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My friend Kornelius has been on-and-off bloggin' for about a year. This is his third try to keep an outgoing flow of hatred* to the masses of Norwegian internet readers. Yes, it's in Norwegian.

Link of the day: «Garderobebok» by Kornelius
(* He mostly writes about things he hates.**)
(** Or things he doesn't love loving.)

I was having an existentialistic Sunday. Most people would just call it a hangover, but I think that's understating the revelations your state of mind and body produces as you're shaking like a leaf, totally drained of energy, and - to your own amazement - carefully considering that scary something optimists like to call 'your future'. What a frightful concept! There's another tomorrow? Shit!

It introduces all kinds of new concepts you feel that you should have sorted out when people around you stated how mature you'd become all of a sudden, concepts like 'responsibility'. I never got the hang of that one. The word itself is pretty harmless. Yes, even inresponsible thinking about how much shit that can lurk behind it. Like a troll behind your door. Sooner or later you'll notice it, at least smell it. Following, you realize that more than half of what you've done in your life qualifies as 'mistakes'.

That's one way of introducing yourself to an existentialistic Sunday. Or a hangover on the couch. Slowly things are falling into place before you, like a mental jigsaw puzzle, but you don't like the finished picture. Instead of a beautiful woman, like The Madonna for instance, it turns out to be a picture of a battered newt.
With a bracelet.

Women, yes. They're like men without balls, instead they've got brains, which - in most cases - outweighs your balls by a ratio of 3 to 1. And, for some mysterious reasons, you want them. Women, that is. Not to compare balls and brains, no, it's just something you perceive as being part of a state of happiness, having one. And they feed themselves. Heck, if you're really lucky they even feed you! (Don't count on it, though)

Still on the couch thinking about this, your what's-it-called - comprehension - draws a line between earlier reasonings and you clearly see that most of your 'mistakes' are somewhat related to women. One or the other way. It can only be glancing at a red-haired lady with enormeous breasts across the street, for instance, forgetting to see where you're going. Destiny sees to it that there's an equally attractive, even more so, woman right in front of you enjoying a cup of soft ice cream. The latter is carefully, again by Destiny, smeared all over the victim's unsuspecting breasts. And this is, by all means, just a really innocent example of what can happen when involved with that 48% of the world's population. Against all earthly logic, however, you don't improve. You still have this notion that you want a woman. Tough one.

Ignoring the matter, you move along to your Future. Unforlding in front of you, like an imaginary brochure, is your expectations in black and white, capital letters: "THE PERFECT LIFE. Your Future." Sounds relly great. You flip through the first three or four pages looking mostly at the pictures. Most of the contains either women, cars or briefcases stuffed with money, or combinations of the three. You get the hang of the idea, you even like it, and your wishful thinking works really hard trying to put yourself in that red sportscar, next to that blonde holding your briefcase full of thousand dollar bills. You almost make it, and it gives you a good feeling. Then you flip to the last two pages.

Text only.

Really small letters. Oh, well.

"Requirements"
a) Behave
b) Study hard
c) Work nightshifts and save money for later mortages
d) Behave. When not, use condoms.
etc. etc. for two entire pages.

You mentally erase the brochure, back to the couch and the white ceiling above you, pretty damn depressed. Why? Because you know yourself. With a student's loan on your account, five figures, you wouldn't stand a chance not to waste some of it. Most of it, actually. Probably, even, all of it! Second, you wouldn't behave more than a pig at a royal banquet, let alone work nightshifts. At night you're sleeping off the alcohol, right?

Again, on the existentialistic side of the Sunday or your designated hangover, you ask yourself a question sounding more or less like this: Could I change?

You know you've lost the battle when you're trying to answer the simple yes-or-no question with a percentage of yes. That's called clutching to the last shred of hope you're supposed to have. Still, there's the unfamiliar voice of positivity somewhere deep inside you trying to break down your handcrafted framework of philosophical pessimism. You're still got your health. Sure, not right now I haven't, but -
And there's always good money to make driving garbage. Oh yes.

At the end of your inner travel, your dive into Lake You, you've sorted out the following: a)You don't have a future. b)You'll keep making 'mistakes' since you'll keep your eyes on women and not the current (and random, perhaps) path of direction. c)The only way to fulfill the brochure pictures is to "bend the rules" a little. I.e steal two million dollars, a red sportscar and persuade some light-headed, hitchikin' gal to get into your car and just ignore the four heavily armed policepatrol cars chasing you. Doing this would kind of defeat the purpouse. I mean, it's pretty hard to relax at some tropical island somewhere when the local authorities are taking shots at you all the time. It's almost stressfull.

So, the perfect life is out.
The idea of a plain, down-to-regular life starts to seem both probable and attractive. It has got to. Or else you'll soon find yourself lying on a couch somewhere going through the exact same procedure all over again.

Hey! I've never said I was mature. Someone made that up. Some stupid someone. And I really don't care what stupid someones thinks about my level of maturity or lack thereof. Honestly. This is my fucking life, after all. Geez!

This is what bumped into my e-mail today:

Just so you'll know:

The guy who does the audio on the "Fuck, The Word" (aka "The Word Fuck") track is NOT George Carlin, nor is it Monty Python, as is often credited.

It is the late Jack Wagner, the former 'voice of Disneyland'.

I know, since I gave him the ORIGINAL copy on tape (before the internet) in 1989 during a time when we worked together. I have NO IDEA who did that version, but it was much shorter & the quality of the tape was quite poor. (Musicians, voiceover artists, engineers and other recording guys often traded tapes of rare & funny stuff. Unfortunately, quality was lost in generation after generations of copies.) Jack decided to re-do it, correcting some grammar and adding a few more examples of his own, then
backed the whole thing up with the Vivaldi music.

I know this - I had the original copy and heard it first. Later, I heard from other techies at the park that he was so proud of it that he'd share it with everyone. I had always worried it would get him into trouble, but if ANYONE at Disneyland had 'job security', it would be him!

Years later when I heard it on the internet (the world's bulletin board or bathroom wall), I just had to snicker. But we need to give credit where credit is due. His family may wish to forget it - the 'park' certainly does!
- but he seemed to have been proud of it, so give him the creds.

- Voicedude
(please refer to me only as that to protect my anonymity and hire ability).

P.S. Of all those comedy quotes from famous people that are listed, only ONE of them is thought of to be a true quote:

* General George A. Custer: "Did you ever see so many fucking Indians?"

Just FYI........

Don't know what he's talking about? Check History of the word Fuck!
I've credited it to Monty Python, 'cause that's what I've heard, but who knows? Maybe there's really something in this? Maybe I actually should care? This is a dead man's testament! His message to the world! Thanks for sharing this information. Now I can be even more proud when I stand up against you, clear my lungs and utter a majestical FUCK YOU! Thanks!

Norwegians are the most antisocial population on the planet according to statistical research. There are numerous reasons for this. We've been under other nations' reign for as long as anyone can remember. Norway wasn't Norway until 1814, but then we were suddenly under Sweden. Then we had the nazi occupation. No one seems to forget that one.

So, we don't welcome strangers with open arms.
Still, the main reason for us being antisocial is the weather. Without a doubt. I mean, you don't get too eager to go on visiting neighbours when people are freezing to death in your neighbourhood. This is just a couple of examples to give you the general idea of our relation to cold: «Norwegians and cold»

Excellent. Tip from Fluxpod Information eXchange.

This is the guy with the longest hair in the world:

His name is Tran Van Hay, 67 year old from Vietnam, and fiercely proud of his mane. When I first saw that picture I noticed that his hair was pretty similar to sheep woll (do a google for 'Shrek the sheep'), and I wondered at how much extent it would be possible to keep such a massive hair anything close to regular "hair-hygiene". This weekly poll question is simply a spin-off of that:
«How often do you wash your hair?»

Thanks for sharing your personal information:)

Since I was hacked, the index page (this one) has been unavailable for editing, so I haven't had the chance to update as usual. This affected the weekly poll, but now, at last, I'm here to give you the results. Thank you for participing!

The smokeban has been in effect since the first of June. And I can't say that I haven't avoided going out because of it. Human beings, like rats, are immensely adaptive to sudden changes in its environments. The recent change is that the air is cleaner indoors. In addition, all the people are standing outdoors. All the interesting people, at least:)

In Oslo, especially during the summer months if it's hot enough, people tend to get aggressive when they're going out. The smokeban forcing us to be outside tend to widen the possibility of getting whacked. Or at least get into trouble more frequently than before. A month ago, I would hide behind a wall of cigarette smoke like the octopus. Oh well. The results:

I love it, because I hate smokers: 5%
It's good, because no one should work in smoke-filled environments: 12%
Cancer can kill you, so I think it's good: 5%
People are starving! Using money on this is stupid: 30%
This is limiting individual freedom: 46%
I don't know or don't have an opinion: 0%

Number of votes: 39

For those of you who haven't noticed: I'm on vacation.

Or on leave, rather. Let's not forget that in the eyes of Norwegian society I am a soldier. Yup. Soldier Sigg3, that's me. I even got a number pinned to my ass. And a ugly photograph taken at 7:30 in the morning. A soldier's life.. :D

So, I went to Tromsø, Paris of the North to tourists, and my building state of fever just got worse. It figures, in a way. When I'm all through the shit of applying for getting leave from my service a ten lousy days, I get ill. Not just that. I can't hear shit. Because my throat and nose is clogged by slime (it's a curse!!) my ears are isolated and irritated. Mostly I just hear myself breath and my heartbeat. Really cool. Especially when I just used a helluva lot of money on Tom Waits' Swordfishtrombones and Radiohead's Hail to the Thief (special edition).

Now I'm back in Oslo, however. The great city. The capital. And it's raining.

So what am I doing, then? Since I ain't got a working mind at the moment, I can't read and write properly, so for the last two days I've been going through my complete collection of Spawn®™ dating from 1997 till 2002. This comic-book novel is really great. I mean, aside from Ennis and Dillon's Preacher that I've just flipped through, Spawn is my favourite. What's so great about it? I dunno. When I was younger I read the Norwegian translation of The Phantom. Ever since I quit I've had a great distaste for men (or superheroes, if you prefer,) in costumes running around thinking they're something. Simmons (maincharacter), however, has got something different. He's no hero. Sure, he has the wrath of hell, the heart of heaven and even the taste of revenge time has yet to see again, but there's something else about him. He's so goddamned confused. Even stupid.

As a reader you get stucked to cursin' Cogliostro (another important character, naturally) for tellin' Spawn/Simmons that he don't know shit, that he must be patient, that he must learn, etc. etc. Well, that's how it is, isn't it? You rather pick the dumb, easy way out of things instead of actually waiting for stuff to fall into perspective and engage some of that morale you're supposed to have.

The movie stinks, people. Don't judge the comic-book from that!

..

Tomorrow I'll get some necessary stuff for my kitchen.. Like food. Coffe. Eggs. n' Bacon.
I'll probably have to clean out some dust, as well.

Oh. And I've got this problem bugging me: a bug problem. Yup. These green, little, crawlin' devils that are feeding from the rose bushes outside my window are jumping into my livingroom. They're going for the bright light, that great ol' end of the tunel. Geez. I don't mind these creatures going biblical an' all, but they would do best to stay the fuck away from my place. Here I am, almost sound asleep in my bed when ZZZZZZZZZOOOM!.. Splat! one of these annoying demons fly just across my field of vision and into the wall on my right. I throw a fit and use everything within reach as a weapon of mass destruction. When you finally get the bastard and you think it's all over, tuck yourself into that warm bed and get ready for some lovely mulatta to bring you into dreams; you can't sleep.

Not a chance. You lie there like some paranoid wreck with insomnia. Waiting for just the smallest indication of another one. I'm gonna get some insect poison tomorrow. Gonna take those bastards down even if it'll be the last I do. Oh, yes, sir! They haven't seen the last of mr. Sigg3. Oh, no.

Can't wait to get all chemical warfare on their ass. Gotto hurt.

You should really check this out. Hilareous*.

Link of the day: Death of a Popstar, a CubanJoe Theater presentation.

Read more of Cuban Joe at cubanjoe.net
(*am I spelling it right?)

.. How do I get chicken grease off a cellular phone?

As you might have noticed, I haven't changed the weekly poll in a while, and this is due to a few permissions un-set after my ass gettin' hacked. Regular laziness has kept me from fixing it. I'll get to it some day..

You can just keep voting, though:)

Yesterday I finished Zapffe's The lost son (no. "Den fortapte sønn"), a dramatical re-telling of Jesus' life based on his scientific studies of history's best known suicidal Messiah: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews (INRI).

It was great. Last year doing ex.fac (philosophy of science) I read an article by someone who criticized the work put into it, but concluded that the work was in fact scientific. I'm not all too eager to jump to conclusions, but I can't say that Zapffe's keeping up with Karl Popper's falsification-principle, because there is, in fact, no way to state that he was wrong. I thought it good, then, that he presented his work as a drama and not a treatise. I was shocked, as well, to realize how good a writer Zapffe really was, allthough I'm almost half-way through his Collected works..

(You can read more about Zapffe at the article I and other 'pedians wrote for wikipedia: wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Wessel_Zapffe)

I got a little hung up on prohpecies, or the prophets themselves, rather. I haven't read too much of the Bible, so I ain't had too much to do with these shoutin' men and women proclaiming the coming of a king or judgement day or both. It was interesting to see how inconsistent their opinions were, all very natural - of course, but then how Jesus tried to follow up on all of them. This is, summing up, what Zapffe really thought about it. It was a scheme.

Myself I'm a great fan of one of the prophets in Monty Python's "blasphemic" picture The life of Brian. Here's the excerpt from the script*, scene 14:

...Obadiah, his servants. There shall, in that time, be rumours of things going astray, erm, and there shall be a great confusion as to where things really are, and nobody will really know where lieth those little things wi-- with the sort of raffia work base that has an attachment. At this time, a friend shall lose his friend's hammer and the young shall not know where lieth the things possessed by their fathers that their fathers put there only just the night before, about eight o'clock. Yea, it is written in the book of Cyril that, in that time,shall the third one...

Hilareous.

(The script was found at Monty Python script page)

I've joined the lines of the damned and bought myself a cellular phone. It's a Siemens MC60 which can both send and receive multimedia, has a built-in camera and a dictionary making it easier to write text-messages.
Oh, and I can call with it too.

Yes. That's it.
I've been principally against the use of mobile phones in any society for breaking up a working social infrastructure. I recently realized that the infrastructure has changed and that I was no part of it. What can I say? I think, but very slowly. Took me 6 years.

I received a newsletter from Kaada.no this morning, informing me about recent events and free Cloroform media put up on the web. I love these guys. They'll be playing at Roskilde, the Quart festival, etc. this summer, so brace yourself!

Here it is: The Cloroform mp3 give-away!
Also, check out their latest LIVE video release:)

I walked by a Free Record Shop on my way in from a delivery I'd done. I was financially ruined.

First off, two Radiohead albums were on sale, I didn't buy any of 'em on general principle. I don't buy it unless I really like it. Then, to my amazement, I stumbled over the original soundtrack from the musical Hair, starring Treat Williams. I've always wanted a copy from my sister, but I've never actually done anything about it.

I bought it without blinking.

Then, as I was standing there thinking I'd been a good boy for just buying one cd I saw a big poster with a name I thought somewhat familiar: FAITHLESS

Now I've been a fan of Faithless for many, many years. This new album, called No Roots, is the result of a project lasting more than ten years! Can't wait to get home and have a listen.

And me who was thinking I would allow myself to eat today.

<Kornelius>Play with an OPEN mind!
<Sigg3>.. or play with any kind of mind.
<Sigg3>.. or play with the mind you can find.
<Sigg3>.. or play without a mind.
<Sigg3>.. or mind your play.
<Kornelius>I don't mind!
<Sigg3>Mind your mind or mind me.
<Koew>...nevermind the bollocks
<Kornelius>What's wrong with your minds!!!!?
<Sigg3>I mind my own mind, mind you.

.. This is when you begin to think that you should find something meaningless to do and do it.

Nick Cave and his fellows in The Bad Seeds are in studio again, recording their 13th album together, which will be released in September according to Aftenposten.

Their last album was Nocturama, which I haven't had the chance to check out just yet.

Check out: www.bad-seed.org and Nick Cave Online

SPAM can kill you know.
First, I could kill the SPAMmer.
Second, if I were to suffer from a powerful weightloss, as suggested, I'd be a skeleton.

..

Things are getting complicated over at Brev fra to Herrer i Kristiania which is a co-op blog by me and Kornelius. It is coming together more and more like the set-up of a drama, still, the successive story being placed in a blog opens for some interesting touches of coincidence. Worth a look if you can read Norwegian.

I've been reading alot of serious shit lately. Or, at least, that's what folks've been trying to tell me. I'm not sure about that, really, because what gives you a kick of laughter as much as August Strindberg telling you in explizit detail how much he hates dogs and how he loathes the people owning them. And Strindberg's supposed to be hard to read? Depressive? No, no, no. Check out Strindberg and Helium.

Either way, I was looking to read some intentional comedies, not just your average Old Testament, and thought immediately at Douglas Adams' Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, but I couldn't find it anywhere.. I asked my brother about this, suspecting he'd read it and threw it away with his books, but he stated that he hadn't. So, I had to settle with something similar and - if possible - equally funny.

I found Colony by Rob Grant. It begins by introducing us to Eddie O'Hare, probably the most unlucky person alive. We're at the arctic areas at a artificial city, a genuine Las Vegas, called Afortunado. Eddie here, or more correctly: Eddie's computer, has stolen an unbelieveable amount of money from an enterprise not too eager to let it all pass. In fifteen minutes he's spent all of his life savings, trying to win that x amount of millions back in the casino, before the grunts sent out to kill him or retrieve the money actually reach him. Now he's standing looking out of the window clutching his fists around a fifty dollar chip, which is all he has left. That, and his miserable, miserable excuse for an eventful life.

Eddie is a really amusing character I can tell you. From the very beginning Grant got me on Eddie's side, especially after mentioning Eddie's habit of ruining any sexual activities with flashbacks of unarousing incidents, like seeing a desperate gambler eager to sell his penis for a handfull of cash. Still, I'd say the author kind of looses his maincharacter, closing in on the last chapters. Eddie's changing, and for no apparent reason at all. Why change the only really funny person in the book?

A large chain of coincidents places Eddie among the elite of the human kind that has been picked out (by themselves?) to bring the human race into the future, since Earth is collapsing à la The Day after Tomorrow. Unfortunately, they're all idiots. It doesn't end there. Since nobody knows how long it will take for the ship (named the Willflower) to reach another habitable planet, they've charted a mating-scheme lasting for generations. Somewhere along the line something has gone wrong, though. Eddie dies, more or less, in Generation I, but is revived in Generation X, to a situation that leaves only a small hope of mankind's survival. And, after what Eddie's seen of it, it being inbred over centuries, does he actually wants to save it? You'll have to read the book.

I had a few really good laughs, but adding it all up now, I can say that this is far from a Hitchhiker's guide as in memorable events. Eddie is without a doubt the glue in the story, making it worthwhile turning the one page after the other until you reach the oh-so-boring-and-utterly-cliché ending..
Out of six, I'd give it three, allthough five out of one schizophrenics recommends it.

I woke up this morning, tired as hell having read all night (Colony by Rob Grant). I rolled my usual morning-cigarette, prepared to launch that body of mine into the kitchen to make myself a strong cup of not-real-but-ok coffe. The guy I rent my bedsit from was sitting there, all awake as normal. He's working at this place where they've got flexible hours but still it happens I hear him running to work at 6 a.m. Damn, if I'd worked flexible hours I'd flex them to last for weeks.. hey! Everything's relative, right.

Either way, there he was, munching some sort of cereal while fast-reading through yesterday's newspaper. I mumbled, grumbled or groaned my usual "mmmg'd mornin'" and begun to fix my cup of coffe. While that was in the microwave I went to have a piss, as is my morning routine. Ok.. Nothing happened, so I went and had a piss, then returned to the kitchen where my coffe was as good as ready.

Jo looked up at me from the cereal, a little spill of milk dripping from his cheek, and asked me wether I'd seen The transit of Venus. No, I said, I haven't seen any good porn for a long while. Don't forget that I ain't got no TV nor a computer. He didn't say anything, just looked at me, then returned to the cereal. I picked up my coffe, went back into my bedsit and lighted my cigarette.

Then I turned on the radio and stared long into the brickwall on the other side of the street, probably picturing it to be some sort of horizontal, cozy, satin-covered couch with two blondes on each side and me in the middle.. The transit of Venus...

I almost choked on the coffe when I heard that they were discussing my sexual fantasies on the radio. A sort of thing like this, they said, hadn't happened since 1882. That was my Tuesday morning.


(The next transit is at the 6th of June in 2012 beginning 22:09 (UTC). Read more @ wikipedia.)

I did a google on Monday, and these are the most extravagant results:
First of all: The scariest picture of the day

Bicycling one Monday in 1896 (Boxing Day)

And of course: My body needs fruit and more hilarious photos over at Edu.idtv.tv