Ceci n'est pas un blog

scene cut from Sicko about Norway:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLQki-mQF4Q

I had planned a long and eloquent post about how the residual damp from the fog crystilzes into leopard spots of black ice at night. I had planned to mention the eventual passing of my swollen lymph nodes and related symptoms. Pictures of H assembling makeshift dresses from blankets in an attempt to look like the "sparkle girls" on Skal Vi Danse?, the Norse version of Dancing with the Stars and a scathing review of the immensely disappointing JPod were to be included.

But the pink eye (!) that I somehow caught from my FjordMonkey is making this a little more difficult to do than it normally would be. There is this whole matter of having one itchy swollen red eye that I am trying to keep shut.el

So there is no room tonight to discuss Thanksgiving and how different it is this year and what it is for us ... and what it is not. No patience left in me to describe the woman, all in black, encountered late at night practicing what seemed to be an ice dance routine but on roller blades.

I will say that our first parent conference with the Barnahage went very well and while our H had a rough first month adjusting, she is doing really well now, has friends and is picking up the language faster than anyone could teach it to her. Insert touching and humorous anecdote here, I'm off to put a compress on my eye and sleep in a quarantine zone.

sigh

OK, I didn't plan to take so much time off from blogging but, well, work and laziness and my utter lack of routine have conspired to keep me away. My job responsibilities have been expanding and the challenges along with them but it's all good and my team are amusing and excellent folks.

Spring has transitioned into Summer. Tulips have given way to pansies and the lush parks have become filled with hordes of bikini'd sunbathers and groups of friends grilling and playing Kubb in the park. I learned that the higher the magpies nest, the sooner Winter will end the more mild Summer will be. We had one week of high temperatures that broke 90 one day. Without a/c this seemed horrible but before we could stage a protest, Summer returned to sanity and temperatures in the 70s. I don't miss Summer in Texas. At all.

It's wonderful to be in a country that takes May Day (Labor Day) seriously. I didn't have to explain the importance of the labor movement to anyone Interestingly, there are at least two Unions here for high tech workers. We had a lovely brunch with friends complete with a custom, slightly tongue in cheek, soundtrack of the Internationale and Cuban anti-American songs. We were the only non-Norwegians there and it was a lot of fun having waffles, brown cheese, and savory treats. H played with a young boy, each of them patiently explaning in their own language what they wanted the other one to do. I also had some fun putting together a fun-things-to-do-in-Texas list for a young radical communist from work who went to the States for his holiday.

Also in May is the National Day, see Fjordward for pics, which we really enjoyed. It was surprisingly easy to get down to the Palace, wave at the royals, and see all the people in their traditional Bunad and suits. In most countries they parade their tanks and military might on their national day but Norway parades their children. It's really lovely. Fortunately the weather held and we had a very good time.

We had a bit of a shock recently. After signing a 3 year lease, our landlords asked for their apartment back. Their business surpringly relocated them back to Oslo from Stockholm. But, again, see Fjordward for pics, we were able to find a great place to move to. It's a short lease and more expensive but the place is perfect "us". And the owners are so nice, with two small kids of their own. The first time we met them, the lady of the house was wearing Che Guevarra socks and taught H to say "heart" in Norwegian. Coincidentally, our Bohemian neighbor, whom we adore, just moved after 8 years in various apartments in our current building.

The other day we noticed that Seamus was chewing his side raw. After a bit of research we found out that there is a drop-in clinic at the veterinary school not even half a kilometer away. It's a beautiful school, very old and ivy-league looking with old buildings and large lawns. It turned out to be nothing serious but he did have to wear the cone of shame for a week. And of you think a gigantic 145 pound dog gets attention, stick a satellite dish around his neck. People constantly would come over to gawk and offer their commiserations. Small dogs just bark and hide behind their owners.

We took H to see Swan Lake at the old Opera House, a 1950s building inside a mall downtown. H was great. She really engaged the plot, which we had told her many times and had seen on TV. So she knew all about the evil magician and the prince and the bad princess. Of course, being 4, she also would blurt out random observations like, "they're wearing tights" and "four swans holding hands". But she would also say things like, "he sat next to the Queen! that's bad!" She really liked it. During the intermission she was able to have a bit of chocolate cake and expend some energy playing, making the second half easy. We left before the final confrontation, which was great because the evil black swan is really the highlight and we saw that. So now we have a princess ballerina who still turns into WonderWoman to battle dragons.

Today is Father's Day. I am full of waffles and coffee. The sun which seems never to set these days (we have over 20 hours of sunlight that begins spilling into the living room and pooling on the floor arounf 3:30 in the morning) is hidden behind the rainy day clouds. I got two Murakami books from H for the day, maybe I'll start them during her nap after we walk the puppies and jump in puddles.

Last night was the company holiday party.

220 people went and everyone had on their finest finery ranging from sneakers and an untucked shirt with a tie to a full tuxedo. The man in the red shirt with a bolo tie and Texas-style suit jacket had the perfect Continental Club look. Before we left, pockets of men in suits clustered in the hallways to begin the pre-party drinking.

The women were in cocktail dresses, evening make-up, and high-maintenance hair. I have to say that all of the color and curlers and crimping and spraying did several of the women a dis-service as they seem more elegant, to me, in their work clothes with a more simple look.

Overall it was a typical corporate party. There were some speeches, some prizes, some humorous photos followed by the smokers fleeing out of doors, the dancers taking to the floor, and the drinkers collecting unused tickets and heading to the bar.

One thing that placed us squarely in Norway was the "skål" toasting. At several tables it began as low rumble, building like a Tibetan chant or a collective Mongolian throat singing, into one long sustained syllable rising to fill the room. Often the people would rise with the sound and at one point a table of 10 were all standing on their chairs to keep rising with the sound. To be fair, there was the traditional "skål" and looking at each person in turn, then drinking but there was also this deep multi-tonal, minutes-long, Ohm-like "skoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOlllllll". It was very impressive.

The dinner itself was quite nice. Since the location and menu were all secret, I had requested a vegetarian option. The planners made a sign with a cut out picture of a carrot that would stand like a flag at our place so the waiters would know. Kenneth thought this was a riot and made a sign for his place in the shape of a steak so they would know he was carnivore. However, I learned the menu before dinner and as it was all safe for me, I bequeathed my carrot on a stick to a strict vegetarian who had forgotten hers.

The dinner came in 3 courses. We started with a small halibut lasagna on a bed of greens. It was very light, no cheese, and about the size and shape of a normal cut of baklava. It was served with a nice but not outstanding white wine from Alsace. Very minerally, not too sweet. The young German next to me thought it was served a couple years too soon. He was quiet until the conversation turned to wines from the Mosel and Alsace region near where he grew up. He was pleased that Americans seem to be discovering Rieslings and expressed his distaste for Liebfraumilch and embarassment that this was what Americans associated with German wine.

Our fish course was followed by duck. The large portion was served with a, rather safe traditional, rich brown sauce and accompanied by a stuffed mushroom and slice of a cucumber-sized squash that had been hollowed out and filled with a vegetable puree. The duck was cooked very well and the fat just slip away from the meat. It was so dark and without the greasy quality that duck sometimes has that several people at the table thought it was beef. This was served with a red wine that was quite appropriate to the meal, rich without being overbearing.

Our dessert was a layer of white chocolate mousse over dark chocolate mousse with our logo on it. Served with coffee. Each table came with Christmas crackers (the kind that pop when you pull them with a joke and crown inside) and bubbles. Conversation was good and all over the map with a surprising shortage of geek-speak.

I met the young man from Bombay who is working on fixing the problem many of you have had leaving comments on this site. He's an interesting fellow, reads Dostoevsky, Somerset Maughm, and re-reads Sidhartha by Herman Hesse every year. He said his copy is in tatters.

I took the early bus home and had a nice visit with my boss on the way back. And then I learned an important lesson ...

If you ever don't take your phone somewhere, it will be the one time there is hold up with the dog shipping and your wife has tried 16 times to reach you. The dog shipper needed me to confirm with Lufthansa Cargo here in Oslo before everyone had the all clear for the dogs to come. My wife told the shippers, "he can't do it today on account of being surrounded by drunken Norwegians". Could there be a better excuse?

Yesterday morning it snowed that soft dry snow that melts before it touches your skin. It fell so slowly that you could be fooled into thinking it might stop and just hang there in the air. When I was out walking along the river it had just started and none had stuck to the ground. The ducks sat with their feathers fluffed on the frost covered grass waiting for it to gather around them.

While I was at work the day warmed enough that the snow turned ever so gradually into a light but constant drizzle.

The result in the evening was a wet, slippery, translucent mush that showed the edges of every footprint in icy outline. It squelched like quick-sand and threatend to topple me headlong into it's grey slushy clutches.

Learning to walk on this new watery, icy, snowy surface reminded me of the Werner Herzog book "Of Walking in Ice". It's a slim little book that I read some years back, an account of his walking from Munich to Paris in a straight line in the winter of 1974. The reason for this trip was that he had been told that the film critic Lotte Eisner was ill and likely to die. Herzog, ever the eccentric, got it into his head that they had to meet and therefore she couldn't die until he got there. So he walked. So she would live longer.

On his journey, he breaks into vacant vacation homes and meets interesting characters and reflects. The book has a nice tone, reads quickly, and is certainly of interest to anyone who has followed German cinema generally or Herzog specifically.

I was just searching for a picture of the cover (this was the best image I could find) to put in this post and found that the paperback version I have is selling only on collector sites for between $285 and $495 (US) depending on condition. The hardback, which I've never seen, is listed at $1200. Who knew.

I read this summer that he, Herzog, has a new film in the works that is comprised almost exclusively of stock documentary footage from NASA and various antarctic scientists but re-cast through editing and dialogue into a science fiction film. Contrast with the now established 'mockumentary' style of Zelig, Spinal Tap, Man Bites Dog, Blair Witch, etc.

In the mean time, I must practice my walking in ice as it's a dangerous business. Somehow the Norwegians make it look effortless, even in spike heel boots that should be treacherous all by themselves.