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Couldn't stop myself from doing it:)

Lately I've been thinking about moving again. The place I live now is tolerable, and most important of all it's cheap. But I'm beginning to go crazy being able to hear whatever goes on in the flat..
What I pay for 17m² is:
rent 2500,-
electricity (unknown:)
broadband 200,-
It varies between 3000 and 3200 NOK a month. The price of the broadband (10Mbit) varies of course on how many is using it. Now we're two, but I don't know how long it'll last, as she doesn't have a computer any longer. This means I'll have to cover 1200kr every three months.
And it's in the middle of everything.

Today I found this 24m² room, partially furnished (probably a closet), which is cheaper than mine. It's 2700 a month, including power, internet and heating. Which is great, since I hate having to deal with bills. I just want to pay once a month for everything.

The thing is that this place is 4 kilometers from where I live now. It'd take me 40 minutes on the subway getting to work. It would take less to get to the University, though, since it's westwards - but don't worry, way too west to be westside:)

I'm gonna have to share a kitchen and a bathroom with two other people, which is fine, as long as the walls between the bedrooms aren't paper thin.

I think I'll phone that girl and see if I can get a look at the place. If it's any good, I'm seriously gonna have to consider it, even though I hate having to live so far away from everything. Today I can just waltz out the door and walk to my friends, work and everything. Instant city.
There's a noise level here, but I don't mind, except for the noises coming from my two roommates. Not that I have anything against them, they're people and I accept their inalienable rights to be annoying.. It's just that it's bloody annoying.

Formel 1 Monaco GP 2006 update
1. Alonso (Renault)
2. Montoya (McLaren-Mercedes)
3. Coulthard (Red Bull Ferrari)
4. Barrichello (Honda)
5. M. Schumacher (Ferrari)

Michael did a great race, climbing from 22nd to 5th, and proved that if it had not been for a driving error in the qualification, he would have won the entire race. Good to see Coulthard back again. The three winners dedicated the victory to Mr. Michelin who died in a drowning accident this Friday.

as I was an hour ago, you can step over here and learn basic Binary. Took me about an hour. Here's a test-message (8-bit) I've made myself for you to solve:

010100110110100101100111011001110011001100101110

011011100110010101110100001000000111001101100001

011011000111010101110100011001010111001100100000

01111001011011110111010100100001

And here's a table of ASCII characters. Don't cheat on me now.

I just got to work after a sleepless night. I met two old folks standing outside the building. It happens every now and then, and quite often it is old women who went here when this was a Girl School. When I got inside after a little chat, I noticed that things were quite .. empty. The cantina was empty. The food trays were empty. Places that are colleagues' seats were empty.
Oh, fuck. Everybody has died.

Then I remembered; today, some two thousand years ago, was that day Jesus Christ son of God had had enough.
The guys were probably going to meet him for a cup of coffee or something, but when they met him he wasn't in his usual good spirit. He was all pissed off at something. Probably the romans. And he said:
"I've had it up to here with this thing. Screw you guys, I'm going home."

The 16th of May has always been the national holiday of the youth, so naturally you go out and get drunk. After a big dinner of salmon at some relatives', with ice cream dessert, coffee and a full introduction to Norwegian folk costumes, I was too full to do any shaking. But I knew it was important to keep up the tradition, I couldn't just abandon it and walk around sober on our national day. That would've been disrespectful.

A colleague's sister playing in an Electronica/rock band called x.Lover persuaded me to go to this place near the red light district called Elm Street. I've always just walked by it since it has always been full of old people, but I was surprised to find it seething with life. Rock life.
They were good, the band, but I found the music a bit too repetitive.
I had quite a good time hanging out there waiting for them to finish though. I was the only one in the area dressed as a Normal Person™. Rock has always been infected by all these people who knows. They're like intelligent. Which is why they all dress alternative. That is, everyone dresses alternative.....

After having said sorry for falling on a dark jukebox, pardon me, since I'd taken it for a small, fat guy I found out that I could stand there and drink beer effortlessly without being knocked down by headbangers. There was only two of them though, and I knew them both.

The band finished, I found my people, almost passed out due to lack of sleep and ran outside to Burger King and bought myself an Espresso. That's the second time in my life I've bought something from Burger King. I was happier this time. It was even caffeinated. When I'd had a coffee and another beer, the main attraction came onto stage. Robotnicka.


They were really, really great. It's too many bands playing punk that are plain boring.
I don't know if it was the fact that they were really sick, had a small, French girl singing or if it was them playing Last Ninja theme from the Amiga era that kicked off. But they did kick off.
I got to meet them after they'd played and packed, and they were nice, positive people. They didn't have a shred of that alternative thing I have learned to smell from across the street. At that time I was so drunk, however, that I wasn't making much sense. I just took the French girl's hand and kissed it, saying Thank you, or something like that.

I was soon on my way towards a bar closer to my home.. I had to stop for a piss, at Bob's of course, where I ran into this big transvestite waiting to use the bathroom. He glanced at me, rolled his eyes and sighed: All right, you go. Ladies first to me. I laughed my head off.

This manual shaving is really getting to me. And I'm not a pussy. I once wrestled a bigfoot with the backside of my ankle. There's three, maybe four people in the world who could do that. I'm just used to shaving quick and painless, and with the same rush as always I now shave quick and painful with razorsharp razors.

I read this tip that you're supposed to shower for five minutes and then shave. That's what I've done the last two days and it hurts like hell. I've discovered that I really don't shave, I'm just slicing off thin layers of my skin. Michael Jackson must know what I'm talking about.

If you have any good tips, please share them with me.
So far it's a lousy day. In addition to the shaving situation, my nose is running, I slept too long and I dreamt that Darth Vader was my father.

Tomorrow is the 17th of May, which is the national holiday of Norway. If you didn't already know this, Norwegians take that really seriously. They have a marching band annoying the crap out of me outside the window. At the same time, I have this urge to hear them play the Imperial March.

Kekepower's tip: "Always shave in the direction the hairs grow."

I promised you some pictures from the trip. Here's the two most appropriate.


As you can see, I was dressed up like a boyband. Mojo aside, I can't stay away from truckdriver coffee.


This is me and my father taking a walk. I think it is a good picture.

My brother Koew will be hosting more pics when he gets his gallery up.

I'd forgotten how sharp those razors are. They are really sharp! Sharp like, well, razors.. So here I am, the human kebab, 'cause I'm not one of those suckers sticking toilet paper to my face. Toilet paper is for the ass.

Had an ok weekend. The weather is rather strange at the moment, so I'm sniffing like a wall street junior on coke. Saturday I found my favourite café closed again, without any note on the door. They know I'll be there, so the next time I see them I'll demand free coffee or - if the coffee isn't ready - sex.
I ended up across the street, and I wrote for three hours in the shadow. By that time my limbs were frozen from the inside, snot running down into my cup, and my hand-writing looked like a demented man's last words.

Later on I was out with some friends at Dattera's, which is very popular, meaning the bathroom queue is half a mile. So I do my little tricks, I run over to another place and piss there. It's called Bob's. And even though people aren't aware of it, Bob's is actually a gay place. This time I was picked on coming in the door.
- Hey! Aren't you handsome?
- That I am!
Totally ignoring everyone, since the only reason why I place my earthly body in such peril, is that there is never any queue to the bathroom. This has led me to believe that gay people never take a piss. Which is fine by me, since I do, and I really need to.

Sunday was pure wreckage. I had a 200g cheeseburger with fries, and I watched Colombus. There's something soothing about watching old explorer movies. You can just sit back and catch the ride. Not like modern day cinema.

I smashed my shaver this morning.
I was standing in the shower, singing and doing small dancing tricks (and we've a really tiny bathroom), and when I was going to do the quick-pull of the towel, I also smashed my shaver into the tile floor. In philosophy we call that a fuck up. I've smashed it before, and it's been easy to re-assemble, but this time some of the pieces just didn't match. So I understood that the thing was broke.
It was only the head though, so it won't cost me much.
Except a glitch in my armor for walking around like an apeman for five days..

I was going to do a big write-up about my weekend in Tromsø, the capital of the North. But my brother is still failing to grasp the concept of transferring images from his digital camera to his computer. I asked him the day he went back to Oslo. That's five days ago now. He's still saying that I just have to wait a little.
Why don't he just put down a task force and get it over with already?
- You have any timeline for this project, mr. Welks?
- No, sir. I've put down a research group to get to the bottom of the technicalities.
- Good, good, Welks. And?
- And they'll notify my Board of Supervisors by the end of the year.
- Great! Good work, Welks.
- USB, although universal, is pretty complicated when you get down to the details..
- I see..
- Yes. It's not just "plug and play" like the major corporations would like you to believe
- Fancy that..
- It takes a lot of initiative, you see. And determination.
- I think you've spilt some coffee on your pants there, mr. Welks..
etc.
By the time he's finished, I'll have forgotten all about the funny details.

So, another postponement to my media rig project (overview coming later). I got in touch with the online retailer today, because the date of sending had been set to the 5th this month. Which means that I've already received my paid merchandice! Which I haven't. It turned out I did receive them, however, but that it was in an alternate dimension, where Bizarro Sigg3 is chuckling evilly as we speak. So the waiting is still 2-3 weeks, regardless of the space-time continuum in normality. 2 to 3 weeks can go on for years.

But I'm going to receive a brand new 160GB HDD and mounting kit in the meanwhile!
Which I didn't actually need, or had any plans on buying. It just happened while I was waiting..

I also received a bottle of wine recently. That one was all for free. Women really appreciate young, helpful males with some insight about computers and time to explain it in a worthly fashion. That's gotto be the fourth or fifth bottle of wine I've gotten this year alone.

I'm not reading anything at the moment, and that feels incredibly good. The past three nights I've been sitting two-four hours typing previous work into 1s and 0s on my laptop. Not literally, of course. You see, I still prefer writing with a good pen on clean paper, then typing it in later on. It feels better.
Anyway, I don't know yet if I'll be doing any of my two exams this spring. I might just skip it.

Movies I have seen but not reviewed:
Road to Petition (ok)
Miller's Crossing (ok)
French Connection (great)
Hoffa (pretty good)
Capone (ok)
Videodrome (pretty good)
Banlieue 13 (ok)
Aguirre (BRILLIANT)
Wallace and Gromit (great)
The Third Man (pretty good)
Lagaan (great)
The Trial (BRILLIANT)
King Arthur (sucks)

That's it for now, folks, time's up! Have a better one, and I'll see you in 2-3 weeks.

Apart from the last Maddox update, I am a genius, you are not, ya'll should just head over to Truckin' and read till you flunk your exams. I did it.

A lot of really great stories are hidden in there, about everything from things to tell a stripper to the in-depth details on donkey fucking. And then there's my stories. I've been a regular in the Truckin' e-zine from two thousand and three years after Jesus was questioned and neutralized, in politically correct terms, and till today! That's "only" three years, but it's still three bloody years! and I'm glad to see that more and more writers submit their work for others to read for free. I have quite a few good memories from sitting at my laptop with a Subway Sandwhich and reading through one story after the other, until I discover how I've messed up my shirt with mustard dressing.

My latest submission, Man, I love tits, is about tits:

There's a variety of tits that slip away from most men's conscience, as most men tend to grow weary of illumination and would rather leap into action. But I do love tits, and I appreciate their fulfilling diversity...

I think it's a field of research that requires the open mind and steady hands of your regular blogger. Of me.
You should check out the other writers too, naturally. They also like tits.

To simplify matters even more, here's a link you can bookmark for easy access:
http://McgTruckin.blogspot.com
See? You didn't even have to type it to your adress field! Now that's easy!

For more of my stories, click the Archives link on top of my frontpage and look at the bottom. I can assure you there's more coming.

I've been getting a lot of "lost document" calls lately.

Consider this analogy:
You're working at home, sitting on the edge of your chair writing down the last four pages of a document due three minutes and seventeen seconds ago. Your four year old kid waltzes in, innocent, naive and extremely annoying.
- Muum, can I play with Dad's 9mm Beretta?
- I'm buissy, honey. Beat up the cat or something.
Your kid stands there, staring at you the way only radiactive zombie mutants or four year old humans can do. You can feel the eerie atmosphere radiating from his gaze, creeping under your skin. Your blood heavily dozed with caffeine rushes to the outskirts of your limbs, you know that the future of your co-workers lie on your sunk-down shoulders, so you willpower focus back to the document - away from the world.
- Muuuuuum. Can I play with Dad's Beretta? Please, mum, please?
[ Yes ] [ No ] [ Cancel]
- Yes! YES! Go right ahead.

.... BLAM! ...

You didn't realize he was, in fact, talking about the 9mm Px4 Storm, Type F model Beretta with Double/single action and superluminova sight. Because you weren't listening.
- Sigge? Can you come and have a look at my son? He asked if he could borrow the 9mm Beretta and I must have clicked 'yes' since I was so absorbed in my work. He's like totally dead now, and this document should have been sent half an hour ago.

The morale of this is: Read what you're accepting.
Humpty-dumpty MS Office will not think on your behalf.

Turn WiFi and Bluetooth functionalities off when near a person who may have a cardiac pacemaker implant or other medical electrical device. Radio waves may affect pacemaker or medical device operation, possibly resulting in serious injury.

I can see it for me. Detective Frost teaming up with the operation leader on site:
- Who was he? (pointing at the dead guy)
- The former Head of Finances, sir
- He's bound to have a lot of enemies then. Any suspects?
- This kid here, sir. He done it.
- Oh?
- Bluetooth connection, sir.
- And what is that?
- He used his phone to wirelessly connect to the internet.
- Yes, I've heard about those. They were trained in Soviet during the cold war.
- Sir?
- Telepathic warriors and UFOs. I know all about it.
   Ah you one of them crackhead hackers, laddie?
- Sir.
- What was the motive, laddie?!
- We think it was hotmail, sir.
- Ah! That Dutch homosexual satanic cult!
- Actually, no, sir. The free e-mail provider. Paris Hilton has one.
...

This might not strike you as scary at first, but I challenge you to think again.



You can see that he's trying to look all innocent and shit, but at the same time you know that there's some devious mischief dwelling in that head of his. He's totally evil. Look at him. Gotto love that shit. Can't look at 'im continuously for more than thirty seconds at the time before I freak out.

It's Sunday evening, and I'm sitting here by my window waiting for the left-overs from the white wine to cool off. Last night was legendary. Nothing special happened, but a chain of events and the totality added up to one long sought-after Saturday night.

It started in the middle of the day.
As usual, I was going to find my favourite spot, buy a cup of coffee and maybe read or write something. I got to the café and was let in early. All the girls there know me, they don't know my name, but they know my trade. I'm often left alone to watch over the place when they run out to get the newspaper and stuff.
They've got a new Swedish girl working every now and then. She's really cute, and sexy too. I like the way the news slowly dawned to her that I was a steadfast regular. How did I know where the ashtrays are kept? Why, I know a lot of stuff about this place.
It wasn't her working yesterday though, I just felt like sharing that with the internets, just in case we end up getting married and move down to a cottage in Southern France, practicing on making babies. Then I'll point her to this post, all romantic and stuff, and she'll be all soft.
Anyway.

My head didn't work.
I'd worked till midnight Thursday and four hours overtime Friday, so my rythm was kind of unsynchronized. I have plenty of habits, and I like them. They most often work. Writing is not a habit, though, that's something else. But I have a dreadful habit of not writing. It happens quite often that I start writing half a minute after I've decided to give it up.
Didn't do the trick this time. So I headed straight for the nearest liquor shop and bought myself a bottle of white and a 75cl bottle of cognac to replace the one in my bookshelf that somehow had been mysteriously emptied.
I got a text-message from a friend of mine saying that he'd be going out later. Cool. I arranged myself at home, doing my tête-à-tête vorspiel with Tom Waits, and tried to find the magical border that is rumoured to exist somewhere between completely wasted and devotionally sober. It was hard. I kept moving back and forth my crammy room so that my body wouldn't go tired on me. I had some water and even a cup of coffee along the cheap wine. It didn't matter, it was just a starter before some serious alcohol consumption to come.

At the time I decided to get out of there, I was certain that I had managed to balance on the magical border. My balance quickly disputed my dissertation and physically forced me to the realization that the powers of gravity are not susceptible to mind control after all.
I got down to "Friends", an expensive place with leather furniture, where the bartender actually tried to cut me 100 NOK short in the change. His side-kick, bartenders always have a sympathetic side-kick hanging around the bar, and they detest everything around them together, even said He's not going to fall for that, referring to me.
I was in a very good mood, so I just agreed. I wouldn't.
Gave me a free cup of coffee later on.

In came the call and I hurried towards Bar B. It's not the actual name, so you don't want to look it up if you come to Oslo. I have a history at this place. I even used to be on the VIP list. I took all the advantage I could from that, even picked up some girls eager to get in, but somewhere along the road things turned somewhat sour between me, my regular company and the couple running the place.
It was emotional.
But now, since my friend was going there, I had to, unless I wanted to spend even more money at strip joints. (Which I probably will anyway, but all in good time.) So I stood in line there for about 20 minutes and then I paid the 50 NOK entrance fee, which hurt my pride more than my pockets. For they were jingling.

This place is so packed nowadays that I wonder why someone haven't shut it down. I bet there's three times more people in there than what that small fire exit on the back could ever handle. If you look in the corners of the stalls, you'll probably find someone who's been there for weeks on a row, unable to get out of there. It's crammed. I spilled half my beer on the dancefloor, which was reserved for people standing right up and down, willing themselves to believe they were dancing and having a good time.
Not like the good old days, when you knew the names of people hanging there. It was the fat guy raving impotently poetically about the beer, the guy with the hat who sold weed, there was the American who everyone suspected was gay, the celebrity photographer and his girls, the lunatic naked model and then there was us. Me and me two drooges, at the reserved corner table.

I felt bad about what had happened, even though I wasn't sure what it was or why the owners were so mad at me, so I pulled out my notepad and pen and wrote a short I'm sorry note from the bottom of my heart. Then I emptied the beer, made sure they got the note and disappeared through the crowd - like the cool guys always do in the movies.
By chance I met my friend and his girl outside.
He was in a tired state, and his girlfriend had her period and a head ache.
I wasn't gonna let this ruin my evening, though, so I headed for the Boheme to find some easy girls into rock music.

It definitely was my night, because who did I meet at the entrance? These two girls I know, but rarely do anything but drink with. Good people. One of them is studying Japanese, can make really funny faces and has a license to mix drinks. The other I don't know the name of, but I've met her several times, and I can tell her from the furniture.
I told them about finding easy girls, they were mildly offended, until I bought them both a rose from an old gipsy woman thanking God for meeting such a heart-warming and generous lad like me. Soon I had a beer and excellent rock music from the good ol' days booming through my bones.

There was a 3rd girl in the party, one I had not met before, who had the face of an angel and the body of a stripper. She was perfect. She smiled in a very sensual way. I really like that smile.
After two beers there, she was patting my arm as if I was a moron. I wasn't sure whether she was trying to tell me I was a moron, since she kept saying that girls like intelligent, kind men like me. Would you like to dance, then? I had to try to find out where she was aiming.
Yes, maybe, she replied.
I ducked out going for the bathroom. I was going to give her the time of her life on that dance floor. Be it a good or a bad memory, since I sure as hell can't dance. Girls appreciate some effort, though, as long as you keep from decapitating innocent bystanders.

I got back and they were on their way home.
I was in a jam.
There was three of them, one of her, and one of me.
I needed a beer... and they were gone.
The agony.
What the heck, if that wasn't love at first sight, I would have to get my eyes checked. Isn't that girl smiling at me? I did my best until closing time. They only played really hard rock about that time, and the old punker in me came to life. You can't not head bang to Smells like teen spirit. You can't dance to it either.

A happy chap I was, though. I maintained that the night was still young, the outlook good, and my cashflow steady. I waltzed homewards instinctively, knowing that some of the hard core clubs on the East side would stretch their interpretations of opening hours as far as they could.
A Nigerian prostitute stopped me. I will suck you dick and love you long-long time.
I only smiled at her. The valiant knight would strike again!
- And how much is that?
- Five houndred.
- Five houndred for the remainder of the night?
She nodded.
- Man. That's like a third of last year's price!
It is very true. Nigerian prostitutes have been flooding the market lately, pushing away Easter European branches to other areas and stuff. Some of you will be rubbing your chin now thinking how I know so much about this. And you will wonder: Is he a customer?
Heh.
Think again. It comes with the job. We have the most popular reports on prostitution and trafficking in all of Norway. I pick up a lot of interesting information.
- Five houndred?
- Five houndred.
- All right, come here.
I took her to a ATM and pulled out a five houndred crowner bill. I walked over to her. She was asking whether I would get the cab. Shit. That's low. Five houndred for a night and you're not even sure he pays the cab. She should've had a better pimp. Or a better trade.
I handed her the five houndred.
- Now you go home and you get some sleep

I haven't seen anyone so happy for a long time. I swear I even saw a tear as she said God bless you with emphasis on all words. She jumped up and down. Girls do that when they're excited. It's just something in their heads that go click! you are excited. Initiate jump up and down sequence. I really love to be the cause of that.

I got down to the river but didn't see any dealers. I crouched over the railing and looked into the pitch black water, wondering whether or not to wait for it, or get home. The bars were all closed by now. Oh, fuck it. I might as well go home. I still have some white wine and some cognac.
And then there's tomorrow.. There's always another one comin'.