehearsed production, and it went off quite well, especially considering that three of the six gals performing wanted nothing to do with being onstage. Or in front of people. At all.
Especially while wearing cat ears and a tail.
The scene, and its music, was interrupted by the Baja Men hit "Who Let the Dogs Out". When this was put on, the Film boys leapt out onto the scene with their equally ridiculous costumes (snouts made from painting paper cups and attaching an elastic band, and canvas ears and tail), whereupon they did their dog dance for all those watching. Again, entered with howls, left with applause. A good combination.
One of the true shining moments of the evening, however, was when one of the guys from F&TV went up to give the solo performance that he had specifically been picked out for long ago. A role so truly beautiful and perfect that it instills a sense of awe in those who witness it.
He had been picked out to be the Little Mermaid. He would enact an altered version of one of the scenes from that film. Here's (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K4b7o4CJDdw) the link to the YouTube video that spawned the original idea. The lyrics were later translated into Norwegian and handed off to this guy, who proceeded to rewrite the whole thing (and, frankly, with much better lyrics). He later recorded it in the sound studio.
For the performance, all he had to do was go out on stage and mime along to his own voice. Of course, an appropriate costume would be required.
(http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2607/26/33/1532430700/n1532430700_30257504_5602956.jpg)
The crab was not part of the original plan, but hell and high water if they could keep him out of it. He actually played a very strong supporting role, waddling around on stage and snapping his pincer-fingers together at rates that varied depending on the tension in the song. The chemistry was simply amazing.
There was another, tertiary role as well. At some point during the latter half of the song, John Smith, dressed as a cake, floated gracefully across the back of the stage. He later came back and acted as a full third part of the cast, dancing along with the crab in order to support the mermaid's singing and demonstrative gestures.
Yes, a cake. Why? Very good question. I will try to explain.
During the planning stages, he had requested a role as the fish. The Clothing gals said great, but find your own costume. Earlier that night, he had stealthily infiltrated the costume depository in order to find something slightly fishy to wear. He picked up what he thought was a skirt or something that would work as a set of fins, and quickly confiscated it.
Later, upon closer examination of his prize, it turned out to be a giant cake that covered him completely. Not having enough time to go looking for a new costume, he worked with what he had.
The utter absurdity of a floating cake appearing in the middle of an underwater fantasy song about sexual frustration pulled quite a few confused laughs from the audience. Hell, from the crew. We had no idea he was going to run out on stage as a cake until he did.
Naturally, being the highly professional actors that they were, the crab and mermaid acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I don't know if I would have been able to hold so straight a face if I was singing about how I wanted a vagina while a perverted crab and a giant cake danced behind me.
There was also a period where all the class pictures that had been taken earlier were shown for all to see. After that, the awards for best man, best woman, and best class were handed out. Best man was, naturally, the helper sex idol, who was clad in a cardboard box covered with aluminum foil and who had put a funnel on his head (the Tin Man, from Wizard of Oz. Just in case you didn't quite catch it). Actually not one of his worse costumes.
Some more highly appreciated dance numbers followed, along with the last of the films (I really should've tweaked the sound on one of those... The clanging pots and pans were dreadfully loud). The final film merged into the final dance number, at the end of which everyone was wished a good night.
A great success, I must say. One of the teachers complimented me by saying she never knew I was such a good dancer. Considering the movements I had enacted on the stage and the motherly, always-positive demeanor of this particular teacher, the comment was put into suspicion as to its accuracy.
However, the Jesus jokes were quite called for. Hell, I probably made most of them. Someone says "Jesus Christ!" as a statement of emphasis or a profanity, and I answer. Simple as that.
I've been working on something related to "The Second Coming", but have decided to keep my mouth shut about that.
When we were backstage and I was putting on my sheetcostume, I bent down to look into the makeup mirror and see if I had managed to successfully put on a piece of cloth. I then noticed that, with my arms spread wide and my head bent low in relation to my shoulders, I look seriously freaky when wearing that thing.
It was then that John Smith came in to grease his hair up. I turned to him, arms outstretched and head lowered, and initiated this exchange:
Me: "I AM YOUR SAVIOUR!"
Him: "Whoops"
It seemed to be the most appropriate thing he could have said in response to that.
So that was that. Today, I had a rock seminar. This was essentially just watching clips from the Monterey Pop festival and Woodstock, as well as a music quiz wherein he played some songs with some of the guys from Music, and we were supposed to list the genre of each. I was originally supposed to be part of this, providing Flamenco-ish stuff to the mix, but apparently acoustic sound was too difficult to set up properly on the stage so it got dropped.
This medley of songs, which they had roughly half an hour to practice, included the strangest rendition of "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" I have ever heard. This was due to a microphone which had been accidentally given a really nifty sound distortion, and a drummer who honestly can't play anything slower than Back In Black. Actually, I don't know if he can play that either.
This rock seminar was, naturally, presided over by the philosophy teacher. As such, I got to hear directly from him that he received my message, and that everything would be sorted out. He would just have to think up a suitable role for me.
Considering the words "American vampire from the 18th century" were mentioned, I think I'm in for one hell of a ride.
Woohoo. Every now and then I just have to sit back and laugh at all the truly insane stuff I get myself into. I hope you do too.
-
As was inevitable, pictures have started to appear. Oh dear.
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115388_591861.jpg)
Saviour says: "Heck if I know"
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115396_3401866.jpg)
Ye gods I'm skinny... And, as I'm sure you can see, I am intently focused on my hand. To the point of not noticing what the rest of my body is doing.
(http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115394_5613750.jpg)
I'm far too sexy for such trivialities as masculinity.
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115407_2679848.jpg)
Cats and Dogs.
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115417_2319961.jpg)
The diva gives his performance..
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115420_6113446.jpg)
...and is soon joined by a giant flying cake.
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2616/154/69/890575443/n890575443_6115423_1280249.jpg)
This has got to be the weirdest "happily ever after" I have ever witnessed.
-
Just got back from Oslo. Psychic resources too low to give a full report, but I will say this:
In regards to the film called "Watchmen", I must say that I really have no idea why it's called that. The film is not so much based on Watchmen, as it happens to have a few characters who share the names of certain characters in Watchmen.
For those of you who have read the masterpiece that is the true Watchmen, I warn you to stay as far away from any screening of the film erroneously titled "Watchmen" as is humanly possible.
For the people who have not read the book, feel free to go and see a relatively decent action/drama from the director of 300. That's really what this film is.
Having read the book, I must admit that I could barely bring myself to watch the thing. I think that was the only time I have ever been on the verge of falling asleep while a movie was playing. And I actually had a good night's sleep the day before.
More interesting info will follow once I've recuperated.
-
Okay, Oslo.
Took off on Tuesday with a few of the other guys, taking a train up to Sandefjord. Goddamn I love trains...
Much interesting chatter naturally arose from that group, seeing as we are after all the Film and TV dudes. We're all completely crazy, after all. Talked about some of the folks at school, namely Drops and Brain-damaged loverboy. There's not really a whole lot to discuss there, but we can share experiences. There is actually a bit of a discussion in regards to BDLb, that the whole brain-damage thing is just an act that he's been putting on for everyone so that he can get away with all the groping and surprise cuddling he does.
I'm on the side of natural damage, but there are a few people who happen to think it's possible that he's faking... Including his roommate.
Anyways, we got to Oslo safely and made ourselves comfortable. The school didn't arrange any lodging for us, so I ended up bunking down with one of the other guys at his brother's apartment. Damn fine of the guy to take on a couple (I wasn't the only one imposing on his hospitality) wackos from Skiringssal for the time we were going to be there.
On Wednesday we visited TV2, which is one of the largest TV networks in the country. There, we got to talk to the guy who heads the news department and hear about some of the behind-the-scenes stuff that goes into a news report. After that, we got free range of the cafeteria (free as in beer).
The only unfortunate thing is that, around this time, one of the guys had an acute migraine and was put out of commission. Poor sap was white as a ghost and could barely walk. He ended up having to get carted off to the hospital while we went and ate pizza (on the school's budget, naturally) and then we went and watched Watchmen.
That was pretty much Wednesday. On Thursday, we went and talked with a producer, to find out what a producer does. Sounds a bit cheesy, but when you don't actually know what they hell it is a producer actually does do, it's not that bad.
He's a relatively well-known guy in Norway, having produced Switch, Den Brysomme Mannen, and Uno.
Anyways, we got to learn that producers can have a much greater role in the making of a film than simply funding the thing. Switch, for example, was entirely his film. He came up with the idea, sat with a scriptwriter for a long time, and then gave the finished script to a director and told him what to do.
However, he did strike me as a rather money-oriented sack of noncreative parrot droppings. But I do honestly mean that in the best way.
The guy was actually quite nice, it's just that he was a bit more economic than creative.
After that we wandered around for a bit. Checked out a record store. The real deal, with shelves stacked with utterly uncategorized LP's along with all the necessary paraphernalia.
I was browsing around for a bit (I didn't really feel like buying anything, but figured I'd look to see if they even stocked some bands that I liked) when I noticed the poster rack. Since my room is rather barren, I figured some music posters would be just the thing to liven it up a bit. And, to my joy, the catalog was open to the page depicting a wide (just what I needed, too. A wide poster would help fill more space than a long one in my case) poster of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. Absolutely perfect.
I made a note of the number and started rooting through the rack. And then again. One more time after that.
Only one poster was sold out. Guess which.
After that, we made our way to see a director. Not that well-known this time, but he's part of a production/direction company which produced "Mannen som elsket Yngve", which is essentially THE Norwegian film (that spot may soon be taken by Max Manus, however...).
The place was much more in line with our own style of a weird, loose and comfortable working environment. It just felt much more comfortable to be in there.
We also got to see some exclusive clips from some of the stuff he's done. This combined the fun of seeing something other people don't get to see, as well as seeing bits and pieces of some movies that really are just entertaining.
After that we made our way over to NRK to talk with a gal about how humorous sketches are thought up. Like we needed the help.
The talk was actually interesting, got to hear a lot of the problems that we've had as well as some of the good parts. I also asked her if she knew anything about that humor competition, and it turns out she did.
What she said, however, only cemented my lack of knowledge about the subject. She was babbling something about a sort of Comedy Idol show that's going to be airing sometime soon, and that the winner might potentially be given their own show as a prize.
Don't know if it's supposed to be live or if finished products are allowed, don't know how the "have your own show" thing works out exactly, don't know what the deadline is, etc...
But at least it got brought up. And it was confirmed that not only does it (somewhat) exist, or will at some point exist, but we also learned that we haven't missed the deadline. Yet.
After that came a tour of NRK. This was the plebeian tour, complete with funky stickers, a person so boring that all the truly inane things we saw were truly fascinating to him/her (I really don't know), and a tour guide who was recently released from the happy fun farm for psychiatric illnesses and disorders.
Seriously, where the hell do they find these people? She treated us all like very small children (hell, she acted like one), her high voice was almost constantly wavering due to nerves, and she made a show of being extremely interested in all the things she was pointing out. Poor woman didn't have a shred of presence. I ended up just ignoring her completely and wandering about doing my own thing. This was a defense mechanism, as listening to her any more would have driven me utterly batshit insane.
Well, more than usual.
I did get some fun out of it, though... There were a couple times when she'd stopped the group in order to give a long-winded and childish description of the room we happened to be in, when I decided to strike.
All I did was stand in a noticeable place (I.E., not blocked by crowd members or too far out to the sides of her vision range) and look straight. Into. Her. Eyes.
I was not making an angry face or a threatening face, I was simply staring at her with infernal intensity. In other words, I'd turned on the creepy.
I managed to get her to lose track of what she was saying a couple times. One time I actually paralyzed her for a second when she was ensnared by my gaze. Great fun.
Sadly, migraine man had missed out on everything after TV2. Poor sap spent almost the whole time in a hospital with an IV sticking out of his hand. Luckily the group I was heading back with ended up getting on the same train as him, so he had some company on the trip back (a bit of a worry, since he had a different schedule than the other guys due to his missing out on all the stuff we were involved with). Be a damn shame if he had to spend the two hours back to Sandefjord alone.
So, yeah. That's all I feel like writing about Oslo right now. It's twelve past one, and I've got yet another seminar tomorrow (oh joy).
That seminar happens to be part of the LARP thing we're going to have here. I'll be getting full info on my role then, something I've kinda missed out on. Turns out the guy came back to the school on Wednesday to catch the people he didn't get to talk with last time. Guess where I was.
Speaking of missing out on things, the psychotherapist came on Thursday and talked with all the students. Had to use the whole school day for just that. I've talked with a couple people who were here during that time, and apparently the headshrinker was exceptionally nice to talk to and was truly an expert at her job, understanding almost immediately what the problem was (if there was one) and giving sound, solid and personal advice for each individual. Guess where I was.
I don't believe I've ever talked with a psych***ist before... I've heard some interesting stories from my partner in crime, since he used to go to a psychiatrist who was in the process of going mad. I wondered out loud if that had anything to do with taking him on as a patient.
Well, it's now twenty past one. Good night everybody.
-
Well, crap.
LARP preparation seminar on Saturday, where people were getting their roles filled out more and just have everything fall into place.
And then it's my turn to talk with the guy.
We sit there and talk over my character for quite some time, not really getting much of anywhere. He's had a really short amount of time to get everything in place, and my character is one of the ones who didn't get a whole lot of thought. Unfortunately, I've also got a more important role than most of the others, so my character can't just be a made-up interesting person, since I need to interact with a few other people who also need to know who I am. Be a little strange if they knew a different me than who I was.
Eventually, after several minutes of just sitting there and banging our brains against the dilemma of my character's background, foreground and middle ground, we decided to just break off that one-on-one and give him some extra time to talk with the folks I would be interacting with. It might help him come up with a more defined character for me.
A side effect of this is that it's roughly three hours to the beginning of the thing, and I STILL don't know who I am. All I know is that I have a funky name that was originally meant for a vampire (that role was dropped due to complications) and that I play guitar.
Well, there's a little more to it than that, really...
Here's the scoop: The year is 1979, and several people are holding a reunion party at an old youth center that they attended ten years ago. Many of the original students are present, and most of them have changed in some way over the course of their lives. There are also people who were not involved with the center, including the band hired to play at the event (and their scumbag manager), along with a few odd characters who were either invited or simply wandered in over the course of the evening. (Side note: I'm still not quite sure why I, the aspiring Flamenco artist Urban Grandier, got off a plane with my manager and financial adviser and ended up at this hippie party. Like I said, my character didn't get a whole lot of thought)
But something's not quite right. And, just last night (if you could call it that), I was one of the few (perhaps the only one) who found out what it was.
This same night, with all the same people and all the same things, has been occurring over and over for hundreds of years.
Several people have been possessed by ancient demons, who are using the emotions of those present at the party to continue their own existence. Every night, they sacrifice the newly-crowned king and queen in order to maintain the energy flows that keep the chronological anomaly stable, thus ensuring an eternal source of pain and suffering (provided by the trapped souls).
However, on the last repetition of these nights, a strange surge occurred in the power flow that has thrown off the eternal rhythm. I happened to witness this surge personally, and as such have gained awareness of all the previous nights. During the surge, I was hit by a released spark of energy, a pulsating negative consciousness that I can feel inside of me. This presence, whatever it is, is what expanded my memory beyond the boundaries of the little time loop. It also gifted me with the true names of many of the demonic creatures attending (and, truly, presiding over) the party. By uttering these true names in the presence of said demon, a person may gain control over them.
However, try as I might, I cannot utter these names. I cannot gain control of the demons myself, nor directly tell another how to do so.
Having learned the secret of this party, I am struck with the impossibly crushing weight of living out several lifetimes' worth of a single night, and have vowed to break the cycle. How I'm going to do that, however, is another story.
The most obvious, and probably the only, possibility is stopping the sacrifice. However, when you're up against several demonic beings who are more than capable of crushing your existence with little more effort than swatting a fly, simply muscling your way through is a little out of the question. Especially when you find it damn near impossible to warn any of the other partygoers of their impending doom.
One way of stopping the sacrifice, at least somewhat, is stealing a magical artifact that is required at the sacrifice. However, as luck would have it, I can't personally take the bleedin' thing. Bit of a double-edged sword, this negative presence... The only obvious way of getting it is convincing someone else to do so. But who can you trust with something like that when you're an outsider like me?
Maybe a friend you've never had.
On almost all the nights, I have spent a good deal of time at the party hanging around a war veteran with a patch over one eye. Although I will meet him for the first time (again) tonight, he has also been slightly effected by the energy surge and is beginning to get a certain feeling of déjà vu when he sees me. Perhaps, if I'm careful, I can gain an ally in this struggle.
Other possibilities are also there, but their potential benefits are beyond my knowledge. Not to mention the process of getting them.
So, yeah. My first-ever role in a LARP, and I've got to combat demons and save the world while playing Flamenco.
In contrast, there are three junkies who think they're polar explorers attending the party. The hardest part of their night is going to be surviving in the heat of all their clothes and not bursting into laughter when they look at each other.
Oh, I forgot to mention... Guess who else will be attending!
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs012.snc1/2170_2982605395502501708_2908_n.jpg)
... Yeah.
In other news, my ear is still clogged. My only hope is that someone will be going shopping in the time between now and when the LARP starts (got a home remedy to try out, but need some supplies for it). Otherwise, I will be a half-deaf Flamenco guitarist fighting demons and saving the world. And that's just not right.
-
Whee, update. I really feel like just goofing off and not doing anything productive right now, but I figure if I wait too long I'll just end up forgetting everything about last night.
Lemme see if I can talk about this thing in some semblance of cohesion... Not normally my style, but it's always fun to try new things.
I thought that I had some time to talk over my role with the Man (I'll just call him that, as my descriptions tend to get garbled. Anyways, the Man is the one who told the ghost stories and acted in the movie), since the last thing I had said to him was "I'm here all day" (in response to the difficulty he was having ironing out my role).
Well, turns out I didn't really. The first group was taking off, and it was best that I take that one, since I was going to talk with a couple of the other guys who I was supposed to know from before. Little nice to actually know the people you know. But, as the Man said, I could just work out my role when talking with the Guy (one of the people I was going to talk to).
Well, I got there, met the guy, and he told me the name of his role. Darn if he weren't one of the demons on my funny little list.
So there go half the questions I was going to ask. I had a lot of things regarding the more supernatural elements of my character that I wanted to take up, but hell if I was going to give myself away by asking him.
I did try to find out some things about where we had met and what we were doing. In essence, I met him on a plane going to Norway, and we started talking. He mentioned he was in the music industry, I mentioned I was a musician. I was heading off to see a gal I hadn't seen in a long time and maybe get a job at the club she owned (as a half-deaf Flamenco guitarist with no accompaniment, you have to take what you can get). He seemed interested and offered me a chance at fame and riches. I took it.
This conflicts slightly with how I knew the Other Guy (an associate of the Guy) from before, and had in fact introduced the Other Guy to the Guy in the beginning. The Other Guy had then scratched my back in return and gotten the Guy to sign me on as one of his artists. The reason I introduced the Other Guy to the Guy was because the Guy was interested in getting into the gambling scene, and I apparently had connections. Or the Other Guy had connections. Or I knew about how to get in on that scene and had sort of bargained a job for me and the Other Guy (who I (real me) thought was a mute pianist) work as musicians in exchange for help in getting into the casino industry.
This of course means that I must have been mafia, since Vegas gambling in those days was dominated by "family"-run businesses. Except that the Other Guy was supposed to be mafia. Maybe. He didn't know, and the others weren't sure either.
Here are the facts:
Phil Sector (the Guy. Might as well use his role's name) is a greedy asshole of a manager. Essentially everything that's wrong with the music industry distilled into one slick-haired scumbag. Always looking for new opportunities to make more money, the latest thing that has interested him is the gambling scene in Vegas.
Urban Grandier (me!) is a down-on-his-luck (maybe) Flamenco guitarist who has just recently signed on with Phil Sector. Being a native Nevadan, he knows a little more about casinos than the average Norwegian.
John Dunne is a ..(1).. who is ..(2).. and is currently ..(3).. Phil Sector. I have known him ..(4).., and you could say that we are ..(5)...
(1):
Moneygrubbing entrepreneur
Financial adviser
Mute pianist
Cowboy
(2):
Hiding a dark secret
Involved in the mafia
Looking for work
Looking for business opportunities
Looking for love in all the wrong places
(3):
Signed up in a record deal with
A good friend of
Working as a consultant for
Taking the same plane as
(4):
Since childhood
For a very long time
For a while
For about three hours
(5):
Business partners
Blood brothers
Acquaintances
Old friends
Rivals
I knew I was buggered when I first heard about what I was supposed to do at this thing. Finding all this uncertainty just made me even more certain of it.
So the chat I had with those guys really informed them more than it did me. One of them learned that I was temporarily deaf in one ear (we agreed that that was probably my amp ear. What a solo Flamenco guitarist is doing sitting next to an amp, I have no idea), and the other learned that... Well, he learned...
Actually, he was about as out of it as I was. However, he at least knew he wasn't a mute pianist.
Looking at the clock, and taking into account my own internal clock (which is not so much a fuel gauge, as it is a toggle between "empty" and "buzzed"), I think I'm going to have to cut this thing short. I'll just put in a little reminder here so that I don't forget to talk about the attempted Downerfest today. However, seeing as they'll be going through (most likely) the same shtick tomorrow, I don't think there's much chance of me forgetting completely. More about the LARP when I get around to it. And yes, it only gets crazier from here on out.
-
By all the urinating saints of downtown Chicago, I write a lot of words... I get tired just looking at all that stuff (doesn't help that I was completely fried when I woke up from a much-too-short seven hours of sleep this morning).
So, yeah, LARP. Where was I? Oh yeah, the beginning.
Trying to get help in figuring out who you are is not helped by the miscommunication arising from the fact that I had said this was my first time. I tried to explain that I didn't really know who I was or what I was supposed to do. Everyone said "that's the point, you're not meant to know everything about who you are or what you're 'supposed' to do". This is when it's very important to make yourself clear.
"No, you don't understand. I really don't know who I am"
"That's the whole fun of LARP, you're supposed to define yourself and become the character you want to be"
"You're still not getting it"
But enough about that. Now, some other characters have arrived (the house where I was chatting with the guy was a sort of forward base for setting up the LARP and arranging for characters who were supposed to arrive later than others), and it's time for me to go.
I head out with John Dunne, one of the three guys who took the plane from Vegas. Phil isn't with us because he stopped at a friends to pick up some stuff, but he'll be along shortly. As we're walking towards the party structure, the band walks out of their little sound studio and heads for the front door of the main building. One of the members stops and asks us if we've seen Phil Sector.
John replies that he doesn't know. A rather strange answer if you ask me... But then again, he may have been tapping into a stash of some sort. Probably on the drive over.
In the taxi.
That he had taken from the airport with Phil Sector and me.
(Explanation: This was one of the few things that I knew and someone else didn't. John hadn't received the memo that we had all taken the same cab from the airport, and that Phil had stopped along the way to get something from a friend. As such, he really didn't know if he had seen Phil or not).
We make our way into the party scene and start wandering around. At the moment, there aren't many people around, and those who are here are not particularly lively. We start to make our way towards the main room, but are stopped by a receptionist who is looking remarkably bored. After signing ourselves up (OOC: Yay handwriting!) and accepting a token, we were officially in.
The main room was a combination disco dance floor, café, and live music stage. A few flowerchildren were gyrating slowly on the dance floor, obviously under the effects of some sort of psychedelic party enhancer. The stage was empty, but at its foot was a formally dressed man sitting in a chair that was decorated with a little crown. He seemed to be some sort of host, as various people came up to chat with him from time to time. It looked (OOC: Being half-deaf, my already spectacular party hearing was brought down to a new low) as though he was answering questions most of the time.
In the corner sat three polar explorers who were discussing their pipes in earnest.
I think it's probably best I stick to one chronological tense from now on.
Not knowing what to do, not speaking the language (even less than usual, as my wholly American character couldn't speak a word of Norsky), and waiting for my manager to show up, I did the only sensible thing I could do: Played on my guitar.
This was basically the thing that was assigned for me to do. When in doubt; play guitar. Suited me just fine.
I had been plunking around for a bit (more difficult when there's music playing in the background, I must say) when I noticed someone had stopped in front of me. Looking up (the brim of my hat blocked the edge of my vision in that direction), I saw a rather gaudily-clad woman who was leaning against a wall for support. I had noticed her earlier on, skipping around and giggling in an almost sickeningly merry fashion, stopping every so often to have a rather one-sided heart-to-heart with the man in the chair.
Well, she wasn't giggling or conversing girlishly now. She was leaning against the wall, and between bouts of rolling her eyes back into her head she shot me looks of purest venom. Didn't make a sound, just stood there perfectly still and glared at me.
When I stopped playing she went about her business again. She also made a point of cranking up the record player a couple notches.
I'd found one of the people who would react to my playing, obviously. She was a demon.
Not a whole lot happened in the first stages of the party, really. Pretty much just wandering around and grabbing free "beer" from the bar, occasionally stopping to play my guitar. I was trying to get close to as many different people as possible, so that I could test them and see how they reacted to my playing.
Most people just ignored me or tried to introduce themselves. The nuns, however, took a different approach.
I had my playing interrupted by a very creepy nun looking me straight in the face and telling me to stop playing. Now.
You didn't need to speak Norwegian to understand that look. Well, that's my excuse for understanding perfectly what she had just said in a language which was supposed to be completely alien to me. Damn I was bad with that.
A short time later, the bartender (who had apparently been sampling her own wares) stole my guitar and went off to drunkenly play some chords on it. "Stole" is probably too soft a word, as that would indicate she took it without my knowing. Quite the contrary. In fact, I was playing it at the time.
Yes, I got into a scrape with a drunk bartender who was trying to wrestle my guitar from my grasp. I was doing a pretty damn good job of holding on, but she was damn feisty and when the private detective joined in to help her out I couldn't keep my grip any more. Had a bit of a stare-down with the private dick after that, as I knew that he was yet another demon. Broke it off by saying "sorry pal, no comprendé" (he had been speaking to me in Norwegian throughout the scuffle).
After that, my manager came over to me and asked if I was interested in opening for the band. I said sure, but get that crazy bitch to give me my guitar back.
Turns out she had lost interest and left it on a chair. My manager, Phil, was kind enough to walk over and take it back from the "crazy bitch". I guess deafness wasn't my only handicap.
So, yeah. I got my guitar and got up on stage. Phil introduced me (after asking what my name was again) and set me to it.
This is one of those things I would've liked to know about a little earlier. You see, I really don't have any songs I can play. What I do is find a guitar, pick it up, and start messing around in a key or some special scale and just carry on with that until I stop. No structure, no really finish, no nothing. Just tapping into a continuous stream of musical doodling.
My first tune went a bit poorly. It started off about as well as nothing can, but I ended up slipping out of key just before I was going to finish, so I had to settle for a kind of stumbling, comedic finish. Pretty sloppy.
Now here's where it got really fun. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I didn't know how long I had been playing, I didn't know when the band was going to come (I had to concentrate on my playing in order to play something worth listening to. Remember that everything I played was made up while my fingers were moving along the fretboard) and I didn't know if I should play another one. A rather uncomfortable silence followed, and I glanced up to try and find my manager. After a few exchanged glances with him and a sampling of the expectant vibes in the room, I figured I may as well play another one.
The second tune was pretty much the same as the first. This is because I've only played my special Flamenco-ish scale in E. There's no reason it can't be played in some slightly different key, it's just that I'd worked most with it in E, and right then was not the time to push my boundaries and start experimenting with something I wasn't comfortable playing.
The finish was slightly more planned (and properly executed) than the first, and even had some chords mixed in with the scale work. Still not as good as what I play when I'm comfortable, but it was at least better than the first.
When I was finished with that, I sampled the vibes again, and discovered it was time for yet another song. Shite. I couldn't risk playing the Flamenco-ish scale again, since I really only had one way of playing it. I'd managed to tweak it a little bit for the second tune, but I didn't think I'd be able to move it far enough away this time to create something different enough from the first two tunes. So, instead, I moved to Blues. In E (for extra variation).
This was a good move, because I can play E Blues without looking at what I'm doing. I took the opportunity to check out my surroundings, and found my manager off talking with some people.
Mind you that I said I can play E Blues without looking at what I'm doing. I never said I could do it without thinking about what I'm playing (still building my song note by note while plucking). As such, I couldn't log the significance of anything I saw. In other words, all I accomplished by looking up from my playing was to stare blankly in one direction for no apparent reason. Got a few other people to look, but I didn't take the opportunity to say "made ya look".
E Blues was played a bit more comfortably, and I managed to choke out a more professional-sounding tune while calming myself a little bit. Good deal. Even started feeling a little alright about getting up in front of everyone and playing something I can't really play.
E Blues concluded my warming up, after which the band got up and played Rock and Roll by Led Zeppelin. That made me feel even better. Or something.
Why the hell did they put a single, unaccompanied wannabe Flamenco musician up as an opening act for a full band that was going to play Led Zeppelin songs?
Ever hear a guitar solo with no backup? Not that great.
So, yeah. Party went back into its usual rhythm after that. I wandered around worrying about my special objective (which had just gotten a little more worrisome since the Ankh had disappeared), playing guitar and... Well, that.
Things were going along in this fashion when something highly unexpected happened... But that's for another time, since I've already spent almost two hours writing this thing and it's just a couple minutes until kveldsmat. And I am looking forward to hitting the sack almost the instant I've eaten my fill. I am NOT staying up late again tonight... Woogh.
-
Okay, apparently the image I have of LARPing is completely flawed. I thought it was almost exclusively acted out D&D (or other similar systems) with all the dice and other rules like that.
But this LARP you had sounds in fact really interesting and fun. Maybe I should take a new look at LARPing. Damn it, I thought I was doing a good job avoiding prejudice, but then I notice these things that I didn't even know I was prejudiced about.
Kagus, at least you weren't required to sing to everyone without preparing, it's just inhumane, though performing any impromptus to a familiar audience is quite unpleasant.
-
John tried convincing me to sing. I wormed my way out of that by saying it wasn't my style, and that I believed if you could get your guitar to sing you didn't need your mouth to do it.
Not that I wholeheartedly believe that, but it got me out of singing. And remember kids, honesty is second only to convenience.
I just noticed that it's Saint Pattie's day today, and I've been wearing my "Kiss Me, I'm Three-Fifths Irish" shirt all day. Lucky coincidence.
Luck of the Irish, you might even say.
And I would indeed recommend you take a fresh look at LARPing. I have to say that I had a similar image in my head when I started. That wasn't particularly helped by the first place I heard the term, where the people using it made it sound like some sort of mental handicap.
But then again, one of those guys thought that HIV was started by a homosexual furryfan, so the opinion of that group is not to be given much weight.
-
Right, highly unexpected. This was, of course, when somebody tweaked the music array and put on "Free Bird".
Shortly after this came on, the dude in the chair reacted heavily. He stood up and began moving around. This was important, as I knew that he was a prisoner of the chair that he was now dragging around behind him. No longer quite as trapped as some would have him.
I started to move over to him to try and help, but immediately after he started moving, the nuns and the female demon from before moved in to put him back in place.
But then the really unexpected thing happened. The band members joined the fuss and shoved the feminine jailers out of the way, helping the guy along towards the door.
The nuns gave up rather quickly, but the demoness kept pace. I closed in on the group and began playing my magic guitar to ward off any others who might try to hinder us on our way to the band's studio.
So that's how it went. Four spaced-out rockers escorting a man dragging a crowned chair behind him, while a girl in a bright orange dress is trying to pull the guy the other way and a Flamenco musician is trying to hop along behind them while playing a guitar like a deranged minstrel. I really need to do this again sometime.
After quite a scuffle and some coercion from the demoness, we ended up losing control over the guy and they made it back inside the main building.
However, I ended up talking with the band after that fight was lost. It was obvious that we both knew something more than the other partygoers, so we decided to join forces and share what we knew.
I told them as much as I could, identifying several demons for them to be aware of and pointing out the soldier that I had met on all the previous nights as a potential ally. I also told them about the sacrifice that occurs every night, which is what keeps the cycle going. I got several groans when I mentioned the Ankh, as it seems that they had given the Ankh to one of the demons earlier in the evening.
I told them that I knew the names of the demons, but couldn't utter them either to the band members or to the demons themselves. I tried to remedy this by later writing the names that I knew on the communal painting wall (every self-respecting hippie party had to have one of these, right?), along with a small image depicting some method of recognizing the person holding that demon.
When I got around to telling the members to check out the wall, most of the artistry had been ripped off and disposed of. Big help that was.
It was around this time that the nuns cornered me and asked if they could have a few words in private. The really annoying thing about this was that the band members were ten feet away from me, all looking in the other direction. Not a whole lot I could do except go along with it.
I was briefly interrogated by one of the nuns, wherein she asked me a few pointed questions. However, I had the upper ground here, since she was forced to speak English (a language she was not fully comfortable with) and I have lots of experience in wriggling my way out of situations I don't want to be in. I ended up fooling her into believing that I was just another one of the oblivious party guests, with no clue about the recurring nature of the party or the infernal nature of the hosts. That was probably some of the best acting I had managed that whole evening.
It was around this time that the polar explorers had somehow picked up a giant penguin and were traveling around with him attached to the same rope they were using to keep themselves together.
Gonna skip quite a few details here and see if I can give an overview. We ended up talking to the soldier, who gave us a choice. We could live a life without fear by taking a serum of his, which would cause us to experience everything around us as the most horrifying thing we can imagine for a short period. Afterwards, fear would be a completely alien feeling to our minds.
We didn't take him up on the offer.
However, he also offered the chance to see people for who they really are. The soldier had a patch over one eye, an eye that was whole and healthy, but which was cursed by the memory of the soldier's past. He could transfer his curse to one of us, causing us to lose the use of one eye, but allow us to see the inner nature of people with the remaining one. One of the guys took him up on that offer, and was soon blessed with the soldier's curse.
The soldier informed him that should light ever again touch that eye, he would die instantly. Nasty.
Okay, I'm getting tired of writing this thing... There was a ton of stuff that happened at this place, and there's no way I can write all of it. Here's what happened:
After having worn away at his bonds throughout the whole evening (with the aid of my guitar playing and the playing of the song "Free Bird"), the man in the chair finally broke free of his totem and gave a speech to all those present. He called forth all the demons by their true names, and told us all that they were responsible for creating this eternal party that stole from us any other life we could imagine.
He called for those who wanted their freedom to call out a tone, and hold it as long as they could. We all did. He then began sucking something out of the demons (I'm assuming that he was simply exorcising the demons from those they had possessed), after which they too picked up the tone. When all had claimed their desire for freedom, the chairman (heh) stated that to break the bonds of eternity they would need to dance their hardest and play music their loudest. In essence, megaparty.
So that's how it went. The band got up and started playing "Come Together" at top volume, and everyone else got into their groove on the dance floor.
After a while of this, the LARP was declared officially over. It was time for relaxing, talking, and figuring out what the bloody hell was going on, exactly.
There was a little speech thingy at the end where various characters were called up to describe who they were and what they were doing. I was called up at the very end, since I was apparently special like that. After a bit of back-and-forth (I of course had to mention that I still didn't know who I was), I found out that I was apparently supposed to be some sort of priest, or some sort of reincarnation of said priest. This priest had a very close knowledge of the whole possession affair, and that's why he knew all the names and stuff.
This would have been VERY NICE TO KNOW. This of course explains why Phil asked if I was the priest when I was talking to him before the party. I said no. That's because I wasn''t the priest, I was the Flamenco artist.
Damnit...
And to make matters worse, if I wanted to find out more about my character I could have just read the WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_Grandier).
Apparently, these guys don't make up (m)any of the characters they use in their LARPs. They just take historical figures or characters that have already been thought up. The situation was (mostly) original, they just took a bunch of premade characters to populate it with.
If you read the article, you'll see something about a convent and some unholy pact. That's where the demons and the possessed nuns come into the picture. So I actually had a very close connection with this whole deal. Would've been pretty cool if I actually knew about it.
Add to this the fact that after the whole thing was over, Phil mentioned to me in passing that he thought I was supposed to be able to say the demonic names to the demons (and thus gain full control over them). It was just other people I couldn't utter them to.
That also would've been very handy information. Friggn' arse.
And just to add insult to injury, it was revealed that the big cloth on one of the walls was covering a very large mirror. Through an entertaining demonstration, it was revealed that if any of the demons had seen their reflection in this mirror, they would have been destroyed.
So that's it. We spend the whole evening trying to fight a force that we're not really equipped to fight, and we could've beaten them all in five minutes by taking down a friggin' blanket.
But, hey, at least the good guys won in the end. Even though we didn't actually do anything.
So that's that. Urba(i)n Grandier was a priest who could control demons. He shall be remembered as a half-deaf Flamenco guitarist with no stage presence. Phil Sector is practically stolen from a book called "The Magician" (or possibly "The Wizard". Not sure of the translation). The band was named after the book "The Dwarves of Death".
Well, actually, that's not completely accurate. The band was previously known as the Dwarves of Death, but for the party they had switched to their new name. This was a Sami name that translated to "I can't be bothered" (as in, "I can't be bothered to do anything right now").
And these weren't just names, either. If you wanted to find out more about any of the characters, all you had to do was read up on them. I forget where John Dunne was supposed to be from, but it was something or other.
Yes, it was confusing. I never really managed to get fully into my role due to the problem of trying to feel like I'd lived this night a hundred times before. I actually managed to introduce myself with my own name once.
But I think everyone had a good time. It's given me a new look at the whole LARP scene, and I don't think that this will be the last time I join in. I'd just like to have a damned good idea of who I'm supposed to be...
And what I can do, for that matter. Damn annoying finding out after the fact that you could have controlled almost all the little buggers from the get-go.
Well, that was that. I've skipped over a good deal, forgotten a hefty portion, and left out some things better left unmentioned. Suffice to say that three polar explorers who have tied themselves to a giant penguin are more than enough entertainment for one evening. I could barely keep myself from laughing each time I saw those nutters. And if they opened their mouths to utter something ridiculous in their affected accents? Forget it.
Something good did come out of all this, however... A short video was made based off of the polar explorers, and it ended up being downright epic. I mean, it's astonishingly good. It looks so goddamn professional that your eyes bleed.
The giant penguin is, of course, involved. Couldn't leave him out.
-
Had class pictures taken today. Batman and two Norwegian Ninjas were present in our photo, as well as a bald, armless female mannequin. We were also the only class whose picture includes a (real) naked person.
He positioned himself so that the photographer didn't get a full look at the goods, but that means we did. The joy just doesn't stop around here, does it?
I decided it would be prudent to take a shower before the picture, and also to shave (something I haven't done in a very long time). However, I got the wacky idea to not shave everything off. As an experiment, I gave myself a Van Dyke.
I haven't got the full deal since my face refuses to grow hair in the vertical gap between my moustache and beard, but it's still there. What's funny about his style is that I just shaved off all the beard sections that DON'T annoy me. The bristles that grow out from my chin make the skin sore underneath. Everywhere else is fine.
So yes, for the first time in my life, I had a styled beard. And just in time for the class photo where I wore my trenchcoat and hat while holding a very creepy mannequin in my arms.
We really are quite mad.
-
Not much to report, just like to say how nice the weather is down here.
For the past couple of days, people have been exiting the food hall through a side door that leads outside, and just lining up on this little deck to soak up some spring rays. It's just such a relaxed and social environment that I felt the need to mention it. Seriously nice burning off the last end of lunch hour just sitting in the sun and talking about nothing.
EDIT: Speaking of which, some folks just plopped down a giant mattress in the parking lot and are making themselves comfortable. Might just have to join in.
-
Hasn't been much updating lately, I know, but here's a little something special to make up for it.
One of the "ten minute" videos has been uploaded to YouTube. It's the five-minute one. Nice editing, poor acting, no story.
Enjoy:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOkhc1fMM2w
I've translated all the dialogue as well. There's not that much of it, and I wouldn't say it adds a whole heck of a lot to the plot, but it's here if you want it.
Man#2
"Veit du hvorfor du er her?"
(Do you know why you're here?)
Man#2
"Ingenting?"
(Nothing?)
Man#2
"Du skal få tid til å tenke"
(I'll give you a while to think about it)
...
Man#1
"FAEN!"
(FAEN (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AkJf0md1kG8))
Man#1
"Ka gjør eg her?"
(What am I doing here?)
::Note that I can't really make out what he's saying. He might be asking Man#2 what HE'S doing there. That would make slightly more sense, but I really can't tell with his accent (which isn't his normal dialect and adds nothing to the film. I have no idea why he's speaking like that).
Man#2
"Husker du noe nå?"
(Have you remembered anything yet?)
Man#2
"Ingen vits å holde inn lenger, du skal dø idag uansett"
(There's no reason to hold it in, you're going to die anyways)
Man#2
"Du har topper fem sjanser til å huske"
(You have five chances to remember, tops)
Man#1
"Men eg har ikkje gjørt no'!"
(But I haven't done anything!)
Man#2
"Tre... To... En."
(Three... Two... One.)
Man#1
"Nei! Stopp! Stopp! Eg gir meg"
(No! Stop! Stop! I give up)
Man#1
"Oi, faen"
(Oi, faen)
Man#2
"Okei. Det er over nå"
(Okay. It's all over now)
Man#1
"Kan eg få gå?"
(Can I go?)
Man#2
"Ja, du skal få dra nå"
(Yes, you can leave now)
Man#2
"Vi skal begge dra."
(We're both leaving)
Yeah. Not exactly what you'd go to a store and rent (even if it was free), but compared to a few other school projects I've seen, well...
And yes, the teenage horror film was worse than this. MUCH worse. Rip-out-your-eyes-and-eat-them worse.
-
We had a visit today from some other folkehøyskole students, Jazz majors. They put on a little concert for our enjoyment (consider it payment for staying the night).
I'm normally not a fan of Jazz, but it's hard to pass up something like that. I popped in to see if I liked what I heard, and I ended up having a couple things to say.
I have no idea how many deals were signed with the devil to get this much talent, but I think the eternal souls were a small price to pay. Holy shaitan they were good.
All the musicians (and there were quite a few of them) were remarkably skilled, often in multiple instruments. There were some very fine vocalists, one of whom had truly professional enthusiasm. But what struck me the most was this one kid, slight of build with a stringy mop of blond hair hanging down in his face.
That kid is going places. I'm friggin' serious. I sat and stared at this guitar prodigy play some absolutely incredible solos that rendered me even more speechless than usual. When my mind had recovered enough to start piecing together cognitive thoughts, I started thinking about the Comfortably Numb solo. He sounded like one of the people who show up on those "greatest guitarist of all time" lists. And there he was, playing on a stage about twenty feet away from me, and I hadn't even paid a single bloody cent to see him.
After the concert, he was one of a few guys who stayed behind to jam a bit. I stayed another hour or so and listened to this bonus concert until I realized it was 11:00 and that I was going to bugger myself righteously as far as sleep is concerned. Not wanting to bugger myself anymore, I decided to retire for the night.
But not before mentioning this event. I mean, sheez... These guys were ace.
-
Oh god DAMN. It's going to take a week to wipe the smile off my face.
Okay, y'all remember that cheesy scare flick where I played the scary janitor? Well, most of the action in that film takes place in one of the oldest buildings on campus, called "the yellow building" because it's painted yellow. Very creative naming.
Anyways, this building really is a spookhouse. It's got one of those basements that just freaks you out the moment you step down there (not helped by the truckload of unused, obsolete or otherwise abandoned equipment that litters the place), plus it's just old (and buildings either get sweet or creepy when they age. This one got creepy).
So the film included the basic cliché requirements of doors mysteriously opening and slamming shut, and ghosts spontaneously appearing and/or disappearing.
Although it was a cheesy and clichéd film, it only added to Old Yellow's spooky reputation. I intend to take at least some credit for that, due to the inherent creepiness my acting talents brought to the movie.
So, today is Tuesday. Tuesday is the day when the weekly slaves are changed. Three greenhorns pushed into the grinder for seven days. A little unsure, not used to the routine, and dreading when the rounds will bring them into contact with Old Yellow.
One of the new girls on the week-team has had a really hard day. She has no idea what a weekly slave is supposed to do, and has been getting sent off on wild goose chases by wannabe comedians (this happens to include the kitchen staff). With the rounds being the last thing on the list for a slave's duties, she's feeling a little bit relieved to have made it through.
Well, I got a sudden hankering for kicking a poor gal when she's down.
Having gone the rounds myself, I know exactly where they're going to go, and where they're going to be coming from when they get to Old Yellow. I realize I'm bored. I also realize I've still got the janitor costume in my closet.
You can probably see where this is going.
I hurriedly dash out to Old Yellow with my costume while they're busy somewhere far away. Nobody sees me sprinting across the parking lot. I then hide in one of the old classrooms and put on my janitor clothes while keeping a wary eye aimed out the window, watching for when they're moving through the last section before Yellow. I also use this time to try and formulate a plan as to where I'm going to be and what I'm going to do.
I see them coming, hurriedly finish putting on my costume and make for my station. I turn off one of the lights along the way, just to add to the effect.
I hide behind the very same door that was mysteriously opened and closed in the film. This is right at the beginning of the staircase down to the basement, so I give myself a few steps to clomp on with my boots before opening the door.
All I have to do then is slow my racing heart down to the point where I can hear them when they walk in. I hear the front door open, and some light chatter.
Showtime.
I do my best foot-stomping on three or so steps up to the landing. The sound doesn't travel all THAT well to their location, but they hear it (and I think a slightly low-key sound would be better than a full-fledged barrage. Gotta warm them up first). There's a slight flutter, but they calm themselves. However, they are unsure if it was a person moving around or just the house grumbling. They stall for a few, precious seconds. I open the door soundlessly, just a crack.
"I don't see anyo-"
*SLAM!*
Shrieks of fear accompany this. I was lucky enough for two of the three weekers to be female, both of them with singing training. Their screams were beautiful music to my ears. I can still hear them, oh-so-faintly, dancing in the ether that is my mind...
I quickly make my way down the steps. If anyone comes over to investigate, they will find an empty staircase. And there's no way they're going down into the basement to see who might or might not be there. No. Friggin'. Way.
On the other side of the basement is another staircase leading up. The door to this other staircase opens up right next to the front door of the building. A better booby trap has ne'er graced the sun-basked world. All I have to do is wait until I hear them, at which point I quickly open the door (no risk of injury, it opens into my side) and give them a full glare of janitorman.
The staircase I'm standing on is directly underneath another staircase. I hear the thundering roar of their footsteps as they make their way down it. I wait until I hear a foot right above me, and give the wall a good smack. More screams, more blissful delight. I could get used to this.
One of them (hard-day girl) says "okay, someone's fooling with us. I mean, come on. Doors slamming? Doors don't just slam".
There's a minimal amount of back and forth about this, and the one male in the group half-jokingly states that maybe they should go down into the basement to check things out. This is of course met with groans of dismay and disapproval. Like hell they're going down there.
This is actually beneficial to me. Because of this highly normal smalltalk, the topic of someone fooling with them fizzles and the unusual spooking partially drifts out of their conscious, replaced by the entirely normal (but still quite spooky) basement. They have just set themselves up perfectly for my Magnum Opus.
Having finished the unsavory rounds of Old Yellow, they make their way towards the door. I grasp the doorhandle in anticipation, ready to swing it open at any moment.
In typical cocky fashion (I'm sure that word msut have been named after us), the male reaches for the handle on his side of the door. He is trying to combine his comedic side (making fun of his companions' girlish fear), and his macho side (bravely opening the door to the dark world they all secretly fear). He begins to open the door, but since I'm holding on to the other side he encounters an odd resistance. This catches him slightly off-guard, and softens him up for when I finish what he started.
The door is flung wide open, framing me in all my glory. I proudly wear the moronic big-sleeved jacket and blue shirt of my janitorial career, and my eyes blaze with a mad fury from beyond the grave (actually, I'm just spooked and disoriented. I didn't expect him to reach for the door). Before me are all three weekers, staring straight at me.
Oh, the screams... Such unearthly howls erupting from the untamed inner fear that all three teenagers possessed... Their shrieks shall carry my softly to sleep on this eve, and I shall treasure them inside the brightest marble vault of my mind for as long as the flimsy walls of my sanity hold firm. The expressions on their faces as they realize, for a split second, that there is more to the world than mere logic and fact. That there is more to this world, and possibly another, than all our senses and reasoning have told us. That there are indeed forces in this strange and mysterious existence that we are unaware of until the last, critical, moment.
I think the guy's reaction was just as fulfilling as those of the two girls. I got to experience that miniature train wreck that occurs inside a person's head when there's a sudden, highly unexpected change of course. I can just imagine what must of been going through his head as he opened that door.
"See, there's nothing down th-OH. SHIT."
However, the screams provided by the feminine section were simply too high quality to be outweighed by the surprised manly holler from my fellow classmate (yes, he was an FTV'er).
What was really fun was that he apparently has not spent a whole lot of time getting the daylight scared out of him. He had no idea how to do it properly. The two girls, being girls, fell perfectly into the bug-eyed cower while shrieking their souls out at me. He, on the other hand, stood perfectly rigid and faced forward while letting loose a slightly delayed "WAAUGH." The effect was rather comical, to be perfectly honest.
I will still take it as a compliment that I managed to get a guy to scream.
Now, the gentlemanly thing to do right now would be to simply leave it at that. But I've gone a whole friggin' school year being gentlemanly, and it's gotten me bupkis. Enough of that.
I'm going to give them a free day. Tomorrow will have no malevolent hauntings. The day after tomorrow, I will stand right inside the front door and give them a good spook as they come in. This is because my creativity has run dry and I can't think of anything better.
However, I do feel that the free day is required in order to give them a false sense of security. I may even drag it out to two days, if I feel so inclined. If anyone has a better idea, feel free to provide your friendly neighbourhood janitor a few tips.
A slightly funny thing about this is that they have unwittingly exacted revenge on me already. I washed my bedding today, and that needs a rather long time to dry. As such, I left it hanging in the washroom until I could pick it up later.
When later came, I was either mildly preoccupied or simply couldn't be arsed to go and get my laundry. Did I mention that the weekly slave rounds include locking the washroom door?
Well, I guess it's the sleeping bag tonight. However, I stand by what I told my victims earlier:
Totally worth it.
-
Why are there only pictures of guys? Where are the hot, naked Norwegian babes that you must be piling up in some closet somewhere?
-
He piles up Norwegian babes in his closet? How big are those things anyways?
-
School closets aren't the most spacious
rooms enclosures I've seen. Must not be very big if he's got piles of them.
Um. That sounds disturbing.
-(e)EP
-
Well alrighty then. Rather large amount that happened this evening.
First thing I did was sit down with outdoorsmangirl and asked her if she really was interested in me way back when. I had been wondering about this for quite a long time, if there really was interest or if it was just me seeing things.
Well, answer was a confirmed no. But this was actually alright, as it at least cleared up that damned uncertainty. And we got to talking about various other subjects afterwards, so I think it went over about as well as such a peculiar and abrupt thing could.
I've had a certain amount of doubt in my observational skill ever since X. I got an extra dose today when I saw that another girl who I always assumed really had a thing for me (it seemed rather blatantly obvious to me, but I was never quite interested enough to make anything of it. She's very friendly and she's got big boobs, but that about sums up her strongest points) was making out with one of the school helpers. Even if I didn't think she was interested in me, I wouldn't have seen that one coming.
So, yeah. That was fun.
Next up on the menu was when I was stopped by a couple gals from theater (probably best described as psycho groupies) who wondered if I used vinegar on my hair. I explained the whole vinegar-as-a-deodorant thing, and was soon enlightened about a slight misconception I had had.
Turns out the vinegar aroma doesn't go away after a minute or so. That's just how long it takes for my nose to get used to it.
While it was indeed nice for someone to point this out, it does mean that I've been wandering around for most of the school year smelling like... Well, something that smells like vinegar.
Again, great fun.
After a while of discussion, the subject of my hair came up (these two have been a couple of the strongest advocates for getting me to trim the stuff), and I found out that they weren't trying to get me to cut it down to guy-length. They just wanted to take the ends off (something which I happen to agree with, since my hair has been getting seriously frazzed lately).
I said okay, and they wasted not a second in hurrying me back to the housing complex so that they could trim me.
Now, in order to prevent excessive room-ruining, I was placed out in the hall (on my own chair, as a matter of fact). Now, there's actually a mirror in the hall, and it was decided that this would be the best place to position me. Due to the placement of this mirror, that means that I was sitting smack dab in the middle of an intersection.
This, coupled with the highly interesting affair of me getting my hair trimmed, created quite an audience for the affair. I actually had six people standing around me at one point, all following along intently.
So, yeah. I got a haircut. They ended up going a little bit farther than "just the ends", but I still have long hair (and not that half-length weirdness, although I am a little close). I have also received instructions on how I should wear it, so as to best expose my facial features for the world to gaze upon. Particularly my eyebrows (???).
Apparently, they seem to think that presenting my face to the world at large is a good thing.
In order to assure me of the wisdom of my decision, they then dragged me around to the most-populated areas of the school (at this hour, anyways) in order to show me off. Now, tell me... Two utterly psycho chicks run up to you and ask you what your opinion is of their latest accomplishment. How would you respond?
Ah, bugger it. Doesn't look that bad. The sides look a bit lifeless, but I'm hoping that will shape up after a good shower. Really hoping.
(http://i42.tinypic.com/2wel9c8.jpg)
Uhh, right. Yet another mirror-picture. I really hate taking these things. What you can't see is the braid down the back (a finishing touch. I'm not expected to replicate it, fortunately). It does bring forth my sideline spirals, however (my stylists informed me that they were, in fact, quite "rocker". I don't really see what's so rocker about a wannabe hulihee, but what do I know?).
(Picture fraggery courtesy of Tinypic's image sharpening tool)
-
Yeah, looks better after a shower. My hair has sproinged back to life with some waviness and is now looking at least somewhat respectable.
But that still doesn't help me for Theater's elevkveld tomorrow night. The theme is an old-fashioned carnival, and all those attending are encouraged to wear appropriately formal clothing from around 1920.
I ain't got nothin'. The best I can manage is my plain white formal shirt, a black tie, some dress slacks and a hat. I have no appropriate jackets or coats, and my one suit looks just a bit too fancy for something like this.
Y'know, a lot of these themed elevkvelds have had awards afterwards for best costume. The one night when I felt I had a better costume than most of those attending (hippiefest), they didn't have one. All the nights when I had to scrape together something mildly passable? Awards.
Actually, thinking about it... The only prize I've won in all the various passive and active competitions during the school year was that one bar of chocolate for the poker tournament. Even my own class has booted me out of the "best actor" awards.
Luckily, I'm not a bitter fellow.
EDIT: And I've somehow run out of floss again. I'd like to think that this is due to a highly effective hygiene regimen, but I think it's really just because I've been using crappy floss that shreds at the first available opportunity, so I have to take out some extra each time I floss.
-
Forgot to mention something. Way back in the beginning, I said that I had picked the optional Salsa classes that would be popping up near when we were set to take off to Cuba? Well, they started some time ago.
I remember going over to the Salsa student list when it first came out, and checking out who all was going to be attending. After a couple run-throughs, I noticed something odd.
I wasn't on it.
That's right folks, my application was dropped. However, there are about five guys who ARE on the list, including
(http://photos-h.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2314/148/102/518755358/n518755358_2571623_4910.jpg)
and
(http://photos-e.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs012.snc1/2170_2982605395502501708_2908_n.jpg)
who both really have no business being in there. The first one is too dense to learn "right foot-left foot-right foot" (sadly, that is not an exaggeration. He honestly can't do it), and the second one has the coordination of a balloon. He is capable of crashing into people when dancing in place (but he at least has a hell of a time when he's doing it).
I've even got smooth-soled shoes, dammit. And a HAT.
I explained my dilemma to a couple of the gals who did get in, and they said it was probably fine if I just showed up. This was after the first class, so I'd already missed one. Second class, I couldn't bring myself to go in. The place was packed to the point where you couldn't see the teacher (who was standing on a stage), and the lesson just looked so pathetic that I couldn't get hyped enough to go in. Just a bunch of people standing on their own and doing some very basic left-and-right movements. This is Salsa?
And it had already started some time before I got there, due to week-slave duties.
Third class, I was moving into my new room. Fourth class, I had to catch a train to Oslo for the FTV trip. Fifth class, don't remember.
Last class is on the 31st.
Somehow, one Cuban dude (who is really not a very good teacher, a fact drawn from my experience with him in the first band class) is supposed to teach fifty people how to dance Salsa in six classes. I find that prospect a bit far-fetched, and as such I seriously wonder what exactly it is they're doing in there. Looks more like an aerobics class than anything. Also, how the frag do you dance Salsa to rap music?
So, yeah. No Salsa for me. Going to have to see if I can snag some private lessons from someone who actually has it. Find out if they really did learn anything or if it was all just a scam.
Funny. I'm probably the only guy who signed up because he actually wanted to learn Salsa. Drops is unstable and signs up for all sorts of things before dropping out (or just screwing it up for everyone else), loverboy signs up for any class that has a large population of girls in it, and two of the others were most likely pushed into it by girls (one of them has a friend who's a girl, the other has a girlfriend).
The last guy is caught up in a massive inner conflict between who he would like to be and who he really is. He would like to be someone nice, interesting and friendly. In reality, he is an asshole. It's nice that he's both aware of it and is trying to change it, but it is a bit strange seeing the split personality when his facade fades. I suspect he signed up for Salsa in order to push himself closer to who he would rather be.
Could just be that he wanted to take Salsa classes. After all, my judgement has been proven rather faulty on several occasions.
-
So, elevkveld. I was tooling around a bit with my clothing options for a while, and considering the highly stylish English Laundry suit jacket in my closet (right next to my spare naked Norwegian babes). The problem was that it seemed just a bit too formal for the affair, since we were just supposed to be dressing "normal" 20's-30's (which is formal in comparison to what we moderners wear, hence the "formal" in the description). I wasn't sure if I could pull it off quite the way I might have hoped.
But then I thought of something. I started thinking about the more supernatural aspects of carnivals, and that got me thinking about the devil (strange train of thought, I know). I then started imagining how the devil would dress himself for such an occasion.
I pulled part of my hair back to create the middle line between cultured formality and long-haired rebelliousness (giving off the air of both high class and don't-give-a-damn). I put on my suit jacket, buttoned it, put on my black gloves, and then went over to the room of this one guy who's been away from school for some time (he's got a lot of really cool old clothes. He tends to dress 30's style every day) and took the black-and-silver cane that I knew was lying in there.
Add a black hat, and I could pass for Lucifer any day of the week. Fortunately, this was Saturday.
The festivities started a little bit later than expected. As in, an hour and a half later than the time stamped on the carnival tickets that were handed out. But that was okay, because they apparently had very little time to get things pulled together (despite having been planning this thing for several MONTHS, and practicing for a few weeks before opening night).
When the doors finally did open, we walked into a dark and mystic scene on a red carpet flanked by silent robed figures who stood motionless as we passed them. The circus tent was just up ahead, and we entered it to find a stage populated by four more robed figures, these wearing cryptic masks that displayed not a glimpse of emotion, and holding red staves which... Well, were red.
After everyone had been seated, the show started with the four robed, masked and staved figures being shrouded in a mysterious cloud of smoke provided by the mystic smoke gun that popped out from the side of the stage for a moment (bloody Theater folk, with all their fancy gadgets and costumes. That's cheating).
Some stick-dancing commenced, and then the robed figures spun around to reveal faces on the other side of their heads! They'd been wearing the masks backwards the whole time.
This was actually really cool. The only problem was that there was so much smoke that you couldn't see a bleedin' thing. In my opinion, they should have had much more two-faced stick dancing than they did.
After that was the real opening piece, with the whole class coming out in various roles. Clowns, exotic dancers, gymnasts, ballerinas, the whole lot. They all had little pieces of the dance to themselves, to establish that this was in fact a fully-equipped circus.
When that was all said and done, the ringleader came out and welcomed us to the show.
And what a show. A peculiar interpretive dance scene including a mutant monster and some sort of angel (set in part to an orchestral version of Stairway to Heaven), a storybook reading that made mention of a good many people here at school (that bit was actually one of my favorite parts. Quite clever), a clown who tried to be a magician and ended up a fool, several Chaplin-esque silent films (very well done), a song-and-dance scene from what must have been some sort of musical (unless they decided to write their own musical in English for some strange reason), a puppeteer dance scene which was mostly coordinated, and a movie parodying several of the various trysts, longings and relationships that have popped up over the school year.
This was rather entertaining, up to a point. Namely, X and Greek. That's still a rather sore spot for me.
Not particularly helped by the racy song and dance scene where six of the Theater girls sang about various guys in school, and how they didn't quite fulfill their needs. X was one of the girls, and seeing her act (and look) like that is not very healthy for my mental wellbeing.
All in all, I would say that it was a very, very well done elevkveld. Okay, so the final dance number needed to be practiced a few more times. Okay, so maybe that clown magician shouldn't be allowed to have his own part (I know the guy personally. He's a disgusting prat). Okay, so they used a bit too much smoke.
But hey, it's not supposed to be better than Film and TV's. I was wondering for a while if I was going to be able to say that FTV was the best one and still mean it. However, after all was said and done, I'm inclined to say that we still stand as the supreme elevkveld masters.
They came damn close though. Scary-close.
Also, I received several comments about my outfit. And personally, I think I looked awesome. I should get a cane of my own...
This probably means that they will be neglecting a "best costume" prize yet again. Either that, or give it to the popular vote (meaning, of course, someone completely unrelated who has a lot of friends).
Ah well, such is life. Speaking of which, it's quarter past three in the morning and I've been yawning for a couple hours now. G'night y'all.
-
Well, alrighty then. A lot has happened recently.
Lemme see if I can whip it up in chronological order.
So, Monday. On Monday, we were supposed to get started on working out the details of the live sections of our broadcast. As such, it was also the official, stone-hard deadline for all non-live programs. Everything had to be finished, marked (write down total length, last image seen and last sound heard) and packed up before Monday morning.
I was actually surprised by the fact that we managed to do that. The first time we've ever actually managed to keep a deadline.
How Naïve. This was, of course, merely the period between sketches, not the end. We started the filming of a new sketch Monday afternoon. Hey, all material started before the deadline was finished...
The fun thing is that, due to one of the FTV guys going through a depression that has lasted a couple weeks now (he is currently home, being useless), I got to be the lead role. I was to be a superhero, whose special power was...
Well, let's just figure out the minor details later. First, we need a costume. Oh, by the way, he's got square eyes (caused by playing video games too much as a child).
Later...
I am standing on a snow-covered roof, looking down at the waiting film crew. I can't see squat out of my left eye, because there is a camera viewfinder with red tape blocking the lens covering it. There is a similar device over my right eye, obscuring my vision even more.
But I do not need sight to know that I am wearing black combat boots, lime green tights, a funky purple-and-pink striped shirt, a hot pink cape, and a backwards gas mask with crazy eyes taped into the lenses. I am holding a blue round sled in my left hand. It is my trusty shield. Never leave home without it.
The Square is born.
And that's pretty much that. We created the greatest superhero the world has never known or even wanted to know about. A superhero who has devoted his life to fighting crime for reasons so obscure that nobody knows them. A superhero who evaporates criminals by zapping them with a TV remote. A superhero who has only one cheesy remark.
"I have beaten you fair and square!"
I am absolutely dreadful at providing an appropriate voice for such a character. However, I believe I was the only person who would have been willing to dress up in such a mind-boggling outfit. Did I mention it was cold and windy, and that green tights are not known for their insulation abilities? Did I also mention that wearing a gas mask backwards will compress your head to the point of getting a headache? Let us not forget the joy of having your vision reduced by 80%, thanks to a pair of rather uncomfortable thingies that have been taped on to your face.
But guess what? Totally worth it.
While we were sitting down in the basement and editing this fine piece of craftsmanship, I looked at the time (10:00, when rounds begin) and remembered something. This was Monday, the last day the current week slaves would go on the rounds.
No way I could let them go without saying goodbye...
I told John Smith (he was the one who actually came up with this whole thing) to send me a text message when the slaves left that housing complex. I rushed upstairs and grabbed the janitor costume, and then made a detour to John's room to grab the gas mask we had used during filming (this was a suggestion from John Smith, and a very fine one at that).
Now all I had to do was figure out where I should hide and what I should do. There's a room down in the basement of the big housing building (which comes just after the little housing structure on the slave rounds checklist) that has been unlocked for some time, even though it's not supposed to be. Since the room is normally locked, it's not on the checklist. I ducked inside and began making my plans.
I locked the door to ensure that nobody would try and open it (or even pay much attention to it). The idea was that, when the slaves came, I would wait until they had moved a short distance beyond the door. I would then forcefully unlock the door (deadbolt lock systems are fun), creating an unusual sound. This would throw them off-guard, preparing them for the next move. The next move, of course, was to crash through the door at high speed and then charge down the hallway at them, howling madly through the distorting effect of the gas mask.
However, I had misjudged the speed of the slaves. I was sitting in that room for half an hour, waiting. I started to get bored and wandered around a bit. I mean, hey, I'd get a warning anyways. May as well chill before that.
I was messing around on the other side of the room when I heard someone go past the door. Girl voices, talking, accompanied by the rustle of plastic bags. They were here.
I dashed over to the door to position myself in time. This was inhibited both by my attempting to be quiet, and by the insane amount of junk littering the floor. I was not making very quick progress.
About halfway across the room, my phone beeps. I had just received a text message. Wonder who it could be?
I stop at the door and listen. I could still hear them. Good, I thought, they haven't moved on yet. I waited a couple moments until I judged that they had moved to the perfect unlocking spot. With a snap of my wrist, the lock is flung open with a nice, sharp, click. I wait for the response.
...
Nothing. What's going on here?
I jump out the door and look down the hallway. Nobody there.
The hallway in the basement is dealt up into two sections, with a door in between. I figure, okay, they were farther away than I thought, and have moved into the other section. I begin running down the hallway, and crash through the dividing door at full speed, casting me into the next section.
Which is completely empty, except for me. I fear I may have missed the chance of a lifetime, and quickly make my way farther down the hall to see if I can catch up with them.
Out on the other side, there is the bottom of a staircase and the entrance into the washroom (or rather, the corridor leading to the washroom). I can hear them now, but I can't figure out where the voices are coming from. If they've already gone upstairs, I just missed out big time.
But, looking at the washroom door, I see the light is still on. Excellent, I still have a chance.
I position myself at the door and wait, occasionally sneaking a glance through the window partition in order to check and make sure they're not silently making their way back.
However, silence is not the strong point of teenage girls. Particularly not when they're trying to keep the darkness of night out of their heads. I hear them clearly as they come back through the corridor. I wait... I wait...
I pounce.
It's a night like the others. Going around, picking up trash, locking doors, turning off lights, the usual affair. A couple of the guys from Film and TV are working late and have asked us to leave their section unlocked for a little longer, so that they can complete whatever it is they're working on. It looks like a sandwich toaster to me, but whatever.
That nutcase from FTV hasn't bothered us at all since that first night, which is good. I think I would have kicked him in his nut case if he tried to pull another spook on us after that. Honestly, some people...
The washroom. A lot of old clothes that have been dry for several weeks just sitting in piles, but it's one of the nicer places on the rounds. At least it's light in here, not like that hallway... Damn that place is creepy.
Well, turn off the lights, close the door. At least this is the last basement we have to go down into for the rounds. And it's even the last time we have to do this. It's a shame the guy didn't show up to go on the rounds with us, it always feels safer when you've got three people instead of just two. Not that there's anything to-
Fear. Screaming. The deranged howl of a madman, distorted by the filtering effects of a black rubber gas mask pulled over his head. The crouched, jittery movements as he rushes towards the two girls, his intent unfathomable behind the solid glass protecting his eyes.
I have never heard someone scream so long and so hard before in my life. Horror movies cannot do this. Fake spiders cannot do this. Only the irrational, irrefutable knowledge that a lunatic is going to murder you. Only that can cause total brain lockdown like this.
I stop in front of them and let them lose their breath to the several seconds of top-volume they have just serenaded me with. I watch as realization dawns over the one girl, and her eyes squeeze shut in a laugh that takes up the last of her oxygen reserves.
I watch as the other girl's expression changes from blank, mindless terror to peeved fury. She begins flogging me with a key. The puffy sleeves of the Janitor's jacket protect me from whatever harm might have come from being whipped by such a small piece of metal. My head, freed from the stuffy and irritating gas mask (now that I no longer need it), is pitched back in a hearty gut-chuckle.
I walk with them down the corridor and out to the stairs. I can see that they're still buzzing with terror from being scared three-quarters of the way to death. This thought-numbing buzz is probably what prevented the girl from making good on her promise to shove her fist so far up my ass she could scratch my nose with it.
At the stairs, a concerned onlooker looks on from above. She was apparently passing by up above and got spooked by the screaming. Three hits in one shot. Not bad.
Oh, but the party ain't quite over yet. They head into the library to clean up in there, and I hear them talking with the late-night webusers sitting at the computer array. I reapply my gas mask and wait outside the door.
After a rather long wait (my roommate was inside, and apparently felt the need to recite a speech he had just written to the two girls before they continued on with their work), someone opened the door. I shove my masked face into the crack and bellow psychotically at the poor girl who just opened it.
Not one of the slaves, just an innocent bystander who had finished up her browsing activities so that they could clean up. The two slaves were actually in the process of telling her about the scare when she opened the door.
I made my escape before they could take combined action against me. Down in the editing room, surrounded by the delightful smell of burned curry toast (John Smith has some very, very strange tastes), I retired my costume and recounted the story of the two little girls and the big bad maniac. I also thanked him for the invaluable heads-up he sent me via text message.
The moral of this story is to never underestimate a rubber mask. Or good timing, for that matter.
However, the peeved girl vowed to warn the next group of my nighttime activities. It would seem my attention levels have gone up, and the difficulty has been raised. But I am no longer alone in my fight... For I am aided by the two girls from Theater in scaring this latest batch of student labor.
All I have to do is give them a night to forget the wise words of warning from their predecessor...
In other news, we got to watch a scene from a play on Monday. Theater class has apparently been working with more serious acting lately, and we got the first treat on Monday. Very well done, especially considering the difficulty involved (only one person in the entire scene. She had to carry the whole thing herself). The play was "Av måneskinn gror det ingenting (http://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/Av_m%C3%A5neskinn_gror_det_ingenting)" (Norwegian link. Not much help for those who don't include that in their languages).
In other other news, band class had a concert today. That includes me.
Did we have a song that we had been practicing for the last several classes? Yes, actually. Did we play that one? No.
What did we play? Two songs that were decided during the three hours we have of band class. "Killing Me Softly" was the first one to come up as a suggestion. While trying to figure out what else to play, I started doodling around on my guitar. This included poking my memory of Sweet Home Alabama (I have spent so much time playing my own stuff that I had pretty much forgotten it). Teacher heard me and suggested that one. Strongly.
So, yeah. I had to re-teach my fingers the riff while our singer (who had NEVER HEARD THE SONG BEFORE) listened to the copy on my phone in order to figure out how it all went. I spent my time trying to remember the blasted chords to Killing Me Softly while practicing the Sweet Home Alabama riff. It was around this time I realized just how colossally f***ed we were.
But it worked out alright. Yeah, so I forgot the latter half of the chords to Killing Me Softly, but that was okay, because we were playing a funky Latin-esque version of it, and I could just solo a while using a blues scale. Yeah, so I thunked the riff a couple times and stumbled over a few other parts of Sweet Home Alabama, but that was okay, because I was wearing a hat.
Hey, it makes a difference. At least I was moving around a bit (as much as I could without screwing up my playing even more), which is more than could be said of the two singers. Compared to the practice sessions, the music was worse. But the performance was better, and that's really all that matters.
After our two songs came the blues group. They got to play a song they had practiced for several classes. After that, they played a song they had actually written. Then came a funky blues jam. Easy as it comes.
Lucky bastards...
But meh. At least we got to play Sweet Home at least once in the school year. Even if it was a weird fusion mutant version of it...
And so here I am, stinking from the nerve-sweat and listening to Aerosmith, and somehow I feel the need to tell you all about it. Well, I hope you're happy, you ungrateful bastards.
Cheers. Now let me get some sleep...
P.S.
I don't think anyone took pictures. Dammit... And I actually had a nice outfit. Oh yeah, speaking of outfits, we had our school picture taken today. Guess what I wore?
Yes, I wore the Lucifer outfit from the last elevkveld (suit, gloves, hat, cane, everything. I wasn't allowed to wear the hat for the picture however). Guess who else dressed up for the school picture?
That's right, nobody. I am the only formally-clad goon in the whole shebang. Just like the Christmas card picture (which I never got, actually... Strange).
Well, I've always been outstanding. Now I just happen to be standing out more than usual.
EDIT: Wow, that's a big one. I wonder how many words I've written throughout the course of this thread... Sure as hell don't feel like counting.
-
You know what? Screw this. Why should I spend hours of my time putting my feelings and shortcomings out on display for a horde of faceless creeps, who just treat me like a TV channel. Tune in when you want to laugh at the whiny spoiled brat crying about stubbing his toe, tune out when it gets boring.
And that's only if there ARE actually any people tuning in. Heck if I know, I'm just sitting in here stroking my own pains with post after post of depressing monologue.
Well I'm tired of spending my life just talking about it. Hope y'all enjoyed yourselves while I laid my soul bare for your scrutiny, because that's all you're getting. I'm finished. Go home.
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Damn it, at least pretend I got you. I wrote that in the middle of the night and was pathetically tired, I couldn't manage anything more believable. Happy April Fool's, by the way.
Lessee, yesterday... Music class put on a concert for us, and I have to say that it was a damn good one. Simply incredible.
We spent most of yesterday figuring out all the equipment we're going to be using for the broadcast tonight. I was actually a little unsure of how much of a bother doing this thing would be, but after the practice sessions we've had today I think it's going to be damn fun.
Not a whole lot that happened, really. I can't accurately describe the concert beyond "incredibly good", and the equipment orientation was not particularly noteworthy.
Today is going on a similar note as far as interesting descriptions are concerned. We've had lots of fun goofing around with the super-duper-picture-mixer and the flash button on a couple of the lights (tons of fun to spook the newscaster with a bright flash of light. Makes them lose their train of thought instantly), not to mention how innately fun it is to talk over the headset system. I've also had to keep from drooling on the cameras we're working with. These things are sooo sweet... You can actually see things on the preview screen, and it glides like a dream on the high-tech tripods we've got for them. For someone who has been working with Canon "home use" cameras for so long, these babies are bliss. Shame we're only renting...
I don't really have the time to write much more about the actual content, but I'll see what I can do after the show. From the looks of things however, I expect to hear laughter all the way from inside the studio.
My roommate is actually going to be involved in the direct broadcast. That will make the third performance utterly unrelated to his classes that he has gotten in on. I don't really like that I don't like him, but I really just don't like him.
Speaking of which, I think I may have figured it out. We have opposed personalities.
I was reading a little comic given to us for philosophy class ("Everything you needed to know about psychology"), and the subject of the Id, Ego and Superego. From the descriptions in the comic and some very, very brief reading, I have concluded that my roommate is an exceptionally Id-dominant personality. Conversely, I am packed to the brim with Superego. As these two personality sections are diametrically opposed, it is only logical that we don't get along too well.
Or something.
Well, that's that. I've got a few things to do right now, so I'll be checking in later. Toodles.
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You can't make April Fools on April the 2nd. It baffles people.
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It says April 1st for me.
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Alright, it's 1:45. I really don't want to talk very much right now.
But I have to say that the broadcast was fabulous. Abso-friggin'-lutely fabulous. People loved it. It was damn fun to send it out, too. Tons of stress, but damn fun.
Other than that, I have yet again spooked that one poor girl who was a weekly slave. I was sitting in the lobby and talking with a buddy of mine who just got back to school Tuesday evening, and told him the story about the scares. We were talking about fear in general and how much fun it is to spook people.
At this point, the girl walks in and begins making her way across the lobby to the other section of school (the main building, and thus the lobby, lies between the two housing structures). We stop talking and exchange a few knowing chuckles. Just as the girl passes me, I bellow loudly and jump up in my chair.
Bullseye. She achieves liftoff. So does her friend, but that's a different matter entirely.
She berates me again and vows that she will get me back. I look forward to it.
Later on, I'm walking towards the small housing structure with a few other people. When we near the place, she opens the door and steps out. She sees me standing out there in the dark and freaks again. I wasn't even looking at her! I've apparently managed to tie my image in with the fear receptors in her brain.
This is, of course, awesome. Even though she blamed me for when she spooked herself by opening the door.
I wasn't even alone! There were six other people walking with me! I just happened to be the one that caught her attention first, which caused her to spook.
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I didn't really fall for your april fools joke per se. I saw a large pit and decided to wait around and see if someone fell in.
Seriously though, I figured that the stress caused by being in such close proximity to norweigan hot chicks but being unable to attract any finally caused your mind to snap and your hair to catch on fire. Which would be a considerable deal of fire.
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Hrm. I might've fallen in, save for one lone fact: I didn't check the forums yesterday... or until now today. Saved by my own laxness... or is that really lax?
-(e)EP
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I haven't read this topic in months. Have you gotten any Norwegian ass yet, Kagus?
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Would I be updating as often if I had?
That fails as a rhetorical question, as I don't even know the answer.
Anyways, I've decided to be even crazier in the very short amount of time remaining. I've started asking exceptionally strange questions, as I figure what the hell, I'm not going to be seeing these people again except for one night next year. Might as well sate my curiosity and ask now.
I get a lot of weird looks, but I also get answers. Fun stuff. No, I'm not telling you what I've asked. At least not yet. Suffice to say I have not been flogged yet, and most of the stuff has been complimentary in a very strange and minor way. Yay.
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Kagus, buttering up the ladies, one extremely personal question at a time.
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You have no idea...
Anyways, happy upcoming Easter everybody. I'm going to be spending Easter vacation up in a cabin that is just slightly to the left of Nowhere Central. No net connection, so it's going to be a bit quiet in here for a while.
After that will come a couple very hectic days where we'll prepare for the Cuba trip. Or at least try to.
Very strange to think that we've been asked to bring our own toilet paper... Not because they use a different hygiene system (like India), but because they don't have enough money to keep the bathrooms fully stocked.
Combined with the floorless cars, the casual wankers and the fraction-of-a-cent ice cream (even for them) all point towards a rather interesting location. Gonna be fun. However, net connection isn't even guaranteed as a possibility, let alone one within my reach. So it looks like there are going to be a couple massive posts when I get back (I'm going to write while I'm there, of course. I'll just have to upload it afterwards).
I'm just putting this out now in case I don't find the time for an update between Easter and Cuba.
Cheers.
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Yoink. New possibility: Stay at my grandparents' home while they're off at the cabin. Get the place to myself, plus the internet connection which I happen to be using right now. Think I'm going to take them up on the offer.
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Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,
happy birthday dear meee-ee, happy birthday to me!
To celebrate the burning of yet another year, I think I feel like going to a 90-year-old's birthday party with all his old fogey buddies. Sounds like fun. After that, maybe I'll get to go shopping for deodorant and shampoo.
Quite a day I've got planned out for me, eh?
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Oh come on you prats. I know you don't like posting in here, but at least have the decency of saying happy birthday. I just sat through seven hours of ancient highly-Christian dudes stepping up to a podium and then reminiscing about something I had absolutely nothing to do with. This was interspersed with a couple songs sung by The World's Most Depressingly Religious Family, one guy who serenaded us with songs so God-loving they should have been x-rated (and he did so with a horrible singing voice and a rather poor guitar-playing hand), and a nervous wreck who should have spent a little more time tuning his violin before he played on it. And then I come back to the warmth and comfort of a real house after sitting on my arse in a church for hours on end, and I check both my public stations to find not a single birthday greeting. Feelin' pretty ace right now (although this is partly my fault, as apparently Facebook stopped displaying my birthday information at some point and I didn't notice).
Ah, bugger it. I'll feel better after getting some real food in my stomach. The sandwiches they served at the church were simply not good quality. And then came a massive assortment of sugar-doused cream that served as cakes (actually, I can't really complain about the cakes. They were pretty good, it's just that I have a hard time eating a lot of sugar in one sitting).
Currently listening to Aerosmith through one ear, since my headphones stopped sending sound through the right hand speaker a long time ago, and my phone earbuds somehow manage to block out the singing (and only the singing) when connected to my computer. Yay.
On the upside, my grandfather has given me a stick of deodorant that he isn't using. Okay, so it smells like old lady, but it's better than nothing. Now I just need to look up the multisyllabic ingredients to see if I just smeared carcinogens into my armpits.
Happy birthday to meee-ee, happy birthday to me!
*And many more!*
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Oh yeah, shit. I was going to post happy birthday, then took a look at the calendar where it didn't say it was your birthday, then I noticed Toady has his birthday coming up too and that made me think the year that's passed since then, which made me forget the posting.
So, thanks for reminding. ;) Happy birthday to you Kagus, a fellow (semi-)Scandinavian! I'd drink to celebrate this, but I don't drink, so just happy birthday.
EDIT: And no, this isn't MY calendar I speak of, it's the forum's.
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I got drunk yesterday, so it would be in bad form to do so again today. Happy birthday anyway, sorry can't celebrate it.
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Happy birthday Kagus. You should explain to the girls at your school that all girls in the States usually give bed-time fun as a birthday present.
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Happy birthday!
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See Kagus. Even though we don't reply, we pay attention to the thread. :P
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Whoa, the past few pages have some long posts, which is both good and bad. A lot more stuff to read, but...a lot more stuff to read (I stopped checking this for a few weeks and it took a while to catch up).
So....yeah.
I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say here.
Hi!
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Yeah, I tend to use words.
Those posts are pathetic in comparison to what I would have written if I could bring myself to describe (or even remember) the whole event.
Whatever event that might have been...
Anyways, I try to break the stuff up a bit so that it's easier to read, and that has a tendency of making it look even bigger. If anyone happens to have some writing tips, by the way...
And yes, I know I've got a problem with tenses. It annoys me too, but I sometimes have a hard time describing something from a particular tense.
Woof... I really should get around to backing this thing up. Anybody know an elegant way of saving a forum thread to a personal computer?
And that was today's update, a jumbled mass of utterly unrelated blather. I've spent the day sleeping and listening to Alice in Chains, with a dash of Facebook chatting thrown in. And some DoomRL (I. HATE. CACODEMONS.).
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Happy belated birthday, Kagus! And I'm pretty sure the forum archives the thread for you.
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I'm in a bit of a funk now for some reason, not feeling too high and mighty... But then again, the day did start off on a rather unusual note.
I woke up a little after noon and just looked out the window for a while as I tried to convince myself to get up.
While I was doing this, I heard a bit of a scuffle at the window (one of those with a hinge in the middle on both sides, bit like a revolving door. Push it out on the bottom and the top comes in just as far) and then saw a bird appear and start flipping out.
The window was only open a crack, and this happened only after I had been staring at it for some time. My groggy mind started to hope that the thing would just squeeze back out, but apparently the window looks a lot less solid from the inside. The bird bumped against it futilely for a while before perching on the curtain and staring at me. It then started chirping.
I got up, put some pants on (because it was damn cold), and moved over to the window. The bird flew to the other end of the room, not wanting to be too close to the big scary ape with no shirt.
I moved an obstructing spider plant out of the way and started to push the window open far enough so that the bird would have a reasonable chance to escape.
While I was in the process of doing this, the bird shoots over from the other side of the room and crashes into the window which I was just about to open before falling down onto the heater, where it flaps frantically for a while (only serving to wriggle itself around in the crack it fell in) and then stops moving.
I open the window and leave the room to take a piss, hoping to hell that it's just stunned or playing dead.
I come back, and it's still sitting in the heater. I go back to the bathroom and return with some paper with which to pick it up, and then gently pluck it out of the heater and plop it down outside in the hopes that it would wake up and bugger off on its own time.
Well, it's nine hours later and the thing's still sitting out there. I'm rather certain it's dead. It either had a fear-induced heart attack or simply broke its neck (either from hitting the window or flipping around with its head jammed in the heater).
So there's a dead chickadee wrapped in toilet paper lying outside my window. It's also slightly damp from the hot tea I dribbled on it earlier in an attempt to wake it up. Brilliant move, I know.
Other than that, I have spent the day listening to the same three AiC albums I've listened to all week, and watching videos on YouTube of someone else playing Sacrifice. I've died a few too many times in DoomRL lately for that to hold my interest right now.
Naturally, boredom led to reflection. And reflection is detrimental for mental health. Time to put on some Aerosmith and grab a refreshing drink.
Hmm... Maybe it's all the potato chips I've eaten today...
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Um, maybe they're cursed potato chips? Cursed potato chips of reflection?
:D
-(e)EP
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I have spent almost a week completely alone in my grandfather's farmhouse, and in this quiet time of contemplation and relaxation I have learned a very important lesson.
Under no circumstances should someone like me be left unsupervised for more than two days.
I have spent the better part of the evening (it may not have been all that long, but it was certainly the better part) watching Zero Punctuation reviews of games I have never played and don't really have much intention of playing. I then got hungry and went upstairs to eat something.
I efficiently divided the time spent waiting for the pasta to cook into psychotic theatrical monologues, practicing my swordsmanship with a bread knife and pretending to be a zombie. I then told the radio to shut up already, no sane person actually likes those songs.
But then again, I was shouting at a radio, so perhaps I shouldn't deem myself a suitable spokesperson for the mentally stable.
The reason the radio was allowed to continue blasting these horrifyingly popular wastes of air into the kitchen was simply because I had left my music-playing phone downstairs, and if there isn't some inanimate object to fill the silence then I will. And as anyone can deduce from the information presented earlier in this post, that is a bad thing.
Also, the radio station which plays all the songs I like is not being picked up for some bizarre reason. Incidentally, my grandparents have a miniature butcher's cleaver which is simply adorable.
Good night everybody. Sweet dreams!
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Kagus, I had a dream that you were dead. I'm not sure why I was dreaming about the forum, but I was all like "Ah, Sandy Fjord will be over now since Kagus is dead, that's not good." Just thought you might want to know.
Also, while I'm at it, I found out where you got your name from a while back. It's in the goblin language files:
[T_WORD:CRAZY:kagus]
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"Ah, Sandy Fjord will be over now since Kagus is dead, that's not good."
Your sentiments towards my untimely death are most touching...
And yeah, the name actually has a little bit of backstory. For a long while, my pseudonym was "CrazyGoblin", a name I picked up after tooling around with a goblin NPC model in Gmod (from the Dark Messiah pack) and getting it to display an expression of such psychotic glee that I couldn't help but fall in love with it.
When I came here I wanted a slight change on the deal, so I tried to figure out how to translate my name into Dwarf. However, none of the races have words for other races (or even their own), so I was forced to use the Goblin word for "crazy". Crazy, Goblin, CrazyGoblin.
I've always liked goblins for some reason... And the Dark Messiah goblin happens to look rather dashing in hats. These facts, combined with my insane predilections, formed a rather fitting name. It also led to me finding this (http://forums.pvkii.com/uploads/photo-3375.png) image, which is simply adorable.
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You're towards the top of my "People on the Internet I Don't Know, But Should Be Emotional About the Deaths of" list.
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Who's at the top?
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Just a guess...
Toady One? (Of course!)
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Just got around to changing out some of the music on my phone, and while I was doing that I noticed a few pictures I took before taking off from school.
I was washing my hands in the bathroom when I looked up and saw this seriously freaky madman staring back at me. His hair wasn't exactly disheveled, but it had this psychotic, sanity-wearing-thin kind of look to it, and his eyes burned with a rather disconcerting heat, fueled by his joy in terrorizing others.
So I tried to capture the moment by taking a few pictures. Not only was this difficult due to the obvious problem of taking a mirror picture that does not include any evidence that it is a mirror photo, but the pictures also turned out to be crap thanks to my stupidly poor phone camera.
That, and my aim was off on most of them. All of them, really.
(http://i39.tinypic.com/25qc952.jpg)
(http://i40.tinypic.com/r9r1vp.jpg)
(http://i44.tinypic.com/14jycef.jpg)
(http://i44.tinypic.com/n1v8fa.jpg)
Those were actually the best out of all the ones I took. Those last two are only in there because one has that coming-around-a-corner creepiness, and because the other has space for a thought balloon (should I ever desire to dick around with it a bit).
I didn't notice it until later, but the "Kiss Me" on my shirt only makes the effect that much cooler.
Since these things look utterly pathetic, I tried prettying one of them up a bit in GIMP. I believe it should be noted that I haven't used GIMP in over a year, and I never managed to figure it out completely in the first place. I've never been that good of an image tweaker.
So here is why you should always learn how to use something before you actually start using it:
(http://i42.tinypic.com/14c9vo7.png)
Yeah. And that came about from trying to enhance the contrast and fix those damnable spots.
In retrospect, I probably should have tried dicking around with the first image, since it's slightly less buggered to begin with. That, and the "Kiss Me" is much clearer...
Well, unless I develop a sudden savant-level proficiency with GIMP, I don't think any of these shots are going to be used for... Well, much of anything. Pity, since they provide a perfect opportunity to look EVEN MORE mentally unstable.
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Who's at the top?
Just a guess...
Toady One? (Of course!)
Yeah, Toady is.
Also, Kagus, remind me to never break into your house when you're in there alone. I'm not sure what you'd do, but I don't think I want to know.
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Are you familiar with Richard D. James alias Aphex Twin? He's an electronic music artist also known of his rather twisted album cover art.
I'm asking 'cause you share quite a resemblance (be warned, creepy face coming up):
(http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_b6u0bKEkmWA/SBpumL7F2NI/AAAAAAAADxQ/BMknR6S58J4/s400/RDJ.jpg)
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Also, Kagus, remind me to never break into your house when you're in there alone. I'm not sure what you'd do, but I don't think I want to know.
I'll take that as a compliment. Mainly because I have no idea what else to do with it.
As for RDJ A.K.A. AT, I'd never heard of him before. But although that is a very nice leer, I still maintain my superiority. Mostly because he NEEDS to use digital image editing techniques to secure a place in your nightmares. I just need to misplace my shaving cream. Somewhere next to my sanity.
Also, he's an electronic music artist. Case in point.
EDIT: My second attempt at making something halfway-decent ended up being halfway-bollocks. Which, depending on how you look at it, is about the same.
(http://i44.tinypic.com/29dddkz.png)
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"Kagus, Bay Watcher, looses a roaring laughter, fell and terrible!"
I want to skim through the topic to try to catch up on the story, but I feel terribly threatened by the seven pages...
Happy Ridiculously Late Birthday!
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Currently trying to get things in order for taking off later today. I've packed most of my stuff, lined up what I'm going to wear for the train trip, located my ticket and all the other little things so that I don't have to think about them.
Well, you know that ultra-clever special hiding place that you are so proud of yourself for thinking of and are most certainly not going to forget about after you've put something there? Of course you do, we all do.
Now, guess where I put my keys.
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Ah, 'tis good to be back... The train ride was rather uneventful, with the only point of interest coming at one of the stations we stopped at briefly. Back when FTV had its trip in to Oslo, we each had to buy these week-long passes for public transport (I have no idea why, didn't use the bloody thing a single time while we were there). Anyways, I had to borrow the cash needed to pay for it from one of the other guys since I had forgotten my wallet.
So when it was my turn in line to get one of these things, I went up to the counter and plopped the note down in front of me.
The clerk sat and stared at me for a while. I stared back. He then stared more intently. I said nothing.
Then he asked "well, what do you want?". Apparently, you actually have to ASK for what you want to buy. you can't just hand money to a clerk and expect them to know what you want.
So, dull backstory aside, I was sitting on the train and looking out the window. After a few moments, I saw the clerk who had given me that pass come out from behind a corner and walk down some steps. Small world...
This is pretty far from Oslo, by the way.
Anyways, I happened to be taking the same train as a couple gals from here, so we got to share a cab on the ride to school. Nice getting to shave 66% off the cab fare and have someone to talk to while you're at it... Bread knife swordsmanship and zombies were mentioned.
So here I am yet again, back where I'm supposed to be. Namely, the nuthouse. I've been looking forward to getting back here... Getting back in the action, don't ya know?
Well, as it turns out, I got a chance earlier than expected. As I was taking my bags in to my room, I heard some people talking down the hall. After putting everything into place, I peek around the corner to see what's up (my room is at an intersection).
One of the doors is sitting wide open, and I can hear feminine voices chatting. Now, this isn't just your ordinary run-of-the-mill room with ordinary run-of-the-mill students... No, this room is home to a particularly special young lady. A particularly special young lady, whose voice was the deciding factor for me as I started silently creeping down the corridor, hugging the wall so as not to be seen from the doorway as I made my way ever closer.
Yep, that's right. Her.
I stopped a short distance away from the wide-open portal that had beckoned me, and listened. From the sound of it, the girls were relatively far into the room, so I had a bit of leeway when approaching the "sight range" of the doorway.
Creeping just a teensy bit closer, I stopped to steady myself.
After a couple calming breaths, I pumped my lungs full of air and quickly swung my head into the brightly-lit doorway, bellowing like a startled hippopotamus with Tourette's. One that was wearing a fedora.
I was rewarded with a chorus of shrieks, and the sight of seeing three girls who were lying on a bed and watching a computer screen suddenly attain unassisted flight and spin a full 180° to see what the **** was going on.
She managed to catch a brief glimpse of my impishly grinning face before I started sprinting down the corridor and outside, cackling like a deranged crow all the way.
It's good to be back.
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Oh joy... My roommate, the idol, has returned. With full gusto and apparently full entourage.
I have no idea why he's over in this housing block, but he's apparently making the most of it by effortlessly pulling forth gales of laughter from his cohorts, which (just to add some icing on the cake) happens to include X.
And no one laughs louder at his jokes than the funnyman himself, as is evidenced by the periodic slurping noises that indicate he is taking a breath while laughing (he slurps when he does this for come reason. It's one of those things that's endearing if you like the person and maddening if you don't. Guess where I stand).
I'm almost tempted to suck in a big stock of air, and waltz right into the group of them while laughing much, much too hard. I can pull of a mentally unstable laugh with relative ease, and making it over-the-top just makes it sound crazier. With any luck, I'd be able to scare them into silence. Then I could let my loathing and contempt boil over and start talking about how much FUN it is to be together with such good FRIENDS on nights like this, where we can all sit around and LAUGH at all the FUN LITTLE THINGS we've done and how much we LOVE each other, isn't that RIGHT?!
*twitch*
But then they had the audacity to put a lid on it and leave. And I was so close, too... I need to fit in a psychotic outburst before the school year is over.
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Real crazy people don't need to find appropriate times to be crazy. You're lagging behind, Kagus.
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I just need more practice...
And besides, I was reading one of Sean's posts in your Game Balance thread. By the time I was finished they had left. Although the prospect of going out there and doing it without them is somewhat promising, my blood has since stopped boiling and I can't be arsed.
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I've stayed up way past my bedtime in order to participate in an impromptu music session outside the lobby. Just a bunch of people sitting around in plastic chairs, some singing, some playing guitars, others just listening.
One guitar is an accompaniment. Two guitars are a song. Three guitars are pushing it.
FIVE guitars just proves you're inventive enough to play an instrument in ways it was not meant to be played.
So that was that. Even managed to get a couple of the other guitarists joining in on something of my own design. Afterwards we "Wish You Were Here", including some pathetic vocals (from all three). Tons o' fun.
Y'know, I've actually been thinking about playing Wish You Were Here almost the entire school year... With singing and all that.
The rest of the group is still out there, and they're still playing away... I might as well have stayed out there, since it doesn't look like I'll be getting much sleep with that orchestra. At least it's warmer in here...
Aaand as soon as I wrote that, they all split up and left. Neat.
Pretty slow day. Played some Gears of War 2, played some fighting game or other (and thoroughly trounced the guy who convinced me to play it with him, even though I'd never played it before), and played some music just now. Other than that, I spooked a random gal (no, not my usual target) by jumping out of a nearby closet unexpectedly, and I've thought about love. Pretty standard stuff.
And that closet is solid spook gold... I just need a shocking costume, and I should be able to get quite a bit of mileage out of it during high-traffic periods. Plus, I've got this weird sort of reverse-claustrophobia, where I really enjoy being in small dark spaces.
I was honestly just sitting in that closet because I was bored out of my skull and had nothing better to do. It was only when I heard her walking up the stairs that I realized the potential of my situation.
She didn't scream, but judging from her complexion and breathing after the fact, I would assume that her heart was about two inches away from popping out the top of her head.
To finish up this post, I would like to inform you all that playing a steel-string guitar when your fingers are ice cold is of course not excruciatingly painful. It is especially not-painful when you happen to use a lot of slides, like I do.
Whee.
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Nobody expects closet Kagus! Nobody!
Aw. Now you remind me I haven't been practicing with my guitar.
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Okay, so we're taking off to Cuba today. Well, technically it's tomorrow, but 2:30 AM does not really qualify as "tomorrow". It's just really, really late this evening.
I'm going to try and keep a log while there, but things should be interesting since I'll be using my phone to take dictations... This means I'll be saying everything out loud. And I don't get a room to myself this time around.
Guess I'll just have to find a dark corner out of earshot. Not that it's that big of a deal though, as I don't know if many people here would so much as bat an eye if I started talking to myself.
It's weird... I really don't feel prepared for this trip. I'm just sure that there's something I haven't done yet that should have been done a while ago...
Of course, I haven't actually packed yet. And I need to convert some Norwegian crowns into Euros. And I have a few things I really should buy before taking off. And I need to pay the latest school bill, since the deadline comes while we're in Cuba. And...
Okay, so maybe it's not so big of a mystery then. But hey, I managed to beat Gears of War 2 with a buddy today! That's got to count for something, right?
Not a whole lot to say right now. Cuba awaits my defiling presence! To the flying machine, my minions!
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Oh no! Somebody alert the authorities! Not Kagus! We'll all die of fright! I donwannadie!
Just out of curiousity, are you trying to build a reputation for jumping out of closets?
-(e)EP
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Whoo... Feel like I got hit with a hammer...
Strange as it may sound, I have actually talked with some other people about my situation with X (as in, not just the faceless everybody of putting it out on the net). It was suggested that I just have a talk with her.
Well, got my chance today. Just got back.
Wasn't really a whole lot to say. I explained how I felt, and what it was like having her act like nothing was the matter, with her trying to talk to me and treat me just like anyone else. After a while of discussion (mostly prolonged by my stopping whenever somebody walked within hearing distance, which was actually quite often considering where we were talking) as to how I would rather she act around me, the conversation pretty much ended up with me saying I thought it was best if we just stayed away from each other.
I figured this would feel liberating, but right now I just feel emotionally whipped and also a little unsure of whether or not I said everything I wanted to. With any luck, I should get beyond the first blow of this and finally get to feel like the load on my chest got a few chunks broken off of it. Provided, of course, I did in fact say everything I needed to.
Man... Can't wait until I'm in Cuba. Don't have to stress about what I need to take along, just sleep in some island hotel room and let everything blank out. All this waiting around is driving me crazy.
Gonna go out and suck in a few breaths of chilled air while I've still got the chance. Good for clearing the head.
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Man, I got here a bit too late for a joke about Kagus coming out of the closet.
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I feel sort of jealous. I don't understand emotions like caring for people. If anyone needs a class in caring, it would be me. So reading all these kinds of things like having feelings other than distaste or disappointment in others is a bit... unrelatable.
Maybe I should translate all your words into a financial and profit maximization perspective... though the problem is we don't exactly know what you're trying to profit maximize, no? It looks more like you're stumbling around looking for a meaning to your time there than actually working towards a goal.
No offense, though. Maybe I don't understand the emotions.
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I suppose you could try and interpret as me attempting to tap into a rich love mine. There are dozens of potential shaft locations (pun not actually intended, but damn if it ain't a good one), but I am unsure as to which one has the highest density. And due to the very high cost and risk of starting up a rig, I want to make sure that the location I pick is going to give me the most for my money, so to speak. As such, I've been trying to prospect the available areas to get an idea as to how rich each one is.
Unfortunately, my prospector is a drunken gibbon with a foot fetish. Progress has been slow.
The mineral is an incredibly valuable substance with uses that vary according to taste. Some people use it as a purely decorative metal, others absorb the rare nutrients found naturally within it in order to induce feelings of euphoria and ecstasy, and there are those who use it simply to barter for other goods. Whatever the case, it is also a highly addictive substance with some of the most dangerous withdrawal symptoms possible should the person suddenly stop receiving their supply.
Also of note is that the withdrawal symptoms can be caused directly through second-hand consumption, without any of the beneficial qualities.
Consumption of tainted or impure love will also cause certain side effects, and although these versions are normally cheaper and/or widely available, it is recommended you find a trustworthy source with high-quality raw materials in order to avoid these side effects.
But in all reality, it's just that I actually do give a damn about other people. Including people who really don't deserve one of my damns. Personality quirk, my brain is physically wired to experience such emotions.
Also, I think I just made one of the coolest analogies for love that I've ever seen, and it's one in the morning.
Yes folks, this post does indeed indicate that I am back from happy-slappy cigar and communism land (C.C.C.P. Cigars, Communism, Che, PERIOD). I'm beaten to a pulp from the flight and in no state to even start on the Cuba trip updates. Y'all will just have to wait.
And there's a party tomorrow night, last party of the year. I'm thinking of attending. This means even less update time, but even more material.
For those of you who are planning on taking a trip to Cuba, remember this: If you find a Che Guevara t-shirt that is the right size and the right style, BUY IT IMMEDIATELY. Those things are impossible to find in just the right combination. Also, "Guantanamera" can bite horse rump and burn. I'm sick of that friggin' song...
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I'm sure you have love at some level Uniman.
Try imagining how you'd feel if this forum was overun by undesirbles, if Kagus sudenly started writing like a redneck, if DF ended. Surely, you'd feel loss?
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Why...?
If anything, I'd just stop visiting. It's not like I'm particularly attached to this place or anything. I remember when my pet dog died around 10 years ago, poisoned by some corrupt dog catches trying to maximize their capture rate. I wasn't particularly affected by it, more interested in how to deal with the exams, but I had to pretend to be sad to everyone I knew because they started acting very strange when I was just going on as normal.
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Actually Kagus, the best analogy for love was created by a rapper named Bo.
It goes a little somethin like this...
And love is
A homeless guy
walkin down the street
while it's pourin outside
and findin
a bag of gold coins
and slowly find out that they're all filled with
chocalate
and while he's
heartbrokeeen he can't
complaaiin
because he was hungry in the first place.
Link to the song containing the analogy is http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Fg-dQxQOEs&feature=channel.
Also, he has made two versions. The one on youtube is the original, but the one he sells on iTunes has the lyrics I posted.
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The Morning After.
Wow... Shit. That was... Wow.
Hell of a party. Once everyone got drunk, the confessions of love started shooting all over the place. Some hit, others missed. Most missed, in fact.
This being the last party while we're here at Skiringssal, it was kinda the last chance to say all the things we'd been meaning to say throughout the school year. And man, the things that were said... Very, very high emotional charge. I said a few things myself. You'll get to hear about them later, after I've posted the Cuba log.
I also got tipsy for the first time in my life. Peculiar feeling. All my movements were lagging behind, and everything seemed to flow in a dreamlike fashion. I also found myself thinking out loud quite a bit. An interesting experience, to say the least. I'm glad I did it, but I don't think I'll be doing it again. Not my style.
Not half bad for a first time, really. I ended up drinking a few slugs of whiskey and almost a pint of mojito, and I managed to stay relatively sane. No passing out, no puking, didn't even crash into anything. Not half bad for a first time, eh?
And I even managed to avoid a full-scale hangover, due to one of two habits I seem to have while drunk. Namely, I drink a massive amount of water. And then I drink some more.
The other habit involves finding straight lines to walk along to see how drunk I am. I managed to do it perfectly every time.
Crikey, what a night... I am completely and utterly beat right now. Gonna see if there's any food currently being served. If not, I'm going to hit the sack and sleep till dinner.
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Wow. It's like a bomb went off here. Everything's so quiet. Everybody is just shuffling around in a haze. We all got our souls sandblasted and we're trying to figure out what the hell we do next. So weird to think that school ends next week.
I'll see if I can get around to posting at least some of the Cuba log later tonight. I've got some things I need to do first.
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BWAHAHAHA! Ohh, damn... Well, now at least there's something to laugh about around here.
Alright, so there's this screen in the main lobby area that is frequently updated with school info for the students. It's a powerpoint presentation that shuffles through a basic reminder list, a detailed plan for the current day (when it's updated), and an overview of the current week (or the upcoming week, if it's a weekend).
All this is controlled by a computer sitting in a tiny little closet on the other side of the lobby. This closet is kept locked in order to prevent tampering.
Well, at least it should be. In all honesty, the door is left open about as often as it's locked. This time, however, the last person to update was actually absent-minded enough to leave the key inside the lock. Now, honestly... That's just asking for it.
After tooling around with it for a bit, I worked out how to connect an auxiliary screen to the computer so that I could work on it (I couldn't get a good view of the screen from where I was working). I then took a chair into the closet, closed and locked the door, propped the screen on my lap and set to work.
When I was finished updating, I returned everything to full working order (I had to disable the main screen in order to connect the auxiliary), opened the door, and nonchalantly walked out with my chair. I also heeded one of the new items on the reminder list and locked the door into the control room, making sure to take the key with me, goddamnit. Said key is currently resting in my back pocket.
I feel good.
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Was that the only item you added to the list?
An opprotunity to cause massive chaos just went missing...
You could have had something like "Beware of [zombies/pixies etc.]" or something along that line up as well.
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That was the only new item on the list (well, there was one new item on a sublist). However, there were only about one or two things that I didn't change. I even changed the names of the various dates into hybrid day-student names (except for Tuesday, which became Flapjack).
However, it is apparent that the administration here can take a joke. Soon after my masterpiece had been put forth, I came back to find the screen darkened and a note taped onto it stating that due to "hærverk" (I'm not actually sure what that means. Either sabotage or treason or something), the screen had been turned off temporarily.
Now comes the really, really stupid part. I try to fix it. At first I assumed that it really was just the screen that had been turned off (after all, I've got the key. And it's an old-fashioned style of key, so it can't be included in the master keys the teachers have), so I clicked the power button and waited to see what happened. A blank "no signal" notification appeared.
My stupidity not fully exercised, I go into the room without first turning off the screen. I then muck around with the computer for a bit, and discover that it has also been turned off. I try to turn it back on, but I do not have access to the password required to log in. Eventually I settle for setting it up to display the login screen, with "KJERRING!" as the username (it's a derogatory term).
I then turn to exit my little closet and listen at the door to make sure the coast is clear. Well, it isn't really. I can hear several people simply standing around outside. I try to peek through the keyhole, but I can't get a good look at all of them. I hunker down and wait to see if they'll bugger off. This goes on for a while.
I get the idea to write a text message to a trusted individual, asking him to come and check the area outside the door and see if any authoritative figures are lurking about. As I am writing this, I hear movement just outside the door, followed by the clinking of a key going into the lock. Shit.
The slightly hangdog face of the male school helper is the first thing to greet me along with the light of the opening door. I am, however, standing only a couple inches away from him and I was actually expecting to see someone show up in that instant.
He looks up from the keyhole and looks up. The instant he makes eye contact I smile at him cheerily and greet him with a loud "Hello!". I then quickly walk outside and into the darkening night.
Unfortunately, it was not enough of a shock to make him not notice who I was. He approached me later with his cellphone saying the vice principal wanted to talk to me.
I exchange a few words with the unfathomably irate vice principal, who is obviously appalled by such blatant and horrific vandalism. He tries desperately to impress upon me the dire nature of this trespass, and informs me that he is going to have a talk with me tomorrow morning, and again on Monday (with the principal also present).
There you have the reaction of the administration. Now, for the reaction of the few students who managed to see it before it was taken down.
"It was just some fooling around... Why do they [the administration] have to take it so seriously?"
"Funniest damn thing I've seen all day"
"I laughed myself half to death. Well done"
"Pure genius"
Looks like we're aiming for another school vs. students encounter. Fun stuff. I'm going to charge up my cell to make sure I've got a full battery, and then I'm going to try and use the dictating function I used for the Cuba trip in order to record at least the first ten minutes of my conversation with the VP tomorrow. Judging from how seriously he is taking this paltry matter (that the students really didn't mind), chances are that he will make a complete and utter fool of himself. I will then share that recording with as many people who will listen.
He also did not specify any time or place for our conversation tomorrow, only that he would talk to me tomorrow morning. Since he provided me with no other information, I think I will sleep in tomorrow. Should he wish to talk to me, he can damn well come and get me himself.
Ah, the glorious feeling of sticking it to the man. Y'know... It'd be kinda interesting to get kicked out of school on the last day. Not that I'm shooting for that, mind you... But this guy sounded like he was about ready to strip me of my stipend because I pulled a white hat.
I mean, come on. I didn't even do anything outright destructive. All the important information (really just the times when the seminars would be held this weekend) were the same. Admittedly, the seminars were changed from "Mountain Biking" and "Boat Trip on Fortuna" (Fortuna is the sailboat of one of the teachers here) to "Moron Biking" and "Boat Trip on Fortunafish", but they were still at the same times.
Bleh. The VP is probably just pissed because he's the one leading the Moron Biking expedition, where it was recommended you bring along a bitch with good suspension as they were going to be drooling in the forest (direct translation of some clever wordplay. Doesn't quite work in English).
Damn... This would've been so much better if I hadn't been caught. Just to see them fluster about aimlessly while talking about what a disgrace it was to the school's ever-important reputation.
Well, at least I've still got the key.
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Just got back from my 25-minute chat with the VP.
Poor sap didn't know what he was getting into. I'm actually kind of disappointed, he didn't try to domineer over me nearly as hard as I was expecting. Learned fast.
I'm off the hook. Didn't even have to sign my name in blood on a contract swearing never to do it again. Nor do I have to go to that second talk with both the Principal and the Vice on Monday.
As a reminder for anyone going in to speak with high-standing figures: Do not sit back and let them have their way. If you look them straight in the eye and completely disregard their assumed authority, they will be so shocked that you will win control of the conversation. The only time I broke eye contact was to laugh in his face. Towards the end of the conversation, he was spending more time looking at his watch or out the window than he was at me.
Booyeah. Gonna check the recording now to see if the crappy microphone actually managed to pick anything up.
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Right, Cuba.
Day 0, Skies Over Paris
After quite some time of rather hectic packing and stressful wandering (I was convinced I had forgotten something important. I knew I had everything I *needed*, such as passport and such, but there were a few other items which would have been nice to have), the bus finally pulled up and we got on, bidding a sweet farewell to Skiringssal and whatever it was we had neglected to pack.
The bus ride was rather unremarkable, mostly due to the fact that I slept for a good deal of it. Apparently some people found this to be the perfect opportunity for a photoshoot, particularly after they had done some... Well, posing.
We got to the airport and started getting our tickets to check in. Everything was going just peachy, with the large and unwieldy group breezing through security checks and what-have-you (well, not everyone made it through just fine. The teacher ended up getting stopped and searched. He was the only one in our class who set off the metal detectors), when we got to the "limbo" area between the boarding gates and the security checks. There was one last check before the gates area, and that was just a simple "wave your passport at the guard" deal, but we were not allowed to come back through that check and there was something on our side that was somewhat appealing. Namely, a few machines were we could draw money from our accounts in the form of Euros (to be converted in Cuba).
This was a simple affair of going up to a machine, sticking your card in, plugging in your code and drawing out money. Or at least it would be a simple affair, if you didn't happen to have a record of forgetting your PIN code.
I stick my card in and plug in what I am sure is my correct PIN, and the card is swept away into the bowels of the beast. Apparently, you're not awarded three strikes at every machine you try. A total record is kept. And eight previous moments of forgetfulness is a little over the limit.
The most logical option would then of course be to contact one of the personnel at the staffed bank right there, and see if they could do something about this. Well, the bank wasn't open. And it wouldn't open until 45 minutes later.
So I stood out there, accompanied by the F&TV teacher, for three quarters of an hour. And this was more than just waiting around, since the plane was scheduled to take off about half an hour after we would be finished, and we would still need to find the gate after passing through that check.
When the bank finally did open, they informed us that sorry, they couldn't do anything. I had to borrow some cash from the teacher, and then we went through to the gates.
The plane trip was... Well, a trip on a plane. I wouldn't exactly call it enjoyable, but I at least got to sit next to a couple people I knew.
We hopped on over to Paris, and while there I received word from my dad (I had contacted him while waiting outside the bank, in hopes he might have some information which would help me) that he had wired money to the French postal service that I would be able to pick up. He gave me the claim number and the name of the sender, which I would simply have to fill out on one of their forms in order to get the money.
There's that "simple" again. Apparently, they needed a little more than just the names of the sender and the recipient, and the claim number. No, they needed the EXACT amount of the transfer, the location of both the sender and the recipient (country, state, postal code and street address), the secret question and the secret answer, and the phone number of the sender.
Not only did I not know most of this stuff, there were some things that didn't EXIST. Such as my residential address in France. Furthermore, the sender's name was a corporation. They wanted the first and last name of a person, otherwise no-go.
After much back-and-forth, including some spread out phone calls to numerous different people, things managed to get sorted out to the point where I got the money. Much more money than I would likely ever use in Cuba.
Then we got to the gates and sat around for a while. A long while. Some people slept, some people watched TV, I tried to find a comfortable position to form my body into so that I could relax. Now, of course, my definition of a "comfortable position" differs slightly from the tastes (and, indeed, capabilities) of other people. More pictures were taken.
After some time of this, I felt a certain bladder-related urge. I set off to find some restrooms. A simple enough task.
Oh, you devilish little word.
It took me a few minutes before I found a "Restrooms this way!" sign, which was pointing down a small set of stairs. Down those stairs I found a couple guys playing on a PS3, some maintenance doors, an elevator and another flight of stairs.
The elevator didn't seem entirely functional, so I took the stairs. Next landing down, there was one door which says "Do Not Open", and another door with a rather large lock on it. There was also another flight of stairs, so I went down those. Next landing down there was nothing except yet another flight of stairs. On the final floor it was almost completely black, and the only items of interest were two doors at either end of a corridor. One of the doors read "Emergency Use Only, Alarm Will Sound. This Door Is Kept Sealed", and the other door looked like it led into a warehouse of some sort. There was also a wheelchair sitting in the middle of a large puddle of water which made the floor quite slippery.
I made my way back up.
Going in the other direction, I find another restroom sign. I went down another suspiciously blank set of stairs before coming across a junction that loudly presented the "Sheik's Lounge", but gave no information as to what that might actually be. After a bit of searching down there, my heart and bladder sour with joy as my eyes are treated to the restroom entrances!
This is quickly cut short by the fact that the men's restroom was out of order and the door was blocked.
I made my way up to gate level once again and gave it another go. All the way at the end of the various shops there was a sign proclaiming "Men's Room". I made my way around the corner, and was greeted by the delightful sounds of a functioning restroom.
Upon making my way in through the door, however, I find all the stalls and urinals occupied and about seven guys sitting around waiting for their turn.
Screw that, I'll take my chances with the plane.
Much, much later we piled onto the plane and take off for Cubaland. The seat assignments seemed almost completely random however, and I ended up sitting next to a German dude and his somewhat under-the-weather wife. However, according to some of the accounts I heard after the flight, I got off easy.
We arrived in Cuba late in the afternoon, and by the time the busses arrive at our first hotel it's already dark. Everybody checks in with a minimum of hassle, and everyone heads up to their respective rooms.
Relatively minimalist rooms, but they seemed just fine to me. The view was of the many buildings in Havana, which I might add all look like they've been through a war. Or two.
(http://i44.tinypic.com/33ac4gm.jpg)
And that's pretty much it. I'm gonna go wander off for a bit. I'm not feeling particularly write-y today, so I don't think I'll be getting around to another update just yet. I'm biting my own schedule by doing this, but I really just can't make it through another update right now.
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Wow, you have the worst luck. A lot of these posts read like things straight out of a bad sitcom. Makes for an interesting story though.
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Idea! Become a pirate! They can cop out of awkward situations by yelling Arr and shooting stuff with those old flintlocks. And they get to drink a lot. Their Union demands them to consume at least 4 bottles of grog a month though, so you might be too much of a lightweight to meet the quota.
But seriously, France sucks if you aren't a French person. My uncle claims a cop asked him for directions after pulling him over.
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Ah, the glorious feeling of sticking it to the man.
FIGHT THE POWER!
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Day 0 continued
We had actually arrived in time for dinner at the hotel, which was at a buffet-type thing up on the roof. I was highly disappointed to find that they had not a single dish that included beans. I mean, seriously. We're talking about Cuba here.
Managed to find a few things that looked mildly edible, loaded up some glasses with something that looked like some sort of citrus-flavored drink, and sat down with a couple of the guys for a little grub.
Shortly thereafter, someone came by and informed us not to drink the stuff we had poured ourselves, the reason being that Cuban water was highly stomach-upsetting for foreigners. So we left the very appealing drinks sit on the table as useless decorations, eating our food and then going back to our rooms where the only thing we had to drink was whatever water we had brought along. If we had brought any along, that is.
Much later, when we went back up to the roof to check off our names on the "I'm here and I'm going to bed" list (mandatory if you didn't wish to be awakened at 1:00AM by several teachers barging into your room to see if you were there or not), we were rationed one bottle of water. Not a massive deal, but there's nothing quite as enticing as a 2-liter bottle of water when you're damned thirsty and trying not to drink too much water so that you've still got enough to brush your teeth with afterwards.
Speaking of tooth-brushing, there were about three people who lost their luggage, including my roommate. This meant that he not only did not have a change of clothes, but that he did not have a toothbrush. Or toothpaste. Or anything else, for that matter.
I was fortunate enough to have received my bag (I give some of the credit to it being IMPOSSIBLE TO MISS), and happened to have three toothbrushes. I also had seven disposable razors.
No, this was not the result of obsessive packing. It was the result of emptying an entire pack of toothbrushes into my toiletries bag, and having numerous razors migrate into the general area without me noticing. In any case, I was able to give him a toothbrush. I even happened to have a change of clothes for him, since my Don Juan shirt fit him relatively well, due to its puffiness (unfortunately, due to severe contamination, this meant I did not get to wear it the whole time we were in Cuba. I was looking forward to that).
Day 1, American in Cuba
Got up relatively early and went up to the roof buffet once again to find several people sitting around and helping themselves from the refreshment pitchers. Apparently, the hotel had been using bottled water the whole time, not Cuban tap water as we had suspected. So those glasses of cool, delightful citrus-y drinks we left sitting there last night in favor of torturous thirst? Perfectly drinkable.
A wonderful way to start the day. Yay.
After the ordeal of feeding one's self, we packed up into the tour busses and headed off into Havana. We started off with some drive-by shootings, where we would trundle past some important site or another and the people sitting on that side of the bus would snap several pictures of it as we passed by.
These sites included the Che-face, some building "-of the glorious revolution", and the capitol building. The capitol building, which is an almost exact replica of the one on Capitol Hill in Washington DC. However, the Cuban one is a few meters taller. It's also somewhat dirtier.
We stopped off at the money exchange, where we could swap out our Euros for Pesos Convertables, also known as CUC's.
I'll stop for a moment here to mention that the Norwegian word for "cock" (as in, phallus) is "kuk" (pronounced 'KOOK'). Unfortunately, the English-speaking tour guides were not aware of this little fun fact, and pronounced CUC the same way, rather than spelling it out C-U-C each time.
Needless to say, much enjoyment was had when we were warned not to go through the city waving our CUC's around, since we might entice someone to come and try to steal them off us.
And I'm going to have to continue this tomorrow, as I'm dead tired right now. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll actually manage to pack up the whole Cuba trip before school is over... Damn well hope so, because I'm holding back on reporting current events before I've gotten this slop out of the way.
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Woog. Seriously strapped for time. I'm going to try and take a shower now, and just hope that my hair manages to dry in time for me to get some sleep. I also need to clear out my room, completely.
I thought we were going to pack up everything on Saturday, when our relatives/friends come and we say our teary goodbye. But noooo, we have to be completely cleared out (indeed, CLEANED out. We need to have our rooms spotless by 5:00PM tomorrow, otherwise we'll be fined around $150 for the trouble) on Friday. I guess they expect us to sleep in sleeping bags in the gymnasium or something.
The group I'm working with on the Cuba film was in charge of completing the intro, which is now finished (to an extent). Celebrations would be in order, were it not for the fact that we're apparently supposed to patch together the final third of the film itself (well, the third tape of footage).
Look, I'm not going to be able to finish off all the Cuba updates before school is out. It's just not happening. I've got 10-11 days logged, and I've written one and a half. What I'm going to do instead is write out the after-Cuba updates and just put them out afterwards, when I've had enough time to wrap up the Cuba log.
All depending on how I decide to do it, you may be getting both an emotional first-impression reaction and a calmer reflection update for when I leave school.
Jeez, Saturday... Just feels wrong to be leaving this place. So much has happened, but I don't really feel any of it. Seems like I've only been here a week or so.
Crikey... I don't want to think about this right now. It's about 9:30 now, so I'm going to go take a shower. Use up the last of my conditioner in what will quite likely be my last shower at Skiringssal (all depending).
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Last night at school, and I'm working late. Typical.
I'm still a bit in shock. Not feeling a whole lot of anything right now. It's kind of a weird buzz, like I've got a massive amount of emotions that don't really know where to go and are just sitting around behind the scenes before the dam breaks and everything goes boom.
We got our yearbooks today, and turns out I managed to get my title of Crazy Hobo! I'd feel highly successful, but this really just means that my name is briefly mentioned in a list. I don't even get a related picture. Also, they typed it in "Crazy - Hobo", with the quotation marks, making it the only title to have quotation marks. Not sure if I should feel even more special about that or what.
Actually, I'm really not sure what to feel about anything right now. I've never felt like this before. Rather uncomfortable.
Part of me wants to keep living the dream and stay here at Skiringssal, just keep on riding clouds in a never-ending school year. Another part just wants to get the end over with and go home.
Damn I'm tired... Quarter past midnight, and I slept for two hours last night. And I'm going to be up for quite a while longer, since I need to convert and then copy over every film made here during the school year (I have to convert them all because I don't have enough space on my disk to store all 103Gigabytes of uncompressed film). Like hell I'm leaving here without those gems.
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I may just be stupid and can't find it, but what year are you in?
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A norwegian "folkehøgskole" is single-year only. People usually enroll for a year at one of these schools to get a year's break after they're done with high school and before progressing with higher education at a university or college.
Or, in some cases, to dodge military service.
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Just left school. Ouch.
The final ceremony was a killer. It started off all well and fine, with all the students and their relatives/friends sitting in the gymnasium for the first show, which included a couple small plays from Theater that they'd performed for their elevkveld, as well as several songs from Music class. Also showed the newly-finished Cuba film, which was rather lackluster but had some good points in it.
We also had a minichoir performance, which I wasn't involved with for some reason. I wasn't aware of any special time or place we were supposed to meet up before the show, so I was just sitting in the aisles along with everyone else. I half-raised myself out of my chair, then changed my mind and sat down. No one had tried to call or message me either, so I just sat there and watched.
All things considered, it was probably best I wasn't involved with that. That thing was just embarrassing...
Towards the end, psycho Theater girl came out and did another performance of "Feel Like Going Home". Now, I know she's been singing that one a lot and is really (really) good at it, but come on... Singing it there and then? That hurt...
Then the revived school choir (now composed only of volunteers) went up and did a song. Ever tried singing when you're on the brink of tears? Not easy. I'm rather glad I wasn't part of that, as I really don't think I would've been able to hold it together.
After that first deal, the relatives and friends left the gym to go and help themselves to some snacks. The students and teachers stayed behind for the "real" farewell.
The music teacher sang "With a Little Help From My Friends", which was another brutal choice. Dammit, we're having a hard enough time as it is... Don't rub it in.
After that, all the staff lined up and the students went along single file and gave a hug and farewell to each of them in turn. Once we reached the end, we turned on the people who were just coming off the line and said goodbye to each other.
I ended up hugging and saying goodbye to a hell of a lot more people than I expected. Just like I've got a hell of a lot more comments written in my yearbook than I had expected to get. Felt good. Felt bad. Felt like it should've been a two-year program.
After some more goodbyes and promises of getting in touch again, we all packed up and left Skiringssal behind. It's sad as hell and I'm a total wreck as I sit here and write this, but there's a little dot of light in the dark and distant future, which is the party where all of the previous year's students are invited to come and see the school again.
I don't know what it's going to be like after that party though. It feels so weird realizing that I'm not going to be seeing these people tomorrow, but I'm hanging on the promise of that one night next year... When that's over and there's nothing arranged for us to meet again... I don't know. Don't really want to think about it.
I'll get around to writing the backlog of updates in a while, and then I'll put the thread to rest with a slightly calmer recollection of the aftershock. After that, the thread's over until I update it after the party next year.
EDIT:
I may just be stupid and can't find it, but what year are you in?
2009, same as most people.
-
EDIT:
I may just be stupid and can't find it, but what year are you in?
2009, same as most people.
Kagus is able to make zingers under any circumstance and that is why we love him.
But it does sound pretty painful to actually leave friends behind. I've yet to get to college where your class drops off like flies, but I don't think I'll be too sad then. Everyone at my school is a dick to me, which is why I read blags on the intertubes.
-
Just realized that I've still got the key to that control room door. However, by the time I get another chance to use it (the party next year), they will most likely have changed the lock to something more modern, and which allows the universal key the teachers have to function on it.
I'll have to ask that one other guy if he managed to make away with his universal key. If he did, then we've got an entryway into that room regardless of whether or not the lock has been changed.
Anyways, I decided to check the security of this particular key (which is a rather old-fashioned and basic affair) by comparing it to the key used on my grandparents' downstairs bathroom door, which looked rather similar.
I found out that not only where they very similar, they were exactly the same. I spent a few minutes locking and unlocking the bathroom door using the control room key. Not only that, I think it's also the key we used during the filming of our "ten minute" film.
So any teachers who are surprised by someone somehow managing to break the massive security barrier and get into this little control room should probably get their heads checked. Just a suggestion.
-
Accompanied by my grandfather's dog again... Complete with the standard procedure of skunk farts and trying to lie down on my laptop. I honestly have no idea how he manages to smell like that. And how the hell does he manage to keep hitting that stupid wireless connection toggle on the side of my machine?
And he just kicked me for some reason. Hard. Crazy old bugger.
-
Blugh. Last night in Norway, plane takes off tomorrow. Trying to pack a year's supply of junk into a suitcase and two bags, and it's just not working out as perfectly as one might hope.
I'm feeling stressed for some reason. I just want the whole bleedin' trip to be over so I can sit back and relax, and forget about all my problems...
Except that I need to keep pushing to get us into the humor competition I mentioned a while back. The deadline for sending in material is the fifth of June, and we need to get permission from the copyright holders of all the songs we used. And it would appear that I'm the only person working on it, since all the others are too busy preparing for college or working at some summer job.
Mind you, if we win this thing, they won't need to go to college and we'd be raking in more cash than the summer job could ever hope to pay.
They'd damn well better be grateful if I pull this thing off. I'm the only non-Norwegian in our little group, and all the people I need to talk to are, of course, Scandinavian. Dammit...
Gonna pack up my PC and grab a little bit of time with my anti-stress medication (guitar) before heading off to bed. Hope I can get to sleep tonight...
-
Ah, looks like I forgot to say I was back. Well, I am. Been home for a few days now. Don't have a whole hell of a lot of time to chit-chat right now, but I figured I could at least link y'all to the videos we're going to be sending in to the competition (more on that later, there have been a couple developments regarding what it is exactly we can expect to get).
It's all in Norwegian, and a bit dialect-heavy at that, but if you feel like giving us some five-star ratings just out of the kindness of your heart, I won't stop you.
Ingenting:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yHKBgjAuvA
Nansen & Amundsen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ATkS5uS_fzI
Kronisk Ubrukelig:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d05kt6UK4ps
Cheers. Since olemars seems to be the only Norsky around here, the rest of you will just have to take his word for how incredibly funny all this junk is.
... All in all, I'm not particularly happy with having to send this stuff in, instead of our better constructions. But, hey, work with what you've got.
-
Is this finished? Aren't there some missing parts? Cuba, the last days at school, that stuff?
Anyway, excellent stuff. Any hints about the next adventure?
-
Next up, we build a rocket so Kagus can tell us about space and the moon. He is our life-experiences guinea pig, so we can experience all the cool cultures and such of the world without leaving the house.
-
Sorry for the delay, but between Hawaii and laziness I haven't gotten around to writing out the rest of the stuff.
And yes, there is quite a bit left to be said. I'm just really, really not looking forward to listening to my Cuba logs, which-...
Wait a second, lemme check something...
Oh, good, they're still there. My phone had to be reset to factory standards recently, and that meant some information got wiped. Just got a sick feeling that the recordings might have been included in the purge.
Anyways, I'm not looking forward to listening to the Cuba logs, since I am decidedly more eloquent in writing than I am talking to a little box. I mumble, grunt, and punctuate my statements with very long pauses while I try to figure out the most efficient way of getting the information down so that I remember it.
None of this is helped by the constant fear that someone is listening to me record the log. And laughing hysterically.
Just to add to the discomfort, my phone only has "stop", "skip", "play" and "pause" controls for listening to recordings. No fast forward or rewind.
Normally, I'd just transfer them over to the computer and use my awesomely powerful audio playback programs (Winamp and Media Player) to manipulate the rascally little things. The only problem with this is that the recordings are saved as .AMR files, which I've never even heard of. Apparently, I'll need to find and download some special program to play the stupid things.
Going to go twiddle my thumbs for a bit before I convince myself to do something constructive, but before I go I'd like to give an update on what happened with the humor competition.
Since I was out of the country, I felt it would be best if one of the other guys from FTV sent in the application forms (which require address, phone number and so forth), so that it would be more readily acceptable. After calling around to some of the guys, I discerned the following:
One didn't really feel like doing anything, but wanted to be kept posted on how we were doing.
One didn't have time to send in the application, due to household chores and work.
One is slightly useless when it comes to this sort of thing, and is a notorious procrastinator (didn't actually call him, didn't really see the point)
One couldn't be reached, and
One was busy getting drunk with the one who couldn't be reached.
I finally managed to contact the last guy on the list, and told him about how I was going to be in Hawaii, and how I thought it would be best if someone from up north would send in the application (this would be the first thing they would actually contribute to the effort). He said he'd be happy to help, but he was currently between addresses and didn't really know where he lived yet, so he wouldn't be able to fill out the form. I said that was fine, so long as he talked with the other guys up there and got this thing figured out. He said he would do that, and I believed him.
Fast forward about three weeks. I've just gotten back from Hawaii, and I have access to the internet. I go to the host site of the competition and start browsing through the items that have been sent in.
I search through three months worth of junk, and find not a mention of our work.
I then go to YouTube and look at the various accounts that handle that end of the competition. Our account has nothing to do with them, and has in fact shown very little activity at all.
I'm looking very forward to calling that dude up again and asking him why I can't find our stuff on the lineup.
-
Day 1, American in Cuba, continued.
Right, the money exchange. Having received both a temporary loan from the teacher and the wired funds from my dad, I was friggin' LOADED with cash. When handing in my Euros to get changed into CUC's, the teller had to go into the back room and grab another wad of cash in order to accommodate me (it wasn't until after I'd gotten back from Cuba that I checked and discovered the guy had goofed and shorted me ten pesos. I probably should've counted the money there and then, but I think I can handle a ten peso "handling fee", when I would've had to run through 500+ pesos to figure it out).
I still had several Euros in my wallet since I'd rounded off the amount I gave him, but I didn't really think I needed any more CUC's. My wallet was already stupidly fat with the massive amount of cash wadded in there. The smallest size bill I had was a fifty...
Now that we were cashed up and ready to go, it was time to lighten that burden a little bit. To do this, we took a trip out to this little coastal fort that had been transformed into a tourist spot, with several stores boasting a wide variety of Gardam Forner-directed wares.
It was here that we found a cigar shop which, according to the guide, was *the* place to pick up cigars. This combined with the fact that it was also the first place, led to quite a number of people picking up cigars.
Except, of course, for me with all my money. I actually didn't buy a single thing in any of those stores. I seriously considered getting a can of soda or something, but asking the cashier to break a fifty so I could give him the one-peso cost of a drink didn't really appeal to me.
I was actually planning on buying some cigars, but for whatever reason I didn't... I did, however, learn a bit about Cuban cigars.
Cigars were generally sold in three groups. Mild, Medium, and Strong. Each strength level had its own champion brand, which supposedly sold the best example of that particular group. These ranged from the mild "Romeo & Juliet", to the strong "Monte Cristo", to the in-between "Cohiba", which held the unique distinction of being the best Cigar brand in Cuba. The cream of creams, so to speak.
The cigars of course came in different sizes, ranging from stubby little ones barely longer than your thumb, to the full-length whoppers that could easily be mistaken for a man's attempt at "compensating".
My compatriot, a man known for his taste in both hats and cigars, was practically shivering with the thought of having to pick a limited number of these beauties. If he'd had the money, I really do think he would have bought the whole damn store and stayed there for the rest of the trip.
Unable to make up his mind, he settled for a "sampler pack" from Cohiba, that included one cigar in each of their sizes. He also bought a three-pack of standard Cohibas (around 5-6 inches), and two Monte Cristo "A"s. These were the top-of-the-line from Monte Cristo, titanic compound masses of tobacco that had earned the distinction of being packaged individually in specially-made lacquered wood boxes with sliding tops. They even came with certificates of authenticity.
To be continued again...
Yeah, I'm finally back at it. This was a lot easier than I was afraid it might be, so I'll hopefully be able to put in a fair number of words tomorrow. Time permitting...
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Day 1, American in Cuba, continued. Again.
After clogging up the smoke shop with smoke (several people lit up the instant the money changed hands), we wandered around the fort for a while longer and took some photos from atop the many lookout positions.
It was starting to get around lunchtime, so we loaded back onto the bus and set out for food.
Lunch had been prearranged at this one particular cafe, so we had tables waiting for us. We'd also had our meals preordered, as the food simply came to us as we sat there and discussed the sights, sounds and smells of earlier in the day.
About halfway through the salad, someone made the brilliantly timed observation that the vegetables were most likely washed with Cuban tapwater, which was essentially the biggest scare factor of the entire trip.
I considered three things in my head. One, I'd already eaten most of my "salad" (cabbage with lime juice). Two, I was hungry. Three, it tasted pretty good after what I'd had for breakfast.
I decided that I had already eaten enough to bugger me up real good if it was indeed contaminated, so there wasn't much sense in leaving the rest. So I not only finished off the rest of my plate, but also those around me who had developed a sudden fear of cabbage.
After the salad we were served a simple dish of fish, beans and rice. I was ecstatic. Everyone else was groaning (they're Norwegians, dammit! How can they *not* like fish?). But, hey, that meant more for me.
Dessert was flan, and at least THIS everyone was willing to eat.
One little thing about Cuba... Easily the most popular street scam to get tourist money is the act of drawing caricatures. They simply spot someone who looks like a good mark, sidle up to them, and follow them along while they draw their likeness on a sheet of paper. They then attempt to sell that likeness to the person in question.
Now, for all their money-acquiring nature, these guys have some truly horrible business sense. First, they will walk alongside someone and draw their picture. Without asking, and often without even being noticed. When they've finished with their work, they will then simply hand the finished portrait off to their -still walking- mark. Then, without saying anything, they will expect to get paid.
I managed to feign stupidity (or lack of funds) and get away with a couple caricatures of myself for free. Honestly, never do something until you've gotten paid to do it...
After lunch we went back to the hotel to chill out. And by "chill out", I of course mean go to the roof and roast in the sun for a while. Not much to say here.
Later on in the evening, we went out for dinner and a show at a different hotel. We filed in to a great big room with several long tables radiating out from a semicircular dance floor in front of a stage. We sat down, and were promptly served a meal which was... Well, it was actually pretty lame. Especially for me, since it was mostly meat. I ended up eating everyone else's portions of rice and beans, since they wanted nothing to do with the stuff.
The drinks that came with it, on the other hand, were quite interesting... Quite interesting in that an entire school of students who had received strict orders not to touch a single drop of alcohol while in Cuba had just been served a round of the most potent Cuba Libres they'd ever encountered.
Since we technically hadn't ordered them, someone asked the teachers if it was okay to drink them. They actually gave the go-ahead.
Now, this would be fine under normal circumstances, when you're served a standard dinner-type drink that just happens to have some alcohol in it. But these things were nasty... They tasted so foul that no one would drink more than a couple sips before swearing off the damn thing. And even then, they were mostly just drinking it because they were allowed to. These things tasted almost like they were half-and-half mixes.
So you're probably imagining a load of students simply pushing their drinks aside and staring mournfully into the distance at being gipped. While that may have been true for most of them (a few tried experimenting with the concoction to try and make it more palatable), there was one noted individual, a guy from my class, who thought they tasted pretty damn good. So good, in fact, that he eagerly accepted all the rejected glasses from those around him.
He was having a preeetty damn good time after the sixth one...
Luckily, he managed to control his drunkenness. If he had exhibited full-scale stumbling about, there was a high likelihood he would have been kicked out of the school for imbibing liquor "while on school grounds". If that happened, he'd have to find his own way home from Cuba.
After some time the show started up. Most of it was just a bunch of glitter, flash, and malfunctioning microphones. But there were a lot of very scantily-clad dancers (male, female, and uncertain), and a couple attractions that were quite entertaining. Including one contortionist who put me to shame by sitting on her own head.
Another note on Cuba... Cuba is filled to the brim with music. On the streets, in the cafes, in the buses, everywhere they can fit a speaker. If they could afford it, they'd even scatter them through the palm trees and have them blasting out tunes 24/7.
A peculiarity of this music is that most of the songs they play are western songs that have been salsa-ized, with an extra beat added and all the lyrics translated into spanish. These included not only such time-honored salsa beats as "Dust in the Wind" and "Killing Me Softly", but also "Happy Birthday".
Now all this music is just fine if you happen to like salsa. Well, what happens if you don't? What happens if you, like my companion, begin to hear the similarities between "Guantanamera" and "Nails on a Chalkboard" after the fifteenth time of hearing the revered Cuban classic? Well, then you go completely bat-honk insane, as it is impossible to escape this stuff.
And that about does it for Day 1. There might be something I'm missing, but it will either turn up or it won't. And seeing as I've already used three posts on Day 1, I think it qualifies as a pretty frikkin' full day as it is.
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Day 2, Title.
Another hotel breakfast, followed by packing up into the bus and getting shipped out to a cigar factory. Pulling up to the front gate, we got to sit around and observe the bulky armed guards who were leering at everyone passing by while the teachers went in and talked with whoever was in charge in order to confirm our tour.
Cameras were strictly forbidden, as were any other image-capturing device. Those who had them were forced to leave them on the bus. The reason for this was, now get this, to prevent American terrorists from getting the intel needed to bomb the place. I happened to get quite a (silent) giggle out of this. Not necessarily because of the absurdity of the idea (not enough to laugh at, sadly), but merely because the roles were so completely reversed.
I also happened to conveniently forget that my phone could take pictures. I didn't really feel like leaving it on the bus.
The tour was interesting. The tour guide was exceptionally talkative, highly energetic, and quite entertaining. Just as a tour guide should be.
He showed us around the facility and showed us the various stages involved in making a cigar. He took us to the sorting room, where numerous people sat at little stations on the floor and plucked leaves from a box. They would strip the leaf if it had any imperfections or weakpoints, and the leaves that made it through this process while maintaining the correct shape and dimensions were laid over a small bar in front of the worker. The rest (including the scraps) went into another box, to either be discarded or made into lower quality products. The guide was kind enough to give some of the classmates sample leaves from the discard boxes. My compatriot was one of them.
He looked like he wanted to eat the damn thing. I'd never seen his eyes light up that much.
The guide also mentioned how they tried to hire mostly women, because women were better at stuff like this. Ironically, he was standing right next to the station of a man who was without a doubt the fastest and most efficient laborer in there.
We then moved into the rolling room, where people sat along long tables and worked their magic on the leaves that passed the bar exam (hyuk hyuk hyuk) from the other room. For those of you who were wondering, no they do not lick the cigars to seal them anymore. Now they just smear some pasty white goo on it, which is much better.
After getting rolled, the cigars are placed into racks where they get squeezed into shape and packed together so they stay whole.
Moving on to the next room, we get to see how the cigars get sorted. Processed tobacco leaves will naturally have varying shades of brown. The cigars reflect this by coming out in various degrees of darkness.
What the sorter has to do is group the cigars by color, so that when they're packed into a box they have a uniform shade and thus look prettier. They're also in charge of sorting out "irregular" cigars from the pack.
It happens to be in the sorter's interest to find numerous imperfect cigars... Because since they're considered "trash" by the company's standards, they have no problem with giving the rejects to the workers as a fringe benefit. Just be careful of how many cigars you deem unsuitable for purchase...
After the factory (an adult American got in, was given a tour, and had a camera phone all the time. Great anti-terrorism work, guys) we took off to the José Martí monument, which is a massively tall tower with one elevator. One elevator that could hold a maximum of ten people at a time.
The line was murder, but the view was quite nice. We could look at the famous School Bus Burial Grounds, the renowned Flock of Disturbingly Close Vultures, or Che Guevara. All from very very very very very high up. Managed to give my scare victim another spook while she was staring out the window. As was to be expected, she didn't appreciate the subtle humor in the gesture.
Once we were done looking out from tall places, we headed over to the Capitol Building lookalike for another little tour. The building sits on top of Havana's Kilometre Zero (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kilometre_zero), as depicted by a sizable gem (I forget if they still keep the real one in the ground or if they swapped it out with a fake for safe keeping. Kinda ruins the point, but whatever).
I like to call El Capitolio "the Off-White House", due to its rather disheveled state. But that would be better if it were a replica of the White House, and not the Capitol Building.
On the steps of the building, just as we were heading up to take the tour, I had another dude do a drawing of me. However, I don't think I was his original mark... My compatriot was walking ahead of me, and I saw this guy tailing him (he's a popular target for the artists, due to his distinctive apparel). I suspect that my compatriot ended up walking too fast, so the guy lost him. Instead, he looked at the next man down the line, made a couple adjustments, and tried to pass it off as me.
The result is... Well, it still makes me laugh even to look at it now. It can only be described as "a caricature gone wrong. Gone terribly, terribly wrong..."
As such, it is of course a prized possession. The dude tried to get me to pay him 10 CUC's for the thing, but I didn't feel like paying. So, naturally, I didn't have so much as a centavo on me. Again, fantastic business savvy on his end.
Alright, it's past 1:07 in the morning, and I actually feel tired. I'll just have to pick this up tomorrow. At this rate, I *might* actually finish talking about the twelve days of Cuba before 2010 rolls around.
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Day 2, Title, continued.
After the Capitol visit where we got to hear about all sorts of interesting stuff (when you're taken on a tour of the various waiting rooms, you know you've hit a truly enthralling location...), it was time for-
<<There seems to be a light discrepancy in my records here. I'm listening to myself describe lunch from the day before, with the added note on a certain series that was playing on the restaurant's TV (basically, Candid Camera based around sex and great jiggly titties. Loads o' fun). I'll skip past this point as I really don't know what happened, and just carry on through to what I start babbling about afterwards. Sorry for any inconvenience.>>
-and that was that. When we were finished, everyone split up classwise to go to certain places that were tailored for each major. Music went around checking out various street musicians before heading over to a music store, Interior Design wandered around areas that were built during various architectural periods, Clothing Design looked at hats and shirts, Film and TV went to a boxing ring...
Yes, that's right. We went to go see some boxing. Apparently, that has something to do with movies and filming.
Well, the real reasons are of course:
1) It would be essentially impossible to get in to see a filming of one of Cuba's many short films, due to language constraints and not having any contacts
2) Getting in to see one of these movies in a theater would be rather pointless, since we didn't speak Spanish and they didn't have English (or Norwegian) subtitles.
3) Our teacher, presiding over an all-male class, thought it would be an excellent time to reaffirm his masculinity by taking us all to see some good, old-fashioned violent sports, where large, sweaty men roughly fondle each other in their underwear.
We didn't get to the gym right away though. Or, at least, not the official-official one. First we stopped off at a little patch of dirt on the side of the road, where a very white person was teaching a class of exuberant youngsters about the manly sport of boxing. It was, of course, quite difficult to keep their attention focused on him, due to the large bus full of foreigners that had just pulled up and was gawking at them.
After some tentative first glances and movements, communication was initiated. I forget who started it, but it wasn't long before both sides (Busboys and Boxerbuddies) were in full communicative force, gesturing and gesticulating for the amusement of the other party.
The coach barked, and all the kids immediately scuttled back into position. We exited the bus and watched them for a bit.
It was around this time that we were introduced to someone who also happened to be checking out the local boxing establishments... That is to say, the monstrously huge and imposing Olympic gold medalist boxer Félix Savón Fabre.
Red shirt, in the middle.
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs014.snc1/4208_85948460779_503145779_2261073_7481361_n.jpg)
(He's hunched over)
We got to shake hands wi- holy sh* dude, that's not a hand, that's a goddamn FRYING PAN.
(http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs014.snc1/4208_85948455779_503145779_2261072_7128126_n.jpg)
Seriously, look at the muscles on the back of that thing
Anyways, we all got to shake hand-alternatives with him. He seemed to take a particular liking to a pal of mine, and expressed this affection by punching him in the jaw. Y'know, a little love-tap.
Poor sap almost died of fright.
Anyways, we all got to stand around, talk, and observe how these youngsters were being taught. Felix was standing by, approvingly, and occasionally making small corrections to the childrens' form (he was a rather quiet bloke... I think I remember him saying all of three words in the entire time I was in his general vicinity).
but then something interesting happened. I was standing there, talking with my pal (same one who got socked), when all of a sudden Felix comes over with a massive grin on his face. Then, not saying a word, he hands over a pair of boxing gloves to the chap.
We exchange a couple glances and smile somewhat uncertainly to Felix, who we have absolutely no intention of annoying in any way.
As we're trying to figure out WHY he just handed my partner a couple gloves, we see him walking over to the equipment box and start strapping on a pair of his own.
A light goes on. My compatriot's face, normally quite ruddy, is mysteriously pale. Felix motions for him to put on the gloves.
This should be interesting.
Yes, that's right. The 6'5" three-time heavyweight Olympic gold medalist just challenged one of the F&TV guys to a match. We all begin making peace with our soon-to-be-departed friend.
The match starts up with all the formal hubbub being arranged by the coach, and all the skitterish prancing about being handled by my friend. Felix, of course, is just beaming that smile of his.
To his credit, the FTV guy did try to land a hit or two. But for being as large as he is, Felix is a boxer, not a brawler. That means he's damn agile, and trained in the age-old art of "Not Getting Hit". The closest swing was about six inches away from any part of Felix's body, and that's just because he was caught off-guard.
The real worry wasn't so much boxing with this guy... He seemed nice enough, and not at all inclined to actually hurt anybody. What was the main point of concern was doing something aggressive and potentially setting off an instinctual counterattack reflex. He wouldn't mean to do it, but when you've been provided with a chance to look at your own bacne without aid of a mirror, I don't think you'd be all too concerned with whether or not it was intentional.
But that didn't happen. Well, not quite so drastic, anyways... Felix did end up throwing a punch, and it connected with a resounding *thwack* that made quite a nice addition to the Cuba video. Interestingly enough, the FTV guy barely registered that he'd been hit. It just sounded a heck of a lot bigger than it was.
Especially when I tweaked the film later and added that explosion sound effect... But that's another story.
Anyways, with all that taken care of and out of the way, we bid the little fighters adieu and made our way to where the big boys flaunt their oily, muscled bodies. In a purely heterosexual way, of course.
Felix was also headed that way, so we got to see some more of him. \
The gym was open, so we got to check out what was happening on the streets (and rooftops...) at the same time as we were watching the adolescents below punch each other in highly entertaining fashions.
I mean, just look at how much fun we're having!
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2040/177/99/897435330/n897435330_7267089_6474286.jpg)
See? Third one from the left is actually smiling absently!
After we had had our fill of sweaty manflesh repeatedly slapping against more sweaty manflesh, we headed on down to Chinatown.
Well... Chin Street, actually. With the economy as it is, Havana is unable to support a full Chinatown, and had to instead opt for one avenue dedicated to Eastern cuisine.
They also were apparently fresh out of Chinese people, as everyone working in the restaurants was Cuban.
We wandered around for a bit before picking a prospective location, then plunked ourselves down at the two tables they had outside and took a look at the menu, and all the delicacies it promised.
Like... Kung Pao Salsa... Eeek...
We managed to find some items that looked vaguely edible and waited for the server to come back so we could place our orders. While we sat there, we were entertained by mediocre street musicians (who fleeced us spectacularly. I think they managed to hit 50CUC off of playing four songs), and by the Local Spectacle Theater. Which is to say, the village idiot.
Now, this fellow appeared to be a somewhat retarded hunchback with a penchant for mischief and pranks... He'd run around begging for money, pawing at the breasts of female passersby, and cackling throatily whenever a shopkeeper shooed him off.
He became mesmerized by a drum at one point, and shortly thereafter felt a wee bit tuckered out so he decided to sit down on a nearby doorstep. While he was there, a small child came along and started poking him with a stick. This went on for about fifteen minutes, until the kid's mother called him back.
I hope you don't think I'm making this up.
We then got the food which was... Unremarkable.
Unremarkable, that is, except for the cost, which was quite remarkable. And I don't mean that in a good way.
After several checkings and re-checkings and subsequent recheckings of the hand-scribbled and meandering receipt, we determined that we were not being robbed via "mistakes" in the dish prices or sum addition. The prices were still far higher than they needed to be.
So we squabbled a bit over who had what, decided on what we should pay, and removed ourselves from the premises. Not having much else to do, we journeyed back towards the hotel and punched out for the night.
Damn it was nice to sit down...
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Kaaaaaguuuuuuus.... uuuuuupdaaaaateeeeee.
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Yesyesyes, been busy chatting with hot girls. And reading the forum. And doing both at the same time.
Basically just procrastinating, really. Nice to see there are still some diehards out there though.
I *will* get this wrapped up before I go back for the reunion party.
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How hot? 7 or <?
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Well, okay, so really more just "cute" than hot... Plus they're Protestant.
Man, I just get all the luck don't I?
*Ahem*
Day 3, Heming-Day.
Got up early-ish, went up to the roof to dine on the delectable repast which was the hotel's breakfast spread.
And by "delectable repast", I of course mean bagels, pork, green bean salad, and sugared biscuits. Plus juice and eggs, if you dared.
After sating our not particularly rampant hunger (that was the interesting thing about the dining at this hotel, it would alleviate your hunger without your even having to eat it), we journeyed out into the Wild Brown Yonder of Havana, seeking out only the most fascinating and important points of interest, of course.
Anyways, when we're dropped off at the vegetable market, we're notified that the buses, who were not allowed to park out in the street, would return in half an hour to pick everyone up.
So we're wandering around, admiring the truly vast selection of local fruits and vegetables (not to mention the far more interesting and bumpy locals themselves), and talking about the day to come. We're not buying anything because 1) They weren't taking the tourist pesos, 2) They didn't speak any English, 3) Honestly, what would *you* do with a pineapple in that situation?
Eventually, a few of us venture out to the sidewalk to join the smokers in complaining about how hot it is. I look over and I see a bus on the other side of the road. I see some people getting on to the bus. It looks quite a bit like our bus.
Curiously, cautiously, I look closer. Indeed, those certainly seem to be Skiringssal students getting onto the bus. They look about as confused as I do.
A few of the others have noticed by this time, and some have even started across the road. I join them, and we form this weird, confused group that makes its way haltingly across.
The guide ushers us into the bus, and we sit down at our assigned places. Apparently, it's time to go.
After a few more people pile on and sit down, the teacher stands up and asks if anyone is missing. The students look around and say that yes, indeed, there are a couple people missing.
Apparently the teacher didn't hear this too well, because he asks again, just to be certain. They respond in a unified "YES, there are students missing". There's a bit of a back-and-forth with the driver, the teacher and the guide. This goes on for some time. Then, at the end of it, the doors close and the driver starts off into the street.
This causes an instant uproar from the students. People shouting to tell them that "HEY! There are still people who didn't get on the bus! Stop!", but they're not interested. The bus can't park in the street, so they're gonna go on without them.
Psycho Theater Dame, who was sitting behind me, starts berating the principal, who was sitting across the bus from me. Telling him about how he can't do that to people. How he's left a couple students out there, in a city they don't know and that speaks a language they don't speak, and that in a little while they're going to look around and realize that they've just been abandoned. She's obviously quite worked up about it, and not without good reason. Imagine what it would be like if you were left stranded in a Cuban vegetable market (that sentence sounds funnier than it is...).
The principal's immortal response (paraphrased): "We couldn't park there. Have you paid for the show ticket yet?"
This was in reference to a performance that was going to be coming up in town. All those who wanted to attend had to pay 20 CUC to their teacher before a certain date.
Knowing that she wouldn't get anywhere with the argument, she let out a simple "Yes", and sat back down. The principal said "That's good", marked it down on his little list, and faced forward again, that little moron's smile of his playing across his lips.
So that was that. There was absolutely no notice of when the buses arrived. If I hadn't been on the sidewalk when I was, I might've been one of those left behind. When the students reported a short headcount, the management was more concerned with remaining in a no-parking zone than anything else, and left without sending someone out to look for them. And, finally, when someone tried to get the principal, the head of the school, to do something about it (or at least admit that he had condoned something wrong), he promptly changed the subject and simply turned a deaf ear towards any attempts to change it back.
My respect for him, if there was any left, was quickly wiped away. As was whatever respect I may have had for the secondary Film and TV teacher, who was the other head of our bus and who had ignored the missing persons report.
It was looking to be a very fine day indeed...
Next stop was Ernest Hemingway's abode, painstakingly maintained as a historical monument on Cuban soil (Hemingway is a VERY popular icon in Cuba). We were allowed to wander around the premises and peek in through the windows at the various rooms of the writer's house.
Peculiar man, Hemingway... He had a pickled lizard in his bathroom, and was apparently something of a weightwatcher. On the wall next to the scale was a long list of dates and weight measurements, scrawled onto the wall itself.
In the bedroom, a small bookshelf with a typewriter on top of it. This was apparently where, and how, Hemingway worked. He felt that the blood was pumped into his brain more efficiently when he was standing up, allowing him to think (and thus write) in a better capacity, so he would prop the typewriter on a mid-level surface and write standing up.
And also naked. I forget what his reasoning was for not wearing any clothes while writing his tales. Probably just the weather.
His house also boasted a number of exotic animal heads, all trophies of Mr. Hemingway's numerous wild game safaris, along with a few prize fish he happened to drag up (there are pictures of him with some truly monstrous sea-dwellers).
Around the back, down a little path and beyond the pool, was the dry-dock that Hemingway's boat was stored in. A fine and beautiful creation that any mariner would be proud to look upon.
College students, on the other hand, were slightly more interested in the pet cat graveyard. Hemingway had a thing for black cats, and gave each one a grave and a tombstone to itself. WEll, I suppose it's true what they say... Once you go black, you never go back.
He went through quite a few cats, apparently.
He also had a little tower that allowed for a truly marvelous view of the sea and surrounding jungle. This was his personal little observatory.
It was at Hemingway's house where we were assured of the well-being of our fellow students, the ones left behind. The second bus had come along later, and had managed to find seating for the others. Still though, that wait must have been brutal...
The two students left behind, interestingly enough, were John Smith and X. Smith, of course, was hardly fazed by the ordeal. He's one to go with whatever flow it's possible to go with at the time. He also was remarkably good at getting along with the natives... They all seemed to get quite a kick out of him.
But on the other hand so did the rest of us. Not all that surprising then, really.
Towards the end of the Hemingway visit, as some of the students were wandering back to the buses, someone happened to discover a litter of very young, very friendly, and horrifically dirty puppies along the way. These proved to be equally as, if not more, entertaining than the rest of the visit. Simple pleasures, eh?
A word about Hemingway... He was apparently quite an "interesting" personality. He'd routinely have his chauffeur drive out with two metal thermoses, and have him go to two very specific bars. One bar made the best Daiquiris in the area, and the other made the best Mojitos in the area. So the chauffeur had to drive to each of these, ask the barman to fill up the thermos with the specialty drink of that establishment, and return the beverages to the esteemed author.
Also, he had some peculiar priorities... There was a particular tree that was growing very close to the house, a type of tree known for its pervasive growing style and incredibly powerful roots. Hemingway's wife at the time, fearing for the integrity of the house's foundation, dug the tree out.
In response to this, Hemingway furiously grabbed his wife by the ear, forced her to crawl over to the tree, kiss the trunk, and ask for forgiveness from the tree.
Err, right... That seems perfectly sensible.
To be continued...
P.S.
I hope y'all appreciate just what an INSANE amount of text I'm putting into these updates. My fingers hurt...
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Day 3, Heming-Day, continued.
After Hemingway house, we took off to grab some lunch. Heading along the coast, were dropped off and left to walk the rest of the way along the waterfront.
We stopped off at a prime sunning location, which just happened to be located in the same space as a monument to Ernest Hemingway. It was here that we encountered two old farts who have remained in my heart ever since...
One was wearing a red shirt and a straw hat. His instrument of choice, the guitar. He had half of his teeth.
The other wore a dark blue shirt and a baseball cap. His instrument of choice, the coconut. He had half of his legs.
And these two cheerful old coots were just sitting on the steps of the monument, singing all the traditional tunes for the entertainment of whoever decided to listen.
Or join in, as the case turned out to be.
(http://i38.tinypic.com/212737o.jpg)
That green thingamabob you see is a camera made out of aluminum cans. Press the trigger and the "lens" pops off, causing a little spring-powered smiley face to shoot out. Highly enjoyable little doohicky, and it proved once again the Cuban resourcefulness for squeezing money out of people with as little cost to themselves as possible. Inspiring stuff, really.
Moving along, we came to the restaurant itself. Food was... Well, I'd really rather not go there. Only points of interest were the people at my table discovering that it is possible to smoke through a straw, and me nabbing one of the guitars from Music so I could satiate my aching fingers.
After food, we went to the beach. Now, I wasn't aware that we were going to be doing any swimming that day, so I hadn't brought along any swimtrunks. Or a towel.
I wasn't going to let this ruin my first opportunity at enjoying some Cuban waters, however. So I emptied the junk out of my pockets and jumped in with my regular shorts.
Well, there's a reason people use swimtrunks for swimming. It is because swimtrunks do not require ten hours to dry out afterwards.
The beach extravaganza was cut somewhat short by the fact that it was completely overcast and that it started raining not long after we arrived. Mmm, the joy of sitting on a bus with sopping wet shorts...
Arriving back at the hotel, we were afforded a short amount of rest. The next item on the list was a music performance later on (this was the outing that I was talking about, the one that needed to be paid for).
Those who had opted out of going to the performance got straight into their preferred method of hardcore relaxation. Those who were planning on going were busy cleaning themselves up and picking out something to wear. I followed suit.
After working everything out, I wandered around waiting for when the group would gather to take off for the show.
After a while of walking around the hotel, I noticed that it seemed rather quiet. I started looking for some of the other students, but found only a very small smattering of them... Piqued, I went down to the lobby and looked out onto the street. Nobody around.
I looked at my phone-clock. 6:15, the agreed-upon time to meet up.
I searched the hotel a while longer, before finally coming upon the realization that there had been, surprise surprise, yet another misunderstanding.
The meet-up time, which had been shouted at us while driving around town on the bus, had been quarter to six, not quarter past six. Feeling more than a little miffed/embarrassed, I headed out the door in an attempt to find the location we were to attend the thing at (it was right in the area around the hotel).
Of course, I didn't have a bleedin' clue where to go. So I asked a random bystander for directions (well, in essence. I basically just said "Casa de la Musica?", the name of the establishment. I don't speak Spanish). He smiled, said something in Spanish, and pointed. I thanked him and set off into Havana.
I'd just like to take a moment to mention just how often and how insistently the teachers reminded us never, ever to leave the city without at least two other people with you. Well, bollocks to that.
I found the establishment, and headed over. A few students were idling around outside, and I chatted with them a bit about my situation. After a while the teacher who was managing admission tickets came back out to the entrance to let in a few more students. Seeing me, she asked if I wanted a ticket too. I said yeah. She then returned inside and organized admission for the rest of us.
Boy, that was a pretty stern punishment for having ventured into the city alone. "Don't ask don't tell", I guess.
So we get inside, and the place is essentially a big club. You've got a bar, multiple levels with tables, a dance floor center front, atomically loud salsa music looping on the speakers, and not nearly enough seating for everyone inside. I see several Skiringssal-ites in a little cluster near the bar, all sitting with their chairs facing the dance floor. I wander over and just sort of stand there for a while.
After some time spent standing around and being generally... Well, "there", I start to feel a certain desire to seat myself. However, all the chairs in the Skiring area have been claimed. In some cases more than once, with students sitting on each others laps.
So I start looking around for a free chair. Nothing. Continuing my scan across the room however, I finally lay eyes on one table just across from where all the students are. A Cuban man is entertaining two Cuban women, and I notice that one of the chairs at their table is tucked all the way in under the edge. And as if that were not a clear enough sign, there was no sign of any drinks having been imbibed at that particular spot.
So I wander over to inquire as to whether or not I may make personal use of that seating item. Reaching their table -and acquiring their attention- I grab hold of the chair,move it slightly out from under the table, and then gesture at it and myself.
A brief pause as the information sinks in, and then all three start nodding their heads, saying things I can't understand in Spanish, and motioning towards the chair. It is at this moment that I start feeling kinda bad, because I realize I have just miscommunicated without so much as opening my mouth.
They think I want to sit down at the table with them.
Feeling very bad about doing so, I pick up the chair and gesture in the direction of the other students. The original concept was finally conveyed, and accepted, and we all walked away from that encounter feeling slightly foolish.
With my newly-acquired chair, I sat down with the rest of the group. I exchanged a few shouted-into-ear words with the person next to me, but maintaining a conversation in such situations is always tricky, and it eventually fizzles.
This next passage my shatter your mind. Just thought I'd warn you.
Not having anything better to do, and feeling slightly adventurous, I head out onto the dancefloor. No, I am not looking for lost jewelry, nor was I trying to get across to the other side (not that there was much of interest in that direction anyways, just the stage). I wasn't even going out there to play with the blacklight (although I must admit to being slightly mesmerized by all the shininess when I first ventured out there).
No, I was going to dance. And dance I did. I couldn't salsa, thanks to not attending the classes, but after talking with a few of the students who *had* taken the lessons, neither could they. They'd apparently forgotten everything. Made me feel slightly better.
I danced around, I danced from side to side, I danced alone, I danced in groups, I danced in the giant synchronized dance square that eventually took over the floor (learning the moves as I went, of course), I danced till my feet hurt. And then I stopped and went back to sit down in the chair I had appropriated.
And then I wondered what exactly I had gained from that experience. I wasn't entirely sure, to be honest.
After a time, the recorded music was cut off and the band came out. Finally, after ages of listening to Salsa and Technosalsa, we were gifted with a live band who would be performing...
Salsa.
At least, that's how it started out. After a few moments however, it turned into folk-rap-salsa. Okaaay...
Quick word here about something that happened during the dance frenzy... I heard about this much later, but this is as good a place as any to stick it in.
Remember brain-damaged loverboy? Yeah. Well, he really likes to dance. He couldn't hold a rhythm if his life depended on it, and he really does have the agility and coordination of an air-filled balloon, but boy does he ever like to dance. Preferably very close to well-endowed females.
So he's flinging himself around on the dance floor, having a right ol' time with all the dancing and Cuban women. He sets his somewhat puffy eyes on one in particular and starts maneuvering over to her, flinging his fingers skyward in that time-honored disco move, to which he has applied his own very special mentally retarded flavor.
The two end up dancing in close proximity to each other, and the women eventually notices him.
<<The people who told me about this explain that this is the turning point from when they were laughing and enjoying Loverboy's antics and when they're scraping their stunned jaws off the floor with plastic spoons>>
The woman starts grinding with him.
So they're out there, gyrating away on the dancefloor, as the miniature audience scrambles to pick up their fallen anatomy. Loverboy's grin looks like it's just about to stretch far enough to meet up around the back of his head.
Before they have time to do so, however, the woman grabs Loverboy by the hand and starts leading him off the dance floor purposefully. He follows quite willingly.
No longer content with merely the club floor, the misplaced jaws start digging underground.
The woman leads Loverboy over to the bar and stands VERY CLOSE to him while smiling broadly and chattering about something. Her hands frequently reach out to caress the pudgy flesh of Loverboy. And then...
The jaws suddenly snap back into place, smacking hard enough to instill the heads of their owners with newfound wisdom and insight as the woman starts rooting around in Loverboy's pockets, seeking the treasure not of lusty desire, but of idiot tourist wallet.
One of the school helpers saw what was happening and went over to peel Loverboy off of the woman. To put it mildly, he was NOT happy about being pulled away from what was obviously the opportunity of a lifetime.
After the show, I ended up heading out with a few of the gals to find something to eat. We ended up making our way towards Chinatownstreet, and stopped in at a spot that I hadn't been before. Looking over, we found several of the other students dining at another table.
The food was of little note... Better than the other restaurant I had been to in Chinastreet, but still not fantastic. The only interesting items were the one dude at the other table (sadly, a member of our very own Film and TV) who was berating the waitress and generally acting like a douche, and the service itself. There was quite a long wait at the beginning of the meal before someone came to take our order, then it was another long wait as the food was being prepared and served, and then once the meal was over we sat there for A WHOLE HOUR waiting for the check to arrive. And about twenty minutes minutes after that before the waitress came back.
This was in a restaurant with, as far as we could tell, two tables. Admittedly, they only had one girl working them (and she seemed rather frazzled, poor thing), but still... That's just insane.
Getting back to the hotel area, we had to sign up on a list that didn't exist. They'd either lost the list or the person who was supposed to be there wasn't or whatever... Suffice to say that it was *clearly* their fault, and that I had to write in both my name and the fact that the name I had just written in was, in fact, present and accounted for.
I got back to my room and started to pack. Tomorrow, we would leave that hotel behind. And I would be traveling with soggy shorts in my bag.
Hurrah, hooray.
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Hehe, I was hoping that kid would lose his wallet.
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*Is terribly dissapointed*
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Sorry, was getting bogged down again... Thanks for poking though. With any luck, I'll have some time tomorrow.
EDIT: Nope. Maybe the next day will yield an opportunity.
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This is funny and interesting and as such I am posting here to sate my interest and laugh.
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Kagus. I am dissapoint
(http://img13.imageshack.us/img13/2707/animesdisappoint.jpg)
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Day 4, Sugarboys.
Got up early again, and started the day off with a delightful hour-long bus ride, during which the tour guide almost certainly said some things, but I couldn't bring myself to summon the energy or excitement necessary to hear any of them.
We stopped at a sugar plantation for a little peek at how they do things. We got off at the main "hub" of the place, and then loaded on to this old-fashioned train they use for transporting the sugar around.
(http://i33.tinypic.com/28lw16v.jpg)
So we got to watch the cane workers do what they do best (which is to play music and dance with red scarves, naturally), see how a person climbs a palm tree using only two ropes, and chew on some raw sugarcane chunks.
(http://i36.tinypic.com/3581izl.jpg)
That's me playing guitar because it is a dreadfully long and dreadfully boring and also dreadfully uncomfortable train ride to and from the various points of interest. Next to me is my compatriot, who looks disturbingly like he's improvising a bathroom on this fine locomotive (crazyreason... Yes, I would love to ride on one of those!).
As you can plainly see, I surround myself with only the highest class of people.
Our final destination for the bus ride was, however, the next "hotel". I say "hotel", because this place really didn't abide by the standard laws of hotel-ism. But I don't mean that in a bad way. Oh heck no.
(http://i37.tinypic.com/2ptnp60.jpg)
Houses two people. Contains two beds, full bath, closet space, TV, coffee table (with chairs), an AC unit (that works), and two rocking chairs that can be placed on the verandah so you can watch the sunset while listening to music and rocking back and forth softly. Enough of these little bungalows for everyone.
In other words, FRIKKIN' AWESOME.
To add to this, it is a fully inclusive resort. That means breakfast, lunch, dinner, beach, pool, and an open bar which served what I can easily say was some of the most delicious fresh-squeezed orange juice I have ever tasted in my entire life.
That, and the meals weren't nearly as lame as the first hotel. That was nice. But even just having a shower that was actually a shower and not just a hose sticking out of a wall, and that actually had water in it, was luxury to us.
We were also placed right on the beach, you could see the water from our little sitting spot on the verandah. Mind you, said beach wasn't all the interesting. The water wasn't particularly warm and was only about two feet at its deepest, and the bottom was covered in either rocks or slime. But hey, for the first time on our trip to this Caribbean island nation, we were able to walk from our accommodations down to the sand.
Another interesting thing was that the daily schedule was cleared for this day so we could just kick around our new digs and just chill. And boy howdy did we make the most of that opportunity.
We did DIDDLY. Absolutely boinking NOTHIN'. And it was glorious. Just lazing around in those rocking chairs, passing the guitar back and forth between me and my compatriot (whom I shall from now on refer to as "Hatman", due to his penchant for all things hatlike), and injecting a little action into the day by going down to the beach and sunbathing.
It's been quite nice to be able to sit outside a bit, as the open air is far more difficult to clog up with cigarette smoke than a dinky little hotel room where one of the windows has been NAILED SHUT. The reason I bring this up is that, although I do not smoke, Hatman smokes enough for the both of us. And the neighbors.
Over the course of these few days, he had emptied half a case (not carton, case) of cigarettes, and had literally burned through several of the cigars he picked up as well (after smoking a cigar, he likes to "finish off" with a cigarette. I've never heard of anyone doing this before).
<<At this point in the narration, I comment on how I was sticking my head out the window at the time of the recording and saw a couple people walking past. I probably looked a little strange, pulling the curtain away so I could peer out the window with my hair down while talking into my hand, but that's fine since they all think I'm schizophrenic anyways>>
And that's going to have to be the end of this update, as my parents just got back and there's no way I'm listening to my logs while they're around. Hell, I feel bad listening to them in my OWN presence, let alone somebody else.
By the way, I hope y'all can appreciate just how much of a timesink writing these things is. I started writing this update at 3:30. It is now 4:46. The last Heming-day update took SEVEN HOURS to complete.
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The guy looking at the camera in the second picture looks like he's been eating too much sugar cane.
oh edit: Wow man, serious dedication going on there. I've enjoyed dipping in to read this. I'll keep an eye on this more so.
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Kagus, I, personally, do appreciate all the work you put into these even though you have no obligation to. The fact that you are willing to share this experience with us speaks volumes of who you are.
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The guy looking at the camera in the second picture looks like he's been eating too much sugar cane.
That's "The Bear". Rather amusing individual he was. And I'm fairly certain he lost his teeth through slightly more violent/drunken means than sugar intake. He's got some new ones now though, so it's all good.
The fact that you are willing to share this experience with us speaks volumes of who you are.
Uh oh.
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Day 4, Sugarboys, continued.
<<The first minute or so of this recording is indecipherable since I was apparently trying to eat my phone while talking into it. This has caused most of the commentary to be obscured by heavy wind and disturbing "*glup*" noises>>
After shambling around the bungalow for no apparent reason, I decided to head on down to the central area to see if I couldn't scrounge up something to quench my thirst, both for liquid and socialization.
When I got down there, <fkjkksraasdrkjgks> the buffet, so I <kasdjfkarrraksdkfjaksr-*glup*-llaskfraarghkksh> the most entertaining food, but hey... I've eaten worse. And lived to blog about it, no less.
Taking the plates outside, I sat down at a table with Hatman and a couple other people. Including Pirate-Goth, who as it turns out was one of the lucky few to contract "Castro's Curse". Also know as "Vacation Stomach" and "Two-Way Jet Propulsion Systems". On top of this, she apparently had a cold throughout the entire trip. And had a rather nasty blister-turned-sore on her foot.
This gal just never takes a break, I tell ya...
I offered her a foot massage, partly out of habit and partly because I know how a good massage can really take your mind off things like that. She gave me a rather peculiar look as though she was trying to determine exactly how many scorpions I was planning on putting between her toes, but I managed to convince her of my sincerity (and satiation from having already eaten that evening).
This was how I learned of the sore on her foot. It seems that even trying to help this poor gal results in her injury...
After dinner, Hatman and I put our metaphorical heads together to solve the issue of our dwindling drinking water supplies. We opined that searching around the local area for a late-night shop would be the best course of action and set off. Pirate-Goth, who was feeling somewhat better and had nothing better to do, decided to tag along.
And so we set out in a semi-random direction, and eventually came across a couple shops that looked promising. Upon closer inspection however, they appeared to have been closed down for the night.
To add insult to inconvenience, the posted hours indicated that they were open little more than half an hour ago, back when we were sitting around and gabbing at the dinner table.
It was at this point that one of us had the brilliant idea to simply take our empty bottles in to the buffet and fill them up at the drink stand. We agreed that this was indeed the voice of wisdom, and spun around with this new epiphany fresh in our minds.
Naturally, in the time it had taken us to go looking for water, the buffet had closed down. May our fortunes ne'er falter...
Hatman reasoned that we might have better luck at the open bar, which still seemed to be operational. Pirate-Goth said that she was starting to feel rather tired, and that she'd just head back to her bungalow for the night.
Now, quick comment here... From where we were, my little bungalow was on the other side of the street.
Her bungalow was on the other side of the colony.
In addition, the group that she had come to the buffet with had long since departed. This meant that she would have to walk all the way across the resort, on cracked and knobbly pavement, in the dark, alone.
Of course, being the gentlemanly sort I was, I could not subject a sick lady to such treatment. I immediately put on my cavalier's hat and offered to walk her home. She began to protest about inconveniencing me, but I insisted. It was simply poor show to abandon someone to walk such a distance alone at night.
Hatman piped up that I was better at speaking English than he was, and that the barman didn't speak Norwegian. I told him to shush up and stop being such a baby, he didn't need me holding his hand for *everything* he did.
So I accompanied her to her resting place and bid her goodnight. I then doffed my hat at a dapper angle and turned around to head back and see how Hatman had fared with his end of things.
It then occurred to me that I had just walked for several minutes on winding pavement that I'd never traversed before. Furthermore, the incredible darkness had limited my visibility to a few yards.
I was now completely and utterly lost, with only the faintest inkling of which direction my own bungalow resided in.
Shrugging, I started walking down one of the sidewalks.
Quite some time and at least a partial circumnavigation of the entire resort later, I managed to find my place. As I walked up I saw Hatman sitting on the lit verandah and smoking a cigar while rocking back and forth softly. This looked highly enjoyable, so I grabbed the guitar and sat down next to him.
We sat out there for quite some time, chatting, passing the guitar back and forth, and saying goodnight to the people as they went past.
Of special note were the wild critters that made the resort their home... Numerous large reptilians would sun themselves during the day, and the packs of stray dogs were as common here as anywhere else in Cuba. But of particular note were the herds of wild horses who would go running around the streets at night.
Seriously. Wild horses. This place was just awesome.
Apparently a few of the other students thought us two geezers sitting out on rocking chairs was a rather entertaining sight, so we got to swap words with a few notables. This period included one of the longest conversations I'd ever heard Brain-Damaged Loverboy engage in. I have no idea how he managed to find a cowboy outfit in Cuba, but he can be rather resourceful at times provided the motivation is great enough.
This one gal came up and started talking to us for a bit, commenting on how we looked like a couple old farts just sittin' out and enjoying the weather (speaking of which, it was a very comfortable temperature out there) in our rocking chairs.
We smiled wisely up at her and responded simply, "Yep."
After a while she headed off down the road to find her own bungalow. We bid her good night and went back to talking about nothing. We saw one of the resort guards walking along and waved.
What happened next was rather interesting.
*clop clop clop*
...
<Horse whinny>
"WAAAAAUGH!"
Hearing the scream, we peer out into the darkness in the direction the girl walked off in. We see her running towards us panting hysterically about how "it's going to get her".
A word about this particular girl... She apparently had some sort of spinal problem, so she was perpetually bent over to one side and always seemed to shuffle a bit. She was also something of a high fashion chick, having developed quite a taste for all things New Yorkish.
So here comes this gal, decked out in her designer clothes, shambling down the street as quickly as her legs can propel her along, and she's muttering terrified profanities to herself.
The guard, who looks about as panicked as the girl, quickly asks her what's wrong. She yells "IT'S A HORSE! IT'S A HORSE!"
We lose it. We just lose it. As the guard is desperately trying to calm the poor girl down, we fall out of our chairs as our bodies are wracked with howls of laughter. All attempts at composing ourselves are lost to the wind as we simply cannot withstand the comedic pressure this situation has built up inside us.
The poor gal was petrified of horses, the guard ended up walking her home so she'd feel safer... It really wasn't anything to laugh about, and we realized that (making sure to feel sorry for ourselves later on), but damned if we could do anything about it.
We eventually managed to gather ourselves to some extent, whereupon we resumed our previous assignment of enjoying the fine evening.
All our composure was obviously a sham though, and for the next hour or so we would sit quietly for a few moments before one of us exclaimed "It's a horse!", and we'd both break down again.
Much later, after the bar had run out of orange juice and we had run out of licks to play on the guitar, we turned out the lights and went to bed. And so ended my first night at this resort...
F_ing EPIC.
End of day 4.
<<Author's Note: GOD DAMNIT. Due to events unfortunately under my control, I had to rewrite this post from scratch from about the point we got back from water-hunting. Blargh.
With any luck, the safeguards I just put in place will prevent such an occurrence from popping up again. What's funny about this is that I was checking my bank account so that they wouldn't shut it down due to inactivity... I've had loads of problems with this bank ever since I started up with them, and I *knew* something was wrong when I managed to go through an entire interaction with them without something terrible happening.
And then I hit the wrong "X" button, thus closing the entire browser rather than just the tab. *glup*>>
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No offence, but I hate it when people can't use a phone without communicating into it with their tongue. It's so nasty to let someone use your phone and they put their mouth on the end.
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No offence, but I hate it when people can't use a phone without communicating into it with their tongue. It's so nasty to let someone use your phone and they put their mouth on the end.
That would be like kissing someone in a face-to-face conversation.
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I know, it's so nasty!!
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Well, this was more like walking up to someone, sticking your mouth half an inch from their ear, and then panting heavily.
My guess is that someone else was relatively nearby, and I was trying to limit the amount of speech that would reach them by sticking the microphone as close as possible, then mumbling.
I also listened to a snippet of the next recording, and I apparently try to balance things out by holding the phone at arms length and shouting in the other direction. Geez, the people I have to work with in this job...
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You left many terrified Norwegians in your wake. "What's the foreign guy doing?" "He was talking into his phone and then he just started yelling at that tree over there...".
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Progress is, obviously, rather slow at the moment. Haven't had a good moment to dig into the other recordings, and time is beginning to get rather disturbingly short for me to finish this before the reunion party. I still haven't forgotten about it though, for all that that's worth.
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It is actually worth quite a bit.
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Hehe. Well, if anyone has any questions about... well, pretty much anything about the school year, I'd be happy to address them at this point. It's just the actual, y'know, updating that's been a bit problematic lately.
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Day ????, Misunderstandimating - Cienfuegos, baby.
<<This day's recording is horribly difficult to listen to, as it sounds like I locked the phone in a chest somewhere, buried it, walked fifteen feet away and then started talking. Some words have been lost>>
"Bus ride, today... ?Hlug? fun, ?frounding? nothing... Getting tired. Listen to the tour guide babble on about... ?Comp? of ?frrfnly? dull stuff. -ut, I have a morning tree(???), ?gna? always nice. Oh, yeah, free. Went around a bit... Uhh, ?havnshrenshniyart-draknasterfubble?(?????). There's a GUARD."
<<That's most of the first minute of the recording. Now you know what I'm up against>>
<<Final Note: This recording is apparently a partial rehashing of some days where I didn't put up a recording. As such, dates have also been lost. I assume this has something to do with Draknasterfubble syndrome. I will attempt to patch up what parts of the story I can>>
...I had just gotten up, and my roommate was still busy sleeping off all the riotous good times we had last night (amazing how sitting and chatting will tire a soul out). I decided to let him sleep a while longer, so I took the guitar and sat down outside to enjoy what may or may not have been the morning.
The guard from last night <<Note: A guard had come by while we were sitting out on the veranda, and started talking with us. He was not very comfortable speaking English, and he seemed to be a bit shy (for a Cuban) in any case, so we naturally took to him quite well. My roommate later informed me that the guard had come by before when he was the only one sitting out there, and had asked him if he could buy one of my roommate's cigars. My roommate, liking the guard, agreed to sell him a Cohiba (three-pack for ~30 CUC) for 3 CUC. Only later did he find out he had paid not with CUC, but with Cuban Pesos, worth 1/25 of a CUC. Suddenly, my roommate wasn't quite so fond of the guard anymore>> came by, and commented on my playing.
We got to talking about music, and then he mentioned that he had brought his girlfriend around to our place last night to hear me play, but I wasn't there (curfew at 11 MAKES NO SENSE in Cuba).
Now how about that? Some dude hears a tourist playing guitar at the resort he works at, and he goes to bring his girlfriend around for a mini-concert. "Flattered" isn't quite the word to accurately describe my reaction.
Also, the prospect of coming around again later was right out, as this was the last day we would be spending at the resort. We had to pack up and head off that afternoon.
He looked a bit crestfallen (whether this was because he couldn't get to hear me play or because he couldn't buy anymore dirt-cheap cigars, I'm not sure). After that, we talked for a while longer and then he went off on his patrols.
My roommate and I made the absolute most out of our remaining time at the resort. By, of course, doing as little as possible and achieving levels of chill previously thought impossible by the scientific community (ha! Take that, professor Draknasterfubble!).
When the buses came around to pick us up, we had a quick last-minute stockup of necessary supplies (soft drinks and snack food) for the trip. I managed to purchase a 2-liter bottle of fizzy lemon-lime, which was easily my favorite drink so far encountered in Cuba (aside from the fresh-squeezed orange juice, of course). Needless to say, score. It cost an exorbitant amount of cash though.
The trip was wildly uneventful. Around four in the afternoon though, we stopped by for "a wide assortment of Happy Fun Activities" in the lovely town of Cienfuegos.
This, of course, meant we should walk around and stare at IMPORTANT HISTORICAL STATUES AND STUFF for a while, before being herded up into some old abandoned tower where we could pick between Salsa lessons or going to a football (soccer) match. The tower in question did, however, have a rather interesting top floor. (http://i35.tinypic.com/2vltm46.jpg)
Everyone picked football. No, seriously, of the entire 90-some person school, five people chose Salsa. I think that most people were just sick of the music at this point in the trip, having had it blasted at them from every conceivable direction for about a week now.
So, we went to a nice, enjoyable football match, in a stadium with plenty of seats to accommodate any number of visitors and a shade roof to protect them from the murderous sun.
(http://i38.tinypic.com/2l5hz7.jpg)
Notice how we are not in the stands. Notice how there is in fact a backlog of people trying to force themselves into the stands. Notice how we're standing in the middle of the sun just on the other side of an almost head-high wall from the game.
The only way we could see the match was to peek through those tiny little holes cut into the side of the wall, allowing us to see maybe two or three players at a time, if we were lucky and they happened to be standing right in front of the hole.
However, most of the holes were already taken.
Instead, we just watched the people, and figured out what was going on by looking at their reactions. This was entertaining for about, ooh, fifteen seconds. Roughly the amount of time it took to feel like your skin was about to deep-fry itself.
The match boiled down to this: Attempt to find viewing spot, give up on finding viewing spot, sit in shade for several minutes, leave. I wonder how the Salsa-ers were doing.
After Cienfuegos, we hurled our fleshy consistencies back onto the bus and carried on towards hotel numero tres, which was supposed to be just so much better than the ones before (several skeptics were spawned from this comment, as most of us were in agreement that the resort was frikkin' awesome).
The bus trip proved to be like many others in its form. Namely, a dull trip highlighted only by the incessant banter of our tour guide. If you think history in your own country is dull, think about listening to the history of a place you have absolutely no relation with.
But, after scouring my back for several moments, I was able to re-relocate the earbuds to my phone, at which point Cuba's proud national history of trees and shrubs was drowned out by Alice In Chains and Blue Öyster Cult. I settled back into my seat, happy that I was afforded at least one luxury today.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten to charge my phone the day before. So I was afforded only a few minutes before my phone starved to a tragic death, right in the middle of Rotten Apple. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEeFNvvR-ng)
Welp, back to how many mulattoes you can fit in one coconut palm.
Near the hotel, we were awarded with an unusual sight to break the monotony. A wildfire was blazing off in the distance. My roommate whipped out the videocamera and began taking footage of the event (we were assigned the camera for that day. We were supposed to film stuff).
Ever tried filming something far away? How about while riding on a bus? How about while riding on an old, cheap bus that's driving over a road filled with holes and unreasonably large pebbles?
Sadly, that footage was of little use. The window was far too dirty to see anything.
The hotel was... Well, as a hotel in and of itself, it was quite nice. Very nice, in fact. Compared to the last one? Yeah, uh..... No.
Still though, service was still all-inclusive. This meant as many pineapple(-ish) slushies as we could manage, thanks to a crushed-ice machine. Of note, however, are the wristbands themselves. At the previous hotel, the wristbands were a smooth gray/silver. At this hotel, they are EYE-POPPINGLY ORANGE. If more people wore these things, vehicular-pedestrian accidents would drop by at least 64%.
After settling into our accommodations, my roommate and I decided to nab a guitar and sit out on the balcony. It was nice, but it just didn't have the same effect as the last resort...
Unsatisfied with the non-rocking chairs, we set out to find where the action was, as there at least should be some action to be found nearby.
Turns out there was. Down by the pool and bar, a little stage had been set up, and someone was putting on a show for the gathered audience of hotel residents. The show itself was interactive, with several audience members who had (been) volunteered standing up on the stage along with the host. We found a couple spare seats and sat down.
The first show we were privy to was apparently the finishing round of some sort of contest. Three volunteers were attempting to sing "Guantanamera"...
...through a mouthful of water. Much hilarity and choking ensued.
After that contest was over a magician came out who was neither particularly magic nor Ian. He tried to get a volunteer to do the same trick as he was doing, of course without telling him the trick to doing it properly (holding a small, unknotted rope inside a bottle while swinging it around). Much hilarity and rope-dropping ensued.
Once these shows had finished, the announcer came up again and said happily "You know what we need now? we need some music! Do we have any musicians in the audience tonight?"
I was just starting to get into the show, and had relaxed enough to enjoy the somewhat banal performances. As such, I was intrigued by what they would pull up for this next event. Then, a horrible realization dawned on me.
I'd brought the guitar down from our room. I was, in fact, holding it upright next to my chair.
Several frantic seconds followed, in which I attempted to shove the guitar at my roommate, who shoved it right back at me. I tried to hide it, but too late, the announcer had seen me. And as soon as he found me, the rest of the audience turned around in their seats to see who he was pointing at.
Bugger.
The crowd cried out for blood music, and I was summoned to the stage. Once there, the announcer asked my name (took me a couple tries to figure out what he was saying), got it wrong when introducing me to the crowd, and then got me to sit down in a chair while I was set up with two microphones. One for the guitar, one for me (HA. HA HA HA. HILARIOUS).
So, there I was. All manner of lights were directed at me, giving light to areas of my mildly unwashed demeanor that they probably never needed to see. All sound I made was fed into a speaker system of monolithic proportions so as to broadcast to all those in the assembled audience. And audience that was more than ready to see yet another "volunteer" have his dignity sacrificed for their amusement.
Well, f**k 'em.
I started to play the latin-esque number I'd been doodling with for most of the trip, and that had apparently impressed the resort guard to the point that he brought along his girlfriend to listen to me.
The audience's collective expression changed from expectant bloodlust to surprised, and then mildly impressed. I'd apparently even managed to grab the attention of the crotchety old Cuban who had been drinking at the bar and looking the other way.
I played two 'things' (can't really call them songs), which were really just variations of each other, and ended them both in a mildly comic fashion (I managed to flub up both times just at the end, so I figured I'd make something humorous out of it and flail around in a hilarious fashion). It's really tricky playing stuff like that, since there's no defined end. I had no idea when I should stop. Luckily, I stopped before I was stopped.
In any event, I ended up winning a giant colorful cocktail for my trouble. A worthy trophy, to be certain, but, ah...
I of course couldn't drink it. School policy. I had to just leave it behind, most likely to get flushed down the drain. What a ridiculous rule, especially seeing as it had already been pushed aside on a couple occasions. Blighters.
Not that I was particularly keen on getting schnockered, mind you. I just don't like not having the freedom to at least taste the damn thing, or share it with my friends. Heck, I even offered it to the teacher. I mean, I won the damn thing, I wouldn't want it to just go to waste.
After the performance, the announcer got my name again so that he could once again (get it wrong) 'introduce' me to the audience, and mention the possibility of bringing me up to do another performance some other night.
I leaned forward and said "Don't count on it" into the microphone, but it had already been cut off. Durn.
Ach vel, such is the life of a musician. You're dragged around to bare your soul to hordes of faceless people, and never get the chance to really speak your mind. Only difference is, with a real musician, they actually get to drink the stupid three-tiered cocktails. Meep.
End of day Draknasterfubble.
<< Author's Note: I honestly have no idea what I'm saying on that part of the recording>>
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Day after, Who's Your Trinidaddy?.
With the relaxation period apparently having been left behind at the previous hotel, we were called awake early the next morning for some more "Delightful and Historic Exploration of Fantastic Happy Cuba", also known as "This is Trinidad".
Before reaching our funducational destination, we stopped off at a pottery shop. It was here that we were allowed to hypnotize our still-sleepy minds by staring into the spinning potter's wheel as one of the artisans made mugs, pots and bowls with startling rapidity.
We also got to look at the wares already for sale on the shelves. This collection included a staggering assortment of bowls, bowl-shaped plates, bowl-like pots, faux-bowl cups and 'I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Bowl' spittoons. Plus a disturbingly large (in more ways than one) assortment of phallic figurines (including a frog who was frighteningly well endowed for an amphibian).
For as interesting as this was, there was a slight hangup. The bus had been waiting outside, and was acting as a sort of high-powered beacon marking its location as a site of rampant tourism. By the time we left the shop, there was a veritable flock of street peddlers waiting for us. Within moments we were engulfed by a horde of large, sweaty women shoving bowl necklaces with bowl adornments and miniature bowls within the bowls into our faces, screeching "FIVE PESO! VERY GOOD, FIVE PESO!" at us.
Naturally, some students of the feminine persuasion decided to pick up a few of the things. I used this is a distraction to get back within the "safe zone" of the bus and our rather intimidating driver.
After the pottery shack, we ventured into Trinidad, a very historic city known for its uneven cobblestone streets and its, uh... Historicalness. I'm still not entirely sure why Trinidad is supposed to be so historic. My guess is that it's just because it's really really old.
Now, by 'cobblestone', I of course mean 'a bunch of rocks and random debris chucked out of windows for long enough to make something that looks almost like a street'. There was no mortar, no standardized size of stone, not even any rounded stones, or anything smaller than your fist. Just large chunks of rock and pieces torn off of the nearby buildings.
It was in Trinidad that we walked around for a bit, saw a couple locations that were recommended to us as awesome places to go and hang out 'cause they're awesome (we would, of course, never go to these places), and then were promptly dropped off with a bit of "free time" to find our own interests before the buses came back. Exhibiting some staggeringly high levels of creativity and independence, we stood around in a cluster and squinted aimlessly in various directions. I took this time to scratch a small dog that had wandered along.
A few of us wandered off down one of the roads until we came across this semi-vacant lot. Inside the lot were several chickens, a couple benches, and a band of old fogies who were rockin' it out like the revolution was still going on. We sat down for a while and listened.
Since this was relatively late in the Cuba trip, most folks were sick and tired of Salsa music. And since these guys were playing all the traditional favorites, it was my guess that I was the only one actually listening to them play. The others just like staring at old people.
Since the group seemed rather proficient at what they did, and since they did a nice version of what was one of the two traditional songs I actually somewhat enjoyed (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INkLVwtIr_I), I decided to splurge and pick up a CD (which, upon later inspection, could have had its production quality mimicked by taking some sheet metal and yelling at it until it started to vibrate). After this purchase we piled onto the bus to head back to the hotel.
<<Author's Note: The rest of this recording is utterly incomprehensible, and I don't really remember what happened after we got back from Trinidad, so that's going to have to be it for today. Might just have sat out by the pool and had a few sodas with the gang. Also of note is that there are only two recordings left, although the last one is rather lengthy. This means we're getting pretty durn close to the end of the Cuba trip, so I can finally wrap up the end of school, complete with shocking revelation. Cheers>>
End(ish) of Day after.
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Day whatever-it-is, Frankenbeans.
After the Trinidad trip, we were informed of a host of enjoyment opportunities for the next day. We could get up really early, load onto a truck, and get to hike for a couple hours up through the tropical forest to witness a small waterfall (we could even bathe in the mountain-fed water if we so wished. Yippee!), get up early-ish and get onto a different truck to go horseback riding in circles, or not get up at all and take the day off lounging around the hotel and sunbathing on the beach.
I sometimes feel a little bad about having spent so much time asleep on Cuba. Then I remember how awesome it was.
After sleeping in a bit (not as much as I had expected though, just enough to miss breakfast), I wandered out into the world in search of a couple free drinks and some time to do nothing of importance. On my quest, I paused for a moment to think about those who had opted to leave the sanctuary of their beds in order to walk mosquito-infested trails and swim in cold, rock-filled water... Or those who felt it was somehow rewarding to wear a funky helmet and get their butt intimately acquainted with a small horse.
Can't say I envied them.
To add to the excellence, it was my turn to film that day. However, the teacher felt that more footage of the hotel would be pointless, what with how much awesomenothingness was going on, so camera duties were assigned to another goon from F&TV who had opted to go on one of the excursions for some reason.
So, instead of spending the day playing the part of a boring uncle and film everyone doing stuff, I got to lie down on the beach and catch some rays. Ended up burning myself a tad, but I felt it was an acceptable price to pay for my lethargy allowance.
The day was absolutely, consummately, and gloriously lazy. I didn't have to do anything! And it felt spectacular!
Dinnertime rolled around, and I was treated to some of the most massive beans I have ever encountered in my life... They were so massive that I seriously doubt that they were in fact beans, and were in fact merely bean-shaped amalgamations. Made from beans.
Frankenbeans.
Interestingly enough, that was the first time I had (knowingly) eaten beans on Cuba. This was a surprise to me, not to mention slightly shameful for the Cuban reputation. I mean, c'mon... This is CUBA, people! Beans are one of the four major food groups, along with rum, cigars and fish! How disappointing...
Norwegians, however, apparently do not accept the divine truth of beans. I was the only person to ladle up a massive plate of beans and rice (and go back for seconds). These pansies stuck to the foods that looked familiar to them. This essentially covered the breadroll platter and the chunk of meat that was being slashed into submission by a couple cooks.
Hey, that just meant more beans for me. Beans.
Around eight in the evening, we were gathered around the pool for a little information from one of the teachers, regarding the possibility of heading into town (Trinidad) later, as well as just an overview of some of the things to be covered in our last days on Cuba.
And, also, the last days of school. We had just a couple more days in Cuba before we were set to take off back to Norway, and then it was a matter of a few days before school was officially closed down and we were released. Permanently. That was a hell of a lot to process... And not a particularly pleasant thought.
I fiddled around pointlessly for a bit before the buses showed up and a selection of folks piled on to take a late-night Trinidad trip. Fate decreed that I would not mark this day down as another responsibility expertly dodged, so I was handed the camera to do some filming while we were in town.
The film itself was not particularly film-worthy... However, I did happen to be sitting just in front of a couple Film and TVers, including the in/famous John Smith. And, as we all know, John Smith + (anything) = One heck of a wild combination. Because of this simple law of physics, I was able to make a recording of a delightfully harmonized song about soup and The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Prince. Only a mind such as John Smith's could fathom a connection between the two... Inspiring.
Trinidad was dark. Such is to be expected when it's the middle of the night and you're in a town that's been around since long before electricity. And, as anyone who has done some filming can attest, darkness does not agree with cameras. So, even if there was something interesting to film in the late-night streets of Trinidad, nobody would have been able to see it.
However, after a bit of muddled wandering, a fair number of people ended up at Casa Musica (translation: 'A bunch of stone steps with some people playing music between blackouts and lots of old people dancing around') and stuck around to watch the show. Casa Musica had music, dancing, fast food, and a lit stage. Realizing my opportunity to do something, I quickly selected an angle, flipped open the view screen and positioned my body so I could hold the camera without too much jostling.
I was able to film for about seven seconds before a massive Cuban waked up to me and, in no uncertain terms, informed me that filming was strictly prohibited. I went back to my seat (rock).
I'd already heard all the songs the band was playing, and the combination of mediocre sound control and frequent power outages yielded a rather lackluster show.
Instead, I got most of my entertainment from a surprise visitor. The small dog from the day before was wandering around again, and apparently found me interesting enough to scamper over for some more tousling and backscratches.
(http://i47.tinypic.com/qnae50.jpg)
This image may give the impression that this dog was energetic, playful, and insane. That impression is, however, quite correct.
She was quite mouthy, and I had to find something a little less sensitive than my hand for her to bite into. My pant leg ended up being a fine substitute for human flesh. My shoelaces would have been another choice, but she managed to untie the damn things in short order, so I felt it was best to divert her attention to something else.
After a significant amount of time and energy, I managed to play the excess energy out of her and she conked out in my lap, a mouthful of gnawed pantleg still stuck between her teeth.
I had become a pillow. Prevented from moving, lest I disturb the cute little demon from her slumber. So, naturally, she had fallen asleep on the part of my leg that makes that entire limb go completely dead after about five minutes of pressure.
Five minutes later, the show ended and people started leaving. I was still playing pillow to a dog that was showing absolutely no intention of waking up again anytime this week. Tough decision.
After relocating her as gently as I could, I hobbled after the rest of my schoolmates as they filtered out and around in search of last-minute entertainment before the buses arrived to pick us up again.
Walking is difficult enough as it is... Imagine walking with one leg that has fallen asleep from the hip down. Then add several steps. Made from cobblestone. Cobblestone in the loosest possible definition (and placement). Mix in the fact that you're hurrying in order to catch up to some people so that you aren't left alone in an unfamiliar city in the middle of the night.
Man, that was fun. Ha ha.
When I made it down the steps, I could see that the students were splitting up into numerous smaller groups for the purpose of spreading out down every last one of Trinidad's many crooked streets. I couldn't see any cronies from my standard group o' goons, so I ended up tagging along with a mini-group formed by Pirate-Goth, her roommate, and her group's tour guide (whom she had struck up an ongoing conversation with).
I really should know by now what happens when you're the only guy in a group of gals. Namely, your inferior mind is swept up and dominated by the pervasive psychic Estrogen field and you find yourself being led around mindlessly like a lobotomized dog on a chain while they try on dresses, examine jewelery, and fawn over purely average works of art. I filmed some of it.
However, this trip was not wholly fruitless, as I was able to make a shocking discovery... As we all know, any overbearing government will ensure that every wall is equipped with several ears with which to monitor its citizens. Cuba, not to be outdone, has apparently gone to great lengths to ensure that even the streets have ears.
Unfortunately, they seem to have taken the saying literally.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/24zliep.jpg)
Yes, that's a stone ear embedded in the streets of Trinidad. I guess they wanted a paving stone more than a statue, and decided to recycle the raw materials.
Don't see that every day.
Returning to the hotel, I realized that I had filmed what amounted to about 5-10 seconds of footage, plus the soup song. This being unacceptable, I hooked up with Hatman and investigated some of this hotel's mysteries...
Our room was at the far end of this long, slightly elevated building set to look out over the coast, so we had to walk all the way down the line of rooms in order to get down to ground level. Right at the end where the stairs are is this strange box of sorts...
It looks like it's supposed to be a phone booth of sorts, but that theory is dismissed as it is entirely lacking in any sort of phone equipment. The box doesn't have so much as a power outlet in it.
So, in essence, it is a roofless glass enclosure comparable in size to a phone booth. With a shelf
With our trained eyes, we immediately recognized this item as something to be filmed. All we had to do was figure out something to do with it.
The details are difficult to explain (and the essence of that masterpiece cannot be explained with mere words), but suffice to say that it was a dear loss when that footage was not included on the Cuba film. I hope only that it still exists, somewhere...
I believe we also took the opportunity (it was either that night or the one before) to film a sort of introduction to the new hotel (for the sake of the Cuba film).
Naturally, this was done via Blair Witch-style horror movie, wherein the unsuspecting filmmaker enters into his new room, makes idiotic comments about the furnishings, pulls aside the curtains to discover a disheveled madman (me) on the balcony, then dies inexplicably.
We called it a night. Our last one at this hotel, in fact. The next day will introduce us to the final hotel we will be staying at on Cuba. Which, according to the teachers, is by far the best one.
And, of course, we value and trust their opinion very highly. Yeah.
Beans.
End of Day whatever-it-is.
EDIT: P.S.
I'd just like to add a little something about the maid crew at this particular establishment... Namely, the fact that they were dedicated and more than a little crazy.
When we left our rooms to wander the hotel grounds, I don't know if we were even expecting them to be made up for us while we were out. What we got was far more than just a little sheet-pull, however...
This was something I have never, in all my time with hotels, ever experienced. I've never heard of any cleaning crew take such pride or creative license with their jobs. Nor have I ever seen a towel that freaked me out more.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/e5i8nl.jpg)
How would you like to walk into your room and find THAT staring at you? Those are a pair of Hatman's swimshorts, by the way, and it's wearing one of his shirts... Yes, they incorporated our clothing into these monstrosities...
(http://i50.tinypic.com/2lc63nk.jpg)
...and the guitar. As you can see, even the sheet has been pulled up differently.
(http://i46.tinypic.com/28cj3np.jpg)
Yikes... We talked with a few of the other students, and they had received similar treatment. We heard stories of elephants, swans and lotus flowers, along with more sightings of the terrible towel-men. They were different every time.
We actually got to see the mystery crew behind this one time... We were just about to take off when they came in. They walked in to find the room in its standard state of messiness (both Hatman and I are accomplished messmakers. Working in tandem, we were able to clutter up a room in a matter of seconds. Although we were fast, however, we still never got nearly as untidy as some of the other students), and proceeded to playfully chide us for messing up their nicely made room and giving them so much extra work to do.
This was, of course, all in Spanish. But rolling eyes and exasperated pleas to the heavens are part of a universal language.
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Day whatever-it-is +1, Welcome to Hell Hotel.
As with the other hotel switches, we had to get up early (before noon) and load our bags onto the bus, preferably along with our personal selves. These changes were always great fun, as I'd spend most of the evening before a move checking, rechecking and then re-rechecking my bag to make sure I'd packed everything, then sleep fitfully wondering if I'd forgotten anything, and then get dragged out of my slumber by the alarm telling me to get up and get ready for the ensuing trip. A perfect combination.
After a couple hours on the road, we were dropped off at one of the absolutely essential points of interest on Cuba, namely the Che Guevara Monument, Memorial and Museum. I like to call it the 'CheMMM'.
(http://i45.tinypic.com/2eg73md.jpg)
First on the list was the memorial, where we went into a small room with low lighting, and looked at several plaques showing the (known) names of all the rebels who had been buried here along with their glorious leader. The room was decorated with quite a fair number of flowers, and Che's sarcophagus had a little flame burning on top of it. While we were in the room, we were asked to remove our hats and remain silent as a sign of respect for as long as we were in there.
The head kitchen lady apparently didn't get the memo, and immediately started gabbling on about the flowers the moment she stepped inside. Someone leaned in to whisper that we were supposed to keep quiet, but she's a teensy bit hard of hearing, so the room was filled with a loud "What?" instead of a calming silence as the helpful bystander was forced to repeat the message. She developed a rather rosy complexion after that little incident.
Moving on, we entered into the museum of Che. Here we got to see all sorts of various things he had touched during his lifetime, including his hat, his glasses, his pistol, his binoculars, his uniform, his belt...
Speaking of his uniform, Che Guevara was apparently not a particularly large man. He just ended up being one of those "larger-than-life" characters, I suppose. The museum also boasted a couple encased pages of Che's diary, as well as numerous photos taken of Che Guevara and his Merry Men. I think they may very well have had some of his cigars on display as well...
Once we were finished with the museum, everyone was herded outside so we could take our school photo with the monument.
Now, a little word about our dear, beloved principal... He seems to think he's a photographer. And, as with everything else he seems to think he is, he most certainly is not.
First, we took a few pictures while on the stone paving of the monument's platform. This involved crowding together, and kneeling down on the smooth, hard ground. For the first couple takes, it was uncomfortable. For the next six, it was brutal.
Everyone was pleading with him to hurry up and take a good one, or to just stop taking them, or to pick a different location. He just smiled happily to himself and kept shooting, completely oblivious to anything we might have been saying. When we were finally released, our breath of relief was cut off by his announcement that we would be taking another one down at the foot of the platform.
This, at least was on soft grass. But now we had a new problem. In order to fit everyone into the shot (along with part of the monument), we had to line up in about four-five rows of students. And unlike the photo on the platform, there were no significant elevation differences (steps), so the back couple of rows are completely hidden by the students in front.
A photo is snapped, and we in the back row realize that we will not appear in the photo unless something is done. We come up with the plan of simply jumping up at the right moment, thus also giving a little life to the shot. We shout to the principal that he should count to three before taking the picture, and then we crouch down in preparation of a jump.
From behind our student wall, we hear the click of a camera. He'd just taken the picture, without uttering so much as a peep. Someone tries to explain to him the process of counting from one to three, while everyone else (even a few in the front rows) ask him to take another photo.
Still smiling quietly to himself, he begins to pack up the equipment, obviously finished for the day.
I wasn't aware that I could hate that man more than I already did.
The photo which was picked out and printed on the back of the yearbook almost completely conceals the back row. All that can be seen is the top of a hat, some shades, one guy's arms reaching up, and Penguinman, who is calmly peering over everyone's heads. That guy is really rather disturbingly tall.
And that was that. Our school photo. Hurrah.
After that whole ordeal, we loaded back onto the bus and headed on down to the last frontier hotel.
This place was just wrong from the moment we got there.
Here's the deal... Making a reservation for so many people is difficult on its own, but trying to give people specific room partner assignments just makes things even more complicated. All the hotels we had been to on the trip checked people in via a list. Roommates were listed together, and they would get called up to the desk to check in and take their key. Simple enough, right?
Well, someone had apparently lost the list. Yes, they had lost the overview of who was staying where and with whom.
Cue an hour of sitting around and waiting while the teachers and hotel staff tried to work out some new system that allowed people to check in. We first had to get called up to assign ourselves to the list, and then we had to wait again for our name to be called from the list we had just checked off on.
When I finally did get the key, it was handed to me in a piece of paper with the room number on it.
No, not an envelope. No, not a pre-made slip for the card. This was a piece of paper that was torn off a larger sheet of paper.
The larger sheet of paper in question happened to be a printout of the client registry. So, the gal behind the counter had just handed me an overview of the name, nationality, and registration number of 3-some people. This was bad enough, but that happened to be the most legible item on the paper. I am, of course, comparing it to the room number. Which had been written on the back in pen.
To add to this, we had to carry our baggage to a special room for safekeeping and register it with the old fart who was sitting there. Naturally, we had to do everything ourselves. Including find the baggage room.
Several elevator rides and hall searches later (finding a room is a tricky enough deal as it is, and it most certainly doesn't help when you can't even make out what the number is or what floor it's on), we finally found our door.
After some shoving and arguing with the electronic lock, we managed to get the door open. The room looked pleasant enough, but it was a pretty basic hotel room. Then we noticed the first problem.
"Uhh... Where's the other bed?"
Now, I like Hatman. I do, really. But I don't like him that way. A single bed just wasn't going to cut it.
We decided to just swap rooms with one of the couples from school, and discovered that a few other people had received single bed rooms. A couple of these lads had already swapped with the couple we were going to consult.
Having had just about enough for the moment, we wrassled our way back into our room, and decided to just sit out on the balcony for a bit so we could relax our minds to the point of near-sanity.
That was when we encountered the second problem. The sliding glass door would not budge.
Now, I've come up against some sticky doors in my time, don't get me wrong... I'm no stranger to the portals of unyielding will, who can only be overcome through extensive grunting and face-scrunching. This was not one of those doors. It was just stuck. Dead stuck. It was not going to move. Period.
By this point, I was pissed. I had just spent almost seven hours sitting on a bus in a none-too-comfortable position, I was tired from hauling my worldly possessions around with me all over the place, I needed to arrange for new sleeping accommodations, and all I really felt like doing then was just sitting down and relaxing in some goddamned fresh air.
We went down to the desk to complain. I ended up having to argue with the person about having two beds and a door that could be opened. Luckily, I was more than happy to have an opportunity to argue with anyone representing this establishment, and I ended uphaving a roaring good time fighting this woman on the beds issue, and shooting down her response of "well, sometimes some of the doors stick. You just have to push harder" with a few tales of the coordinated shoulder-ramming escapades we had indulged in to get that friggin' door open.
Eventually, she yielded on the bedding issue, and said she would send a maid up with a new mattress. Good enough for me.
After we had settled in a bit, it was about dinnertime. So, we decided to group up with a few of the other folks and went downstairs to find someplace to eat (this in itself was a challenging endeavor, as someone had neglected to give us a map showing the abstract layout of the hotel). Eventually, we happened upon a restaurant that looked promising. We were about to head in when the doorman stopped us with an outstretched hand.
I was really starting to despise this place... Apparently, there was a dress code. No short pants allowed, and I think they had a problem with some of the shirts as well.
In a tropical resort. A tropical beach resort. A tropical beach resort in frikkin' CUBA!
So we told that restaurant to go sod itself, and went on to the next. Same treatment. Apparently, this absurd dress code was standard for all the establishments in the hotel. Grudgingly, we all went back up to our respective rooms and got changed. Then we went back down, found a different place, and walked up. Doorman stuck out his arm again.
Paraphrased conversation between the doorman and one of our group members.
"Sorry sir, but you need a reservation."
"What? But there are lots of empty tables in there!"
"Those are reserved."
"Alright... In that case, I'd like to make a reservation for later tonight."
"We're fully booked sir."
"Uggh, fine. I'd like to make a reservation for tomorrow evening."
"Sorry sir, same-day reservations only."
"I will eat your children, you monkey-brained arsewhistle."
(That last comment may or may not have been made)
So that was that. We checked every damned restaurant down there, and we got the same schtick. No shorts allowed, must have a reservation, same-day reservations only.
After much scouring, we eventually managed to find one (1) place that did not need a reservation. It was a little buffet place, complete with food, drink, and its own little quirks.
For instance, the drinking problem. 40-some tables, 30 drink glasses to go between them. Several raids were performed on the other empty tables in order to find something to drink out of. I think a couple people have have had to resort to using the flower vase as a cup.
And as for the liquids themselves, you had to run over to the drink table and pour yourself a ration from the cola bottle that had been sitting out there for who knows how long, and which had gone mostly flat. The reason you needed to do this was because although they had a drink dispenser set up, any attempt to use it would be met with a spray of clear, warm, tasteless carbonated water, along with a trickle of thick goo coming out of the joints of the machine. The syrup lines were disconnected.
Then there was the food. The "buffet" was divided up into a few segments... First, the dessert platter, then the breadrolls, then a vast expanse of watery fish, shriveled tomatoes and old potato(-ish) salad, then finally the one thing that looked like it might actually be mealworthy. Some pasta.
But, as with everything, there had to be a catch. This was not just some bucket of pasta you could scoop up from. No, this was one dude sitting behind a counter and taking orders. You would select which ingredients you would like to have in your sauce, then he would make up a batch of pasta with that sauce from scratch, ladle out one serving for you, and dump the rest into a trash can. Next order?
The line curved around the wall. This was stupidly wasteful, and also incredibly slow since each person had to wait in line, place their order, and then have him make it up from scratch before you could get some of it. Woe betide the hungry man who wishes for a second plate.
There was one dish of pre-made pasta sitting next to him, but it was lukewarm and also running rather low. I just scooped up from there, leaving a little for the next man in line, and went back to search for anything else that happened to be edible. I found rice.
No, not chinese fried rice. Just rice. White rice. White rice which had been given full opportunity to dry out over the course of the day.
My dinner was rice and pasta. Supplemented by some dried buns and flat cola. "Best hotel" indeed.
The pasta was utterly and completely tasteless. It obviously had some sort of sauce on it, but whatever combination of spices was put in there, it made the whole thing taste like absolutely nothing at all. All it had was texture, and that texture happened to be slime. Lukewarm tasteless slime.
I'm afraid, however, that I cannot extend such compliments to the rice. I have no idea how you manage to screw up rice, but the expert chefs working there had done their damnedest on it. I'm assuming they found some unidentifiable dead rodent out back and snuck it into the rice pot when it was being cooked up.
After the meal, I decided to give myself a much-deserved treat... So, I walked over to the dessert tray and loaded up a small plate.
They tasted like water. Seriously, water. And it wasn't even particularly good water.
After dinner, we went back to our rooms to get settled in a bit more. While walking down the hall, I noticed a new door that had opened up on one side, which apparently led into the service storage room. I saw a folded up bed in there, and became hopeful that the maid had indeed come by and set up a second bed for us.
Entering our room, my hopes were crushed yet again. No extra bed. The glass door was also untouched, as I had expected.
We waited for a while, thinking that maybe the maid simply got called off on something urgent while she was bringing the bed to us. Then, finally, my brain started putting two and two together...
That *was* the bed. Their method of providing a second bed for us was getting someone to stick it in the storage room on our floor and then leave the goddamned door open for us. I put my face in my hands as I tried to wake up.
Once my efforts to shed this horrible dream from my mind were proven futile, we went back down the hall to get the stupid thing. We rolled it out of the storage room, down the hall, and into our room. This was, absolutely and consummately, insane.
And then it got better.
After shoving the previous bed aside far enough to make room for the new one, we opened it up to find it was lacking something. Namely, sheets. Man, these people just went above and beyond the call of duty...
We visited a couple other rooms and borrowed their extra blankets until we had amassed a good enough number of rags to make something resembling a set of bedding. Then I took one of the pillows off of the other bed and finally plunked myself down for just a couple moments of rest from the day...
The bed sank down a good six inches, and screamed like a banshee while doing it. A foam mattress. Hilarious.
I really hated that place.
End of Day whatever-it-is +1.
<<Author's Note: This was actually the last recording I had, but we're still missing a day. Not sure what happened there. I'll try and patch up what happened from memory for next time. Luckily, I actually happen to remember a few things about that day, so it shouldn't be too difficult.>>
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Last Day -1, Dawn of the Endtimes.
Waking up on the auxiliary bed was almost as bad as sleeping on it. My body ached from the pathetic mattress, and the blankets that served as sheets had bunched up in only the most uncomfortable places.
Against all odds, we had actually managed to open the door to the balcony the night before, but only after an extended period of primal grunting and hammering it with blunt objects (in a sense, we had used the door as an embodiment of all the hotel's ills, and resolved to put all our strength into defeating it. Regardless of what condition it might be in when we were finished). And only then did it give way with a sickening crack. We had decided not to fully close the door afterwards, for fear it might lock up again, so the sounds and temperature of the outdoors also contributed to my awakening.
We got up, attended to our morning business in the Throne of TerrorTM, and went outside to sit and watch the morning/noonday sun shed its light on the actually quite respectable ocean view from our room.
The so-called Throne of TerrorTM was the bathroom of our hotel room. This place was sanctuary to a broken toilet seat, a disturbing lack of toilet paper, a fair amount of rust, and numerous dark stains on the bottom of the bathtub which I can almost assure you were not part of any artistic pattern. It also played home to an assortment of mystery aromas, which I'd rather not attempt to describe.
After Hatman had finished his morning smoke, we steeled ourselves for the undoubtedly harrowing experience of finding something to eat.
Not finding any other alternatives, we headed into the Feast of FliesTM buffet, hoping for something more than the tasteless slimeworm platters and warm, flat cockroach ichor of our first encounter.
We were actually pleasantly surprised. The food still wasn't good, not by any stretch of the term, but it was at least trying to be fresh. And they had a new bottle of cola.
Speaking of cola, I ended up finally talking with one of the staff (who were so elusive you'd swear they were endangered creatures) about the drink dispenser. Much division of labor later, three men were able to combine forces and effectively stand back to watch the maintenance lady shove the tubes around until something happened. Most of the syrup tubes were even hooked up with the correct dispenser slot. I was impressed.
I was also somewhat impressed that this five-minute job had gone ignored or undiscovered for so long. Obviously, these people were dedicated to their work. I'd never seen such dedicated slackers.
The food provided us with the strength to return to our room and sit around for a while. After entertaining ourselves for a while with the Taiwanese News Network, we donned water-excursion apparel and went down to the beach to see if this fantastic hotel could somehow manage to screw that up too.
The beach was actually quite well done. The sandy part was long and flat, and was almost entirely made of sand. It was a bit harsh, what with a complete lack of shade or wind breaks (the beach was haunted by strong winds that drove sheets of biting sand along its reach. Actually quite therapeutic, if you're a masochist), but it was well-stocked with beach chairs for our usage. Also a couple flags, for some reason.
Then, the water. You know, with all the rest of the hotel being the horrid shack that it was, I think the water could easily pull it up to at least a three-star. Soft(-ish) floor, and huge cerulean-blue waves that just kept coming and coming. Get out beyond the relatively small crash zone, and it's perfectly fine for a little relaxed swimming or just floating.
But, of course, that's not what I was interested in.
I was not going to avoid these waves, or play the weakling and run from their might. No, I was going to meet them head-on, and take the battle to them.
There is something brutally satisfying about attacking a wave that's about as tall as you are, and then straightening yourself up to shout taunts at the open ocean. I punched, kicked, tackled and headbutted wave after wave after wave of the briny fury, and cackled insults at its paltry attempts to defeat me.
Okay, sure, I got thrashed a couple times, but it just made getting up more satisfying. Plus, nothing like a pint or two of seawater to clear out your sinuses.
I forget how long exactly we spent out on the front lines of the battle of Man v.s Mar, but it was long enough to deplete my excess energy reserves. I trudged back to the lawn chair we had claimed, getting sandblasted all the way, and lay down to let the sun dry me out and warm me up for my next waterfight.
The combination of vocally belittling one of the elements and getting the *^&! stung out of me by the sandstorms served to release quite a bit of pent-up frustration, and also worked wonders on returning circulation to the parts of my body that the substitute bed had temporarily crippled. I felt I could almost begin to like this haven of misfortune.
When we were finally done for the day, Hatman and I went back up to our room to conduct our standard operational procedures in regards to leisure activity. In effect, going out on the balcony to talk and look out into space.
It was here, as we relaxed in the afternoon sun and stared out across the expansive surface of the marine realm, Hatman's cigar smoke wafting lazily in the air as we chatted about music and the nature of idiots, that I confided in him a secret which had been weighing down on me for a bit.
As it would appear, my heart had waited barely a few days after finalizing the issue with X before throwing itself at the mercy of another. Someone I had been acquainted with for nearly the entirety of the school year, and whom I had shared a fair number of personal moments with (in all honesty, this was at least a step up from X, who was completely unknown to me at the time of my infatuation).
Pirate-Goth.
I'm still not completely sure how this happened so suddenly, but I presume it had something to do with the special circumstances I was in. We were in Cuba, a tropical island in the Caribbean with dancing, drinking and white sand beaches, and the end of Skiringssal was all-too-clearly in sight. Perhaps my mind had felt a small glimmer of panic, that I had gone through a year of the most favorable conditions for a relationship without so much as a lingering touch to call my own. Perhaps my subconscious scrambled to find any prospective candidate to fling itself at, that I might redeem my self-worth by inspiring at least a flicker of a heart's flame. Perhaps it found someone that I remembered had all but proclaimed her attraction to me, back in the early days.
Whatever the reason, I found myself longing to speak with her, to spend time with her. To touch her. Throughout nearly all of Cuba, this thought had lingered in the background, always pulling at a piece of my head as I walked the streets of Trinidad, or sat on the verandah of our bungalow, or journeyed down to the bar to get a can of cola.
I had spent the past couple days actively trying to seek her out, that I might inform her of the feelings I had, and which were only growing stronger and more distracting day by day. But she had grown increasingly distant and difficult to find, and was always occupied with some other affair on the few occasions I did manage to find her.
I discussed the complexities of my situation with Hatman. I told him about how I managed to be wholly infatuated while still doubting my own feelings as a mere trick played by a mind consumed by a need to be accepted and admired.
We talked about the nature of the desired object herself, and how she seemed haunted by more than enough of her own troubles to need any of mine. I agreed, and wondered if maybe that played into it as well. That I was somehow trying to ease whatever secret troubles she might have by providing her with a suitor.
You can tell I've got a difficult mind when I'm by far the last person to know what I'm thinking...
Finally Hatman convinced me to, at the very least, wait until we were back at school. Let her have the rest of the Cuba trip without me hounding her. Let her push the world away and just relax, free of any serious thoughts. For all I knew, she'd probably had far more than her fair share.
And so the day turned into darkness, and I surrendered myself to yet another night with an empty heart and a head full to the brim, but with at least some deal of contentment in knowing I had made at least one right decision.
Of course, sleeping could wait until after watching a few more Taiwanese News Reports and children's cartoons with John Smith. Man, I wish I could remember the dreams I had that night...
End of Last Day -1.
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Kagus you are a static character.
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Or is he? Dun Dun Duuuuun.
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That's an awfully strange comment to make about a life-changing experience...
All the same though, I will admit to a fair amount of author placement.
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That's an awfully strange comment to make about a life-changing experience...
All the same though, I will admit to a fair amount of author placement.
I stopped reading around page 25. You're just too static. Keep the same opinion. Do the same things. Pages 26 and 27 could be the most dynamic epic novel I could ever read, but I became depressed due the staticness.
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It actually is entertaining and quicker paced reading about
Shithole, Nowhere Cuba, and the horrors it put Kagus through.
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Then why not leave Cuba>
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Because he's dedicated to this. Also I and others find it very interesting and amusing and therefore HE CAN NEVER LEAVE.
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Couldn't leave. I'd have to pay for the flight back (with nonexistent funds), book a trip plan (without the use of a computer), and somehow acquire a permit to re-enter Havana. Yes, you need an authorized permit to be in Havana.
Fun place.
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Last Day, Finale.
Waking up on the second morning was noticeably less painful and constricting. It's amazing the things a person can get used to in such a short amount of time.
Like, for instance, the agreement Hatman and I had struck when we first set up the auxiliary bed.
As I was getting up and pulling my things together, Hatman leveraged himself out of the pit he had created in the foam mattress, all the while spouting a litany of curses and complaints about what a foul and hideous creation it was. He was preaching to the choir, of course, as I was the one who had to sleep on it the first night.
Breakfast was lackluster, as was to be expected. So lackluster, in fact, that I not only have forgotten it, but the rest of the morning as well. Very few meals are so unimpressive that they make you forget everything around it.
We started packing our stuff, but this was the day we were supposed to take the photo for the back of the yearbook (the Che monument fiasco picture was for the front of the book. They wanted a shot of everyone in their swimwear running down to the water for the back cover) so I got out my trunks and tried to find some way, any way, of making such a photo actually worth looking at.
Hatman did no such thing. As he put it, nobody was going to take a picture of him wearing only his swimtrunks. School photo be damned.
By my plans, this was just fine. One thing is a picture of a group of people running down to the water in their swimwear. Another thing is having a group of people running down to the water in their swimwear, plus some dude wearing shorts, a shirt and a hat. I felt that having a fully-clothed individual thrown into the mix would spice things up a bit. Luckily, we weren't expected to actually go into the water. Just towards it.
Getting down to the beach, we found the rest of the students getting ready. Some were in their bathing suits, some had forgotten about the photoshoot, and some just couldn't be bothered. There was a bit of a discussions going on.
Apparently, some people were arguing that it simply would not do to have most of the people in suits, and then one or two individuals who looked like they hadn't even considered changing. Apparently, some people are boring.
But also very loud and firm in their beliefs, so difficult to contest with.
They managed to instate (with the approval of the teachers) a ban for all fully-clothed people to appear in the shoot. "Fully clothed" apparently included the two 'Norwegian Ninjas' (and yes, I feel justified in using the incorrect plural in this case) from the Sabotage video from making an appearance. John Smith, who was one of the ninjas and almost certainly the brainchild behind this idea, looked a bit put out. And not without good reason, I might add. The only thing that might have been better than having some fully-clothed people mixed in would be to have the two ninjas make a surprise appearance with their distinctive running. But no, the dull had spoken, and ninjas were not to be.
With all life and creativity currently banned from the running (hurr hurr), I had to pick up the slack with some trickery. I managed to blend in with my shirtlessness, allaying any suspicion that I might be in the clothing camp... What they failed to notice was that I might have brought my hat along for more than just keeping the sun out of my eyes.
What followed were several takes, where everyone was so caught up with looking excited and happy while they ran that they failed to notice I was still wearing my hat. And running backwards.
Unfortunately, it is damn near impossible to run backwards at any reasonable speed, particularly on sand. I was eventually forced to run forwards, but I compensated for this by running with an exceptionally exaggerated and high-stepping gait. Again, no one seemed to be bothered by the fact that I was apparently taking my hat for a swim.
Despite the ban, John Smith also ended up running. We can only assume that the second ninja did as well, and that he had activated his secret Ninja Stealth so that he simply cannot be seen in the photo. I'd much rather have an invisible Norwegian Ninja in my yearbook photo than not. It gives a certain amount of distinction.
Since the picture is taken from the back, as we run away from the camera and towards the waves, everybody essentially just fades into a blur of swimsuits and flesh, with waving arms and heads of hair thrown in for good measure. Only if you look carefully, and know what you're looking for, can you see the individuals who took part in the shot.
Except, of course, for two people... One a scrawny, pale creature with an undershirt and tennis shorts, running with his arms thrust out behind him like wings, and the other a kid with long hair who looks like he's attempting to kick his own arse while running down to the water, and who is firmly pushing a fedora onto his head to keep it from blowing away.
Obviously, we were ruining the photo. Shame on us.
After the shoot, we went back up to our rooms to change and sort out the final leg of packing. This included some interesting logistics...
See, every person is allotted a certain quota of alcohol and tobacco that they can bring with them back into Norway. Only so much and no more. This may lead you to believe that people would simply stock up that much and then stop. Silly you.
See, not everyone was as big of a smoker/boozehound as others. This meant that they would pack an amount under the quota or, in my case, barely bring anything back. And man, there was something akin to an inquisition going around to find out who had space left on their quota.
We became highly valuable to those who just needed those extra cigars and rum bottles. We were, in a sense, mules. And it became a race against time to root out those who had space and get them to promise the rest of their quota to you. Favors were called in, coercion was used, and cold cash exchanged hands for the sake of extra carrying capacity.
Hatman personally used up three quotas of cigars for himself. Tobacco quotas were easier to find, as not everyone was a smoker. But everybody drank, so a teetotaler's luggage was prime real estate. Prime.
Man, I really should've auctioned my quota or something... As it was, I just promised it to Hatman. That dude managed to haul away some serious amounts of swag from Cuba...
Once the ordeal of quota assignment, packing, and checking out were attended to, we hopped on the bus and headed out on the long trip towards the airport. We bid our very fond farewells to Varadero, and to the hotel which seemed to think that one star meant "We're Number One!". Then we were off.
We arrived at the airport at some time in the evening, and eventually made our way to the gates area where we had to wait for a while before our flight. We were in a large area with various last-minute trinket shops and a food court, which is where we got our dinner from that night. Our tickets included meal vouchers that allowed us one meal plus a drink. The meals seemed to extend between burgers, pizza, and turkey sandwiches. The turkey sandwiches looked like they had seen the revolution first-hand, and the burgers had simply given up on life. I ordered a pizza, which apparently didn't have meat on it.
It's actually rather difficult to determine what it did have on it... Some people said it was just cheese and ketchup, others tried not to think about it. What it looked like was if someone had microwaved a tortilla with pus on it, and that they'd forgotten to take the plastic wrap off before it melted into everything else.
I'm serious. I actually spent some time picking at it in an attempt to take the plastic off. Then I realized that it was all just the pizza.
It was at that moment that I wished I really wasn't so hungry.
The taste was marginally better than the appearance (I refuse to mention the smell. That memory must be scourged from my mind. Oh god, the smell...), which isn't really saying much. But, hey, it was filling enough. Plus I got a drink with it, and I happen to like the drinks. So there.
With my 'meal' finished, I decided to check out the souvenir shop. Throughout Cuba, I had not been able to find so much as a single Che shirt that was both my size and the right color. Shocking as this was, there wasn't a whole lot I could do about it. Seeing as this was the last hour or so I'd be in Cuba, I figured I might as well check the tourist shop.
It's worth noting that I never look at tourist shops or airport shops, as they tend to only sell overpriced items of inferior quality that I would never want anyways. This shop was both a tourist shop and in an airport. But the thought of leaving Cuba without so much as a single Che shirt was unfathomable.
And there it was. The right color, the right pattern, the right size... Everything except the right price. But I had spent a minimum of my cash wad throughout the trip, so I had enough to spare. After a bit of a hussle with the cashier (first they shortchanged me with US dollars, then there was a bit of a mixup involving the manager's pronunciation of certain numbers, and then I dropped my wallet and scattered coins across the floor... I'd really rather not get into specifics) I managed to purchase the damned thing. Man, did I feel good.
I returned to the table to find that Pirate-Goth had sat down at our table, and was showing off her bag of loot. She'd accumulated a variety of objects over the course of her time in Cuba, all souvenirs to be given as gifts for various family members. This included a little lace hat that was intended for some dear sweet Nanna or somesuch... Naturally, everyone had to try it on.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/50ffi0.jpg)
(http://i47.tinypic.com/i5uslv.jpg)
After she had displayed everything and explained the purpose and/or reason behind each item and its intended recipient, she made some comment about how she'd bought a souvenir to remember Cuba by for everyone she knows... Except herself.
Apparently, she'd put so much time and thought into getting everyone else a present that she hadn't gotten anything for her own memories.
I got up from the table and headed off without saying a word. I apparently do this a lot, so nobody batted an eye.
I went back into the shop and started poking around a bit... Most of the stuff was overpriced, Kitsch, or too fragile to take along for the trip. After some contemplation, I finally settled upon a little handpainted wooden box of dominoes (very popular game in Cuba, there's always a table set up in the street somewhere with a bunch of old guys sitting around playing it). I made my way back to the table with my new purchase, and plunked it down in front of her before I sat down.
"What's this?"
"For you."
"What? What do you mean?"
"Well, you said you didn't have anything of your own to bring back from Cuba, so I thought I'd get you something."
What followed was a short exchange where she asked me how much it cost, and then tried vainly to convince me that I shouldn't have gotten it for her. The smile on her face kinda gave her away though.
I was stretching my back when Hatman gave me a stealthy thumbs-up. I didn't exactly need his observation to tell that she enjoyed it, but it's always nice to get a second opinion. Unfortunately, having your diaphragm spontaneously clench from a halted chuckle while your back is bent over the back of a chair is not particularly comfortable.
A note about this area we were in... It was the one single place I had seen, in the entirety of Cuba, that was a non-smoking zone. There was a little room off to the side that was a smoking room, but other than that it was off-limits.
Also of note is that I wasn't able to fully exchange my money from CUC back to Euro. I had a smattering of Cuban coins leftover that the dude (yes, dude) working the exchange counter refused to do anything about. One of the gals sitting at the table decided to count out the leftover (I'm still not entirely sure why she felt the need to do this). When she was finished, she pointed out the rather interesting fact that the total came up to the exact amount required for an ice cream cone. I looked up at the sign for the ice cream vendor and, sure enough, it was the exact amount.
I didn't purchase the ice cream cone, however, as the 'pizza' was starting to rebel within my central provinces. Also, I'm just not that much of a sweet eater.
I still have those coins... Enough for one Cuban ice cream cone.
Funny little souvenir.
End of Cuba. Next up, the End Days.
-
The glorious return...
We got off the plane in Norway late enough in the evening for it to be dark. My first act on Norwegian soil was to buy a bottle of water... Best purchase I'd made in a very long time. I was still recovering from the Cuban water rationing, and taking two long flights in quick succession with that dry airplane air doesn't exactly help matters.
While we were waiting around for the buses to come by and pick us up, I found out that one of the F&TV guys was going to be skipping out early, taking a ride back home instead of getting on the bus with us.
His girlfriend of some time had cancer, and she had apparently gotten worse sometime around the Cuba trip. He was going to shave off what little remained of the school year so he could be with her.
<<She passed away just a couple weeks ago, on the 3rd. Going through something like that has got to be hell, especially for someone so young. The poor guy was wrecked.>>
We said our goodbyes, wished him the best, and then went our separate ways.
Arriving back at the school, I set about unpacking my various essentials. This left me with a few mountains of laundry and a landscape of bags spread out across the floor of my room. I had managed to clutter up the entire room in a matter of seconds. Even I was impressed.
Speaking of laundry, I should probably mention that throughout the Cuba trip, we were not afforded an opportunity to wash our clothes. Although this was fine early on, it started getting to be a bit tricky in the later stages, as a portion of every morning was spent trying to figure out which clothes were not quite as dirty as the others.
Ahh, yes... Home again, home again. Cuba was fine and all, but I was very happy to be back in a place with pressurized showers (with real heated water!) and washing machines. Even *if* one of the washing machines was busted, and one of the showers happened to have a window installed in it...
Opening up my bags, I retrieved the booze and cigars I had smuggled across for Hatman. Hatman was also particularly glad to be back in the colder climes, as it allowed him to use his preferred wardrobe without the danger of heat stroke (he had received a new trenchcoat just before we took off for Cuba, and he was mightily crestfallen when he discovered it would be much too warm to wear in such a tropical environment. But, back in Norway, he was able to parade around in his new digs while maintaining a perfectly comfortable temperature.
What a sight.
Not exactly a lot to report for that day, mostly just people cleaning themselves up after Cuba and trying to restore some of their energy for the party that was coming up.
Yes, the party. With so little time left of the school year, the committee decided that it needed to get some hardcore festivities set up to end the year with a bang, so they lined up a party for the day after we got back from Cuba.
Now, as I'm sure you all know by now, I'm not a particular fan of these things. But I felt that this one was different, seeing as it was the last party of the year, a chance to hang with the gang one last crazy time before we had to say our fond farewells, and-...
Okay, so mostly it was an opportunity to talk to Pirate-Goth, with the added benefit of alcohol consumption to (hopefully) make things go smoother. Call me petty, but I really just don't get a whole lot from these excursions. Drinking isn't one of my strong points.
That just about does it for the day of return. Not much to say about people trying to piece themselves back together after a trip to Cuba.
Next up, the party... Also known as 'the Cataclysm'.
-
As with any other day, this one started at some point.
Aside from that useful factoid, I remember very little of that day prior to the evening. There may very well have been something interesting, but I think it was mostly just filled with appreciating Norwegian cuisine and all-you-can-drink water.
Or at least it would be, if the water dispenser had been fixed. Which it hadn't.
Anyways, evening. The school was positively buzzing with excitement at an opportunity to consume all their hard-bought Cuban rum, and also to make the most out of what was to be the last school party. This was also a chance to end the near-drought of ten days spent in Cuba under a teetotaler rule (I say near-drought, as these students were remarkably resourceful when it came to consuming alcohol on the sly).
You might even say that some people were a little too excited about drinking, as at least one noted individual cracked open a six-pack the instant he sat down on the bus.
Mind you, this meant that he was technically drinking on school property, and could've been kicked out for it. But none of the other revelers felt particularly inclined to point him out to the authorities, luckily enough.
We eventually made our way to the party place, which happened to be the same spot as the last party. This was the first time during the entire school year where we had been allowed to rent out the same place, and it was a close call at that.
If you recall, our last outing to this location had resulted in a dislodged vent, some mangled electrical wiring, and someone hiding a piece of the coffee machine. Not to mention a few disturbed neighbors, and the fact that we had utterly failed to follow the one rule of turning the music off (down) after 1 AM.
The landlady had been rather upset with us, but after we had taken a couple rounds of collection to pay for the damages, and after the spokesperson of the committee had worked his ineffable charms on her, she agreed to take a different viewpoint. She still wasn't particularly happy, but she decided to forgive us enough that we could come back again. The committee urged us to respect her kindness and be a bit more careful this time around.
This, of course, had about the same level of effectiveness as telling a pebble to do sit-ups. I'm still not entirely sure who took that door off its hinges, but I seriously doubt that the landlady was too happy about the impromptu renovation when she found out about it...
The evening started like any other, with people immediately spreading out to find some place to claim as a sleeping reservation. I scouted out a couple spots in the hopes of finding a nice, secluded little area, but every time I found someplace, there was already a sleeping bag laid out in preparation. But, once my head started working, I remembered the little sweet spot I had used last time... Sure enough, there it was, the little heated cubbyhole at the bottom of the stairs. Jackpot(-ish).
After staking out my accommodations, I ventured back up into the world of party and did my usual schtick of being completely out of place. This time, however, I actually got around to placing myself in a conversation with a couple other people, whereupon I got to hear all about the detailed significance of this one chick's inverted cross necklace, and also got to be pegged by some dude's wildly inaccurate stereotyping (making assumptions about my personality based on hair length). Actually rather fun.
At one point, as I was standing around meaninglessly, I was approached by a gal I'd never seen before. She told me I looked rather alone (about as close a translation as I can get), what with how I was standing about. I informed her that, well, that's kinda how I roll. We ended up chatting for a bit, and then she got pulled away for something. Apparently, someone had decided to invite a friend to the party. That was... Unexpected. But I daresay she was somewhat interested in me (or at least intrigued by), what with approaching me with a line like that.
As the night wore on, I eventually found myself sitting with a few of the other lads. Not much was going on, when a newcomer suddenly appeared at the other end of the table we were at.
Drops.
I'd heard before that he was thinking about coming, but this confirmed it without a shadow of a doubt. The night was now guaranteed to have something interesting come out of it. And it was only moments later that the guarantee was fulfilled.
Drops wasn't really much of one for parties, but he knew that they were things were a lot of people go to one place, whereupon they start drinking, dancing, and playing fun games. So far, so fine.
Well, apparently someone had neglected to inform him what exactly is meant by a "drinking game". For you see, Drops, in an attempt to come prepared for a roaring good time, had brought some games.
Namely, Clue and Scrabble.
This revelation filled me with warmth and joy. I knew now that, with people like Drops in the world, life would never lose that little spark of mystery and excitement. No, he was going to make damn sure that we would all go completely bingo-boingo crazy before anything like that ever happened.
As the night wore on, however, I became increasingly aware of Pirate-Goth, and what I wanted to say. As per usual, however, it was remarkably difficult to find a quiet moment with her.
Hatman, aware of my plight and on a quest of his own, decided to aid me in the only way he knew how: Offering me some whiskey.
I was still not a drinker, having only consumed a few sips of various alcoholic beverages over the past year, but I felt that if there ever was a time/place to start drinking, then this was one of them. I took a couple slugs from the bottle he recommended. I still have flashbacks now and then about the burning sensation of it going down my throat.
Speaking of which, Ballantine's tastes like friggin' cough syrup.
With the whiskey working its magic inside my system (and crapping fire into my throat), I was closer to working up the required level of abdominal contents in order to just open up to her.
I also happened to observe Hatman bump into her on one of his bumbles around the establishment and trade a couple words. I couldn't tell what they were talking about, but later on he happened by me and thrust a thumbs-up at me.
I asked him what exactly he meant by that. He shrugged and slurred out "I don't know" before shambling off to get some more whiskey. I interpreted the thumb as a sign that he had broached the subject with her, and that signs were favorable. I probably should have interpreted the "I don't know" as well.
So, a short time later, I managed to find an opportunity, and sat down next to her. I leaned over.
Looking back at this moment, I am still astonished at just how idiotic some of the things I say can be.
Me: "Hey want to hear a secret?"
Her: "Uh, alright"
Me: "Maybe someplace a little more quiet?"
Her: "Aww , I'd rather not. I'm having fun"
Me: (long pause)
Me: (leaning in close to whisper in ear) "I think I'm falling for you"
I remember that moment clearly. The look that came over her face, the tone of her voice, the way she turned to look at me.
Her: "Oh no, not now..."
She went on to talk about how it was so late in the game to even be thinking about stuff like that, and how it was a time when we should really just be trying to push any serious thoughts from our minds and make the most out of the few days we had left. She explained how she considered us to be friends, nothing more or less. She told me how much it pained her to be turning me down, but she couldn't in good conscience say yes just for my sake, as lying in such a way would be a far greater evil against me.
I listened, patiently. Understanding most of what she had to say, agreeing with it even. I waited for her to finish letting me down, then excused myself.
I wasn't surprised or shocked. What got me the most was that I had seen it coming, seen it coming for ages. And yet I had, knowingly and determinedly, gone against those observations and carried through with it. Even when I sat down to bare my heart to her, I could clearly see what was going to happen. Her tone of voice, her movements, the look in her eyes, they all told me that there was nothing to be found here.
I'm still not completely sure of why I chose to do it... If I simply doubted my observations (which had proven wrong on many prior occasions) and decided that the potential reward was worth the risk, or if I somehow felt it would make me grow as a person to be rejected one more time. Perhaps some deep, twisted part of me even wanted to be rejected, to feel again that all-consuming ache of a scorned heart. I really can't say.
I went into one of the bathrooms. Even in my state, the iconic situation of a heartsick individual sitting and crying into a piece of toilet paper was not lost on me, and I was able to garner a small smile from the whole ordeal. Also from the poor gal who went into the stall next to me and wrung her stomach out into the john. Some people have difficulty holding their liquor, whereas I have trouble handling my sobriety. Cute.
I can't say I felt great coming out of there, but I at least felt better. Good enough that I was willing to insert myself back into the world outside, for the sake of someone who might really need to actually use the toilet.
Upstairs, I ran into Beefcake's girlfriend, who if you recall also happens to be X's roommate and the gal whose hands I warmed up on the island trip, way back when. She asked me how I was doing. I tried just brushing her off with a "not great", but after she prodded me for a bit I eventually spilled it.
I told her everything. All of it. Classic life story. From getting rejected Pirate-Goth (whose name I withheld), to the whole deal with X, even to my first girlfriend who dumped me when I was four years old. I confided in her, for some reason.
And you know, I couldn't have picked a better person for it.
She comforted me, giving me the standard spiel of stating my virtues and how lucky a person would be to have me, but she also let me in on a few secrets of her own. I feel like it would be a violation of her trust if I were to talk about them here, so suffice to say that they opened my eyes in regards to a few different people and also gave me a closure that I didn't know I needed or could have. She also informed me that, someday, I was going to release a music album and that she was going to be first in line to buy a copy. Silly as that was, it helped. And for her help, I will always be grateful.
Also, she gave me her mojito. Score.
Not long after that, I felt like a massive weight had lifted from me. I'm not entirely sure if it was the alcohol I had consumed, or the words of encouragement I had just received, or if it was something I managed to come across on my own, but I felt pretty good. Pretty damn good, all things considered. Pretty sure the mojito helped though.
I'd just realized that I didn't actually feel that way towards Pirate-Goth. I felt nothing of the same cloud that had hung over me with X, and I felt perfectly clean and clear. Certainly, it still hurt to be rejected, but I didn't feel like I'd just been scorned by something I truly desired.
I had made a mistake. For whatever reason, I had deluded myself into thinking that I was infatuated with the poor girl. But then I understood that it was just an illusion, that I truly and honestly did not feel that way about her. This made me feel pretty good, not just because I no longer felt scorned but also because that meant there might be some slim chance of actually salvaging this whole debacle.
But I'd worry about that later... First, I would do my best to experience what it was like being drunk, as this was also the first time in my life that I had gotten a bit tipsy. Several slugs of whiskey (after hearing about the rejection, Hatman offered me another shot at depleting his supplies) and a Cuban-rum mojito are not half bad for someone who's never really had a drink before in his life.
(http://i48.tinypic.com/fnqoig.jpg)
In the foreground, we see the back of Brain-damaged Loverboy's head, as he is enthusiastically telling me about something. Then, in the background, we see the table which has been repositioned in order to prop up the door to the walk-in fridge. Yes, prop it up. Someone managed to detach it.
On the table you can see all the drinks that were pulled out of the fridge before it was table-sealed. The cup closest to me is what's left of the pint of mojito she gave me.
I will admit to one thing that I am by no means proud of... I'm not entirely sure where to insert it, as the timeline of the party is a little bit hazy for me, and also because I don't think it really fits in anywhere... So I'll put it here.
At one point, I found the gal who had approached me earlier in the evening... She was sitting by herself off to one side and looked like she'd had a few. I'm still amazed that I would ever conceive to do this, but I started trying my luck to see if I could get laid.
I went up to her and repeated the line she'd given me earlier, about how she looked rather alone. Her eyes drifted over to my location and she smiled absently before floating back into the half-conscious stupor she had been in. Apparently, she'd had quite a few.
It finally dawned on me what it was I was trying to do, and I got up to leave her alone. I'm still ashamed that I would even consider something like that, but at least I left off when it turned out that she was about as aware as a bar of Ivory soap.
I spent the rest of the evening looking at my hands as I waved them through the air (marveling at the delay between thought and movement, and also how fluid all movements seemed to be), finding straight lines to walk along, drinking water compulsively and fixing that #%^ door every time some new twit moved the table away to get inside, not realizing that all their stuff was already lying on the table they'd just moved.
Eventually, I felt it was time to check out for the night. It was far later than I had ever stayed awake at one of these things, but still a rather early time for most of the partygoers. I cuddled up in my little hiding place, cranked up the heater, and tried to shut down the internal systems for the night.
But, of course, there had to be a catch.
A group of students was sitting one the landing directly above me, happily chittering away about something. The giggles and comments were interspersed by the excited boomings of a voice I knew just a little too well... My ex-roommate, the Idol.
I tried to block that voice out and just go to sleep, or hope that they'd eventually find a new spot to haunt, but no. Nobody moved, or even turned down the volume.
Indeed, the shouts and guffaws of the Idol were soon accompanied by the blarings of his phone as he played children's techno remixes at full volume. Repeatedly.
Eventually, I'd had enough. I walked up the stairs and informed them that there happened to be someone who was trying to sleep underneath them, and could they please keep it down. Most of them offered mild apologies, or even started picking themselves up to relocate. Except for one.
My former roommate, completely oblivious to the fact that I was even there (or simply ignoring me), had started up that damn song for the fifth time running, and was still laughing just as hard at it. He even pulled back a couple of the others so that they could still listen to his phone.
I repeated myself to him. No response, not even a glance at me. Just that silly little tune. He wasn't laughing as hard though, almost as if some minor thing were distracting him from full enjoyment.
Then I lost it.
"MOVE YOUR GODDAMN ASS BEFORE I MOVE IT FOR YOU."
...DAMN that felt good! All that time spent loathing him and his idiotic little ways, and the way everyone seemed to adore him even though I could fathom not a single reason to do so, all that frustration was let out by giving him a good yell. Man, I'd wanted to yell at him for so long, it wasn't even funny...
And it got a reaction, too. He stopped laughing. The phone kept going, but he was now letting himself be pulled up by the other students in order to go somewhere else. A couple people made halfhearted remarks about 'Ooh, someone's unhappy', but I could see that I'd scared them a bit. Made me feel even better.
With them now officially heading off somewhere else, I graciously thanked them for their understanding in the matter and started off back down the stairs.
All throughout the ordeal, my roommate didn't look at me a single time.
Feeling pretty good with myself, and eagerly awaiting the next day, I went back into my bag in an attempt to find some measure of sleep. Which isn't exactly easy, what with having my head five feet from the restroom and with the people upstairs still being incapable of understanding the intricacies of "lower volume after 1 AM".
Pretty sure the mojito helped though.
-
Waking up the next day was remarkably pleasant. Especially considering I had just spent the night in a sleeping bag at the bottom of a set of stairs, with my head lying only a few feet from the bathroom door (I got stepped on once by The Bear. He spent the next five minutes apologizing profusely, then commented on what a happening party it was. Fun bloke, he is).
I had a little shadow of a headache nibbling at the back of my head, but that was the entirety of my hangover-like effects. For a first time drinker, I had gotten off pretty damn lucky. It would seem that my inebriated habit of drinking large quantities of water paid off.
I was also feeling rather happy about getting the chance to tell Pirate-Goth my revelation, and hopefully explain myself in a way that might save whatever remained of our friendship. She had stated during her speech that we could talk later, after getting back from the party and recovering a bit, so I respectfully kept from rushing straight over to her and spilling the whole deal. Besides, I felt it might lend some credibility to the admittedly suspicious story ("can't we just be friends?") if I held off for a while.
And in any case, when I did catch a glimpse of her that morning, she didn't look particularly capable of taking in much of anything. I daresay she consumed a bit more than I had that night.
After packing up my bags, I wandered around for a bit until I managed to find Hatman scraping himself off the floor in one corner of the building. He looked like he'd been beaten with all manner of household appliances, but was helped by the fact that he was not merely hung over, but still slightly drunk as well. He'd apparently been drinking so far into the night that it hadn't had time to clear out of his system yet. And, after observing a few of the other patrons, it seemed like he wasn't the only one.
We spent a few minutes discussing life philosophy out in the sun. It was actually a rather warm and sunny day, with clear skies above the little battlefield that inevitably gets left behind after some traditional Norwegian partying.
So, a destroyed fridge and a heating unit which had mysteriously stopped functioning (not the one I was sleeping next to! I always treat mechanical devices with the utmost care and respect... Yeah), not to mention leaving the other tenants not merely disturbed but downright frightened. Also, I think someone may have gummed up the oven, or stolen one of the cookplates or something...
All in all, I think we did a pretty good job of toning things down this time.
The bus ride back was noticeably quieter than the one coming out, due to a combination of heavy hangovers and the uncomfortable silence of new truths. Yes, that's right folks, looks like I wasn't the only one to take a chance that night, and certainly not the only one to get burned by doing so.
From all accounts, that night was a steaming pile of drama that reached up out through the roof itself. Hearts laid bare, and an assortment of odd pairings so wide that you could munch popcorn to their fumblings for a week or more. Yes, looks like we all got to have our fair share of problems that night. I guess the whole "last party of the school year" feeling took hold of a few other people.
The bus made a quick stop along the way to let a few of us off. A few people, notably those who had managed to stay drunk throughout the whole night and into the morning, had decided to head over to the sound dude's place to keep the buzz going for a while longer. There's no sense in letting a good night stop just because the sun came up, right?
Personally, I'd had my share of partying. I had gotten tipsy for the first time in my life, and although I found the experience to be interesting and even a bit enjoyable, I realized that it really just wasn't my style. Which, of course, just means that there's more booze available for everyone else.
By the time we got back to school, the day had already gotten a bit colder and a few clouds had moved in from overhead. This happened to perfectly suit the mental atmosphere that the drained revelers brought back. The day quickly turned into a gloomy and depressing zone, with a powerful mixture of emotions sucking the very life out of the air. To start with, you had the uncomfortable silence from all the off-target confessions of desire, but on top of that were the people who had come back realizing that they had just experienced the final Skiringssal party night, and that the grand day of goodbyes was not long off.
This cocktail of feelings served to cast a very dark shadow over the school. I could almost swear that a light fog even started to roll in.
Now, oddly enough, I happen to thrive in these environments, so I was feeling just fine. Weird little bastard, ain't I?
And then... The key. Refer to this (http://www.bay12games.com/forum/index.php?topic=23848.msg536811#msg536811) post, and the following, if you have any questions.
Man, that was just awesome. Decidedly less awesome that I got caught, but ah well. I did my part to help restore some life to the downtrodden Casanevers and nostalgics... Shame that the authorities found out so quickly and took it down, I daresay it would've made a few more people smile.
Oh, how I wish I could've recorded that phone call with the VP... It was funny, being handed the phone and deciding "you know what? I don't feel like being intimidated by this dork, so I won't". What even funnier was listening to him rant on about this thing while I remained perfectly nonchalant.
I did so love shaking their cute little visions of power... They have the most adorable expressions when you completely ignore any authority they try to push on you.
-
Sunday (the day after the day after) is mostly blank for me. But then again, I doubt that a whole lot was happening in any case.
I decided not to worry too much about getting up early. I didn't have any classes or seminars, and the only thing I really needed to get up for was the meeting the VP had demanded. And if he really wanted to talk to me so early, he could come and get me himself.
So I spent a rather comfortable morning sleeping in before wandering into the lobby area and sitting down with a guitar to pass the time. I hadn't been sitting there long before the VP came along, preparing for the biking 'seminar' he was leading. He noticed me and motioned me to follow him to his office.
It still surprised me that I managed to pop the recorder on my phone while I was walking behind him, check to make sure it was recording, then place it smack dab in the middle of the desk without him batting an eye.
In order to accomplish this, I needed to be relatively close to the desk. The guest chairs were both backed up against the opposite wall. This was interesting, as they were close enough to be able to talk to someone, but were up against a wall and far enough away from the desk to create a psychological effect that would make whoever was sitting there feel somehow weaker and less secure than the person behind the desk.
I pulled a chair up and sat as close to the desk as I could. Now he couldn't feel like he was safe in his little desk-fortress, as I happened to be right there with him. I relaxed as much as I could in the rather lackluster chair, and waited for him to begin.
We went over a few different things relating to the "incident", including one topic that I knew was going to be a difficulty... Namely, the location of the key.
Now, this was a nasty one... If I'd just left well enough alone (I'd like to state here that it was someone else's suggestion that I go back in and try to fix the blasted thing. I blame him fully for my own stupidity) I wouldn't have to deal with this...
See, the first time I was there, the door was open with the key in the lock. No problem getting in. But after that there was the issue of how I got back in, as they had locked the door again after they went in to turn off the computer, and I was trying to convince him that I didn't have the key.
I really could have handled it better, but I managed to semi-convince him that I had left the key in the lock the first time, and that someone else must have picked it up and then unlocked it later (thus allowing me to find the door yet again unlocked so I could fiddle with it). Shitty story, I know, but it was the best I had at the time.
It worked then, but I knew that it would fall apart with any real investigation because I had locked the door from the inside when I was in there the second time. This means that the helper had to unlock it in order to find me in there. And this is one of those simple locks that doesn't have the little twist-thingy on the inside, you need the key.
If anyone had asked him (and if he remembered) then he would have been able to tell them that I must've had the key. Also, he was a dick with no sense of humor, so he probably would have no problem with ratting me out.
After that one rocky patch, the rest of the conversation was mine. I laughed in his face, inferred that he considered his students to be mentally retarded, apologized by saying I didn't realize he lacked a sense of humor and took what I wrote literally, and convinced him that I had pulled a "white hat" and messed up the announcement board only to show the staff that there was a security liability (partially true).
He responded by letting me go on my way, and even canceling the secondary meeting I was supposed to take with the principal on Monday.
...unless, of course, I wanted to go through with it. It was entirely up to me.
Felt pretty good after that. I was a little disappointed that he had calmed down since our chat on the phone, but he managed to make a fool of himself a couple times anyways (for instance, suggesting they fix the key-in-lock negligence problem by upgrading the lock), and I felt pretty fly for having gone head-to-head with one of the more powerful administrative elements of the school and gotten out on top.
The recording I got from that event is actually a bit lame, but I still like having it... A little memento from the final days, if you will.
Speaking of days, it was now fully a day after the party, and I started trying to get Pirate-Goth's attention. No such luck, she was still avoiding me. Ah well... Guess I'd just have to spend my time telling people about my announcement-tweaking escapades... Heh heh.
Still though, the end of the year was getting closer and it would be nice to clear things up with her before then...
-
The next few days showed a worsening in that trend. It became quite clear that she was actively avoiding me. I could understand that, even sympathize, but I felt that she didn't have the full picture. She still didn't know about the so-called revelation I had experienced regarding my true feelings towards her, so I felt she was avoiding something that didn't even exist (that I would try to talk her into giving me another chance or something, when what I really wanted to say was that I specifically didn't want that).
I realized that it wasn't a great time to push the issue, but I wanted, no, needed to resolve this before the school ended. I couldn't bear the thought of not being able to say goodbye to her as a friend. I really could have handled this better, but the desperation of the time limit made me do some things that, hopefully, I wouldn't have done otherwise.
Every time I ran into her on the school grounds she was walking quickly on her way to do something, and showing absolutely no intention of even slowing down.
I tried writing text messages to her (filling out the character limit on two and a half messages, so I had to store them in drafts until I could send them as a group. I did all this without the aid of a word-completer, as I had never quite figured that thing out. My thumbs were crying out in agony after that. Guess I had a lot to say). There was no response, so I assumed she had simply disregarded them instead of reading them and finding out about my position.
I eventually resorted to camping out at a spot I knew she would come to sooner or later. Outside her room.
I waited for about a half-hour before she showed up. When she did arrive, she was obviously ticked off with me for placing myself in her vicinity again, and went about her business quickly while avoiding eye contact. I said that she couldn't just push this aside indefinitely. I asked her if she had even read the messages, and she responded with a very curt 'yes'. I didn't really have much more to say that wasn't covered in the messages, and I realized that I wouldn't be getting anywhere helpful with this meeting, so I left.
That evening, I received a text message from her, telling me how frustrated and embarrassed with me she was with all the hounding. She mentioned how the phrase "we need to talk" had only ever been said to her by her parents, when she had done something wrong. She said that, if I really didn't have any feeling for her, then what was there to talk about? Nothing. And so, we should do exactly that. Nothing.
And that was it. It was over. I had tried my darnedest to say my piece, to make myself clear, and I'd done more harm than good. So I did the only thing left to do. I let her go.
It hurt like hell. Still does, actually. Keeping quiet, when I still felt that if she only understood then things would be alright again.
We had contact two times after that... Once when she asked me to sign her yearbook, "for old time's sake" (I took this opportunity to give her something I had found in the 'lost and found' bucket they had out at the end of the year... One of the domino pieces from that kit I got her), and once at the very end when we said goodbye.
When she reached out to give me a goodbye hug, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could actually say goodbye to her as a friend... But then I made some comment about how if she was ever singing in Vegas (all the big acts play in Vegas at some point) that she should drop me a line, and I saw that pained expression of hers appear again. She'd hugged me only because of the moment, and for the "old times". And, maybe, even out of pity.
That, more than anything, is what broke my heart.
In the entire year, I had promised myself one thing, that I would say goodbye to her on good terms, and I had failed to keep that one promise. She was the first friend I ever truly lost.
We haven't spoken since.
And so ended my year at Skiringssal... It may seem like a bit of a sour note, but for my one failure I had many more victories. All the friends I had gathered around me, all the people I had touched in some way or another, all the good times that were remembered in that last huddle of weeping eyes and arms reaching for the warmth of a friend.
I bid farewell to the gal I had played Gnomeuncle to, and through her tears she insisted that she would pay me back for the ice cream cone I sponsored for her in Cuba.
I informed the gal I had been scaring that she had finally managed to get revenge on me at the last party (she had snuck up behind me and succeeded in getting me to jump. I felt it important to confirm that for her as we went our separate ways).
I squeezed Beefcake's girlfriend in a parting hug, and she thanked me yet again for warming her hands on the island, and made me give my word that I'd let her know when I released my first album.
Finally, I said my goodbyes to the gang, who were all valiantly trying to hide the fact that they were crying just as hard as everyone else.
I ended up being the last one to leave the school... I don't know what felt stranger, leaving it for the last time or being there when no one else was around. Well, not exactly 'no one'... The kitchen ladies had all come out to enjoy a cup of coffee in the fresh air, so I got to talk with them a bit (and say goodbye to them personally). I even ended up giving them the leftover tin from one of the many relief packages I had gotten, so they could remember me whenever they happened to bring out the cookies (or whatever they chose to stick in there).
Well, I could certainly think of worse ways to go. I mean, heck, I've still got that key.
-
Special Thanks
===============
(http://i47.tinypic.com/35lc7d5.jpg)
The Bear
...for being the lovable, insane, happy, drunken, adorable mascot that you were.
(http://i48.tinypic.com/2lbgw8n.jpg)
Sound Dude
...for opening my eyes to the importance (and badassity) of sound technicians,
and also showing me that even death-metalheads can have a deep
appreciation of Pink Floyd and the Tristram theme from Diablo.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/1zxm5bm.jpg)
The Greek
...for reminding me that you really shouldn't
judge someone just because they happen
to be the third point of the triangle you're in.
(http://i50.tinypic.com/scqknb.jpg)
The Brit
...for helping me appreciate drummers more fully, thus
expanding my range of musical enjoyment. Also, for being
an absolutely hilarious person to argue with.
(http://i45.tinypic.com/8yxgs9.jpg)
Gnomeniece
...for managing to get into a situation that allowed me
to exercise my White Knight skills. Twice.
(http://i45.tinypic.com/5mecmw.jpg)
Psycho Theater Dame
...for showing me that a little insanity goes a long way,
and that life can always get more interesting.
(http://i50.tinypic.com/24uywsi.jpg)
Puppydog Girl
...for agreeing to play the lead role in our short film,
failing spectacularly to hold a straight face while doing so,
and generally being "Very hard not to like".
(http://i46.tinypic.com/2hz05xw.jpg)
BEEFCAKE
...for loving yourself enough for the both of us,
yet being a rather alright chap in your own right.
Even if you did think Rihanna was rock.
-
(http://i50.tinypic.com/2417brn.jpg)
Beefgirl
...for being one of those people that can light up
your day just by remembering that you met them.
Also for being there to help me out when I needed it,
for mixing a mean mojito, and for helping Beefcake
become a person almost as good as he seems to
think he is.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/2irp72u.jpg)
Roomie
...for proving that, yes, there is a lowest common denominator.
(http://i47.tinypic.com/wlc6tj.jpg)
Paki-man
...for proving that, yes, there is an even lower common denominator.
(http://i46.tinypic.com/wckent.jpg)
Drops
...for proving that, yes, there is a lowest uncommon denominator as well.
(http://i47.tinypic.com/qxrm6w.jpg)
Brain-Damaged Loverboy
...for his amazing ability to remain a Casanova,
even with his appearance, mannerisms, intellect
and total disregard for "personal space".
I guess it really is just about the confidence.
(http://i48.tinypic.com/2r4hp2g.jpg)
The Gang
...for being the wild and crazy bunch of hooligans
that you were, and for helping me enter into a normal,
social world where people hang underwear in trees
and sing about miso soup at the top of their lungs.
(http://i48.tinypic.com/qx11yu.jpg)
Hatman
...for showing me that first impressions (not just mine)
are rarely a good judge of character, for his work on
co-authoring the John Smith song, and for being
a true friend.
(http://i46.tinypic.com/ao2hcn.jpg)
John Smith
...for bringing a little more hippie love into the world,
for serving to unite us against a cruel system of injustice,
for being the krazy glue that held us together,
and for being generally awesome.
-
(http://i50.tinypic.com/nmhnio.jpg)
X
...for helping me realize that sometimes
losing in the short term will grant you a greater
victory later on. Or at least make it that
much sweeter.
(http://i49.tinypic.com/adp9x4.jpg)
Pirate-Goth
...for teaching me how to play billiard, for being a shoulder
to whine on, for being fluent enough in English to help me
through the early periods, for helping me learn that a little
kindness goes a long way, for teaching me that sometimes
the best and/or only thing to do is nothing, and for flattering
me in a way that she never even realized.
(http://i47.tinypic.com/mj9sb8.jpg)
Yours Truly
...and, finally, I'd like to thank myself. I'd like to thank myself for charging ahead into the unknown,
even when I felt like I was a moment away from shattering. For banging my head against the brick wall
of my own insecurities, and getting through it with a skull that hopefully wasn't as thick as when I started.
I'd also like to thank myself for slogging through the writing of this record
of my time at Skiringssal, for laying my mind bare, and for expressing my thoughts,
which were in so dire a need for release.
But, most importantly, I'd like to thank you all for reading this.
For respectfully not ragging on me (too much) during my times of weakness, for putting up with my cyberwhining,
and for apparently finding my life interesting enough to keep reading about it.
...all six of you.
Good night everybody, glad to have had you along for the ride.
-
It's good to see this through to the finish. Want to know something that scares me? I had limewire running through my playlist, and as I got to the Special Thanks part, this song came on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGZ0mDQc3rQ. I started laughing at the perfectness.
-
Okay, I've enjoyed most of this, but reading the last few posts has made me have one thing to say:
Goddamnit Kagus stop being such a white knight. Seriously. You wanted to get laid. That's not a bad thing. I'm a nice guy, and although I have a girlfriend and all I realize how hard it is for nice guys to get girlfriends because it was like that for me for a long time, accepting that you want sex sometimes isn't going to turn you into an asshole.
Sorry if this sounded harsh. I'm trying to help. Maybe you have some deep reason for it, but I just hate the whole "you're a nice but lonely guy that girls like but don't want to be with or" "you're a dick who gets laid but nobody really likes" thing. And it looks to me like you've positioned yourself firmly on the nice guy side, only ever wanting a relationship and all that. But if you keep trying to live by that stereotype you're just going to end up hating yourself. There is a middle ground.
-
Well, you see, if I'm going to try and take advantage of someone who's had a little too much to drink, I'll at least have the self-respect to do it with someone who isn't comatose. Yes, I realize that that's a specific instance, but I still felt I should point it out...
Furthermore, it really just wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't so much that I realized I wanted to have sex (freakin' Nobel prize for advances in the field on that discovery, Kagus), but that I was reaching out frantically in a vain attempt to get *something* before the year was over. The sex wasn't the thing, it was the concept of getting some before the year ended. My mind just freaked out.
When I realized I was essentially trying to use whoever was at hand to satisfy my own personal hangups, I just left off and tried to enjoy what was left of the evening. I realize that my original wording was a bit unclear on that, but I had been going back and forth on the prospect of posting any of that incident at all, and it eventually ended up getting added on as an afterthought (with a lead-in, of course... I take my afterthoughts very seriously, dontcha know).
-
Oh, huh. Yeah, I thought you just thought approaching someone just because you want to have sex was taking advantage of them. I guess I was a little to fast to yell at you, but I've been wanting to yell at someone all day for some reason and I just kind of pounced on the first opportunity.
-
I know the feeling, oddly enough. No harm done.
As for the sonerohian musical interlude, that was indeed a rather funny coincidence... You listened to Vitamin C while reading it, and I listened to Black Sabbath while writing it. Nifty world we live in.
-
Entertaining read, thanks for sharing. I read all of it.
-
Wow. It would appear that the quality of my writing transcends the boundaries not only of culture and continent, but also life itself. I don't believe I've ever had a bot compliment my work before.
There's a milestone for ya.
-
And as the bot read, his
heart processor grew three times it's size. He shed a single tear (which caused him to short-circuit).
-
EPILOGUE:
Revenge of the Hobo
Currently trying to pull together all the loose strands before taking off for the reunion. I leave for Norway tomorrow morning, and should be able to get there in time to have a good ol' Norwegian New Year's celebration over at a friend's shack.
It's funny... I'm anxious as hell about getting everything sorted out properly and getting through all the checkpoints smoothly, and it's only once I'm up in the air that I can really relax. It's a sort of inverse flight anxiety. I'm afraid of the bureaucracy, not the machine.
I am, in fact, scared shitless. Just got back from the bathroom.
Blehf... For as much as I've traveled, I never really liked that whole "traveling" part.
Anyways, I'm going to be spending a fair amount of my time crashing over at Hatman's accommodations. I am going to be in Norway for about three weeks though, so we'll see how long it takes before my presence becomes too irritating to abide...
But, like he says, he's been a teacher's assistant for the worst special ed class in all of that area... He should be able to handle me.
-
Getting up at the truly ungodly hour of 6:30 (well, considering the religious views of this household, I suppose that every hour is ungodly), I took off for the airport with what I can only assume was everything I needed (plus some extra Inka Corn).
My flight plan was the perfectly simple and straightforward route of Vegas - Fresno - Frisco - Frankfurt - Oslo. I am aware that many San Franciscans are unimpressed by the use of the name "Frisco", but "Fresno - 'The City' - Frankfurt" didn't have quite the same ring to it.
Boarding the flight to Fresno, I found myself in line behind a couiple people who were commenting on the incessant broadcasting of various popular Christmas songs over the sound system.
Or, rather, the fusion jazz remixes of said songs.
Blundering into the plane matchstick-with-wings, I plunked myself down in the first seat that seemed appropriate for my needs. I had, for whatever reason, gotten it into my head that there weren't any seating reservations on the trip to Fresno.
This idea was soon discarded when someone behind me said "Ah... That would be my seat". Looking, I discovered it to be the Christmas-comment woman.
Beyond sorting out that one little mixup, the flight was largely uneventful. Despite being only slightly larger than a children's toy, the plane was not quite as entertaining. The only item of note would be how hilarious the big-plane security announcements sound in such a small space, and also how the attendant call button seems largely useless in a space small enough to simply shout at the flight personnel.
The Fresno-Frisco flight, on the other hand, proved to be a bit more interesting...
The terminal I had been dropped off at happened to be the same mini-plane corral I needed to be in for my connecting flight, so I didn't have to go wandering around all over the place. When the time came, I filed out onto the runway, climbed the steps up into the plane, and raised my head to greet the flight attendant who was welcoming the passengers aboard.
...only to find none other than the Christmas-comment woman staring back at me. She looked at me for a moment.
"Hey... Did you-... Were you the one on my Vegas to Fresno flight?"
"Yup, that was me!"
Throughout the flight, we made faces at each other during the announcements, shared a few wry smirks, and generally acted almost like we knew each other. She gave a special closing address once we'd reached our destination.
"...It's been a great pleasure for me to be your attendant on this flight. I'd like to thank you for flying United, and wish you a happy new year. Who knows, maybe we'll fly together again someday"
At this little inside comment I tipped my hat at her from my seat, and she nodded back.
It's remarkably fun treating a plane trip as an inside joke of some sort...
The flight from San Francisco to Frankfurt was not exactly what I might choose to call "enjoyable"... Although it was somewhat funny thinking about how the giant Boeing 747 would've been able to swallow both the planes I'd just flown in, with room for more.
I ended up with a row to myself, but I ended up yielding the aisle seat to the Indian fellow who was sitting in the row behind. The reason for this was that there were three people in the other two seats, a married couple and their rather energetic young child. They had requested a little more space, and so the Indian relocated to my neck of the woods.
Most of that flight was uneventful, with me reading in the book I had brought along until they turned off the main lights. After that I was torn between sneaking glances at whatever movie was playing (oh god... Will Ferrel's 'Elf'), listening to the onboard stations (hits of the 60's, hits of the 70's, and the every-talentless-doofus-with-a-guitar-and-some-angst channel), and trying desperately to get some sleep.
Ah yes, sleep... That most evasive and skittish of creatures. I can delude myself into thinking that I would've been able to catch some rest if I'd had the row to myself, but between the avid reader in front of me, the chaotic cycles of the toddler behind me, and the various minor cataclysms going on in the rest of the plane, there was never really any hope to begin with.
I did manage to contort myself into all manner of peculiar knots and positions in the attempt though, and I managed to have a few hours of half-sleep racked up before the flight was over. Of the two times I did manage to fall asleep, the first time I slipped permanently out of position and the second time I was awakened by a balloon popping in the distance. Yes, a balloon. Don't ask.
After a while I noticed that the flight progress screen wasn't updating properly. Despite our having been in the air for several hours (I was certain), it still claimed that we were somehow hovering 18,000ft above San Francisco, without so much as a single MPH.
I humored the airline by eating most of the special meal they had prepared for me, but the generic sandwich they tried to pass off on me was simply too much. I pulled out the bag of lemon rice that I'd been supplied with for the trip and started munching.
This, of course, intrigued my traveling companion signficantly. After I'd pointed out that it was indeed an Indian dish, we started talking about India a bit. I mentioned Hyderabad, and he informed me that not only had he received some of his education there (yikes), but that his mother lived there as well. He didn't recognize the name of the place we stayed at, but then again I probably screwed up on the pronunciation by a syllable or two, thus turning it into a completely alien name he had never heard before in his life.
Naturally, this was viewed as a gateway into the land of conversation proper, and he attempted to make smalltalk. Heh, it still gets me how Indians ask what subject you're taking an education in... They don't ask what you're studying, or even which classes you might be taking. No, they ask you "so, what are you training to be?".
Although I didn't answer either 'doctor' or 'engineer', I do think he was able to see some merit in taking film lessons. After all, India has one of the largest film industries in the world...
Once that was all said and done, we acknowledged each other and went our separate ways.
The last leg of the trip was a bit peculiar. I started off by trying to warm up my Norwegian a bit by turning to the woman seated next to me and apologizing for my smell, explaining that I'd had several stopovers and had yet to find a chance to do anything about my personal hygiene.
She was, of course, German. She hadn't understood a word of what I'd just said. Naturally, I repeated the vital announcement in English. You know, to exercise my Norwegian skills.
Coming into Oslo, I got to see what an airport looks like when the temperature tries to nurture a hobby of skydiving. Getting off the plane, I noticed that there was even snow inside the corridor connecting the plane to the terminal.
Arriving in Oslo is always a fun kick... The airport manages to capture the subtle blend of wood, wool, and Norwegian food that makes up the unique aroma of Norway itself. It was a little masked by the smell of shot-order pizza this time around, but it was still there...
My grandparents had come down to the airport to greet me, and they brought with them some Christmas gifts along with a few supplies for surviving in Norway (socks, gloves, a woolen cap, so on). Because of some misread schedules, I actually had some time to sit around and talk with them before my train took off.
After the pleasantries, I gave my buddy a call and told him when I'd be arriving in Stokke (where he lives). He said he'd check the bus schedules, and informed me that there might be a slight hitch in the plan to go over to his friend's house to get wasted for New Year's, seeing as the friend in question had pulled another one of his disappearing acts and was unreachable for the moment (this was the same chap who vanished right before we were to start filming our little short film).
I said goodbye to my grandfolks and headed down to the train terminal to freeze my legs off for a few moments as the train got there. Once on board, I settled in for a good ol'-fashioned Norwegian train ride. It's been a while...
When the train arrived in Stokke a couple hours later, I bundled up all my gear and opened up the door to that delightful chill I'd managed to evade for a couple hours, thanks to the heating system aboard the train.
Since I didn't see my welcoming comittee offhand, I decided to meander around the platform a bit in hopes of finding him. I saw several families being reunited, friends greeting each other, but no recognizable Hatman. After a couple rounds of patrolling back and forth with my suitcase wheels trundling through the snow, I decided to call him up.
"Hey Hatman."
"Hey!"
"... where are you?"
"Me? I'm at home. Where are you?"
"Stokke."
"Oh, you've arrived then?"
"Yeah, I just got off the train. Right when I said I would."
"Alright! Now, if you head straight forward, there should be a blue sign with..."
After a few more seconds of talking, I realized why he had checked the bus schedules. He wasn't looking for a bus to take him out to the station, he was looking to see if there would be a bus there for me.
What followed was a vain search for the phantom bus stop, and then a decision to just frippin' walk to his house. Again, he wasn't going to walk out and get me, but he was willing to give me directions and sort of meet me halfway.
Quite some time later, we finally managed to traverse enough ground to see each other. I took the opportunity to yell some foul names at him as we approached, including one of the most offensive Norwegian insults I know.
Yes, that's right, I said he was of Swedish heritage.
We hugged each other, I accidentally thwacked him in the jaw, and then we set off on the long and very interesting trek up to his house. Yes, up. I don't really understand the attraction of living in a neighborhood where the only accessway is an icy road angled at 45 degrees. Walking up such a feature is daunting enough, carrying a heavy suitcase up it is right out.
Eventually, with much grunting and yelling at ice, we made it to the abode that he calls home. Ah... sweet, blessed warmth at last...
We sat down in the living room and got straight to the point with a couple cans of pilsner. I believe this was actually my first time drinking Ringnes, a very popular Norwegian beer. Not half bad.
We eventually wandered downstairs, where Hatman has his game consoles and PC. We didn't get much into either of these though, as we were busy talking and laughing ourselves into a few more cans of beer (plus the odd shot of whiskey). I ended up losing a fairly amusing amount of my motor skills, and although I didn't start running the drunken 3 AM calls to random people, I did manage to sneak in an online chat with someone on Facebook. Hey, it's a new generation, the traditions are changing...
I admit that I'd had my doubts about how long I'd be able to stay in Hatman's close company without developing the urge to strangle him. It had, after all, been quite some time since last I'd seen him... Maybe my memory had "ironed out" a few of his wrinkles during our time apart.
But, after hours of vibrant conversation and some hearty laughter at shared jokes, I felt my doubts float away. This was indeed the friend I had remembered, just as crazy as ever, and with just as much a love for tobacco and alcohol as the last time I checked. ...the only difference was an even more sizable 'jewfro' than before.
We ushered in the new year with fists full of drink and faces full of smiles. I'm pretty sure he made a resolution, but I can't for the life of me remember what it might have been. I made no resolutions, because if I haven't gotten around to doing it yet, I'm probably not going to do it later anyways.
And besides... Why should I wait for the new year, when I can always make a Thursday resolution?
-
The past few days have been spent primarily in Hatman's little cave, with the Xbox 360 constantly powered up (with the exception of a few powerouts caused by one of the heaters) and the computer serving as an occasional clock/moviewatching platform.
Most of the new year's weekend was spent with total freedom, as Hatman's parents were out of town until around 2 PM on Sunday. As such, we acted with typical adolescent wisdom and consumed mass amounts of pizza, watched a horror movie, and then pulled an overnighter while playing Saboteur on the Xbox (I refuse to type the '360' after each one. Just accept the fact that it was an Xbox 360). Been a long time since I went a full 24 without sleep... Fun stuff.
It's also been a very long time since I've had a headache. More fun.
After his folks got back, the schedule changed only slightly. Hatman no longer smoked inside (this activity was replaced with trying to convince his parents that he had not smoked inside during their absence), and we were more likely to go to bed. Also, not so many pizza deliveries.
We did take one little change from the usual plan by getting out of the house long enough to go into Tønsberg for a screening of the new Sherlock Holmes flick (which, personally, I quite enjoyed. I'd had my doubts about a Jude Law portrayal of Watson, but he managed to serve the role of a sidekick quite amicably).
The weekend reunion starts on Friday at about 6:30 PM. Should be interesting.
I'm still not entirely sure what to think of the whole ordeal... I figure I'll just have to figure something out once I get there.
As an aside, Hatman's got about five or six cats wandering around out here, crazy cat manlady that he is...
-
Ah yes, down to the dirty business of writing this all up... As an aside, I'm writing this from Hatman's PC, since my own cute little laptop seems to be allergic to the wireless network here. This means I have no English spellchecker, not to mention a keyboard which has seen better days... Much better days.
Anyways, Friday. The first item on the official program for the evening was a meeting up in the room we used to have morgensamling in at 6:30 PM. But, of course, we wanted to get there a little earlier in order to run the meet'n'greet before we were sucked away by any defined schedule.
This ended up being trickier than we might have expected, seeing as Hatman had a 2:00 PM appointment for a haircut, and after he came back we needed to enter into the long and grueling process of ordering a pizza dinner for five people.
We got there a little after 6:30. We hurried along, dropped off our bags in a suitably unoccupied space and then headed up to see if they'd been dickish enough to lock the doors after collecting "everyone".
But no, as we approached hesitantly, the door was opened for us and we were welcomed in. As we walked in we were greeted by a healthy round of applause from the gathered students. Naturally, I took a great sweeping bow and made the most out of my entrance as humanly possible... I mean, it's not often your very presence gets applauded, so you may as well give them a reason.
We made our way to the back of the room -where we usually sat- and said hi to the rest of the gang. Ah, sweet reunion... It's funny, I'd expected more of a shock coming in there and seeing all the familiar rooms, the faces of people I recognized from so long ago... But it felt more like we were just going straight back into the Skiringssal routine, as though we'd gotten up for classes and done the exact same thing yesterday.
The principal (one person I had no particular desire to be reunited with) was reading the student names off of a list, whereupon the person would stand up and tell everyone what they'd done after Skiringssal, where they lived, what classes they were/weren't taking and so forth...
He'd already gone through Film and TV by the time we got there, but he made a special accommodation by calling us up after everyone else.
Two things I should mention... First of all, I've done a great deal of nothing in the year following Skiringssal, aside from helping my folks out with a couple oddjobs and, of course, writing up the last of this beast. Second, most of the people called up simply recited "I live in ___, and I'm studying ___/working at a ___" in a boring monotone. Some of them even mentioned their names for some reason...
These two conditions of course meant that I had to make as much out of my presentation as possible. Don't ask for the reasoning behind this, just accept it and hold faith in it, for it shall save thee in times of darkness and boredom.
When my name was called out, I made a great show of leaping up from my chair, stamping my boots on the ground when I landed. I then addressed the attentive (and slightly frightened) students thusly:
"I have done precisely fuck all! However, I did buy a coat..."
I pointed to the large black coat I was wearing, which I had picked up shortly before leaving for Norway.
"...and, as you can see, I like my coats like I like my coffee: Made from wool"
At this, I sat back down. A chaotic mixture of confused glances and uncertain laughter filled the room. My work here was done.
Damn I'd missed these people... John Smith was just as much a giant beacon of harmony as ever, and the wacked-out jokes and comments were flying as freely as they always had during the school year.
I'd also kind of hoped/expected that I'd act differently at the reunion, say things I normally wouldn't say to people I normally wouldn't hang out with... But after the initial burst of showering each other with love and affection born from absence (and giving tall penguin-man a few packages of Inka Corn, free of charge. An action which caused him to pull me into an enormous hug of purest gratitude), I found myself doing exactly what I always did... Namely, standing around and wondering where the hell everyone got off to while I absently played a few licks on the guitar.
It eventually came time for the show, where both years would present material in the hopes of totally outperforming the other in terms of awesomeness.
As far as I could tell, we were actually evenly matched... This wasn't due so much to the current year being particularly amazing, but more to the fact that we were totally unprepared and the doofuses in charge of the affair didn't have our best films and skits, for some reason.
The current year wasn't bad per se, just... Lacking. All the material they had was quite good, but it left many opportunities unfulfilled and generally just fell short of awesome.
Except, that is, for the music class. The two songs they performed at the beginning of their turn were both quite impressive. Particularly the second one, where the (rather skilled) guitarist got to really show his stuff.
Other than that though... Yeah, not much. A half-assed transvestite dance number, a few people shaking bottles with glo-sticks in them, and some other material that, as with everything else, had the potential for awesomeness, but fell short by a fair stretch.
Our own material wasn't hugely better though. We showed a couple little skits from Industrielle Boller, our sketch-based "TV program", but other than that and the death metal video, all other performances were taken up by Beefcake and Paki-Man.
Yes, that's right. ALL OTHER PERFORMANCES included either one or both members of this delightful duo. Not exactly the image I'd want to project, but most of the cool people were, of course, too lazy to volunteer themselves.
The rest of the evening was spent just being around the people we'd been out of contact with for so long, and commenting on how weird and simultaneously not-weird it was to be back.
Seeing all the new people was, of course, rather crazy. It's like going back to your old home and seeing the weirdos who live there now.
I do wonder what kind of experiences the new class has been having though... Several gathering rooms were closed down during our stint there, and I'd be very surprised if they'd been opened back up. The only place for people to really gather together now would be the rec room, and only the squares hang out there (note: Not to be confused with "The Square", who is awesome in ways man cannot fully comprehend).
Ach vel... Not my place to think about those who were unfortunate enough to not be in the same year as our unfathomable glory. I had more pressing matters at hand, such as finding a place to sleep.
Sleeping indeed... I ended up bunking down in the music room, along with Hatman, a few others from the gang, and another notable individual... Pirate-Goth.
I'd seen her a couple times earlier in the evening, and it hadn't gotten any less awkward since then. I'd mostly been avoiding eye contact with her, as I still hadn't figured out exactly how I was going to handle the situation and she was acting as though nothing had happened. Naturally, as with many of the uncomfortable situations I'd been in before, she almost seemed to be following me.
I decided that I'd let things go as they were. If she wanted to re-establish contact, then she could take the initiative. Otherwise, I'd leave her alone. Figured she'd probably want it that way.
Sleeping in the same room as her, however, did nothing to ease my mind.
This wasn't particularly helped by the other occupants of the room... Hatman was testing the acoustics of the room by putting up a formidable orchestra of snores, and one of the gals had a cell phone whose alarm managed to wake everyone up - except herself.
Repeatedly.
I woke up once at 4:45. I'm not entirely sure what had caused this, but the combination of Hatman's snoring, Pirate-Goth's presence, and the sounds of Annoying Brit cuddling up with yet another one of the gals from school in his sleeping bag served to provide me with a whole host of demons to gnaw at my brain and keep me from unconsciousness.
Eventually, I just left. I got out of my sleeping bag, grabbed my water bottle and walked out into the main lobby.
There were three things in that room... A chair (from which the seat cushion had been stolen, most likely to serve as a pillow), a trash can, and a radiator heater on the wall.
The utter emptiness and openness of the room served to clear my head almost instantly... Quite a relief.
I sat on the cushionless chair and alternated between putting my feet and my side against the heater. I didn't sleep exactly, but I did get to rest a bit.
I was out there until around 6:15, at which point I decided to head back in. Hatman's serenade was in a brief interlude, and I managed to doze off for a while longer.
We were awakened by a huge host of people barging into the music room, turning on all the lights, and talking in loud, excited voices.
See, most folks had opted to sleep in the gymnasium instead of the music room, and there was a soccer match planned for 10:00 AM Saturday between the two sets of students. When it came time for the soccer match, everyone was shoved out of the gym.
...which they apparently took as a sign to come in and dump all their stuff in the music room.
I got up and packed my stuff while my head went through the lengthy and tedious process of booting up.
The sunlit part of Saturday was roughly the same as the day before, although I did get to do something a little outside the standard routine. I ended up talking with one of the other groups from school outside of "the gang", and in the process met a couple of the current students (one of whom seemed to take a bit of a shine to me). This whole thing was started off when I was walking past them and one of the gals asked me to pick up the guitar before one other member of their group (a novice guitarist herself) came back and started playing it again.
"Please."
Well, can't really refuse when someone says please. Especially not if it means playing guitar (for a respectably small audience).
The buses showed up to take us to the party at 6:00 PM. Before taking off, I took a quick detour so I could "go on down to St. Smith's Place", as they say... It needed to be done.
It's not often I get such a good feeling from staring at a wall.
Coming up, Saturday part II: Night of the Living Hobo
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The bus trip was bout as fascinating as you can expect a bus to be. The only real points of interest were when John Smith started singing along with his seat partner (spontaneous songs about beer, trees, politicians and so forth) and when the Annoying Brit (who was sitting behind me) finally admitted that beer can actually taste alright.
When we made it to the building that had been rented out (same place we'd gone for the past two parties at school), we could see that it had been specially made up for the party (rather than simply evacuated, as was the usual procedure before we arrived someplace). This was because we would be getting a little help with our reunion party from the kitchen chief. All well and fine, except for the fact that this somehow meant we had to pay an insane entrance fee. 600 Kroner, a little over 100 bucks, per head. In cash.
After that injury (which needed no further insult added to it, as it was insulting in and of itself), we picked out which table we would sit at and started making ourselves comfortable. This meant, in essence, drinking.
We even got place settings and utensils. Sure, it was all made of either paper or plastic, but it was still more than we'd had at previous parties. There were even a few bowls of snackfood lying on the table, some of them more appealing than others (as in, not all of them looked like congealed semen with mold splatters). There was even a platter off to the side with party drinks.
Now, if 75+ people are going to be paying 100 bucks a head for one night, I'd at least epect some halfway decent party drinks. These things were just nasty... They tasted like the bastard child of orange soda and the bad kind of cough syrup. But, of course, I drank the whole friggin' thing. Gotta take your medicine, after all...
After we'd been there for a bit, we got to the first course of the evening, namely some soup. Essentially tomato soup with some macaroni in it. But, of course, most "normal" folks were served the version with chicken in it, so the crazy vegetarians had to go into the kitchen and dish up for themselves (everyone else had soup brought to their table).
Now, the funny thing about this is that the "chicken soup" didn't actually have any chicken in it... It most likely just had some broth or something in it (there were quite a few people who were looking for their chicken bits rather intently, and who were rather disappointed not to have any).
Or, as I said, it was "chicken approved".
The soup was... Well, pretty basic. Really just broth and a smattering of noodles that were added in after the fact. Again, for 100 bucks, not a heck of a lot to write home about (even though that's exactly what I'm doing right now).
Some people enjoyed the soup more than others... Those who didn't care for it decided that the best course of action would, of course, be to pour heirs into a cup, hand it to John Smith, then start chanting "Chug! Chug! Chug!" (we'd had a few by this time).
Next was the main course, an array of burritos. Again, vegetarians needed to come and get their eats in the kitchen.
Of course I can't speak for the meat burritos, but the vegetarian ones were highly lackluster... But, hey, they were filling enough. And I've eaten worse, after all.
Dessert was really just a free-for-all, with a trolley full of lemon biscuits, stone-hard gelatin, and vanilla sauce.
All in all, I'm still not completely sure how this all managed to cost 100 per person... Even with the free beer we got with the soup (yes, free as in beer... Even though we were paying through the nose for it). Yes, we got a three course meal, but it wasn't exactly high-quality... Yes, we got a couple drinks, but those DEFINITELY were not high quality... Yes, we were renting out a locale that we'd ravaged the last two times we'd been there, including the destruction of a fridge door, and we'd been told on a couple different occasions that Skiringssal students would never be allowed on the premises again, but...
Okay, maybe that was why.
By now I'd had a couple beers, along with that mixed "thing" we got at the start, and I was starting to get a little tipsy (hey, 6"2' 146 pounds, only other food I'd hadwas a bowl of rice pudding earlier in the day, third time drinking... I've got all sorts of excuses as to why it took so little to get me started), however I felt that I wasn't quite drunk enough to fully appreciate the event, so I pulled out a third beer.
About halfway through, I felt that I'd reached my limit. I still wasn't really drunk yet, but my stomach was starting to cry bloody murder. I felt that I'd rather take a break for a while than have my first drunken vomiting episode, so I left it at two and a half beers, plus the cup of Bacardi and Bleh.
I started sipping from my water bottle to clear my system, and immediately started getting people coming up and commenting on how I still wasn't drinking. I'd had a can in my hand for all of the evening leading up to that, but they only notice me now that I'm holding the water bottle? Goons...
Still though, it gave me the opportunity to see their faces when I told them that, yeah, I'd been drinking... And that it also wasn't the first time I'd done so, but the third.
Always fun to see such expressions of shock and disbelief...
One thing that's a little unfortunate with the combination of drinking and blogging is that, even when you're just a little tipsy, you don't remember details as clearly. I do remember having a very good "early game" though, and that I started going a bit downhill after I 'd spent some time clearing up. Y'know, the usual shtick of feeling alone and unwanted, not having anyone to talk to, so on... Most of it was unfounded though, as I spent far more time chatting with folks and getting them laughing than at any of the other parties... Combined, even.
I figured I just hadn't had enoughto drink yet. And, I'd just managed to clear out my stomach to the point that I wasn't feeling nauseous anymore... Obviously, the perfect time to get back into the wet game.
I'd just started in on a fresh beer when I felt my stomach turn over yet again, as though it started right where it left off last time.
I did manage to get the beer down and kinda refresh my buzz, but I realized that that was as far as I was going to be traveling down Inebriation Road that night. Hadn't even managed to make it through the six-pack I'd gotten for the party (but, as it turned out, someone else did... I was going to get some for a friend who had misplaced his own alcohol, only to find that there wasn't so much as a smudge left in the fridge)...
Hatman, obviously quite a ways down the ol' path, sat down next to me at one point and started trying to convince me to keep drinking. I told him that if I drank any more, I'd puke. He countered by saying that everybody vomits sometime, and after you've "emptied the tank" so to speak, then you can drink some more!
Beyond the obvious, I stated that if I were to vomit, I wouldn't be as happy I was just then, and I was pretty freakin' happy at that moment.
You may ask why exactly I was feeling so chipper... After all, everything I've described so far has been either unimpressive or downright non-conducive to a joyous state of being. Well, that's because something happened which I haven't brought up yet, something which damned well made my evening.
At one point while I was sucking on my water supply and munching on Inka Corn at my little party-observation station, I saw Pirate-Goth out of the corner of my eye. As had been my standard procedure thus far, I looked the other way.
A few seconds later, however, she was sitting in the chair next to me and was talking about something in an incomprehensible combination of English in Norwegian. After a couple moments she gathered herself and started saying stuff I could understand. And that's when it got interesting.
Some time before I left for Norway, I sent out a message on Facebook to a few select people (mind you; this was "select" at three in the morning...) that included the link to this here account of my time at Skiringssal... One of the names on that list was Pirate-Goth's.
I'd only gotten feedback from Hatman, so I assumed that he had been the only one to read it, so it was a bit of a surprise to hear that she'd actually seen the message (let alone followed the link). The greater surprise was that she'd actually managed to read the whole damn thing, and was actually rather impressed by it (to the point of even liking her nickname, which is, y'know, always a plus).
The ensuing conversation served to iron out the nasty spots between us. And although recovery from something like that is always a process, I daresay that we're cool now.
Damn that made me feel good... Even writing about it now, I'm still a little bit buzzed. For all the different scenarios that had been playing out in my head, I never thought things could go that well.
The rest of the evening played out rather well. I wasn't quite drunk enough to charge headfirst into the festivities, but I had least brought along a passable camera this time... Oh yes, partyphotos for everyone...
Some time around 4:00 AM, I started feeling like I'd reached the end of my battery, and that I should sneak my way over to the secret sleeping spot I'd used before.
As I'd hoped, no one else knew about or desired to take that spot, so it was perfectly open and ready for usage. The only less-than-delightful aspect of the deal was a table with a very low support bar that made turning from one side to the other quite an ordeal. Otherwise, it was just as perfect as I'd remembered...
I snuggled in, warm and cozy, sent a goodnight text message to John Smith via my cell phone, and settled down for the night.
...
A few hours later, I awoke to a bit of a scuffle coming from the bathroom I was camped right across from. A couple people tromping around and talking about something.
I was a bit groggy, and it felt like my left hip had fallen asleep, so I decided to shift position again. While moving, I noticed that I wasn't feeling the rush of blood returning to the asleep portion of my body. Unusual, certainly... But my recently-awakened mind still wasn't assigning a whole great deal of meaning to it.
And then, everything came into focus... I looked through the open bathroom door at the two people who were wandering around, and I saw the guy (the helper dude from our year) reach down and pick up a baseball cap from the floor...
A baseball cap that was soaking wet.
I looked at the floor around me... The entire lower level was flooded with water. That "asleep" feeling I felt was the part of my jeans that had managed to soak up some of the water through my sleeping bag.
Yes folks, I had just been flooded out... My perfect little spot had just been washed out. And from the looks of things, the people who were checking out the situation seemed to be of the rather unhelpful variety.
"How do we stop the toilet from flooding like that?"
"Let's put the lid back on, that should do it"
So, yeah... I waited for a while in the vain hope that maybe I'd heard wrong, or that they'd done something more than just put the tank lid back on, but no... The water just kept on coming. I was an island in a sea of toilet water.
I eventually got up, put my clothes back on (luckily, I'd managed to put them in places that were unaffected by the flood), pulled up my sleeping bag and insulation pad, and went upstairs. There I found a little chair circle that included the helper dude. I hung my sopping wet sleeping equipment over a nearby door and then struck up a conversation regarding the efforts he had taken to fix the problem.
Him: "So, there's still water coming out?"
Me: "Yeah, unless someone volunteers to stop it"
Guess who the volunteer ended up being? Apparently, with all these different people and all their different backgrounds, I'm the only yahoo who has a clue about how a toilet works. So I went downstairs again, this time accompanied by the Bear, who wanted to see how I'd go aboutdoing such a thing.
I went into the bathroom, opened up the tank, and looked inside at a scene devoid of water. I lifted the little trigger arm up so that the water would stop at least while I was looking for the source of the problem.
Within five seconds I had managed to do what it had taken the others a minute to try and figure out. Namely, stop the water (albeit temporarily).
After a bit of looking around, I saw light coming into the tank from down below. Bingo. The water was apparently draining out of a little crack down at the bottom of the- whoa,wait a second...
Did I say little crack? I mean the GIANT FRIGGIN' CHASM THAT SPLIT THE ENTIRE TANK IN TWO. Seriously, this thing was shattered. Destroyed, ruined, obliterated, downright kaputt even. No chance of even a drop of water staying in that thing.
Well, that explained the source of the problem... The trigger arm couldn't get enough water to stay up. Then it was just a matter of finding some way of stopping the flow without my having to hold it up.
The Bear tried shoving an empty soda bottle into the tank in order to prop the thing up,but that worked about as well as soda bottles usually do. Instead, I took a little wad of paper and jammed it into the mechanism.
There, finished. Not a permanent fix, certainly, but the water valve had absolutely NO intention of closing, so I had to settle for whatever I could manage.
When I went back upstairs, the helper dude asked me if I'd managed to find a way to stop the flooding.
"Well, yeah. I said I would"
After retrieving the rest of my stuff from downstairs, I put on my coat, put my hat over my eyes, and slept the rest of the night upstairs, on the floor.
The morning yielded a few more photo opportunities, some fond farewells, a large order of french fries which wasn't nearly as good as the conversation that hovered around it, and an invitation to a housewarming party next weekend. Not to mention a collection round for yet another 100 kroner in order topay for the toilet.
So, yeah... Here I am. Back in the cave and eating what's left of my Inka Corn reserves. All in all, it was a pretty goddamn awesome night, and I managed to get some beautiful (if somewhat out-of-focus) pictures from it as well.
See for yourselves:
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs158.snc3/18531_1311654441421_1532430700_30851846_1465372_n.jpg)
(http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs158.snc3/18531_1311654681427_1532430700_30851852_835900_n.jpg)
(http://photos-a.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs138.snc3/18531_1311654881432_1532430700_30851856_4916142_n.jpg)
(http://photos-g.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs138.snc3/18531_1311655041436_1532430700_30851860_6659960_n.jpg)
(http://photos-c.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc3/hs138.snc3/18531_1311655721453_1532430700_30851876_913123_n.jpg)
So far, no one else has released any pictures from the party... Slackers.
I'll see if I can find some way of pushing my return date a bit more, then I'll be able to write up whatever insanity happens at the housewarming party (which is really more of an apartment-warming party... With 40+ invited guests... Yikes), but as far as Skiringssal is concerned, it's all over, folks. Heh, I must admit, I feel quite a bit better ending it on this note than the last few days of school.
Partaaay...
-
Oh yeah, one more thing... I just found out a few days ago about a little something that occurred between Beefcake and Tanned Sunshine (the Awesome formerly known as Beefgirl).
Apparently, during a lovely vacation to the sunny south, Beefcake turned to his lovely girl and said "I'm pretty enough for the both of us, so I'm dumping you. Hyuk hyuk".
Some of you may remember a few of the things I've said about ol' Shitcake here, and you'll remember that most of them aren't very flattering. Then, all of a sudden, I throw in a little "he really wasn't that bad" at the end.
The only reason I did that was because I felt that if Tanned Sunshine could find something to like about him, then he couldn't be all bad. I tried to shine a better light on him out of respect for her. To be perfectly honest, she was his best quality.
Well, after the treatment he's put her through, and after the way he acted at the reunion party (which was, quite frankly, repulsive... And borderline illegal), I feel absolutely no guilt in clearing up any false assumptions that he might actually be a respectable individual.
Just a little interruption of your Kagus broadcast system... We will now resume the previously scheduled programming (which, for the moment, isn't much of anything. I could tell you about sitting around and watching bootleg films with Hatman, but that wouldn't be hugely interesting now would it?)
-
Woo... Well, Hatman and I just spent the weekend in Oslo "warming" the new apartment one of the guys from Film and TV picked up.
The Facebook page for the party on Saturday (well, actually, there are two pages... Since the F&TV guy apparently didn't really know his way around Facebook, there is now an event page and a group page for the same party. And they're both still just sitting there now, on Wednesday) indicated that over 50 people had been invited to the party... 15 said they weren't coming, 14 were undecided, 12 said they'd be there (this included the FTV guy, his roommate, Hatman and myself), and the rest hadn't responded.
We got there early, which is to say we got there at quarter to six. We went through the meet 'n' greet, then sat down with a couple beers to try and take the edge off the awkward silence that comes from four sober dudes sitting around the same coffee table.
The FTV guy had his own special silence to contribute, seeing as the two residents had started drinking quite a bit earlier... Which is to say Friday night. FTV guy was still a bit hungover.
We started warming up a bit, and I talked about my encounter with the toilet. After some time, more people started showing up, and we felt it was time to start drinking a bit more.
All in all, four more five more people came and left that night, including the old school helper, the one who figured putting the lid back on the toilet tank would somehow stop the water from flooding out of it (I asked him if he honestly thought that would stop it... He maintains that it "helped").
Although certainly not the turnout I would have expected, it ended up being just fine with that many people (there really wasn't any space left, and we were already packing three people into a loveseat...). We listened to music, talked about the old times (including a few revelations which would probably have been better kept under wraps... Damn my trusting nature), ate some Inka Corn, and generally got drunk in a very serious way.
Speaking of drunkenness, my 146.5 pound frame managed to pack away six pints of pilsner that night... That's as drunk as I've ever gotten so far in my limited experience. Interesting.
After a while, most of the extra guests left, and I was left with two conscious companions in the wee hours of the morning... Namely Hatman and Helper.
Having exhausted my six-pack earlier, I figured it was probably about time that I switched over to the hard stuff (water) before bedtime. I'd already been suckin' up the blue stuff for a while, so I was starting to regain some of my sober state of my mind. As such, I was beginning to get irritated with Helper dude (despite our many shared tastes, I just never really cared for the guy... There just seemed to be something lacking in his personality. I'm still not sure exactly what).
Eventually, he left and grabbed the last bus back to his place, and I was left with Hatman for company. Hatman was starting to feel the wrong end of the whiskey stick and followed my hydrating example... But he only drank a few glasses of the stuff, whereas I had managed to put away somewhere around a gallon by the time we finally bunked down. I apparently never quite learned the details of binge drinking...
I'm sure you can guess who was fully alive and awake the next morning.
Sunday was spent chilling out with the apartment-dwellers, as we devoured pizza and microwave popcorn while shredding it up in four-player Xbox madness.
In fact... From Saturday afternoon to Monday morning, I ate nothing but pizza (and the aforementioned popcorn, but that's really just a snack). Our particular source of pizza happened to be a tiny little corner at a nearby tram station.
This tiny pizza shack was owned and operated by a rather friendly fellow by the name of Umaya Atamna. He'd had a shop somewhere else, but was pushed out by grumpy and outspoken elderly people.
We ended up talking quite a bit, and he told us about how he was still getting a lot of resistance for running his little pizza business there. He'd even hung up a few newspaper clippings talking about how some local politician and a few other disagreeable people were trying to get rid of him and his establishment.
I looked at some of the arguments listed in the article, and I found myself on the line between laughing and holding my face in my hands. They were trying to push someone out of an honest business because they were afraid of an increase in traffic? Because the 8'x5' customer area might somehow become a hangout for "loitering teenagers"?
The other arguments were just as bogus... The only thing that seemed likely to me was that there was just a group of set-in-their-ways old racists with nothing better to do than complain about the immigrant pizza shop where the young, lively people went.
Ah, enough about that... The pizza was good, fresh, cheap, and topped with the tastiest (and strongest) jalapeños I've ever come across in Norway.
And, like I said, he was a nice enough chap just to talk to.
Monday brought some very unusual things indeed... After first saying goodbye to the apartment-dwellers and then Hatman later on, I made my way over to Jessheim so I could chill with mah grandma for a bit.
This was, interestingly enough, the place I'd used as my home address in order to qualify for monetary support from the Norwegian government so I could go to Skiringssal. As such, I'd gotten a couple letters since the last time I was there. The first was an account statement from the bank...
...and the second was a message from the Norwegian government, giving me a date for my (obligatory) military service orientation.
The date was the 3rd of December, 2009.
So, yeah... That'll be fun. A phone call has been made, and another one is in the works, so steps have been taken to get this thing sorted out. Still though, it's a little funny to find out after the fact that you've been dodging... Unwittingly.
Currently at my granddad's house, complete with wireless internet and large drahthaar who smells worse every time I see him and still maintains that he is, in fact, a lapdog.
My return plans have been changed yet again... Originally, I was only planning on being here for three weeks, but that was before I heard about the housewarming party. I figured I could do with one more week, and tried pushing the tickets to accommodate.
Well, one week apparently wasn't all that agreeable with the airlines... Now, after some juggling and back-and-forthing, it appears I'm going to be here until the 6th of February. So there.
I'll be checking around with a few other folks to see if there's another weekend party in the works... Who knows, I may just find something else to write about!
Speaking of writing, this update has been particularly taxing to write due to a weird situation... I'm not sure if it's Internet Explorer or Windows 7 or if it's just this itty-bitty laptop, but as soon as I go over a certain number of lines in this text box things start going batshit.
By "batshit", I of course mean that after every keystroke, the scrollbar resets to either a paragraph above where I'm writing or the very beginning of the post. This means I can only see what I'm writing while I'm actively writing it. Bloody annoying, that is.
Anyways, that should just about do it for this update... Here's hoping everything works out smashingly with the delightful prospect of a military service interview.
-
You need to go to a third place that'll lead to another travelogue / autobiography. Seeing two stories will just leave us all hanging.
I'd suggest South America or South Africa for symmetry. But we want you to come home in one piece!
-
All depending, I might end up having yet another longish stay in the Northlands, what with either the military or potential schooling.
For now, however, I will be flying out to Bergen for the weekend. There I shall meet and subsequently chill with our old friend, John Smith. Should prove interesting...
Although he has nothing planned for the weekend, knowing Smith, it's quite likely that "something" noteworthy will happen in my short stay there.
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Well alrighty then. John Smith is still conked out from last night, so I suppose I can use this time to try cracking out an update.
I plunked down in Bergen around 9:30 PM on Friday, and then spent a fair amount of time wandering around in circles as I tried to find John Smith (I believe I got off at the wrong bus stop, so his directions were slightly confusing). Eventually we managed to work out something and we were reunited at last outside the art museum.
We then trudged our way up a steep, icy hill (what is it with Norwegians and steep, icy hills? These things are all over the place!), and went down a street that, as Smith puts it, "Looks just fine until you get to my place".
Standing before us was a large, slightly rundown building that looked out over a fair-sized park. Hidden in a tangle of scaffolding was a door that had quite obviously seen better days, as it needed at least a couple kicks to open it up (and then again to close it behind us).
Inside was an unlit corridor, and we entered into a door on the side. This door, keeping in style, had completely blasted out part of the frame surrounding the lock. The only way to keep the door closed was to lock it with the deadbolt. In order to make sure people remembered this little tidbit, a dire warning was written onto a piece of paper attached to the inside:
"To those who forget to lock the door:
...lock the door"
We kicked off our shoes amidst a pile of other shoes and shoe-like paraphernalia, then made our way through the commune to Smith's room (easily identified by a large sign on the door that says "Nurse". According to Smith, that sign was there when he moved in, and it was simply "too sweet" to take down).
However confused I may have been by the sign, all doubt was washed away as I entered the room and found a computer playing from a list of psychedelic tunes and Bob Dylan classics, a large collection of DVD's ranging from Kill Bill to Pan's Labyrinth to Old Boy (a Korean revenge movie), a bag of pizza-flavored potato chips, and the overwhelming aroma of hash.
Yes, this was definitely the abode of John Smith.
Friday night was spent eating store-bought pizza off of "student plates" (in other words, the boxes that the pizzas came in), watching an assortment of insane and/or trippy videos on YouTube, listening to various songs on Spotify, and playing "Shopping Cart Hero 2" on Kongregate.
Aside from the name-dropping, we also watched about half of Old Boy on Smith's TV before it died.
It took a bit of getting used to, but this place is actually rather nice. And I must say, a commune building that looks out over Junkie Central Park is right in style for John Smith. Plus, his rent is about a third of what the guys in Oslo are paying each month...
We finally ended up crashing at around five in the morning, and didn't wake up again until three in the afternoon on Saturday... Now *this* is my kind of schedule.
Saturday was spent in mostly the same way as Friday, with slightly more Shopping Cart Hero and slightly less YouTube. We finished off the rest of Old Boy and pulled some more stunts in the addictive Flash game before finally agreeing that we needed to eat something.
I did find it kind of funny that we took so long before venturing outside that it had gotten dark again... Talk about nocturnal.
Mind you, this is Norway during the butt end of winter, so "dark" comes at about 4:30 in the afternoon.
We went shopping, picked up some essentials (beer), then headed down to a pizza joint where we treated ourselves to a larger, fresher pizza than the day before. This meal was taken back to Smith's pad, and we consumed it while watching the "Trailer Park Boys" movie. Good times, good times.
Some time into the evening we got a call from Annoying Brit, who also happens to be living in Bergen. After a bit of back-and-forth we agreed to have a cozy little meetup at a local pub, seeing as the opportunity to get 3+ Skiringssalians in one place at the same time is rather rare, especially when that group happens to include me.
Much later ("half an hour" in hash time multiplied by casual gaming time), we dressed up and headed out for what was to be (to my knowledge and/or recollection) my first pub night.
Reaching the pub, we were greeted by a thundering soundtrack (two, actually. The pub was divided into two parts, one with a dance floor and one with pool tables. The dance floor section was equipped with the standard strobe lights and chunky dance techno, while the pool table area happened to boast a completely different soundtrack, including Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, Black Sabbath, and a few other selections that I was actually quite content with) and of course AB, who had been "warming up the place" for us.
There's really not much to describe here. Between getting drunk, getting seriously caught up in a few songs, meeting a rather inebriated ol' chap who danced hip-hop for our entertainment, proving once and for all that drunk people have an increased appreciation for hats, getting hit on by a plus-sized (not to mention "spoken for") dame, and losing most of what's left of my hearing, there really wasn't a whole lot that happened.
...well, I suppose that might be a matter of personal opinion.
After bidding farewell to AB, the gal from school that he recently hooked up with, and the other friends that AB introduced us to, John Smith and I staggered our way home through Bergen's nighttime streets, waxing philosophic about deafness, pizza, beer, churches, the army, and life in general. Back at his pad, we regaled each other with jokes that we knew were only funny because of how many beers we'd had, listened to some more music, opened our hearts to each other, and then pretty much crashed. Hard.
All in all, a very good night. And, of course, I ended up drinking another gallon of water, so I'm feeling perfectly chipper at the moment.
But then again, I'm wrapping up this post at four in the afternoon... So maybe I just slept the whole thing off.
Ah well. Time for another day of excitement, slacking off, and pizza!
Man, it's good to see Smith again...
EDIT: Oh yeah, about the pub... One thing I didn't particularly care for was that they only had two kinds of beer to choose from; Heineken and Hansa, a local brew.
This did afford me the opportunity to add a couple new tastes to my experience, however. Hansa is very mild, smooth, and has a light flavor. I wouldn't exactly call it spectacular, but it does go down quite easily and you really don't taste much of the alcohol.
Heineken tastes like oats. Seriously. It started off as interesting, then I switched over to Hansa.
I also learned, yet again, that headbanging and drinking don't mix very well.
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Shopping Cart Hero? That game sucks.
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Shopping Cart Hero? That game sucks.
You are simply envious of my 104,000 point run.
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Sunday was wrapped up with another serving of storebought pizza, some "pepper-flavored" potato chips, a handful of Bamsemums (essentially a chocolate-coated marshmallow bear... It's been an important symbol of John Smith worship since early on in the school year {possibly longer}), and the first half of the film "Slacker" (it freaked out after a while and crashed the computer it was playing on).
Later that evening, one of the gals living in the complex came over to make use of John Smith's rolling expertise, and then everyone chilled out to a few funny animal compilations on YouTube. Beyond that, I can't remember anything outstanding aside from the fact that I went to bed before midnight.
On Monday I slept in a bit and watched videos while Smith attended a lecture. After that was finished and dealt with, we headed out to Bergen University to check out the digs and have lunch at the famously low-priced cafeteria.
We sat down with a few random individuals that Smith was acquainted with, which led to plans for crashing a "German and Jazz night" by dressing up in Lederhosen and bringing along a tuba, and also the obligatory discussion of what Las Vegas is *really* like.
Returning from lunch, I had a while to go before my bus would take off for the airport so we ended up watching the tail end of Slacker while I packed up my stuff.
AB came along at one point and ended up watching the last five minutes of Slacker along with us. After that, I grabbed my stuff and we all filed out the door on our quest for the bus station.
A couple quick goodbyes, a fairly uninteresting bus trip and a surprisingly comfortable plane trip later, I was back at my granddad's. Time to eat something substantial...
During dinner-for-one, I got a call from Hatman. We chatted for a bit, exchanged stories of what we'd done over the past few days, and then discussed my plans for the remainder of my stay.
To be honest, I don't have much of anything planned. I was thinking about poking around again for the possibility of another weekend spent with school pals, but trying to plan anything with this crowd is a daunting task... Really the only thing I've got firmly set on my agenda is what's up for tomorrow.
...namely, my interview for the Norwegian military. Whee.
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Well, that was unexpected.
Let's start with the obvious fun... Since the meeting was set up for 9:00 AM in a different town, I got to enjoy the rare pleasure of waking up at seven in the morning for a long drive along dark winter roads, helping my granddad keep an eye out for wandering moose so that we wouldn't have any special surprises at 60 kilometers per hour.
When we were there, we had a little touch of confusion dealing with which direction to go in. Sure, there were clear signs point out what was where... But there were two things that looked like they might be what I was looking for, and they were in different directions.
Once I made my way into the building, more confusion arose from an utter lack of signs, compounded by plenty of poor direction-giving abilities (that, or poor direction-taking abilities...).
Then, finally, I made my way to a promising area, which contained a desk, a small waiting area, and a healthy number of similarly-aged people.
Now it was the military's turn to be confused.
You see, nobody in that room was actually supposed to be there. Yes, that was indeed the place where people should meet up for their military orientation/interview... The only problem was that there wasn't supposed to be any orientation that day.
They'd sent out (or thought they had sent out) letters to each of the chaps in that room some time ago, telling them not to meet up that day because the orientation had been canceled.
Now they had around 17-18 people there, from many different places in Norway, all of them ready (to some extent) for their examination. Well, so much for calling off the orientation...
We waited for a while as personnel scrambled to set up an examination for us, then got straight into the action with one of those lovely military recruiting videos (those things are always hilarious).
We went through a written quiz, a vision/hearing test, a cursory physical/psychological examination from the one doctor they managed to pull into service on such short notice, and finally an interview with an officer, where the final decision was made whether to take us in or kick us out.
I ended up getting ranked far higher than I had expected, but I suspect this may have been because of the hacked-together nature of the whole deal. The physical examination ended at a stethoscope check, a blood pressure test, and an external examination of my spine.
No running, no jumping, no pushups, nothin'. Not even a urine test.
And my hearing and vision (both of which I know are not perfect) both got top marks for some reason.
The written test, of course, was a bit more difficult to pass than the physical.
The test was broken up into three different categories, each to be taken separately. The first was a mathematics test, which went so-so... I didn't quite understand a few of the questions, and some of them I simply didn't have time to work out.
The second was a pattern recognition test, which I pretty much aced. Out of 36 questions, only the last three gave me any real difficulty in figuring out. And I ended up solving one of those three before the timer finished.
The third section of the test, however, was a word similarities test... Each problem was one base word, and then a field of six other words. You had to pick the word which meant the same as the base word.
Now, as a person who's known as something of a walking thesaurus, you may think I had an easy time with this test.
Well, the test was of course in Norwegian.
I think I may have answered half of them correctly... If I was lucky.
Once everything was said and done however, I found that my total ranking for the written test was 6 (out of 9), which isn't so bad. 4 is the minimum to get in, and I think 5 qualifies you for basic officer training.
So with that, and the cursory physical exam which placed me at near-perfect for some peculiar reason, there weren't many numbers that shouted for my being pushed out of service...
Then came the interview with the officer, and I think I actually ended up impressing him somehow. Again, not very conducive to getting yourself booted out.
Everything was tallied up, a couple items were discussed, and I have now been officially declared capable of service. So from the looks of things, there's a fair chance I'll get called in for service in August. Woo.
Well, like I said, it'll be an experience either way... And with any luck, I'll get into the communications battalion, where I can tool around with old military radios from the sixties and more modern communication devices, not to mention the snazzy division symbol they get:
(http://i48.tinypic.com/69p154.jpg)
And if I end up in the engineer battalion instead, then there's an even snazzier badge in the works:
(http://i47.tinypic.com/xdcb5c.jpg)
So, as you can see, it all works out. By the way, I'd just like to note that the weird differences in image ratios is the military's fault, not mine.
Like I always say; "If you can blame it on the army, go ahead and do it".
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Well, this is my second-to-last night in Norwayland, barring any unexpected explosions or the proverbial alien invasion. I'm currently back at Hatman's house, having come around for a second run in order to fill out my last week here... A decision which was heavily encouraged by Hatman himself.
Saturday morning promises great fun, seeing as my flight takes off at 6:30...
AM
My time here has been just as entertaining and comfortable as the first stint I spent at Hatman's, filled with instant cocoa, insane cats, some very peculiar clips on YouTube, a few deeply personal revelations and a smattering of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (Goddamn juggernauts...).
Oh, and also a trip to the theater to see Men Who Stare at Goats. Yay.
We also dug into the two final bags of Inka Corn, which had managed to stealthily remain unnoticed until this time. Couldn't have asked for more.
It's been loads of fun here in Norway, but I do think it's about time I went back to Vegas. A nudist at heart, I find it very difficult to spend any extended amount of time in any location where you actually *need* to wear clothes.
...yeah, I suppose that's as good an excuse as any.
In all honesty though, I just feel that it's the right time to go back. I've been here for over a month now, and I've expanded my character just that little bit extra through the experiences I've had. I think I'd like to dwell on that for a bit. After all, I've got some pretty big changes coming up right quick.
And besides, it'll be nice to go back to a place where you don't have to visit a curiosity shop in order to find a can of black beans... Jreengus Christ people, it's a legume, not a bleedin' alien artifact!
Anyways, that's it for now. I'll see about getting in another summary-type update tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to wake up in six hours. Ciao.
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As usual, whenever I set a date for another update, it gets pushed out. I knew this was going to happen as soon as I wrote it...
The Month of the Hobo summary, which is also the last update of Sandy Fjord, will have to be taken once I've returned to Vegas and rested up a bit. I am in no position to write something like that now...
But y'all were probably expecting this anyways, so nyah.
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Welp, to be perfectly honest, I really wasn't expecting it to take me over a month to get this thing done. Just goes to show the accuracy of my psychic hobo powers (bad psychic powers, no biscuit!).
So, time to write up a nice little summary of my trip, now long after the fact. I'm sure I can manage it. I mean, hell, I've fixed a toilet before, how hard can doing something completely unrelated be?
It was fantastic to get back home to all the comforts of exotic food and king-sized beds, but I am glad I took the time and energy to head back to the cold country for the reunion.
I'm also rather glad that the flight times didn't match up, so I ended up staying far longer than expected. I got to experience quite a few things which were new to me, and I got to take a look at the deeper, inner self of some of the people I know.
We're all remarkably human, it sometimes just isn't that obvious.
So here I am, wandering the Nevadan desert again, trying to find some direction to ramble towards and, as always, looking for a little Water of Love (cue Dire Straits guitar solo). I haven't the foggiest idea where I'm going next, and I've only got a slight clue of where I am now, but I'm pretty damn sure I know where I've been. That's something at least.
I've done some things I'm not proud of, and I've not done some things that I'm even less proud of, but that's all part of becoming a wise old man-hobo who the kids will gather around in order to hear grand tales of adventure, absorb sage words of advice, and warm themselves in flowing folds of beard hair.
My year at Skiringssal may not have been the candy-coated funbath that some of the others experienced, but it was a poignant and important period of learning in my life. I'm quite glad I experienced it, and I'm ecstatic that I got to experience it along side the nutters who just happened to go there at the same time (seriously, last year was fantastically lame, and this year they're all a few apples short of a turnip. 08/09 forever, people).
I remember being sick to my stomach with nerves those first few days, I remember acing a fire safety test because I had a cold and wanted to be done with the stupid thing as quickly as possible, I remember correcting my psychotic film teacher on his own subject, and I remember sitting in a dark room while wearing a gas mask so that I could jump out and scare a couple unsuspecting gals.
...I also remember someone telling me about the third rumor that was circulating around me... Apparently, I am sexually attracted to rabbits.
Wait, what?
This is your Crazy Psychic Bestial Hobo-Plumber signing off. Have a good one, everybody.
Cheers,
--Kagus
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Hmm, when your old and have nothing else to do, you should make a film. called Sandy Fjord. And have it struck by an epidemic of nothing. And have some experts called in on the topic of nothing. It'd be a hit, and i'd go see it.
Old thread, new fan...Do this ^
Lol, after reading your stories, I'd probably want to read anything you write! Good luck in the Military, and never stop filling us in on your adventures!
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Mrrrr.... Necro thread needs BRAAAAIIIINSSS...
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Oh shush, it's just a timeless classic...
...and it's most likely looking for that other B-word, a little ways down from the brain on certain specimens. Not that I would know anything about that...
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Oh shush, it's just a timeless classic...
...and it's most likely looking for that other B-word, a little ways down from the brain on certain specimens. Not that I would know anything about that...
Biceps?