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You know you're a nerd when you see the license plate of the car driving in front of you starting with the letters ST and you immediately know it's a Hitachi manufactured hard disk drive..

This happened to me yesterday as we, the admin staff at my work, were driving to a colleague's home to have a meal. It took about ten seconds for my brain to catch up with the error!

When we got there we were brought around her "new" home to see the sights. But when you've been doing total renovation of your own home you only first see the faults of others'. Like the first thing I noticed was the shoddy finishing her carpenters had done on the baseboards. They were pre-painted and they hadn't bothered to paint over the nails so both the floor and the ceiling were framed in white with hundreds of little black holes looking like termite holes from a distance. Not good.

And then my colleagues were raving about the windows. It was a lot of windows in the first floor and it was very nice, but the first thing that came to mind was: "Yeah, you couldn't have done a better job of facilitating break-in and entry.." Especially true nowadays with the "villa-robbers" driving around Norway and the police just playing catch-and-release.

I had to use the bathroom to wee and ended up checking the way the vertical acrylic seams had been done in the corners. It wasn't very bad but Lady C did a better job in our kitchen. And their home was pre-made, pre-bought and done by so-called professionals.

Sometimes the faults are more invisible, Feng-shui like problems. This is called the room layout, and though I'm no master at all, you can tell if there's something wrong. If you have a large condo or penthouse but the room layout is wrong it will feel a lot smaller. Or usually you'll feel that the room layout is messy. This will have an impact of how you live there and how content you are about it, without you explicitly knowing it. Our own flat has brilliant room layout, that the new 50m2 "family units" built in Norway today will never compete with. People aren't getting smarter at building homes, just more economically efficient.

Lady C is experiencing the same thing, over and over again. Whenever we go into the home of someone we immediately survey the workmanship, for good and bad, and always find that our own home and work is better. Which is a very nice thing with regards to our self-esteem as DIY masters, but it's only a question of time before someone throws us out for demeaning their home and castle. As a disclaimer then, we just can't help it. When you've touched every surface of your home and everything underneath it your eyes adapt to immediate assessing of property. You may not be aware of this but your property probably sucks. Have a nice weekend!

When busy gaming, working and whatnot and you really need to take a piss, don't you just sometimes JUST SOMETIMES want to go right then and there?

Let it all go! Right in your pants where you're sitting, in front of the screen or on the couch, or standing in an akward position or whatever? Open the floodgates, as it were, for a moment of extra bliss? Drain the lizard at the lizard's true command? Let the little fireman empty the hose? Side with nature, for once? Let the rainbow be fucked and plant the golden shower like the waterfall in your imagination so delightfully requests? And just fuck the Establishment? I mean, just fuck it all!..?

I know I do. But I don't. Are you braver than I? Your sentiments, personal insights and well-thought arguments in the comments, please.

On a completely unrelated note, Lady C recently snuck up to me while I was in bed playing Settlers, and asked me if I wanted to have a couple of kids.

- WHERE?! Where are you hiding them?! I hear noises.. at night..
- No, I mean Eventually..
- Oh, phew. Yes, of course!
- Really?
- Yes, but ONLY if I get to name the FIRST TWO!
- DEAL!

... later that night..

- So, Sigg3, have you thought of any names yet?
- Sure I have! I've known for years what they'll be named.
- Really?! Oh, what are they? Tell me!
- Ham & Cheese.
*facepalm*

EPIC WIN. In Philosophy, this is what we refer to as contractarianism. Essential to a working relationship betwixt a man and his keeper/woman.

Recently, Lady C put me in a jam. Not as much as covering my naked body in it, but seriously pushing modern paperback literature down my throat. I met Lady C at the bookstore after work one day 'couple of months back, and because they had an 3 for the price of 2 offer I had to pick a book. "Pick a book," she said in her loveliest of voices. When women are generous, they make men happy. Or pay through the nose for some 80-piece dinner set which formerly belonged to a couple in their late 80s.

"I'm not sure," I said, "I don't much read the borgeouis literature of the commons. You are what you eat, sort of thing."
She looked at me begrudgedly. "Did I ask you to pick a book? No. I told you to. So Get On With It."
I looked across the Classics but I already had a copy of each, currently buried in our cellar but nevertheless. I looked at the News section, but it was all murder mysteries, which is not exactly my cup of tea. I don't like their angle. I much prefer reading it from the murderer's point of view than the victim's..

So I glanced across the English section. There were two books by Hunter S. Thompson, which are really great, but I'd read both of them. Then a lot of romance and vampire shit, and I asked C if we should just buy the whole aisle and forward 1 copy to the mysterious mr. S each year, birthday presents covered for the next 8-12 years.. But Lady C said no. I had to get something for me, that I was going to read. That's when I saw the newly imported The Road by Cormac McCarthy that I had read about over @ Cinema strikes back.

I knew it was special and post-apocalyptic, and I've always been fascinated with the post-apocalysm and survivalism themes. Reminds me of summers with my grandmother. So I picked it off the shelf and home we went. But Lady C had to read it before me, to approve the rating or the like. It actually wasn't until a train journey to Kristiansand when my brother and Lady C were snoring along with the rest of the cabin while I, crazed from dried-powdered coffee, picked it up and started to read. And let me tell you, it's actually worth your while.

The Road happens in a post-apocalyptic setting, where some unknown event has scorched the earth for all life, and picks up the story some 10 years after the catastrophe when only remnants of the human race remain. Animals and birds are mostly extinct (and/or eaten), the grass and the trees are dying and ash covers everything. Intermittently there are large forest fires spurred by lightning. The book encapsulates the nothingness in that world very good through its repetations of scenery, ash upon ash, and its complete lack of the busy-ness of life. There is no time because there is nothing happening, no infrastructure, no transportation and no policing governmental force. Not to forget the meaningless (or truthfully meaningful) conversations..

I found myself constantly in a state of romantic nostalgia as I read it, and it took a while for me to recognize just why. Though most probably not the author's intent, he has accurately described the growing up and living in Northern Norway..

So when we had the chance we phoned up Kornelius who got us a couple of tickets so we could watch the adapted version on the big silver screen. It was surprisingly good, with only a few annoying errors (some on account of the difficult sceneries but others to sort of round the tale off where it shouldn't have -- the audience is not stupid and does not need to know everything, quite the contrary) but I wouldn't recommend it as One to Watch UNLESS you have read the book. I can only think the story must be quite poor without knowing the details not explicitly acted out. Also, the damn kid is too smart and or smug for my liking.

Is it a classic as the most positive remarks by [unknwon reviewers] said on the cover? Not really. It's one of those less-known classics, perhaps. It lacks actually dealing with any of the subject content its contextual subtheme is flirting with implicitly, and explicitly through Papa's thinking. Anyway, that's my $0.02..



Fast forward to a couple of days back and THERE'S A VOLCANIC ERUPTION in Iceland! W00t w00t! Disclaimer: Nobody died, it's allowed to be enthusiastic. Think about the children.

Because this is sort of like apocalysm-light for Europe. Consider the ash clouds. And living in Norway we're pretty close to the action, and so our planes have been grounded the last two days, 'causing traffic jams and full trains all around Scandinavia. The prime minister is currently in New York, having fled from Iceland at the last minute through Madrid in Spain! It's almost like a scandal save a sexy viking mistress. And before running he was observed as "running the country from the Reykjavik airport with his new iPad" to quote one big newspaper. I'm not voting for him again. Fuck Apple.

Nobody knows what's gonna happen just now. The last eruption from the same volcano was between 1821-1824 and the clouds lasted for two goddamn years. Not to mention there's a neighbouring volcano who's period is synchronized with the former. Heck, even the damn crater looks like something from a horror movie:



As if that wasn't enough, NASA recently found and started drilling into a big lake inside the drifting ice of Antarctica that hasn't been touched by man ever, and they found complex organisms... Sounds like the initial plot for a scary movie.

But this opens up a whole range of possibilities with regards to my recently revivied interest in post-apocalyptic survival. Ever since I read The Road I've been meaning to stockpile canned food at my grandmother's cabin, which is quite remote and hidden in the forest down south. Long term sufferers of Sigg3.net may have seen the photos from my one week seclusion. I didn't see a human being for a week. It makes you a bit weird, I can tell you. So if you're going to survive some cataclysmic event, make sure to survive it with somebody else. And bring a deck of cards for Christ's sake, you can't have sex all the time, as it draws a lot of energy from both parties (and potentially makes a lot of noise). The alternative being just fuck it all go mad and have fun... Anyways!

The cabin is quite a stretch from Oslo, and if we have to walk (to avoid dangerous other people) it will take a while. So we're gonna have to ready here in the capital as well.

Lady C and I recently had this discussion an entire evening; in case of Zombie Attack - what do we do? First thing you want to do is be prepared. I spent half an hour surveying the strategic pros and cons of our building.



It has a steep wall on the backside (not pictured) but you can gain entry to the general area and backyard from both sides of the building. There is an old horse gate but that doesn't help much against a horde of brain eaters. No, we would have to stay inside until further plans are developed. Good thing is we have a great view of the street on both sides of the buildings, the walls between apartments are 30cm (ca 12 inches) brick walls that stand against open fire and sledgehammers, and no windows on the sides that are accessible or big enough for a grown person. Little, scary girls from hell are another matter, but they can materialize anywhere and so if you've got one of those you're fucked..

There is the possibility of climbing the ivy up the wall though, but I doubt it supports much weight. In any case, it can be set afire if the situation calls for it.

Once having checked out the interior we realized we have two major advantages: We live on the second floor and you can't jump or climb in any of our windows. This is not the case for our neighbours downstairs, but I had already thought of this as I drew up the schematics for a barricade in the staircase. This leaves 4 survival flats and 2 infected/deceased. Sorry about that.

The second major advantage is that because we are building our home DIY style at the moment, we have a lot of materials and heavy-duty tools at our disposal. Want some cement? Mobile circle saw? Can you spell w-e-a-p-o-n-r-y?

Lady C, with her cunning little ways, then realized that thanks to the new tenants beside and above WHO HAVE BABIES, we will have to share our precious little water with their being a priority case. Women and children first principle. "Right well, that just sucks!" she exclaimed, "fuck the babies." Instead, we could use the crying babies as decoy for when the day we escape the building and head to one of the cars parked outside. That's thinking ahead, and also why I love her.

I also thought about where I would rather not be going, and considered Oslo City, a shopping mall down by the central station. You would not be going there because everybody else are. It is a big building, has zombie-proof security, and quite a lot of food items and entertainment systems for those long post-apocalyptic evenings. But if you put a lot of humans in one place during a time like this what do you end up with? A meat locker. Attracting all kinds of unwanted attention. Besides, there is no telling zombies from the general population of junkies down there. They can hide in plain view..

So if you move in groups, move in small groups. And STAY AWAY from public transportation. Whether your adversary is zombification or an anger-enhancing virus you would not want to be anywhere near an Oslo city bus, especially not during rush hours. Sometimes when I get on the bus from work I have to stand right up and down, hands to my sides because it's so overfilled. You can barely move and people can't get off where they're supposed to. When you reach the exit you're two stops beyond your destination. I can only imagine what it would be like standing at the front and just watching the zombification spread from an infected in the back. Remember that THERE ARE hammers to crush the windows and get out of the bus attached to the windows themselves, but they may be hard to reach through all the panicking people..

And stay away from the subway entirely. Do you really want to be down there (even with a group of people) when the power goes down? Didn't think so. Anyway, that's how I think the virus will spread throughout the city from wherever its source may be. Lady C scoffed at my thinking regarding public transportation. "Of course we won't be going by bus, what the hell are you thinking?! No, we're gonna need a car. A fast but strong car. An SUV of sorts. My father recently bought one." Then she grinned.

We decided that although stayin' alive is all disco-cool, it's even better having some long-term goals for when the end of the world comes around. And where there's people there are dangerous turn of events you will never keep under control. You'd want to get away from the city.

Many people don't know this, but Norway is largely unpopulated, and so we argued back and forth about just where to go because our choices are rather endless. I presented my grandmother's cabin as a solution, but Lady C felt it had more cons than pros. First off, it doesn't have a supply of fresh water. There is a water well that I drank from for about a week, but it relies on rainfall and water seeping in from the ground around it. There's no natural spring or running water. Then of course, it's a damn scary place to be. Add monsters and you've got yourself a nightmare. (Been there, done that.) Lastly, she felt it wasn't isolated enough. With a keen eyesight you can actually spot the roof from the nearby farms down in the valley. Good point.

"No," she continued, "We'll have to go somewhere remote, where the surroundings are less revealing and the chances of people passing by are scarce". She suggested her father's cabin. And it does have certain attractive elements you can't easily argue against. First off, it's not in the forest as my grandmother's cabin, but rather standing on the treeline on a mountain. That means less accessibility and less potentially brain-seeking traffic. Though if you have seen Norwegian splatter flick Dead Snow you know zombies don't care about crossing mountains through the snow for a little snack. Second, it is very secluded and you won't know there's a cabin there unless you follow a side-road to its end and by then we know you're coming. Third, it has a large supply of diesel, electricity and radio equipment. Not to mention 56k modem internet connection for blogging. Remember to use a proxy, never underestimate the intelligence of your opponent. Four, there are firearms and other weaponry present. This is really a plus because there are generally very few firearms in Norway. The only negative aspect of the cabin proposal is that it's a one-way-in one-way-out kind of situation. If you expect to go there by car and leave by car also, there's only one way down from there. No getaway, no backdoor.

"But that's what the SUV is for," C said. "Just step on the gas and four-wheel your way through those fuckers!"

Alright. Calm down.

Then the natural followup question: who are we travelling with?
We narrowed it down to a selected few, based on personality or skills or a combination of the two. Naturally, I would be going. Lady C wouldn't have it any other way. The tacit presupposition implies that she's coming as well. And there was much rejoicing. We're driving the SUV alone, because the back is filled with canned goods and cans of diesel. And SPAM.

From there it was rather random who we'd pick, as the cabin up there can house some 15 persons.. I couldn't really see going with any of my co-workers. I just work there. Let the academics fight for themselves. Besides, I had already deemed my workplace a pretty good place to stay it out (1st-3rd floor) because there's a constant supply of running water right outside the door (a fire hydrant with a terrible, steady leak which can easily be re-routed to the inside of the building), in addition to being an old, trustworthy brick building with a great vantage point. Also, it's right next to a church if you need burial services or new candles.

But I'd pick my brother Koew first. He's a younger version of me, has a quick-wit and can drive a car. And Kornelius of course. Even though we won't be able to use any free tickets to the cinema, he's alot more versatile than he looks! FYI he looks like a world-weary poseur from the late 19th century. But he's a strong worker and can play the guitar (also good for burial services).


Sigg3 and Kornelius some umpteen years ago..

Then C suggested the mysterious mr. S "for general entertainment", and I whole-heartedly agreed. When you're on the run from infected zombies, you might as well be travelling with an emo vampire turned student of history. As I said before, you must not lose faith, and entertainment and diversion are really important in that regard. In addition the good man can speak, read and not the least understand Latin; which is great if we should stumble upon some ancient tombs with cursed inscriptions or the like.

And C's sister Vixen of course. Like my Lady C she is a nurse, and redundancy in that department isn't stupid it all. But she'll be travelling with Koew, Kornelius and the mysterious mr. S naturally. I don't need two women going on about Pride and Prejudice or the fantastic face of Mr. Thornton in North & South when I'm driving through man-eating whores raised from the dead. Need to keep my concentration. Also, she can knit scarfs.
Lastly, I'd bring a dog for its keen sense of smell. Of course it takes some space and will have to eat of our food but so does the mysterious mr. S... or any other in our group for that matter.

But our journey doesn't end there. Not unless we're cornered and can't fight them off for some reason. No. The mountain cabin is only a first natural waypoint. Because if you really want to run away from people whatsoever there's no contestant better than the North of Norway. The European highway E6 is in truth just like McCormac's description of The Road, even less populated. Chances are zombies will starve to death before even reaching you. And if they do you can probably see them long way acoming because there's nothing else moving in a mile's radius.

We'd go see my other grandmother, who lives close to the Russian border. There are some fourteen people living in her town today, and everyone travelling are just on their way through. There's fresh water and plenty of reindeer to hunt, not to mention fish in the sea. But it's a good thing we stop by the cabin first, because we're gonna need a heckload of diesel just getting there..

There are no spoilers in this text because I carefully avoided them. But let me just add, summing up, that there are NO ZOMBIES in The Road whatsoever. It's not that kind of book. There are no one on Iceland either for that matter. It's not just that kind of country. But only as far as we know..

What would you do? Where would you go, and would you travel alone or who with? Please let us know in the comments. Be prepared. And remember this: you are what you eat. If you eat people, you're a zombie. Just target practice to Lady C and me.

Lady C called me up at work the other day because she was out and about on her day off, and had accidentally discovered that the lamp shop down the road had 50% OFF ON EVERYTHING! (YES EVERYTHING!) and that the lamp she'd always wanted to buy was now only reasonably expensive instead of a sub-prime mortgage equivalent. And she wanted my approval of purchase.

Being in a meeting this sort of request did not fully dawn on me, so I asked her to send an MMS pic of the lamp. Which she dutifully did right away with the following text message "What do you think?" just to make absolutely sure we act now or not at all. "It's a nice lamp," I said when calling her 15 minutes later. "It's your kitchen so you must do what feels right about it, but don't you think it would look better in the living room? It's a very modern kinda piece, and the kitchen's more of a classic rustic environment?"

I shouldn't have assumed that she hadn't already sorted everything out in her head, and when I assume I make an ass of me and I. Pun painfully intended. So not only would it fit right there in the kitchen, it would also lift the kitchen's feng-shui from the Rustic Nature of Reality itself to the Joyful Paradise of the Fairytale that is the kitchen of an Angel. Of course she should buy it, buy it right away! BUY NOW!

And she did. It is a really nice lamp, I must admit. Lady C is so happy she keeps referring to it as "the NEW Sun in her life" which is really awkward, what with the parents for dinner and everything.. but if she's happy then by extension so must I.

So that well and done, I could get back to my work without further interruption. At least that's what I thought a half hour later when she called to ask me about where she could find all the inexpensive clothing boutiques in Little Kariachi. She was looking for one of those immigrant shops and me having lived there for more than four years should definitely know where they all were. Naturally. Because I'm practically famous for my ingenious wardrobe. "I really don't know, baby" I said, "just walk around for five minutes and you should stumble onto quite a few.." It didn't help that I threw in a "but watch out for terrorists!" for good measure.

She called forty-five minutes later to let me know that she'd finally found ourselves some really nice curtains! Great, I thought. So that is what she was doing all day. Initially. Good to know.

It was only that "but Sigg3, they were a little expensive but when you see them you're gonna absolutely love them and let's not forget that they are teh BEDROOM CURTAINS and therefore and henceforth THE MOST IMPORTANT curtains on the planet!" And when I asked how much and heard the reply they had to call the janitor because I was tearing down brickwork from the wall outside and banging my head in. "Oh, great honey!" I said sarcastically, but the phone line couldn't carry it all the way through. And she was happy that I was happy, and could she finally come visit me at work to pay those bills she mentioned months earlier that I naturally remembered? "Uhm, yeah, I mean sure, there's a spare laptop here right now.. if we still have money to pay for those bills, I mean."

Which we did.

Not only did we manage to pay the bills, but they were paid on time as well, which always gives me a good night's sleep. In addition, she had a little surprise for me, and guess what? It was my birthday present!
"Look on the screen, honey. PRÉSENTES!" eyes beaming of joy.
"What was that? I was never really good at that Spanish thing," I said. 'Cause even though I really like presents, I also really like them to be completely secret and unexpected, because I never learned to expect the unexpected and so I just always expect the worst. Which statistically has been known to help on my general view of the human condition..

No, no! I had to see it right away because she had to know whether I liked it or not before buying it. OBVIOUSLY.

And I must say that I was impressed about her suggestion, even though I couldn't remember putting it anywhere near my birthday present wish list. Remember that birthday present wish list with a GNU/Linux compatible Wacom bamboo tablet on the very top there? Yes, that wish list. It doesn't contain a Howard Miller Mantel Clock to my knowledge. An although that is exactly what needs to be on our grand living room fireplace, no doubt about it -- it doesn't necessarily jump the shark on my reasonably priced birthday wishes. No, my wish list contain personally affectionate and economically viable tokens of appreciation, mostly.

Don't get me wrong. Or kill me.

It's not that I have anything against the Howard Miller clocks. Or the custom, tailor-made Thai-silk bedroom curtains. Not to mention the whopping fabulous kitchen ceiling lamp that everyone's raving about. Not at all!

But with all that money going out, I just don't see how we'll ever be able to afford the small office server room in my study or the living room home theater to justify all the money we've already spent on state-of-the-art network cable imported from the US and installed in every room of our flat! I just don't see it.. Women.

Consider the title above, and I bet you'll be all completely prejudiced and believe that "here Sigg3 goes again, another rant about Sigg3 by Sigg3" and I'll just laugh in your face and smear it with donkey dung. 'Cause you'll be wrong. Of course you could argue that I am in fact writing about myself indirectly, but Freud would think I'm writing about my mother and Kevin Smith about his self-obsessed and overweight ass. You could probably argue that I'm writing about Jurassic Park again. But I am not. I'm writing about the single smart-ass that always need to establish herself in the office.

It's a she in my case, but it could just as well be a he or an it. It doesn't matter. Smugness is biologically indiscriminate and usually hits randomly below a certain IQ threshold. First story first. Let's go back to the bird flu. Remember the bird flu? It was nearly the end of the world back then, way before the swine flu, and people were hysterical about birds. Old ladies were spreading their breadcrumbs with cyanide in the city parks, and people called the emergency telephone whenever they saw a dead bird.. of which there are so many. I remember having seen 3 DEAD PIGEONS outside a kebab place where I used to live, and people went all frantic about it and the police arrived to shut down the area. Until someone pointed out the kebab place and everyone went back to their business.

Back then I wrote a funny office e-mail (yes, I'm one of those guys) about the bird flu, and how we should just avoid everything with a beak. There was also a call for a flu shot for the seasonal flu, to which I replied to-all: "This is not the bird flu vaccine. For safety reasons, they will only test that on people from Bergen." Which was a statement of fact and very funny indeed and then this lady queuing up with me at the cafeteria went all serious and said: "You shouldn't be joking about the bird flu. It's in Sweden now and it could get here too." Right, I thought to myself, she's taking this way too seriously. She's taking it literally. And I didn't think much of it.

Come this week and I wrote this notice for everyone to read:

Please don't hang around the entrance/near the walls outside because the sun makes the icicles fall down at lethal velocities. The technical adviser (read: janitor) is on the case!
Dying from falling ice is just plain stupid. There are so many other fun things to die from, like killer whales. Then maybe it's fate. Do you really wanna tempt fate? DO YOU?!!

The reason I put this up was because the sun had suddenly decided to show up and make a fuss, so all the ice which had accumulated over the past 2 months of freezing cold weather started to melt and MOVE AROUND. In general it moves downwards & v rapidly. Having a cigarette outside I was hit in the shoulder, and though many think I've got my head up my ass I usually keep it between my shoulders; Big piece of falling ice in the head will render you either dead or incapacitated. It's the only explanation for George W. except inbreeding.

It went well and the janitor managed to remove the worst of it and it was time for lunch. I just had to check my e-mail first and what do you know? I'd had a letter from her. She wrote something along the lines of: "FYI. A man was found unconscious yesterday by his wife from snow falling three stories above. They're not sure what happened to him, if he survived."

I couldn't believe it. Here's someone that thinks contending that dying from ice is plain stupid warrants a warning that same actually happens in the world. And that I should somehow feel guilty about writing a funny post about it. Did I say that the victim(s) were stupid, that the sun or the icicles were stupid? No. Not at all. I said that dying from falling icicle is stupid from which you can draw that it is a really, really unnecessary end of someone's life. In sum, a serious warning.

Agh, these kinds of people just gets on my nerve! I took a deep breath and replied right away: "Case in point. It's just too silly to die from poor maintenance." to which she replied again: "Well, it happens often." And that's all she wrote. I wanted to reply but I didn't. Leave it there, be professional. But I really wanted just to jot down a little note with nice fonts and flowery backround saying: WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK-A-COW KIND OF SPORT AUTOMOBILE VEHICLE ARE YOU DRIVING, WOMAN!?

Because really! This lady and her likes are so driven up the wall buying into the Mentality of the Important and Serious that they just HAVE TO let the world know about it on all occasions. If something is Important and Serious then you better treat it as such or not at all. In fact, if something is Important and Serious then it is probably best to leave it to Other and Better People like Anchormen and Politicians and Experts to have a say. Because frankly, it's so Important and Serious that common folk such as I cannot even begin to fathom the contours of the subject matter. What is she saying to me? She's saying that I'm a lesser, ignorant peasant who is vulgar and stupid. I might be vulgar inasmuch as I'd like to call her a fucking cunt, but that doesn't automatically produce any threat to my intelligence overall. On the contrary.

What is the rest of her life like? Why is she still alive at all? If every goddamn thing is so effin' Important and Serious that nobody should touch it she's barely sustaining a minimum existence, forget about being happy about anything at all. I bet she isn't into SM and bondage but I think she really should, because it would satisfy her complete subordination with regards to the Important and Serious DICK she is gonna get from the rest of the world. Because you know what? We don't give a fuck. The selective experience of the being-in-the-world (dasein) is what keeps dasein from losing his mind. You absolutely should let yourself joke about stuff. It is a tried and tested coping mechanism, which can be mastered and perfected to an art form called humor which will make you socially acceptable to your peers. You'll be Important and Serious. But you don't understand that, because you never got the first step. Sorry about that. But you're left behind. Sit down & STFU.

Tonight you can see a partial lunar eclipse in Norway, and 'tis the first New Year's Eve feat. a so-called blue moon in many years. Meaning that your chicken won't lay eggs. Also, it's freaking cold.

It's so cold that the interns of our local gym is nowhere to be seen handing out fliers. So cold that planes are running 12 hours late. So damn cold that the far too many homeless in Oslo can freeze to death tonight. While the city spends millions in fireworks. So cold that our car won't move until it's been running for a quarter of an hour. So cold that the music from my cellphone sometimes drop on its way through the earplug cables. So cold we be making love all the time just to stay alive. Snotty love. Yes, it is so cold that I, Sigg3, got a cold last night.

That's right.
We've got our little, brave heating fan running 24/7 in the kitchen, to make sure the water pipes are alright, but it never gets comfortable. Just alright. With plenty of clothes on. And with the everlasting ordeal of Parking the Car in a street packed with snow you quickly run the risks of cold and disease.

Oh, and I'm writing this from my cellphone 'cause we ain't got no internet connection either. Just this lousy edge subscription without any dataplan whatsoever.

Luckily, Lady C's ahead of the situation and got us sorted with a New Year's dinner & celebration at her sister's place, where we all feel very welcome and slightly intimidated. C's sister insists I call her Vixen if I am to address the internets on her behalf. It's true. Vixen stopped eating food altogether a couple of months ago, in favor of nutrition bags you fill with water, just like in 2001: A Space Oddysey. I hope they come in turkey too. I spent Christmas Eve with Vixen, her brother, mother and grandmother while Lady C was saving lives at work. I like her close family, honestly, quirky and relaxed at the same time. And they seem to accept me very well too, which is always a plus especially around Christmas.

It has been a very meaningful year for me, if that makes any sense. Like most other citizens of Norway, I now have a home and a huge debt. Three different loans at three different places. I also have attended some 300% more meetings at work, actually getting to know my peers in the Admin group. This bit has somewhat solidified my position, integrating me further into the work space of actual living adults. But as soon the apartment is finished I will go back to writing again. The last six months have been hard on my freedom of creativity, yielding an aspiring bitterness which stem from the dark pits of the souls of us North-Norwegians. Or the simple denial of exercising ones talents in lieu of hard moneymaking labor. It is ridiculous, unnecessary and existential Hell to my beloved C. Fortunately, my girlfriend's love for me and us overcomes my shortcomings. To my continual great suprise:)

What we have been building the last half a year is our future. And we've done things, construction wise, I would have never dreamed ourselves capable of. Ditto for explicit acts of intercourse, of course, but my imagination in that area of investigation isn't quite as lacking.

As for summing up the decade I will have to spend some more time trying to remember what the hell it was all about, but frankly I couldn't care less. The future is now. Historians will have their say in a hundred years anyway.

It's good to finally leave the toddler years of 2000 alone. We're entering an era of optimism, despite the huge hords of cynics and nay-sayers online. Because we've got a project. The climate threat, whether real or not, could well prove to be a defining collaboration for our kind. We just need something constructive to focus on, to fill the place in our hearts that has been the captive of "entertainment fear" for so long. Scary stories can be fun, deadly fun; but they are just stories, and quickly overwon by the will of those who recognize the human potential in all its variation, and the strongest power of all: true happiness.

So a Happy New Year to everyone! Let's party like it's 2009, and see you in the next!

This will be the last you hear from me before Christmas, so pay attention!

Merry Christ- and Obamamas!

Obamamas.. sounds like acidic fruit.

Despite our best efforts, there will be Christmas celebrations this year as well. In Norway, that's the 24th and not the 25th of December. Lady C has spent our last dough on food, which is now stored around the study, being the coldest room in the building. We managed to seal off the kitchen, hallway, bathroom and bedroom-half of the apartment, making it easier to stay warm. As you may or may not know cold winds are gathering over Europe, pollacks are dying, and there will be no final battle between good and evil until at least 2010 (if you watched the Copenhagen summit).

We have a lot to be thankful for this year. Doors come to mind. Thanks to doors we will not freeze to death. And having a job is pretty good as well, even though it has been a hectic three months now due to a 60% position at work, 140% position at home, and a University that withdrew my rights to study. I sent them an e-mail inquiring into the particulars of studying from a passion of learning (hence the choice of Philosophy among relevant bachelors), and was met with great understanding and common blame on the so-called Quality Reforms imposed on Norwegian students. Luckily, this only means that I'll have 3 months off studying while I collect some more cash, and pay more debts.

We have a bathroom now, including a WC that functions almost all the time(!), a nice sink and a brilliant shower corner. I will have to write more about our experience with this bathroom company in 2010. And the company doing our kitchen. There are bones to pick and midgets to punch, and lawyers to notify, and disclaimers to post. In 2010.

And 2010 is on its way! Wow. The year we make contact! .. with what, exactly? Let's hope it's some million dollar deal, set for life, and off to the Caribbean! Or my writing. Or that it's ourselves, perhaps, and planet earth in general. But let's not argue about the colour of flying cars, the placement of borders and the institutions of religion; 2010 should be the year we make contact with each other. I have friends in Palestine, Israel, China, Malawi and Afghanistan, to name a few spots on the crust of Planet Earth. Let's take communication technology further than governments' and censorship's' dirty little hands can reach.

And speaking of contact, I've not been the best one in keeping it. I've blogged less, as the entire internet knows, and written a whole lot less; but that's just spittle to the vast ocean of absence I've constituted in the life of my friends. Some have noticed it, even. But both me and Lady C will remedy the situation as soon as our apartment is habitable for indoor alcoholic events.

2009 in contrast, has been the year we make contracts. Big contracts. Lots of money going out of my personal fortune, Lady C's inheritance and so on. I've never been so poor in my life as I am now. Yet I can't seem to worry much about finances. We will manage. Conversely, I am a lot richer now than ever. We may have an yet unfinished property at the moment, but at least we have this property. And for every glance I take in of our brilliant home, the more I know we've done the right thing. And I'm just amazed we weren't overrun by other bidders in the purchasing process. There were 10 other bidders for this apartment. They just didn't see its potential.

Of course it has been hard working like this. I am a lumberjack for Christ's sake, not a carpenter. Christ, on the other hand, was a carpenter. And like other craftsmen you can bet he didn't arrive on time, always missed some of the material that's needed and in general was very hard to get hold of. I'll bet you that the Eve of Long Friday when Jesus joined his Heavenly Father upstairs, there were at least three appointments he was breaking. What is it with craftsmen? The Lord works in mysterious ways, or not at all, at least if it's lunch break. And still expects to be paid in full..



Christmas is not a time for apologies and moral accounting however! No, it's a fiesta! We celebrate food! and Family! and Exclamation Marks! ...in NEON writing absolutely everywhere. We're eating a lot of pork these days, and it feels good. After countless kebab dinners and deep fried salads it is simply wonderful having the possibility to cook your own meal. With real potatoes. And Lady C being your average brilliant chef isn't something I complain about either. On the contrary, there are so many other things to complain about.

Rounding up this blurb, I must repeat that my photostream at Flickr is still being updated, and more so than the blog. So head over there and please don't be shy to comment. I'll prolly be back at work on Monday before New Year's Eve, but in case I forget, have a Happy New Year as well as a Merry Christmas and a Bloody Mary or perhaps a mouthful of XO cognac.. Mmmm cognac. In any case be good, if not better. See ya!

When you wake up from a terrible nightmare, as opposed to the really pleasant ones, it's always great to turn around in the bed and land your arm on the gal of your choice. Milla Jovovich! Or, as it very well is in my case, Lady C. It immediately dulls the sting of fear that just previously penetrated you like a cancerous icicle.. Which hands you a great opportunity to further elaborate on the nightmare, from the comfortable distance of being surrounded by the warmth of a fellow human being.

Of course, later on she tells you she had a terrible dream in which you were a complete asshole and that she can't help but still wanting to punch your face, and it puts things back into perspective. Better than coffee.

Last night I had another dream in the Jurassic Park category. I've had plenty of them, but I've also read Freud, and can't see anything wrong about being scared of velociraptors or T-Rexes chasing you down to eat you. In fact it may well serve its purpose when I finally meet one face to face. I'll know what to do! I'll just toss around in bed.

This time I was a part of a pseudo-family, bunch of kids I half-knew, and we were voluntarily entering the dinos' domain! We could be orphans in an orphanage on safari, or taken in by foster parents, in any case it was just like those American family-friendly TV shows where the family ties are rather vague but everyone seems to get along. You can't really tell if "the parents" are the parents or not, but that's beside the point!

Anyway, the quote unquote father of the household was a Victorian-style explorer and/or scientist and/or Indiana Jones, and he was supposed to chase down T-Rexes for some reason. Just like you bring down cattle for branding, he and his men were going to lure the Rex into submission, and what do you know; THEY WOULD DO IT JUST IN FRONT OF THE DOORSTEP.

We had moved into this old, abandoned, colony-style building to setup base. All the kids had duties but I was sort of new to the deal and was shown around the premises. It was a really nice place, but hey, the man-eating monsters of yore were like right over there! We were doing the chores when we witnessed the "father" being chased by a T-Rex down the road, and recognized it as completely normal. No biggie. I'm still shrugging just thinking about it. But then for some reason the hunt went wrong and the T-Rex took a turn to the right when they were passing the building and it headed straight for us!

There was a girl and a boy hiding with me. The girl sort of reminded me of Christina Ricci in The Addams Family, and she posed the role as a big sister. The one in charge. But the boy was also familiar with the routine of not being eaten by a Tyrannosarus Rex, leaving only me shitlessly scared trying to make my body follow the instructions she was giving us.
The T-Rex didn't have very acute hearing, and couldn't see stuff if it didn't move, so I gather it must have been the same one that starred in the movie. She told us not to move, and we did as she said right up until the last minute when the Rex was about to lose interest and continue chasing people down the dirt road WHEN I MOVED AND KICKED A PEBBLE!

I swung around the corner into the house and managed to stay completely still while the Rex was checking out the spot I had just been sitting. Which was one and a half meter from where the boy and the girl was sitting.

I can't remember exactly what happened, but the next thing I do remember was standing in the adjacent barn up on that part that's also at great biting-height if you're a T-Rex, looking down on the girl and the boy still on the floor, and a furiously interested carnivore chasing them around the place. And that's when I woke up I think, into the arms of Lady C. And that's it, more or less. She had to go to work and I proceeded to master the skills of door fitting, still in my sleep. Huh.

So we're working on the flat this evening having made an entire new plaster wall, and finishing up by putting up white wallpaper on the next, when I get the sudden urge to use the bathroom. I have yet to tell the Internet about our very expert explicitly deleted bathroom entrepreneurs who have YET to finish our bloody bathroom, AND IN THE MEANWHILE left us for near three weeks without a functional toilet.

Fuck the bathroom, things take time, but I just don't wanna piss in a bucket when I'm being all manly and flexing my biceps and shit, building a new home with my own two hands. In time each will pay his dues, but forget about that right now.

So there's me and Lady C, putting up white wallpaper on the wall where we imagine the upper bedpost will be, when I have to use the bathroom. It's nine in the evening, and we only have one (1) working light that burns through your scull if you look into it and through your skin and into your bone if you touch it anywhere else but the handle. That, and my LED flashlight that some kid sold me at a gas station. Apparently it replaces One Million Candles if you believe the commercial. It's hard, sturdy and it gets everywhere. "But!" as the kid at the gas station helpfully pointed out when I was examining it, "it's not a dildo, it's a torch!" Which was exactly what I needed so I bought it. And it has never failed. But I digress again.

So there's me and Lady C, wallpaper, and the million candles of a LED torch and our robust work light casting long shadows on the plaster walls around us. I need to use the bathroom. Lady C's listening to the radio, humming the tune.
- I think I have to use the bathroom
- *singing along*
- Actually, I have to use the bathroom
- *still singing along*
- I think I'm gonna head over to Tasty to borrow their bathroom
- *still not paying attention to the man of the house*
- LADY C FFS!!!!
- What?!
- I'm heading out, I have to crap
- Oh, okay
- I'll be right back

With the trusty not-a-dildo torchlight in hand, I ventured off into the 100 square meter apartment looking for my keys, my jacket, my cellphones and all these ridiculous new wonders of technology necessary to make a pit stop outside your home. In the silence of darkness I hear C turning the radio up, singing along to the Black Eyed Peas. I head into the used-to-be-a-kitchen type of room to look for my hat when a burst of quick business is thrust through my digestive system, my voluntary muscle control's immediately withdrawn, the cold war is over! and barely shitting my pants I pick the nearest bucket of paint thinner to at least save the floor and my clothes and half of my dignity.

So there I was, shitting in a bucket.

Liquid shit and paint thinner doesn't small awful, it smells godawful. In addition, the solvent rising up from the bucket makes it harder to balance on top of anything. Sniffing is extremely underrated. In a state of drug induced paralysis sitting in the kitchen on a bucket of shit on the floor, having succumbed to some sort of stomach virus with its immediate, imposing results beginning to dawn on you can make any man question the meaning of life, the universe and everything. And the goblin in the corner. It was about that time the LED flashlight went out. And I could hear Lady C singing in the next room.

I gotta feeling...
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

Nope. She had absolutely no idea how the evening would transpire.

Before I had to run to catch the bus for work this morning, I wild-eyedly put the latest tracks of Tom on my trusty telephone. Fall has come to the sorry parts of Oslo now. The mountains of concrete and the tall trees that carry onto their leaves like sailors to their dreams, leave great frozen shadows of frost on the ground beneath them. Like imprints of history, they will disappear when the touch of sun can reach them. For now, though, they are cold as bodies.

By the time I got to Tøyen Tom Waits' hymn from the 80's existentialist album, Bone Machine, a title explained in its songs - DIRT IN THE GROUND was filling up my soul like embalming fluid. Even more than a year later, just thinking about that concert brings a tear to my eyes. Good times.



I snapped this photo before rounding the corner to my work. Living like refugees, this last month has been hard. But we're getting there. The pieces are coming together, but just so painfully slow. This weekend however we're having a joint session with me friends to tear down the kitchen. The new one won't be ready until mid November, but there are enough for us to do until then. SO HEAVE AWAY BOYS!

Happy terrorist day, everyone! In the spirit of the occasion, you'll be glad to hear that I had a terrible day today, at least the first half of it. You could even say it was terrorible. Whoa! New word.

My one and only Lady C (one is quite enough) has run away to Denmark with her girl friends for the weekend; to eat lobster en masse, hang out in some cabin and wear pajamas while they accidentally brush up against each other at nightfall and there may even be some accidental cupping and kissing too after lights... *sigh*

My boss turns fifty and I've been assigned to make a present, that is to say: "Sigg3 be funny cuz you R teh funnay!" So I made a poster from the administration drawing on the delicate flower known as Conan the Barbarian, and a picture of my boss, to be presented this evening. In order to reach the deadline I had to get up real early in the morning and head down to Oslo City at opening hours 10 o'clock.
I hate early mornings and I hate Oslo city, so you can imagine how happy I was when I got there half an hour too early.

I bought a coffee and sat down on a bench by the bus stop outside. There was a North-Norwegian middle-aged man conducting some questionable deal with a likewise old Asian fellow. He'd borrowed the Northerners phone and whoops! there was the credit card too, and from what I could hear it was an interesting AND intriguing meeting behind two human beings to transpire sometime in the immediate future. Or, as I was thinking, he'd be robbed.

The shop finally opened and I stepped inside. "Hey, I need two prints in A3 format and I need the quick!" She gave me blank stare before we made mad love on the counter.. Or she showed me to the self-service computers in the corner running some proprietary program on Win XP. I mean, what has happened to the concept of service in this country? In all western countries?! Suddenly I can understand the guy outside with the Asian guy. He's not gonna have sit and wait through the dial-a-whore waiting line, while he does all the work and the prostitutes are out for lunch.

One hour to delivery.. I had to hang out in the shopping center. In a shopping center. I've never done that before. There were all sorts of scary looking people, everywhere! Drug addicts, shopaholics, mallrats, telephone subscription salesmen, and this great ebony girl standing by the flower shop outside who had the most perfectly heart-shaped buttocks I've seen since Lady C. It was horrific-bizarre. Not the bum but the people.
You know, at the university everyone's trying so hard to get some attention that weird is not only accepted but encouraged. Everyone dresses like the Mysterious mr. S! The weirder the better. But in there it was the exact opposite. Everyone tried too hard to be normal. Hardcore normality takes its toll and from my point of view the only person not appearing a complete freak was the girl in the coffee shop. And she was in a coma, apparently.

Got the picture, frame, and the telephone number from the girl on the counter. Nah, just kidding. But I got a text message saying that my pictures were ready to pick up. While standing there. That's service for you. Then I rented a cab, which was a hybrid car and ran only on electricity, to get home where I had a bacon sandwich. And then I headed to uni.

Apart from actually voting in the democratic election, this afternoon was spent on getting the picture fit the frame and heading to the party. Party was good. There was a real live horse, and we get to play some golf and hand over my picture in a very official manner. Add a few more beers, a terrible Coq au vin which tasted like stale bread, old meat and pepper, and everyone telling stories of Oslo from before I was conceived and you got the night right there. Well, I'm beat and I'm going to bed. Have a nice terrorist day. And 3,555 people have died from the swine flu, a very mild flu, world wide. That's about 500 people more than those who died on 9-11. Americans, get over yourself and have a look at the terrible things in the world just happening for no other reason than oil, money and territory. And the intrusion of US forces into conflicts you have no comprehensive understanding of whatsoever. Not to mention the sabotage of the United Nations.
Good luck (with your empire) and good night!

Since our new apartment still looks like this we're crashing at Lady C's sister's place for the time being. We've got our own room with a double bed, small tables on either side and an empty closet. So apart from the fact that we have to cater our own meals and do the housework it's like living in a hotel! ... except there's a weird, slightly hysteric, silly thing sitting on the sofa with a big black hat sipping wine. More wine since we moved in, I gather.. But anyway.

With our DVD collection stacked away somewhere (in one of three optional storage facilities) it means no X-Files for us. And without the comfortable ritual of weird creatures eating each other before night time we're having a hard time to adapt to our new surroundings. To help us out C's sister opened up her FRIENDS DVD collection which she refer to as "MY Friends!" to ease the transition. It worked as planned and now we're making un-funny jokes all the time and acting all retarded. Standing in the shower this morning, not touching myself, I thought about the Friends episodes that I would like to see. Here they are in no particular order;

• The one documenting Carol's lesbianity: Self-explanatory & obligatory  

• The one where Rachel shares her cherry: Burlesque episode where Rachel and all the guys accidentally sleep together in a v graphic manner 

• The one with the monster: Halloween special feat. Scully & Mulder chasing down Phoebe's new boyfriend Eugene Tooms 

• The one when Janice gets throat cancer: Can you imagine Janice à la Hawkins? 

• The one when Monica plays with the food: And loses her job after she's found out about, leading to drama between her, Chandler and groceries 

• The one where Joey gets a job: This is his departure from the series 

• The one where Rachel shares her cherry part deux: Ross admits homosexuality on the basis of being gay, as discovered in part one.. or episode one for that matter 

• The one where Monica gets a job: Waiting tables at the café, putting on weight FAST 

• The one with Ross's crush: Ross gets Rachel to convince Gunther homosexuality is a great idea, and Gunther complies to please Rachel 

• The one with the departures: Halloween special where Joey leaves the series and Chandler kills himself 

• The one with the money: Ross & Monica sues Gunther for sexual harassment in a public space, making them millionaires 

• The one documenting Carol's lesbianity recap: Same as before with guest actors Milla Jovovich and Christina Ricci to name a couple 

• The one with Phoebe 1: Joins her sister's porn business to make more cash 

• The one with Hammond: Halloween special where Ross is invited to evaluate a new theme park in Costa Rica built by the notorious billionaire John Hammond 

• The one with Phoebe 2: Phoebe starts selling herself in Iran, and is stoned to death 

• The one with the dog: Monica buys a dog for company but it eats both Chandler's pet chicken and the duck, so Monica eats it 

• The one where Rachel leaves: Gets fed up with work and re-acclaims the family fortune, while Gunther quits the job and becomes a full-time stalker 

• The one with the T1000: A machine from the future is sent back in time to kill Janice for the heck of it, and everyone's fine with it 

• The one with Paul: Elizabeth's dad reveals his identity as John McClane and fights the terminator. He wins and survives but the café and all the apartments lie in ruin 

• The one with Elizabeth: "Special extra episode" feat. Elizabeth 

The last three are sort of final, but feel free to add your episodes in the comments!

Wikipedia states that: "In the 1950s, as a war-torn Europe rebuilt itself, the European Broadcasting Union (EBU)—based in Switzerland—came up with the idea of an international televised song contest, to be transmitted simultaneously to all countries of the union. This was conceived during a meeting in Monaco in 1955 by Marcel Bezençon, a Swiss working for the EBU. The competition was based upon the existing Sanremo Music Festival held in Italy, and was also seen as a technological experiment in live television(...)"

The competition in question is, of course, the Eurovision Song Contest a.k.a Eurosong, referred to as Melodi Grand Prix (MGP) in Norway. This may sound a bit odd to outsiders, but in Europe this contest has a very special place. It isn't usually established pop/rock groups that participate but more often than not soloists revered by the inner circles of the Norwegian music industry. That's why you've never heard about the "stars" until you see them on TV and are asked to vote for them. Usually, it also means that the music is less than interesting, sub par and wholly forgotten a year later. But we all like the extra glamor that always accompanies the show. Nothing's too much.

Things have changed, though, and this year's winner Alexander Rybak is a very talented guy. Even I must admit this, having heard him play and sing beautiful classical songs as well as Dream by The Beatles at a private party. Not to mention that his winning song Fairytale is a great pop tune in terms of rhytm, finesse and impact, as well as having been written entirely by Alexander himself. Alex is a quote unquote friend of the family, which is why we must keep this thing on our fridge:


Text to Lady C says: "Listen to your father; vote for me!"
And before you comment on the fridge magnet, the caption reads: "Grow some balls or GTFO!"

So the finale on Saturday was held in Moscow, and Norway won with hundreds of points down to 2nd place and sat a new record for the most 12-pointers in a row in MGP history. Great! But you wouldn't be reading Sigg3.net unless you were expecting some kind of grumpy, selfish moaning from an ill-fated, grouchy lumberjack slash hacker gone boyfriend.

Because even though the victory places Norway firmly on the map, as we say in Norway (despite the fact that the earliest known placement of Norway on the map was back in ancient Greece and earlier), it also means that next year's MGP circus is going to be hosted by and somewhere in Norway. And having intimate ties with the Eurosong mob through C's family relations, I fear I'll have to spend even more time listening to pop tracks, shake hands and smile. We've already been "booked" for a dinner this week, and I'm expected to walk around and be nice to people I'm supposed to know who the hell is. Which just isn't my thing. I'm not a party breaker but these parties have their own hidden agendas and sets of rules. You can read my short-story 120 Minutes in Sodom for some inside view of what it's like. Thank God I'm not a celebrity! But don't wanna be the entourage either! And next year, all hell's a-coming..

I had the coolest dream for months last night. As you may have heard, I've been testing the Nokia N810 internet tablet for work recently, and of course I couldn't help but add Duke Nukem 3D to the application list. It takes some getting used to using a stylus for shoot-em-up, but I was surprised at how easy it was.

Tonight I dreamed about a game that was running on a similar handheld platform. I had access to it, you had access to it, it was easily considered the most popular horror-like mystery/RPG game for ages. BUT what most people did not know was that there was a gaming mode and a reality mode of playing. The game was actually running in real life simultaneous to the server game, and I was one of the chosen characters in the horror story that had privileged access to the Real Game. I don't remember much of it except that killing people in the game (we used some kind of needlie-like blades) would destroy them in real life as well.

The game was in 3rd person view, in gloomy old mansions, with manlike demons trying to take control of the souls of the gamers playing in regular mode. It was serious business, as we moved like shades or ghosts in a separate dimension between the avatars of kids from all around the world. Some of the creeps were really scary guys, with slime-like skin you could see through, and others were akin to the vampire-ish bloodless aliens in the film noir Dark City. Having figured out the truth about the game, I realized there was no winning it. I was among the good guys, but we were just as shady as the bad guys, more or less what real life's all about. I can remember some of the older men playing the RL mode who were my mentors, very much like Cog in the Spawn comics, and just as deadly serious about The War. But my alarmclock released me from what had probably become a nightmare if continued.. Very inspiring!

Here's a photo I took this afternoon not a hundred yards from the Police HQ:


Some of many Khat eating immigrants in Oslo

Yes, I could have done a close-up, but that would just be over the top. Now, I'm one for extended leniency in matters of immigration politics. We've got to understand the situation that many of them escaped from before arriving in our wealthy industrial society. Cultural awareness may sound like a buzzword, but having been to China and experienced a so-called cultural shock (which is very much like an anxiety attack) due to the huge leap in culture alone, I know what the word means. Many don't.

But this here just pisses me off. According to Wikipedia Khat "contains the alkaloid called cathinone, an amphetamine-like stimulant which is said to cause excitement, loss of appetite and euphoria" (ref). Khat is not a strong substance, but it does have a lot of consequences. I know and have known several people from East Africa where khat grows natively. They reveal a large social problem, especially family violence and unemployment, due to heads of families eating khat all day long. Having escaped from the traumas of your birthplace and managed to steal, lie and trick yourself into one of the wealthiest countries in the world (a very common strategy I'd probably follow in a similar situation); khat is what you want to waste it all on? Come on.

I don't care for these poor saps in the picture, or the ones I've seen being arrested by the five-oh on the exact same spot. But they have families. Not to mention the conflict funding raised from the selling and distribution of it. Last of it all, it is the nerve. You have the whole world at your fingertips when you've first been accepted: a friendly government with lots of programs and work-introduction schemes, free education and no systemic force to put you down but whatever lack of spirit you act out yourself. Yes, there is corruption and racism in Norway as well. But it is illegal, and you have the freedom to try it in court or try somewhere else. It's not impossible. Instead you choose to sit on your ass, chew khat and receive a monthly welfare check? What a waste. What idiocy and fatalism. And what a risk to take, concerning your family and future. Pisses me off!

Mad cow disease. Bird flu. Swine flu. What's next? Hamster Hemorrhage? Pony Psoriasis? Panda Cerebral Palsy? Crocodile cough? Adder AIDS? King Crab Cancer? Penguin Prostates? NO! It's Cave Bear Bronchitis!

And guess what, I'm the first person in the world to survive it! I'm also the first person in the world who've had it. And I'm probably the only one who ever will, 'cause cave bears have been extinct a few thousand years at least. But it's all good, I got a little antibiotics, and I feel a lot better now. Lady C, however, is completely exhausted after a vacation with me in bed. Hehehe.

Seriously though the swine flu is upon us and spreads like a swarm of locusts. What I don't get is the hysteria. I had the same attitude towards the bird flu. I mean, come on, how often have you seen a bird sneeze? Ever? Now you may say something like "SIGG3! PEOPLE ARE DYING!" but then I'll probably be all like "Oh yeah? From what, exactly?" And you will look like a moron. 'Cause as far as we know nobody, not a single person, has been killed by the flu(!) who were not otherwise affected by another disease(!) or in a severely disadvantaged situation. While 'tis no news that the more unfortunate you are the more trouble around the bend you're gonna see, the previous pandemics didn't bother much with the formalities of fortune. It killed high and low, regardless of wealth and tacos.

There are a few interesting observations to be made here though.

Apart from the two year old Mexican in Texas who tragically died this morning, the worst affected were young and healthy individuals. Like you and me. I feel I need a cigarette just thinking about it. It seems so unfair. Usually a flu epidemic will wipe out the youngest and eldest, but who cares, they're not exactly important right? I mean, the young'uns just got here and don't have any real rights in most countries across the world, and the old ones were just about to leave anyway. So they're sort of okay with it. Let them go. But you and me? We're the peak of human kind right now! What's the world gonna look like if we suddenly disappeared, our whole generation?!

Well. Like Central Africa, come to think of it..

So EVERYONE in Mexico are not-walking around with face masks, the US is manufacturing face masks for what they're worth, while the rest of the world is like "Dude, what the heck do you think you are doing?" Again, there is no evidence whatsoever to suggest that face masks reduces the risk of getting a flu. On the contrary there is plenty of reasons why it actually increases the risk, since anyone who already are infected using a mask will be touching his or her face more than usual, and spread the disease by physical contact. Follow the money trail and I bet you there are some rich entrepreneurs in the face mask business who's got some serious political influence through the backdoor.. I suspect Michael Jackson.

So they are making money while the restaurants are losing by the minute. The sales of swine, bacon and chopsticks have dropped significantly too, and Egypt has announced that they will kill every living pig in the country. Which is always a sad thing to see, especially since the country's mostly Muslim and do not want the bacon in the first place. The pigs never done anyone no harm. In contrast to the mad cows in the UK who hung around street corners late at night hassling old ladies.

Meanwhile in Mexico, the government's trying to pinpoint the source of the outbreak. Sort of like Will Smith in Legend. Except that swine are not actually man eaters... Err.. Wait, I take that back. Swine are particularly aggressive animals and they are also extremely intelligent. They are Legion because they are many, and they're featured in Stephen King's Storm of the Century. Evil demons. But I don't see why Jesus had to chase Legion into a herd of swine. Unless.. unless he already knew what would become of them! The Taco Avengers of Death, the first sign of judgment day. And I had taco today!

Seriously, though, the search for the scene of the crime really brings me back to my days on the farm. I've never lived on a farm, it's not what I'm saying, but I've lived in the same general area of where farms apparently were at. So you know. And when living in that particular area in general there were all kinds of stories floating around involving said farm land and the strange psychological impact it had on those who tilled the earth and herd the beasts. There is no better way to introduce animal sex into a conversation, I think, than the recital of classical poetry.

Like Norway's Petter Dass wrote in The 6th Commandment (src) here in my translation:

Some lay with whores
      bedding one and more
Some with others' Wives
      and infect the married life
Some go to bed in sin
      with the next of kin
While others what is worse
      and mix with their livestock

Dass - which incidentally is slang for Toilet in Norwegian - was an infamous priest in Northern Norway during the 15th century who wrote a lot of thunderous texts to the people, in the harsh native tongue of my homestead. Anyway. You can see where I'm going here. It is an interesting observation, methinks.

Somewhere out there maybe, is a short and lonely Mexican swine herder who just couldn't stand the heat anymore. He was all alone in the desert - or wherever it is Mexican swine gathers at night - a long, long way from his Rosita. Maybe they had been walking for days. Or weeks. And the only entertainment he had were dust bunnies and a worn-out cassette in his Walkman from a Carlos Mencia live performance... I mean, put it like that and you actually understand the guy. That's human sympathy for you. We all love little Pepe now. He did no mean no harm. 'Twas just that that night one of them pinkish piggies suddenly reminded him of his Rosita. Reminded him with enormous force, that is to say. Maybe it was the moonlight falling in the right angle for a split second, who knows.. Overcoming.

28 Days Later, I'm in Paris reading about the flu in Le Monde.
It's a funny old world, people..

Writing this now I hear on the BBC News broadcast that the WHO has raised the international alert level to 5. This may inspire a "Whoa!" on your part. But I'm not impressed. When I first heard about the flu, Mexico had hundreds dying and thousands possibly infected. Then they had seven. And that's not because all the rest of them have died, they were simply found to be flu-less on closer inspection. If that doesn't sound like hysteria to you then you need to have your ears examined. Then you have people hoarding the emergency rooms, harvesting vaccines and locking themselves indoors. What a life!

«Let's see, I have my coffee in here, the sofa's all cleaned up for a few years' bed wetting, the stack of porn is safely stored in a demagnetization closet, I've got tinned food from here to eternity, I'M ALL SET! Oh wait. Toilet paper!»

Even if this flu goes completely global like the Spanish Flu in the 1920s, it seems a lot milder than what has been before. It's simply not it. The Spanish Flu killed millions of people. 50-100 million to be a little more precise-ish. Not seven. And although it was recently found to be a H1N1 virus, my bet is that there will be more people dying from eating perfectly clean hamburgers this year alone than the swine flu will manage to wreck upon us in total. And I don't see any critical alerts hanging in our McDonald's and Burger Kings. But then I don't go there.

All in all, I'm afraid we have yet to see the next pandemic that has some hair on its balls. And according to our historians it is already overdue. My gut feeling tells me it will have to do with the growing immunity to antibiotics found in bacteria and viruses. But then my gut feeling says I'm gonna win the lottery every other week. In the meanwhile I'm obliged to help out with the cause, donate some cash to the Red Cross and contribute to as many killed pigs as possible. So in that spirit I promise a free T-Shirt with the caption I Did it for Pepe! to everyone of you who kills a pig with his or her bare hands. Just let me know in advance, and Egyptians are not applicable. Thanks!

In the beginning of our present financial crisis, Norwegian newsreporters hadn't come to terms with the depth and width of its extent, as would be revealed to us later. Instead they said that Norwegians would probably just wait buying that ump inch flat screen tv. So when the crisis hit the coast of Norway, me and Lady C went and bought ourselves a 42" flat screen LCD television set. True, full HD with all the right specifications. And we were happy. Gone were the times of arguing all night. At least that's what we thought until..

- What are you watching, C?
- mhmm.. twi-ight..
- Toilet?
- Twilight!
- Effin' ell!
- What?!
- Welcome to Forks! Where vamp equals douche bag, no one gets laid and every sentence starts and ends with a scoff, sigh or shifting eye movement
- Shut up, Sigg3
- Teenage angst!
- Shut up
- And even if they get laid, it'd still be goth girl humpin' a corpse
- Shut up!
- Yey, overly overacted manners meet mr. Freeze
- .... mmmm.. cold hands..
- HUh?
  Seriously? I lose to a dead guy as pale as Michael Jackson with a sun tan?
  That's it! I could put up with your Harry Potter shit 'cause the only ones who're turned on by that shit are pedophiles and catholic priests, but THIS bloodsuckin' stooping tool challenges my position as the male in this relationship!
- Mhm..

..

- Aww, skip it to the WORM SCENE! Come on!

[Worm scene]
Asian guy puts worm on stick and waves it in Bella's face.
"Look Bella! A worm! It's a worm, Bella! Worm! *ROFFLE!!*"

- Best, scene, ever. How was it done in the book?
- I can't remember it. What do you think of this scene then?

[Make out scene]

- Awesome.. He's been waiting for his true love for ninety years, and when he finally meets her then NO! He can't turn her into a vampire. Instead they can kiss, but NO! They can't really do that either. 'So let's just lie here and hold hands, Bella. I'll turn you into an icicle in the process but what the hell. My undead heart still doesn't beat for you.'
  I wonder what he does when it's her period?

- SIGG3! I'm trying to watch this!

- Can't you turn it off?! I get so uneasy watching these teen flicks! They get under my skin. 'Ooh everything sucks but that's just because my life's too good to be true so I must want something entirely different. And look! There's a tingling sensation between me legs! Whoa! I'm so adult now lolz that I can't even begin to smile, 'cuz I won't. It wouldn't be cool. And that would suck.' Then the vamp goes: "So do I" with an air of ill-kept mystery. Makes me wanna barf and kill, hopefully starting with the latter. The lead character is a walking corpse and the other's a vampire. Woot! Woot! Next thing you're gonna tell me's there are werewolves walking the streets. But whaddayaknowit! There's an Indian guy from "the rez" who's a card dealer turned werewolf. And he's ALSO in love with goth girl. Jeeeeesus. What's next? A giant mutant ninja turtle with a teardrop tattooed on his shell that insists on tea parties? FFS!

- Sigg3!

- Aw come on, turn it off! I wanna watch True Blood!

People blog and write books about all sorts of petty events from their meaningless existence, like a voyeur on a cross they litter the vast field of human knowledge with uninteresting stories to the extent of being Generic. And I'm no different.

I was supposed to argue with my boss about my salary today, working conditions, and the infinitely sad state of my work schedule when the boss had to leave my case unsettled for private reasons. Great, I was left there hanging, like the last two years. This meant having to keep working without knowing for sure that the spice would flow. So I was glad to get out of there, but sorry to leave.

Which is why it was such a jolly good surprise to meet my Lady C at the bus stop. I stumbled out of the bus, groceries in my hand and my mind elsewhere when she suddenly appeared right in front of me. "KISS!" she said. I didn't even have the time to be surprised, or hard to get, before she was in the bus I just got out from and left.
She was on her way to visit a friend, and I didn't expect to see her.

Thinking about this, I smiled as I made my way up the godforsaken five floors I have to climb every fucking day to get to the apartment. I got inside, put the groceries down and headed for the bathroom. It felt good, if you have to know. (And reading this, I suppose you do.) Went back into the kitchen, picked out the beer and put 'em in the fridge, put the frozen pizza on the table and turned on the oven. That's when I saw it. At first I couldn't believe it, it just couldn't be true. Was it really real? I swallowed solemnly while revering every inch of the realization that crept upon me like a slow sunrise in the time frame of geological foreplay.

Lady C had actually taken out the trash.

All of it.

All by herself.

Even the cans that need recycling in another bin on the other side of the complex. Without even writing a letter to me detailing the depth of her travails! I was shocked, amazed, relieved and deeply worried all at the same time. Was it a sign? A token of love or a desperate cry for help? Everybody knows it stand to reason that no woman is physically or mentally constituted in such a way as to be able at all to bear the terrible burden of taking the garbage outside. Even now, an hour later, my mind boggles. And so do you, dear reader. You are wondering if you've just come across one of my short-stories of the science-fiction genre. I don't blame you. I don't blame you at all... I'm still baffled beyond words. But have a nice weekend!

EDIT: 12th of March 2009
This post has raised a lot of attention internationally, and I have received e-mails from both of them. The support has been tremendous, the amazement wild like wildfire, and Lady C's inbox has been running full of marriage proposals. I am so terribly sad to convey the truth however.

Though not a creature of science-fiction, Lady C was quick to denounce my story as pure imagination. Later the same evening she came clean about the matter and revealed the facts of it; It was I who had taken out the garbage, she hadn't even thought about it, and therefore the drivel above -- which has been compared to the drivel of Joyce himself -- is not a beautiful expression of the joyous surprises of life, but a tale of how an over-worked mind perceives the world as nicer and prettier than 'tis to shield it from the painful truth. It's a dream, a hallucination, or a mirage if you will. But not the truth. I just wanted it to be true, and I believed it, but C wouldn't let me continue to live a lie. So we are back to yesterday's status quo, and the world is yet again a dark, cold and lonely place..

I don't usually flag my political views here because they are inherently mine, not yours, and people differ on different subjects for different reasons that are more or less their own. That is, except for my repeated bashing of American imperialism, as well as any other kind of imperialism done under false flags of freedom and peace.

I break this silence tonight because I have RL friends in Palestine as well as Israel that are worried about a colleague in Gaza which is, if you didn't know already, under siege after more than 600 Hamas rockets have been fired into Israeli settlements. This morning we got word from this colleague, after a terrible night of further bombings:

The last night was very terrible night in all over Gaza strip, the Israeli airstrikes over all the red lines, the strikes continues on Gaza during the night, they targeted everything, mosques, houses, police stations, metal workshops, the Islamic university, cars in the main streets, motorcycles (run by Hamas militaries), and many other government buildings, the strikers hits some targets for more than 2 times during the past two days. (...) I can see the faces of the children, they scared when they hear the terrible voice from the F16 airstrikes, also the it was very cold during the night, we have to open all the windows, because the rest of the glass will be damaged if we close them (...)

The windows blew out due to the blasts the day before. This is the true voice of a regular, civilian family in Gaza right now.

The e-mail goes on to discuss the difficult situation Hamas is in today. And we should take note here, because there can be no doubt that Hamas has been firing homemade rockets into Israel and killing civilians if only by chance, pushing the Israeli government into action after the ceasefire ended a short while ago.
Hamas has no chance of winning a war against the modern army that Israel wields, but due to the recent air strikes the party's followers demand reaction, to see that Hamas will give Israel "a hard lesson" like they've promised all along. If so, the Israeli government has announced a 'war to the bitter end'.

In the meanwhile there are 1.5 million people in a 139 square mile area that are in dire need of basic humanitarian aid. Under "normal circumstances" there would be 500 trucks entering Gaza on a daily basis with basic supplies. 6 got through yesterday. It might seem romantic that old tale in the Bible of David and Goliath, but David didn't have to face the latest in war machinery. I know people who still refuse to recognize the facts in favor of religious or political opinion. Speaking about yesterday's bombing the e-mail says:

Today more than 200 Palestinians killed and about 750 injured, the hospitals are full, and many of killed people were taken to the mosques, and there families come to recognize them and to take them, there are no places at the hospital fridges.
The Palestinian factions lunched 10th of homemade rockets towards the Israeli areas, one man was killed and five injured (Israelis).

I am not pointing fingers. For Christ's sake I am not five years old! I am talking about a political genocide occurring right now. What ill you are doing to your neighbour is your own undoing. What land is holy that grows trees from corpses and crops from blood?

Apparently there's some kind of election going on in the USAE, and my vote's for the Hawaiian guy. 'Cause people from Hawaii are hellakewl. And I think this particular Hawaiian has got what it takes to rid the USAE of its crippling lobbyism. Lady C was so frustrated the other day, because our media is filled with this election from morning 'til midnight (when BBC World Service takes over to cover the USAE election) and she is still not allowed to vote. This vote is important for Other Countries as well, you see, whether or not we like it. We don't like it, but there you have it.

And this morning I heard a specifically startling piece of news, when a commentator remarked that: "America's role as a moral authority has been in question for the last few years". For the last few years? How about the last fifty years?! And moral authority? Come on, you're talking about Big Mac country here. Where scientific theories that are widely accepted are still questioned on the basis of text-book religion. Where people store massive guns in their homes because the constitution has not been updated since it was created, and people wonder why crime's so high. Where freedom and peace are registered trademarks of the American way, and not, as was proposed, the outcome of a rational discourse between sovereign states in the League of Nations (UN). Where insight and knowledge are put aside for ignorant decadence. Where the dream of a dream once noble has been substituted with a consumer capitalism tainted with whimsical egocentrism. Where citizens salute a piece of cloth like the Romans saluted their god emperors, the Nazis their swastikas and soviet their Stalin; while a good goddamn is what's left for human worth.

America: you are a toddler! For once, choose the rational alternative.