chief

It's been a very stressful week, on so many levels. I've got my first exam to finish by Monday, I just completed the Project Overview for my EuroWeek team – due today.* I still have a norsk litteratur oppgave to finish next week, and I still haven't gotten any further with my thesis paper than I was at the end of Spring Break. So I'm taking a break from writing with a little bit of writing. Makes sense, right?

Among other dubious distinctions this week, I've become the official Team Leader for my EuroWeek team instead of just the de facto leader. I'm not entirely sure I wanted this position, but as I've been doing the work, it's nice to have the title to go with it. I am the team secretary and head writer as well, being the only native English speaker.** The writing position I'm quite satisfied with, seeing as it's about the only strength I have to contribute, not being a business student to conquer the theory and project design or being proficient enough in Norwegian to interview Norwegian businesses for the case study or the survey that the team has designed. So I'm the last person to get all the information and get it in order for the deadlines, so I suppose that puts me in a good position to lead. I know when I need to demand information by in order to get things written in good time. And maybe it will make me look extra shiny and brilliant on my grad school applications. Maybe it will help me get funding. So I guess I do want the Team Leader position.

What I'm not sure I like, one of my team members called me "Leader" – with the quotes and capitalization – in a recent e-mail. I'm trying to take it as recognition and a compliment, but being being cynical and worn out I'm struggling not to interpret it as sarcasm. Especially in light of my peppering chat messages with large amounts of encouragement and smilies when I start getting very frustrated by being misunderstood or not getting data and other information when I need it. I love the internet. I can privately growl and scowl as much as I need to and then give people happy faces when I have to explain something for the third time.

In other news, my kvedarkurs had a concert for some of the kindergarten kids on Monday morning. It went slightly better than can be expected, seeing as I didn't know which songs we were singing until Sunday night. Oh, the dangers of taking an early break. I had missed the last class meeting before Påskenferie because I was traveling in the UK then. At least I didn't forget the songs I had to sing on my own. Though I honestly don't remember if I sung well or not. And then, of course, I heard about the shootings at Virginia Tech and it combined with all the rest of my stress to completely freak me out. Not that it doesn't upset me anyway. But I'm not sure I would have sent out an e-mail asking my college friends to send me some words if I hadn't already been on the edge of breaking down. Much thanks to all the friends that responded, especially those who had done so by the next day. It seriously did something to calm me down. Unfortunately, getting the news on Monday prevented Lill and I from practicing the Scottish folk song that I wanted to sing for the last åpenscene. She was going to accompany me on guitar. We did manage to get a second practice session in on Tuesday night, but ended up not preforming anyway because we were both just exhausted on Wednesday. I did, however, still sing in her choir and did a not to bad job of it. Especially seeing as I was late to the practice right before and didn't get to warm up with everyone.

And I finally got some Magnet and Sivert Høyem. Yay! New music! What's more, Blogger had learned Norwegian. So cool. Of course, I pretty much know most of the new words by knowing their position in the layout rather than really thinking about what they mean and understanding them, but that way I can leave them på norsk and get used to them. Now that I am leaving in 5 weeks...***

*Both of my exams are take-home exams, which means that they are 6-8 page essays. At least, the first one is and I assume the second one will be as well.
**The British are free to argue with this and say that I am actually a native American speaker, but it amounts to the same thing. Though not to be confused with a Native American. It all gets rather complicated, doesn't it?
***Blogger switched me to Norwegian automatically. Otherwise I would have missed out on this delightful new feature.

answering my own questions

I realize now that is a completely obvious question. Really, because I've been wondering about a term related to sociology, I should have known that I can trace the word's use to its origin through the theories, and because identity is a theory based on symbolic interactionism (in many cases, and the related theory, social identity theory is similar enough that it probably grew up along side identity theory though I haven't researched this enough to know for certain), it can't go back any farther than Mead (1930s), and is most strongly developed by Styker and Burke, in identity theory and social identity theory respectively, so it's probably something around the 50s to 60s. And everyone shakes their heads because they are disappointed that I missed something so completely obvious, or because they have no idea what I'm talking about. And I shake my head because I realized on Wednesday that I had read, in its entirety, the article I have by Styker and Burke, and not only had I forgotten all of the content, I'd forgotten that I had read anything more than a page or two.

Oh sociology, the science of describing that which seems obvious after it has been pointed out, and then proving that it is not only obvious but true.

Sami Children's Easter Show

I occasionally watch children's programming not because it is intrinsically interesting – because let's face it, nothing will ever be as good as the Muppet Show – but out of an interest in the cultural education provided to children through television. Thus, children's programming is interesting in an "I'm really geeky" sort of way.* So when I was taking a break from my thesis writing with a spot of television about the life of Roald Dahl, the Sami Children's Easter program followed and I had to stay tuned. Thankfully, it was short, because it brought about two rather conflicting responses in me. The first was that it wasn't just cheesy, it was rather painfully dreadful. This is not to say that I don't think Sami people can make good programming. It's that, in a land of low-budget programming, this was really low budget, reflecting more on the Norwegian government's spending on this sort of programming than on the creativity or talents of the show's creators.** After all, there is a delicate balance between creating programming that is interesting to young children and builds their self-esteem by praising the general talent-levels of the audience without being patronizing. I've also watched single episodes of children's programming with significantly higher budgets which seem to be aimed at the same age group – Barney or Elmo-generation Sesame Street – and can say from these experiences that they are only marginally better.*** One can only pity parents who are exposed to this sort of thing on a daily basis for what one must hope is no more than a couple years. I suspect that if I get kids my favorite age for them will be once they are old enough to have a twisted sense of humor, but before they start smoking weed and generally being prats.

Back to the Easter program, the other response was of a more positive note. This was a Sami language program being broadcast nationally, though I'll grant this was on a state-owned channel and as special programming rather than regular scheduling. Really though, how many Sami children speaking a Sami language are there living in Telemark right now? While the show presented silly antics, as does any children's program, it also featured Sami kids playing in a rock band (where they sang in English, but that is another matter as many a Norwegian rock band of any cultural background choose English for their lyrics) and a young girl joiking.**** In a country where assimilation efforts tried to wipe out the Sami language, joiking was demonized and the type of drum that the girl was playing was collected by authorities and burned, this is still rather remarkable. It is remarkable, not least, because it demonstrates that the language is still actively being used and laws passed in the 1990s (oh, so long ago) are not merely politically correct window dressing. In order for such a program to be made and aired, there must be people who speak the language and in this case children who speak the language to participate in the staging of the program, and there must be children who understand the language that would be an audience for the program, not across the nation, but at least in parts of the country. This might seem self-evident to Norwegians, but without having traveled to Sami-speaking parts of the country a visitor can remain quite unaware of this official, though minority, language of Norway. It is probably also true of the program, that it is as much about keeping Sami language in active use as it is about the language actually being in active use.


*I personally prefer the word geek even though I'm such a nerd that I know that the more appropriate appellation would be nerd. Nerd, having the meaning of someone who is socially handicapped by their desire to know entirely too much information and the need to then disseminate that information to people who couldn't care less. For some reason, I prefer the old definition of "scary carny that bites the heads off of small animals" that the word geek carries, while still marking the bearer of the name as "incapable of being elected homecoming queen and thus in the same social circle as nerds" by contemporary usage.
**I have to add this contradictory statement, because I've recently discovered The Receptionist's YouTube shorts, and if there is anything more low-budget than a man with his work computer's built in camera, lots of construction paper, and the occasional use of ketchup-blood, I don't know what is. Yet, Mr. Betz creates some really bizarre and entertaining shorts, though admittedly entirely inappropriate for young children. Among other things he fantasizes in verse and graphic detail about being President Lincoln with foreknowledge of his own murder and about cannibalism on the Oregon Trail. Note that I said it's inappropriate for young children. Ten-year-olds would love this stuff, though their mums might not like his use of the word "fucker."
***Also, in sharp contrast to my peers, I never liked Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. I did watch it occasionally as a child, but more out of rebellion than enjoyment. My mum had banned it along with Pee Wee's Playhouse from out television selection, as I remember it, because she found the hosts of these programs sort of creepy. And I don't care what anyone has to say about what a wonderful man Mr. Rogers really was, because I found him to be disturbingly "nice" and creepy too. I will, however, agree that it wasn't really a bad show, and it gave kids some degree of insight into kid-interesting things like balloon factories and cake, as well as how to be a decent person on a daily basis. A creepily nice person, but decent all the same. I do, however, think Blue's Clues is a good show for kids. At least, I did back when they still had Steve on the program, before the Steve as muder-victim on Law & Order controversy, when Blue was still a girl. It appealed to my feminism, Blue being a female and thus breaking the gender-color stereotyping of all things blue being for boys and all things girl being pink. And it had puzzles, and I approve of puzzles.
****On the unlikely chance that anyone reading this is not my mum or well versed in Sami culture, this would be a traditional singing style not unlike some Native American chanting traditions.

I would very much like to know

When did identity become such a central concept? Specifically, I would like to know when the word came into common usage in sociological texts, but also when it achieved popular usage as well. The text than I'm reading from the '60s doesn't make use of the word, but I'm not sure if that is because it wasn't used then, or if the author didn't see it as useful to his text. The more recent book I'm reading uses the term identity regularly. The other question would be, was there discussion of a markedly similar to that which we now call identity, or is the concept of identity relatively new? And which contemporary definition of identity does a possible identity-like term match?

bedre under tvang

I should not have had a cup of coffee this afternoon. I've been having this outrageously early bedtime working for me recently that involves me getting up early and doing things. Today, for example, I cleaned. Not just the vacuuming that I did last time, but actually finding space on my desk and a few things that I had lost there. This doesn't always mean that I am subsequently especially effective at going on things I really need to do. I would argue though, I really did need a new alarm clock playlist.* Okay, maybe I've been waking up on my own before the alarm goes off. I still hear and Adam Arcuragi is really starting to grate my nerves. Nice enough, but I don't think I've changed my playlist for a couple months now. You can only hear the same songs every morning for so long. And it takes time to make a really good playlist.

So now I can't sleep. But, it was offered. A nice dinner with friends, sharing some music, a cup of coffee. What could the harm be? Only that the caffeine would combine with my natural anxiety over, well, nearly everything. I'm not really freaking out over anything. I just can't sleep. So instead I'm thinking about how much I have to get done, how much I miss friends back home, and how much I'm going to miss everything here in a couple months. It doesn't help that I've been realizing that the last show I work at Kroa might be the Transistor show on Saturday. There are other shows I'd rather see as my last job than metal.

On top of this, another friend forced me to use my Norwegian today because it won't be that much longer before I'm going back to the states, rarely to speak Norwegian again. This is undoubtedly good for me. She's right for one thing, and most of my friends are English majors, hence they tend to like speaking English with me. I'm educational. What's more, despite some gaffs now and then, and using English grammar with Norwegian words sometimes, I don't do that bad in my second language. And I'm better under a little pressure. To be perfectly clear about this, it isn't that I am better at getting the pronunciation and grammar correct when the stakes are higher, it's that I tend to rebel against speaking Norwegian a lot of the time. Everyone here can speak English, most of them pretty well or nearly excellent.** However, in the few instances when friends refuse to speak to me in English, I get there. Another happy point, I seem to be getting better at reading comprehension as well. I'll admit though, this might just be because we are getting into increasingly contemporary writing in my Norwegian literature class. There is a big difference between trying to read from Kristin Lavransdatter and Uke 43.

So after lots of tossing and turning, a practice run at packing to cross back over the ocean, a short essay on language laziness, and some music surfing... once more into the breach! Sleep, you shall be mine.


*Oh my beloved iPod and computer speakers, they are the best alarm I've ever had.
**I think this is one of the reasons that I get so annoyed every time a lecturer apologizes for his or her English. Seriously, it's fine, and we could be getting on with the educational part already.
***I can't think of an aesthetically pleasing place to put this, but practice packing seems to indicate a very smooth return. Granted, I'm not taking all of my clothes home with me, and some of the things I brought from the states are toiletry consumables (not to be confused with ingestables), but I'm suspicious of this. I might have to do a new practice packing project where I don't just pack most things and guess on some others, because everything is fitting into my duffle and a backpack with room to spare right now.

Han lo av, ikke lå på meg

One of the guys that I work with has decided that he will only speak to me in Norwegian. He had the idea that this annoys me. When I asked him a question very early Sunday morning in English he answered in kind, realized that he was now speaking to me in English, but then continued to do so until we were finished taking everything down from the night's disco.* When I finally told him "på norsk" he was apparently somewhat surprised, and commented on it later during the nachspiel.

So that was the back story. Today, while I was talking to a friend about language I tried to say "han lo av meg da jeg fortalte han å snakke norsk" (he laughed at me when I told him to speak Norwegian). However, prepositions and proper pronunciation can be difficult sometimes and what I actually said was "han lå på meg..." (he lay on me...).


I had a rather difficult evening for speaking properly in Norwegian, so when I screwed up again during our singing class I said to her "han lå på meg" and we started laughing, she told the class about it, and our teacher gave me this Danish song:**

Bitte mette, bitte mette,
Får jeg ligge overpå, åh
Bitte mette, bitte mette,
Får jeg ligge overpå?

Ja det får du, ja det får du,
Du får ligge overpå, åh
Ja det får du, ja det får du,
Du får ligge overpå.


*I asked in English because I couldn't remember how to say, "Should I take the filters apart?" in Norwegian. It was probably about 0400 or 0430 and I think I should be excused from forgetting that "the filters" in Norwegian should be "filtrene."
**The words were already translated from Danish to Norwegian, and in English are roughly, "May I lay on top of you? Yes, you may do that."

Gerber Daisies

They are pretty, but mundane. They are found on kitchen tables and bureaus in probably any city with a flower shop, from LA to Tokyo, taking the circuitous route. The number and the gardener's bucket might indicate that this is indeed at a flower shop. Behind me is the glory of Borough Market in Southwark, and more particularly, the bread stand from which I would later buy a tasty hot crossed bun. Given the temperature, it was in fact a rather chilly bun, but still filled with delightful bits of candied fruit, and marked with a frosting cross. It would be my first breakfast in England. In my few days there, I missed out on nearly all the traditional foods excepting beer, though even then I was getting a bit away from the common. I had a Sam Smith cherry ale. Friday was probably my most pleasant day in England, Saturday the most useful, and Sunday the most tiring. The trip was interesting, surprising, and trying. Much walking was involved.

This trip should have been in the company of friends. The only reason that I went at this time was because it would be with the other Americans here. I had already bought my plane and concert tickets for late March and that troubadour of Chi-town Andrew Bird. Is the latest variation on Bird's band worth a trip to London in time and tickets? Well, perhaps if it is your first visit and you can combine it with the joys of exploration. But, I reasoned, traveling with friends can also be worth it, so I'll go for both.* The problem with this arises thusly. Of the American five, three chose to fly through Frankfurt, because the extra time traveling actually allowed them a cheaper flight. I and my traveling companion did not feel that the extended trip was worth it, and paid the slightly higher fare for a direct flight. On Thursday, as the day before, it was snowing. The first flight for the three was delayed. This would not have been so great a problem if it hadn't been delayed by something greater than 6 hours including a bus from the airport from which they were scheduled to depart to the large airport in Oslo. Upon arrival in Frankfurt these thrifty travelers learned that it would cost them $100 to have their tickets changed so that they could take another flight to London as their booked flight had taken off without them.

Cut to my dormmate and I, taking the bus from Bø to Sandfjord. Only then did one of them call us to announce that their flight, which had been scheduled to take off over 12 hours earlier in the day, had been delayed so long that they would not be going on to London and they had canceled our hostel booking.** We arrived at Stansted after 2300, with the kind offer from my companion's cousin that we would sleep at her place. In fact, we were able to do this for two nights, and while my dormmate went up to a quaint small town for Saturday night and Sunday, I was able to find a cheap hostel in the suburbs to see me through the night.

End arrival stress. Stay tuned for the continuation detailing some of what was actually done on the journey.


*I did try to persuade people to go to a non-English speaking country for the group trip, because then one can rely on someone else when they are tired of being confused. Ironic, isn't it?
**Some consideration should be given that the one kind enough to call and inform us of this had run out of minutes on her mobile phone, and made the expensive long distance call to inform us of the happenings.

the visit

Yesterday the Americans (minus 1) visited the high school English class subbed this semester by a friend of ours. Our purpose there was to give the students an opportunity to speak English with native speakers and maybe to make the teacher cooler (hey, I got you Americans to talk to, how cool is that?). I'm all for anything that ups her authenticity and legitimacy as a teacher as she is a friend of mine, but because she's only maybe 9 years older or less than her students.

We came in, told a little about ourselves (hi, I'm me, I come from someplace and I go to some university somewhere), then talked to the students in groups of three. We asked them things about themselves, let them ask us things about ourselves and America. I got asked a question about cliques and talked to a football girl, a hip-hop boy who wants to be an actor, and bedroom singer. They were sweet kids, and in someways, I sort of think they were a little better behaved American teenagers, but also a bit more open about the drinking than I think our teens would be. Granted, I tend to avoid spending time with teenagers because of some basic distrust of them that I developed when I was one myself, but now I'm wondering if I've been a little unfair to the age group on the whole.

school are not as stringent as I remember from my time in high school. We didn't have the metal detectors that some schools have, but you had to sign in with the front office if you were not a student there, we had a campus cop (I think), and On the subject of cultural differences... the security at a (rural, admittedly) videregåendefield trips or classroom visitors were a case for paperwork and approval. Not so in Norway. The teacher invited us at her discretion, we didn't check in with anyone, and one of the students who sat in with us is actually in the next grade up, and was just sort of hanging out in the doorway when he was told not to be a disturbance and either get in or get out.

we are pleasure to be here

In the end I felt sorry about giggling, but his English really was very endearingly cute. I went to a modern (?) jazz show tonight with friends. Based on a broad sampling it would appear that folk music is much more popular in Bø than jazz.* And one of their tunes was titled "Bunny". It just makes one want to take the trio home as pets, little bunny-boys with floppy hair that one would feed carrots and lettuce. Of course, three grown (though young) Finnish men would probably not thrive on carrots. Finns, like Norwegians, are pretty good drinkers. So I really shouldn't tease them for their perfectly fine, though not quite perfect, English. I can't even remember all of the personal pronouns in Finnish. Fine result for a year's worth of study.

I was also a bit melancholy at the end of the show because they played a jazz arrangement of a very beautiful traditional Finnish tune that Ruth MacKenzie performs with English lyrics about one's lover being far away. And because the trumpet player from SUN was genuinely flustered by introducing this tune, and I don't like to make people uncomfortable about language issues. I've gotten rather sensitive to problems of communication, and find that it affects my social interactions. For example, I'm not very comfortable talking to the Kroa technical crew leaders when I'm not working a show. And I don't socialize with the very nice Danes that I have met, though that might be more because I am not a real friluftsliv person. It's like when I was a "bicycle groupie" before I learned how to really ride my own bike.

*Three concerts, leaving out the rock concerts at Kroa that have nothing to do with either genre.
**It took me a very long time to ride a bike. I learned when I was 21, and wasn't really comfortable riding until I was 25. By this time I think most non-riders would have given up, either ignoring the beauty of the bike, or becoming bitter and harassing cyclists.