Snusmumriken

This all started years ago. During a conversation with a few friends after too much wine, we decided that doing a gigantuous review of all the university toilets and putting it online would be a brilliant idea. This was before the concept of blogging really became a thing. We had our livejournals, but we just rambled about our personal life. Using it for the big things in life, like toilets wasn’t an idea we would have come up with. And after a while the idea just faded and died.

Until one fatal day in mid november, lars started reviewing toilets. When he can do it, i most certainly can, I thought, picked up my camera and started to explore.

What do we want in a toilet
1) Clean environment and toilet paper.
2) Information and location. We need to find it.
3) Reading material and light enough to read it.
I will grade then with the good old dice system, since that was what Lars did.

1. Sophus Bugge’s house
As a history student, this was my first Blindern toilet. I might be biased, but this is a great place. It’s rather clean, and it has Gadamer (damer=ladies in norwegian) written over the entrance. That must be Blindern’s most geeky grafitti. The graffitti over the door also works as a rite of passage. The first time you find it vaguely amusing, you know that you study at the right faculty. The reading material is great. It shows that kids who read too much have been writing on the walls for at least a decade. There is one setback though, and what a disappointment it is. It’s so bloody dark in there! If you ever bring a book or something, you won’t be able to descipher a sentence. Locationwise, it’s a brisk three second’s walk from the nearest pub. As soon as you’re done peeing, you can refill your bladder. it doesn’t get much better than that.

Hygiene: 5. Always toilet paper and soap. Sometimes paper on the floor.
Information and location: 6. Easy to find and close to the pub.
Reading material: 4. The reading material is great, but it’s too dark to read it.
Extra point: Gadamer

2. Vilhelm Bjerknes’ house
Vb is where the mathematicians live. And although you would expect some xkcd-like drawings on the wall, and perhaps some nice equations, they really don’t know how to decorate a toilet. It’s big, and even closer to the closest pub than the Sophus Bugge toilet, but alas. No wall decorations. On another note, it helps enforcing the idea that geeks smell bad. Perhaps that rumor really started here at VB. It does however have one big plus. The little information note that tells me that the toilet I was about to use “has a quirky lock”. That makes me want to come back.

Hygiene: 3. What’s up with the toilet paper?
Information and location: 6. Easy to find and close to the pub.
Reading material: 0. Doesn’t matter that it’s dark, when there’s nothing to read.
Extra point: The quirky lock.

3. Niels Henrik Abel’s house ground floor
When you are studying, you drink a lot of coffee. When you drink alot of coffee, you need to pee. It all makes sense. The toilet I’m about to review could have been the perfect toilet. It’s really close to the canteen. It’s a dashing two meters from the master students lunchroom. It’s a few meter from the master students’ reading room and even closer to the master computer room. It’s clean and spacous. Unfortunately it’s also one of two toilets reserved for the one person working in the canteen.

Hygiene: 6. Shiny and clean.
Information and location: 6. Easy to find and close to the pub.
Reading material: 6. There’s always a newspaper on the floor and the lights are on.
Extra point: Withdrawing all points because we’re not allowed to use it.

4. Niels Henrik Abel’s house cellar
When toilet nr 3 is closed, we either take the lift up a few floors, and use the historians’ toilets, or we go downstairs to use the toilets in the dungeons. They are clean, probably because noone use them. If you try going down there in the evening, they are usually locked, and you need to have an entrance card to get i, which is vaguely inconvenient and a lot of work just to be able to pee. It gets a few extra points for the surreal graffitti. When you’re seated, and you look up, it’s written on the inside of the door that “closed, use toilet on the other side”, but there is no toilet on the other side. It makes no sense. Fortunately, the toilet works just fine.

Hygiene: 5. Clean, light.
Information and location: 3. Hard to find and far away. Locked in the evening.
Reading material: 2. Good light. Nothing to read.
Extra point: Surreal graffitti

I typically do my twice-a-yearly photo days on days where I’m doing something. It wouldn’t have to be much, but they usually are days that are representative, but varied. This time i’m doing the opposite. I’m documenting the exam period. The most monotoneous time of the year.

08.00

Getting out of bed.

09.00

Wasa crackers with peanut butter, water and a side dose of habermas for breafast.

10.00

This year’s first snow. Still reading.

11.00

walking to school. Snow!

12.00

In real life, i was outside watching my friend ernst smoking, but I didn’t take a photo.
This is where i read, and my friends marie and maria who are indeed studying.

13.00

Blindernveien 11. Me and a few other people are going to have an access course.
I forgot all about photos, so i found this online. There is no 14 o’clock photo.

15.00

Went down to wait for a phonecall from techsupport.
This is dinner. Pasta, tomatoe, avocado, peanuts and blue cheese.
It tasted wonderfully.

16.00

I wanted two episodes of goodness gracious me while eating.

17.00

Just after four o’clock i returned to habermas.

18.00

I really wish the techsupport would call me! Still reading about habermas.

19.00

Focus is low. This is my new supermonster. The eater of words.
Scribble scribble. Then returning to studying.

20.00

A helicopter was flying low amongst the houses.

21.00

Some hot chocolate with that Habermas?

22.00

This is me calling techsupport. No, techsupport. It’s not a software problem.
You gave me a fucked computer. It’s a Hardware issue.

23.00

Almost done with good old Jurgen.
The comic on the side was my bedside drawing of last night.

24.00

Mmmm. brushing teeth.

A month or so ago, I applied for this stipendium from the institute of local history. And I just got a phonecall that I got it.

I’m speechless. And very happy.

Today is buy nothing day, and for some reason, the mere existence of this day bugs me more every year. I know that it’s there to get some focus on the over consumption problem, and focusing on that is a good thing. But to me, it’s a bit like saying “i’m fat because I eat too much on christmas eve” thus ignoring the rest of the year.

I was pondering a bit about that a couple of days ago, but ended up eating my words when I opened the paper and read this article by Marta Breen. It was about Judith Levine, the autor of the book and social experiment “not buying it”. She also mentions Ann Christin Gramming, a swedish Librarian who did a follow up, shopping free year.

Inspiration or discouragement?
I guess these people try to set a good example, and I guess all the articles and interviews are there to inspire us mortal people. For me it works in the opposite direction. It makes my everyday efforts seem so small in comparison to theirs. And they are, although I too do try: I choose norwegian made food and products to minimise environment costs; I’m darning my socks and patcing my clothes; I carry a coffee cup because several of the university cafees only have paper cups; and of course I only buy new gadgets and clothes when the old ones stop working. But compared to the “I won’t buy anything for a year” people it’s nothing. But then I started thinking. I weighed the argument back and forth. And then I realised that it’s the same argument as someone aguing: “You say you’re dieting? No you’re not. You’re still eating!”.

Making it simple and manageable
For me, knowing that I should buy norwegian vegetables is a thought I can understand. I get that I must buy safari cookies rather than Maryland because the latter are foreign owned and have twice as much wrapping. I don’t drink bottled water. I can carry a backpack when I don’t need more shopping bags, and I can put the paper waste in a separate wastebin. I manage to do all those singular things most of the time. But when it turns into a complete ideology and a yearlong consumer fast, it’s too much to cope with.  I can’t do that. And judging on what I remember from discussions on the topic, this goes for other people as well. When you try to convince people that they can consume less, you try to make it sound simple. You explain all the little things that make big differences. Not these people. They are explaining the gigantuous effort you can make. And of course they are simultaneously making it alot more difficult for people to cope with.

But it’s buy nothing day. I’m heading down to town to try and buy some new trousers. I bought myself a new pair in july, which is far less than a year ago. And do you know what? I don’t think it makes me an awful consumer junkie.

Of all the abilities I’ve developed over the last few years, the ability to not be stressed because of exams is the one I benefit the most from. Other abilities, like the ability to drink large amounts of beer, or the ability to dance the troika has given me less. I remember the olden days of anxiety, when I would be almost paralysed because my exams were coming.

I especially remember one night just before my early european history exam back in 04. I woke up, bathed in sweat because I had dreamt that on the day of my exam, everyone else had recieved their tasks in advance so that they could prepare themselves, while I myself was completely unprepared. Being ignorant of something like that would be a real nightmare. But fortunately, a nightmare was all it ever was. When I walked into the kitchen that morning, still a bit shaky from the dream, Martine, who was my neighbour entered. She was just as shaky as I was, having dreamt that Valgerd Svarstad Haugland, who was the minister of culture at the time, had given the exams a cultural reform, so that all early european history exams should be written as ballads, and everyone would get marked according to how well the ballad genre was mastered.

During the last five days, I’ve realised that I might be a bit stressed out after all, and although my mind refuses to be aware of this, I think my body notices. And when my body decides to tell me that spending all my late nights bent over a book isn’t healthy, it doesn’t do it quietly. About a week ago, I lost my ability to sleep. Simultaneously, my body decided that all it’s old food allergies should come back at once. Thus, I lay awake until five in the morning, and when I finally fall asleep, I wake up because of stomach cramps. When you’re really tired, locating pain is rather hard, so I wake up because something’s wrong, and I don’t know what it is. Thank you body. That’s not the way to make me relax. It’s actually the only way to make me stressed.

Yesterday, I went up to riksarkivet in order to get a few copies. That was the only thing I was going to do there, as I had about 100 pages on my study plan that day. But as I had my source in my hands, I thought I could just as well take a look. Which led to me finding the most interesting interviews and me being really excited about the source material. For those not in the know, reading gothic handwriting is rather exhausting. You get completely drained. And when I came home, I didn’t end up reading from my crriculum at all. I wish I could call reading my source material useful studying, but so close to my exams, I cant.

Who invented four exams a year during the master program anyway?

Anyway. Here’s the fun bit, but probably most fun for the norwegians, but as i decided to write in english, I wont falter now. One of the things I like, is when accent words, or everyday speak sneek into the formal language of 1801. In the middle of the text below it says: “Dette skib havde eftter Vidnets Meening allerede samme Tid Lagt der i Havnen omtrent 8te Dage, og laa et lite Støkke fra Bryggen”. Isn’t that wonderful?

This is going to be a post about a really nice weekend, but after fruitlessly searching the internet for an English way of saying “Julebord”, i realise that it migt be a scandinavian tradition, thus I need to start this entry with a little explanation:

A julebord is typically the first way of knowing that christmas is approaching. Wait. That’s a lie. After the “how to decorate your house for christmas” magazines pops up in shops in late september, and after the christmas marzipan appears in early october, the series of Julebord in november-december are the third pre-advent warning that christmas is approaching. The julebord is a party that takes place within a group of collegues, club- or organisation members, where christmas food is eaten and where people usually reach their maximum drunkenness limit.

I guess fortid’s julebord didn’t quite fit the stereotype. Firstly, it was a bit early in the month. Secondly, noone threw up on the floor. Thirdly, and most importantly: The food wasn’t christmas food at all, but rather the most impressive range of different dishes I’ve seen in a long time. We hardly had room for our plates at the table, because of the sheer amount of different dishes. It made me wish I had two stomachs, so that I could eat it all. It was also twice as much as anyone could ever hope to be able to eat. If the party had continued for another night, chances are there would still be leftovers.

After the party started to cool down around three o’clock, I ended up joining a few others for a nachspiel. Usually, I’m not too fond of nachspiels. I use to say that even saying the word makes me fall asleep. Friday night was a brilliant exception to that rule.

Kristian had brought his guitar, and we drank whisky and sang our way through several Beatles albums, and before I managed to even think about sleep, it was six o’clock.

I said I’d wake up when I got to the party, and it certainly looks like i was right about that. Needless to say, I had a rather quiet saturday night. I had a friend over for whisky, icecream and backgammon. Life is like it should be.

I’ve been attacked by that all consuming tiredness that just wants me to curl up in bed and hide from the rest of the world. Yesterday, I realised at half past five that I couldn’t understand what I was reading anymore. I got up. Got home. Made fish soup for dinner and went straight to bed and watched a good film. I fell asleep before 12, and decided to sleep until I woke up. I slept until half past nine, when my body rejected everything it had eaten during the last couple of days. When I arrived at school, I was still shaky. Now I just want to go home.

What fascinates me about tiredness, is how it’s rarely proportional with what I have to do, and rarely proportional with how much I work. I can have exhausting weeks, where I work from early in the morning to midnight, and still be up for a beer on friday night.

Tiredness often comes in retrospect. I had one of those 8 in the morning to 2 at night-working weeks about a month ago. Then I went to istanbul and hardly slept at all. It was wonderful, and I wasn’t even remotely tired. Then I got ill and still had a normal working week. Then I went to copenhagen. It was wonderful and had a packed program from early morning to late evening. Of course I wasn’t tired. How could I be. I had a wonderful time. Then I had another normal working week. Still not tired. Still feeling fresh. But now. Suddenly at the end of the week if feels like I’m only artificially awake. My body’s still sleeping.

There’s a party tonight. I bet I’ll wake up when I arrive there. Now I’m returning to my coffee and the theory of the absolute monarchy.

I spend about three textmarkers a month. One yellow, one orange and one pink one. If I add and divide a bit, that amounts to 36 markers a year. And I throw them all away in the end.

Because I felt a bit bad about that, I headed down to the bookstore to buy one of the nifty marker refillers. I used to have one of those some years ago. You just dip your pen into the box, and after a few seconds it’s full of pink highlighter-goodness.

When I came to the bookstore, the shopkeeper looked at me as if was rather strange. Perhaps it was because I was standing next to a tray of highlighters that cost less than a dollar a piece, or perhaps because she hadn’t seen a nifty refiller before. They didn’t have neither a refiller, or an actual refill that you could insert into the old marker.

I’m disappointed. All my good promises are ruined like that.

Whenever I’m done with what’s on my own homemade studyplan each day, I usually plan to reward myself with doing something fun. Usually, however, I reward myself with more studying. Yesterday however, I was done with my reading at two o’clock, and headed down to blitz to eat dinner with Karoline, the girl in red in the istanbul post.

At Karoline’s place, we watched Mio min Mio, which both of us thought we had seen before, but which neither of us had. Although the book made quite the impression on me when I was little, it wasn’t a good film at all. Not only was it too fast for the story, so it felt like something was lacking from every scene, it was also dubbed to Swedish from English, and the dubbed version was the only option. But it brought back childhood memories, and we ate copious amounts of popcorn. So it was all good.

After listening to one of Dan Fägerquist’s songs on the internet, we ended up returning to blitz for the concert. And it was good. He fumbled quite a bit at first, and needed some time to get started, but after about three songs he really put everything he’d got into the performance.

I’m almost surprised he didn’t fall off the chair.