Imaginary time capsule

Both Maria and I are back in Bergen, so I've been rewatching Star Trek once again, yay!

She wanted to get more acquainted with season three (in spite of my warnings) so we gave 'Spectre of the gun' a watch. Much groaning about Scotty's new hairdo was had. And expressions of disbelief at how insane that part where Kirk and the sheriff is screaming at eachother is ("I CAN'T KILL THEM!!" "YOU GOTTA KILL THEM!!" "BUT I CAN'T KILL THEM!!" "YOU HAVE TO KILL THEM!!").

Also I had completely forgotten how extremely anticlimatic that episode is. Jeez, how is that even possible with all that shooting and even a smidgen of kirk-fu?

To balance the cowboys out we then watched "the one with the indians", 'The paradise syndrome':

Maria: "What... What is Kirk doing to that pine tree? God he's feeling that bough up isn't he. He can't go five minutes without - oh! Now Spock caught him, good Kirk, get rid of that bough."

And that ending, oh dear.

Kirk: "I! Am! KIROOOOOOK!"
Me: "Oh I always scream out my name when I'm frustrated too. There's a school assignment I can't figure out? 'I AM TILDEEEEE!'."

We also watched half of Star Trek XI, which Maria hasn't seen yet (she threw up her hands in resignation after Spock and Uhura made out and mumbled something about "This is just silly. Let's watch the rest some other time").

I have something to say for posterity's sake, and for the sake of potential newcomers who might have gotten the impression that my blog consists of nothing but angst and insomnia and Star Trek:

You know what? Right now I'm content. I'm satisfied. I'm even, if I dare to be so bold, pleased with myself.

- The exam today went fine - not great, but fine, I'm sure I'll pass and that's all that matters. For the first time in my life I sat down for an exam and I was calm, I wasn't about to throw up with nervousness or anything, and I had actually had a whole night's sleep (chemically induced, but who cares?)

- I've seen Marie again for the first time in... what, it must be over six months by now? She's in Bergen to once again fight for the environment. We've chatted and enjoyed ouselves for hours today and she'll be staying for almost the entire week!

- Related to Marie coming, of course, is the fact that I've eaten my first vegetarian tacos and found them a tasty and completely viable option. Healthier for me, healthier for the environment.

- And so, having been so sociable all day, I now get to enjoy my own company. I'm burning my favourite incense (mmmm nag champa), maybe I'll watch a movie, and I'll most certainly take my usual evening stroll (I seem to have become quite addicted to not just The lives of Harry Lime but also the walk itself).

See? Content! I'd forgotten how this feels!

So I met up with Sunny (disclaimer: not actual name), my newest friend in Bergen, and after observing the mummies in the local museum (yup, still dead) we decided the best course of action was for her to show me some Star Trek, original series.

So hey, I've watched my first TOS episode! And my second! And my third!

I think there was some worry whether I would find the late sixties special effects distracting but, hahahaaaa. You know. This is what I usually have to deal with.

First impressions of TOS: Okay, okay, I can see how Kirk is sorta kinda Mister Awesomepants of the universe - Spock is possibly even more awesome, only in a completely different way. I'm glad I watched my first episode with some company, since that meant I could go "Oh thank God I thought it was only me" when she pointed out that Vulcan mind melds were hilariously sexual. Also, we could stop the DVD and discuss possible ways to crossbreed Vulcans and tribbles.

Anyway, I'm intrigued. I liked TOS, but I liked it on absolutely different premises than TNG. I enjoy the campness. Over time I might learn to be less annoyed with the set lighting.

A suitor, lowly born, with hopeless passion torn
And poor beyond denying, has dared for her to pine

Huh. After having been subjected to everything from nineties' trance to Deep Purple for hours at the party yesterday (I had a good time, though I stuck perhaps a bit too much to my own clique), what song has been stuck in my brain since I woke up this morning?

'A maiden fair to see'. Odd, but at least it's my favourite song from HMS Pinafore.

So yes, party was good, I only had to be defensive about not drinking alcohol once (which I believe is a new party record), and I don't think the party had anything to do with my waking up with a surprising amount of dried blood on my forehead. All my own, appearantly. I suppose I must have scratched myself while sleeping, because I'm fairly certain it wasn't there when I got home last night.

In other news, I'm getting fairly sick of Last.fm continuing to recommend me obscure French artists every time I play my Recommendation radio channel (except Thomas Fersen, he's awesome), so just for diversity's sake I've been playing a lot of late fifties/early sixties heartthrobs with inoffensive names like Billy and Bobby and Ricky.

I might have acquired some sort of idee fixe for men with impressive quiffs and the ability to sing falsetto. Oh Bobby Vinton, why is it impossible to get hold of any of your albums?

I'm also religiously convinced that Del Shannon's 'Little town flirt' has actually got the lyrics 'Little town twerp'.

It's a big old, bad old, tough old town, it's true
But beginnings are contagious there
They're always setting stages there
They're always turning pages there for you

Ah, what a nice way to start my easter break: First a low-key Dan Fägerquist concert, and then a sleepover at my friend Marie's.

Fägerquist, as always, blew me away. It was held at the former Ås train station (which has been converted to a sort of "alternative" café/gallery/thing), and though I love that more and more people are discovering him, I still prefer the intimate low-key performances like we had yesterday. I still can't fathom how a young Swedish guy with a guitar can utterly enrapture an audience of various inebriated stages just by singing Vargjakten.

And he let slip that he'll be releasing a new CD come fall. And it'll probably include Dina ögon är som knivar, which has become one of my favourite disturbing love songs. Fingers crossed it'll include Ingen mans land and På spänd lina as well.

I've been thinking: I should check out Jørn Simen Øverli, shouldn't I? He's our own Norwegian singer of Vystotsky songs. And hey, they got his albums at the Deichman library, that's tomorrow settled then.

Had a lovely time at Marie's, and met her friends. Within minutes me and her friend R. (who had been introduced to me with "This is R., he knows everything about movies. R., this is Tilly, she knows even more.") were discussing Hitchhiker's Guide and Gary Oldman and Doctor Who and we just kept on with the geekfest the rest of the night, and most of this morning. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I hadn't even realized how much this shut-in semi-student life had affected me. Just sleeping over and chatting and eating a marvellous easter breakfast (R. fried eggs) has transformed me back to the way Tilly is supposed to be.

So that's good.

I feel like watching a movie. Maybe another part of The invasion of time and then... well, Young Frankenstein perhaps?

Gi meg et bord innerst i hjørnet
Og la meg sitte i fred
For varmen er på en måte litt varmere
På Børs café

People are running all around me preparing for the prince's arrival, and there's many hours left (six, to be excact) before the guy comes. So far I've taken a shower for His Royal Highness, and later I plan to put on a bit of makeup for His Royal Highness, and then perhaps my black hoodie for His Royal Highness. I will not wear a skirt. Since we're supposed to have a fake class meeting where he'll conveniently pass by at the exact time of my poetry reading, I see no reason to tart myself up.

I've actually been losing sleep over this (not the prince arriving and me reading some poetry, but what I'm supposed to feel about all this) and last night I think I figured it out. I have no dear feelings about the royal family. They've never done me any good. They're just a family, like any other, but with less work and more pretty clothes. But; I reckon this might be my closest proximity to a history book in my lifespan, so why not use it?

So yeah, the reading is on.

Actually, I'm equally excited about Snooky coming down today. Marie pointed out when she saw my daily planner, that I had written "Crown prince arrives at 16.00" and then "Snooky arrives at 20.00" in much bigger letters. That sums it up, I think.

Actually, me and Snooky had a bit of a tiff last weekend, and I hate arguing over the phone. We sorted it out eventually, but since we're both feeling a bit shaky and raw I decided to invite him up over the weekend to get back to our status quo.

Talking about doing things this week, I've been toying around with this new drawing program I stumbled upon, ArtRage. It's nice to work with since the colours act like real paint, but a bit of a bother when you have to use a mouse. You can get some nice work done, though, if you've just got an assload of hours to spare. And I did.

After abusing the "trace" feature mercilessly, I did a painted rendition of everybody's favourite OH SHI- picture:



( Daleks and daleks and daleks, oh my! )

Fabrics are wheee! And yes, I'm developing an obsession with drawing Tom Baker, let's not mention that.

Tengo la camisa negra
Ya tu amor no me interesa
Lo que ayer me supo a gloria
Hoy me sabe a pura

The class had a farewell-party yesterday, it was fun... and sad. I'm horrible at saying goodbye. But I guess it's good closure.

I'm not really a party person, but after the barbeque had been consumed, we'd all played a round of Varulv (or The werewolves of Miller's Hollow, a great card game for a large group of people that involves secret loves, freemaisons, lynching and other fun things. I was a werewolf again and got lynched. Again.), speeches and alcohol consumption (not by me, I'm sober as a priest), things simmered down to people just sitting around, talking about "what comes next", a nice accoustic song played on the stereo and I just leaned back in my chair and thought this was a perfect end to these three years at Skedsmo.

The final part of the party I stood talking with one of my Media teachers, Nils Håkon (a really nice guy. You really ought to buy his book for your kids or check out his web shop). I think students gets too prejudiced when it comes to teachers - they can really be quite friendly critters (says the Werewolf that managed to slay all the teachers playing in one go).

He made me think about journalism once again. It might be the sixtieth time I've thought "No, I won't do journalism. Journalism is so dull, and I was so scared to flunk the class.", but once again somebody shows me the positive sides. A great way to perfect your language, learn to trim the bad stuff, develop good writing habits, et cetera et cetera. I'll never stop fighting that issue. Though he spured me on the thought about getting an English degree, so I can become a subtitler. I've been thinking about that one for years.

So I'm thoroughly finished with that school. I never did find out why the school statue is a pregnant girl, or what that large crate that's been standing in the staircase for six months contains, but I'm finished. Well, not quite. I have to go make a CD of all the things I've saved to the school computers. Mostly projects of my own, but also a nice Icelandic pop song a classmate first played to me.

Oh, and we finished with a ritual burning of Christian Krohg's Albertine. Usually I would have had great qualms with burning a book, but this one was really, really dire. Good riddance to it.

You're as sensual as a pencil,
Wound up like an E or a first string
When we made it, did you hear a bell ring?

Still feeling poorly (hah! the most uninformative description in the English language), no actually, very very sick still. But at least my eyes are halfway to working again, so I can watch some DVDs (musicals preferably, though mad transexual scientists from the Transylvania galaxy are popular right now).

But anyway, my point was that when I opened a cover I haven't seen in ages, an unmarked CD fell out - and it turned out to be the collection of every major product I made for my first year at Media. So weird, I thought it was lost forever.

Absolutely every photo taken by me and of me from a complete year, which made the nostalgia race (can you be nostalgic for something that only happened two years ago? Ah well)

Here's a little treat from a Christmas photoshoot between friends:

( Action photo of what the holidays are all about )

And is it just me, or is the scene were Tim Curry bitchslaps Susan Sarandon possibly the greatest scene in cinematic history?