According to the Norwegian Eurovision presenter, there was shock and uproar in Slovenia when it turned out that the winning act (the singing air hostesses – Sestre) were in fact male… Well, all I can say is that if people were shocked, they deserved to be – it’s not exactly the most convincing drag I’ve ever seen. It’s on the level of I might have been too polite to ask, but I would certainly word myself carefully.

I’m listening to a compilation tape (in this age of recordable cds, mp3s and sophisticated digital jukeboxes, does anyone else still make compilation tapes?) that I made after my last serious attempt at flirting (with the view of getting to the next stage) in recent years. It ended in disaster as usual. My faith in Mr. Right, combined with the “If I can’t have Mr. Right I don’t want anyone” attitude, is normally enough to keep me out of emotional tangles, but every now and again (from what, for the sake of the argument, I’ll call acute loneliness) I end up in a state of mind that goes something like this: “Well, there’s no reason not to like this guy, really, so if I tell myself often enough that I’m really interested, maybe I’ll believe it…” In Norway we have the saying “Du juger så du tror det sjøl” (“You lie so well that you’ve convinced yourself” – or thereabouts), and that’s exactly what I do.

It all goes swimmingly for anything from an hour to a few months, and then one day I wake up and think: “What the hell was I thinking?!” Occasionally I have by then been convincing enough to land myself in a situation where I have to explain as kindly as I can that “Oops, I did it again” (yes, I’m quoting Britney Spears – call it comic relief, if you like). You know the kind of stuff… “It’s not you, it’s me” (which is both true and incredibly false at the same time), “I’m just not ready for that sort of commitment” (with you, anyway), “I’m moving back to Norway in a month, so what’s the point?” (very useful, that, though it depends on the other person’s persistence – what would I do if he said he’d move too?), and so on.

I suspect a lot of people do this sort of thing, except some are better at ignoring the facts than others, and some, it seems, manage to get themselves married before they get around to facing them. Luckily, I’m not likely to do anything like that. However, the whole thing normally leaves me not liking myself very much for a while, because I’ve always, on some level, been aware of what I was doing (hindsight being 20/20 I can see that), and the fact that I’ve been fucking up my own emotions doesn’t really excuse fucking up someone else’s.

Anyhoo, this tape is quite definitely “under the influence”… A selection, with varying relevance:

Not the Doctor – Alanis Morisette
Any Man of Mine – Shania Twain
Here I go Again – Whitesnake
Så nære vi var – Lillebjørn Nilsen
Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad – Meatloaf
Bitch – Meredith Brooks

and A Woman’s Needs, with Elton John and Tammy Wynette, which is a song which goes well with any split personality moods I have in this context, I sing along happily to both voices (“A ring on my finger, Champagne on ice…” and “you know that I love you, but I love to be free…”).

And then there’s Kråka på taket, by Di Derre, which I might translate for you later, if I can be bothered.

Nice and cheery.

Music in the room: Just Older (Bon Jovi)

This should have been posted a few hours ago, but something was up with blogger. It’s not necessarily worth reading, but I’m a stubborn sort of gal so here goes:

So.

I’m at work and I don’t want to be. It’s amazingly sunny outside. I have tomorrow off (Nicolette’s coming) and Friday (it’s 17 May, the Norwegian national day) and Monday (Pentecost), and I’ve just finished a major piece of work. There are several niggling little things I ought to do, but I have no energy, no motivation to make an effort for another hour. There must be some documentation I can try to keep busy with. Or I could use an hor of flexi-time and abandon ship at three. Actually, that sounds like a really good idea. I could do with the time, anyway, as I went to the gym yesterday instead of cleaning (could’ve done both, but didn’t feel like doing anything much after the workout). So I have to do the cleaning today.

Enthralling reading, isn’t it?

Music in my head: “If I could read your mind…” (and so on, Vonda SHepard, don’t know whether that’s the title or just a line from the refrain)

What with the mailserver being erratic, I sent something to a customer from my web interface for the sandlund.net account. A little later the mailserver calmed down, and I forgot. I was therefore very surprised at not having a reply to my e-mail. So I get home and download mail from sandlund.net, and guess what? There’s my reply. Stupid. Stupid. Oh, well.

Quote from The Unplesantness at the Bellona Club (Sayers, see Currently reading for more):
“(…) he was a professional heart-breaker. He used to gather people up hungrily in his great arms, you know–that’s always rather irresistible.”

“Erratic” is also I nice word as detached from its meaning, I think. I like the way it sounds. But I do not like it applied to the mail server at work, which was appropriate today. Actually, it seemed to be just me having problems, so maybe the server just doesn’t like me?

Music in my head: Don’t go breaking my heart (Elton John and whoever)

“Logistics” is a nice word. I like it. It sounds like it means something rather different from what it does mean. Sounds like a new departure in philosophy, in fact. The actual meaning is pretty interesting, too, though less so than the meanings one can imagine.

I suppose you had to be there.

Hm, wonder if I can sneak in trip to gym today in addition to cleaning some (really necessary, I find that when I know I need to do a “proper clean”, because I’m having visitors, for example, I tend to go all lax a week or so before, so that when I come to do the “proper clean”, the flat is actually in a much worse state than it would normally be in when it’s just me). Was mightily cheered yesterday in finding cycling back from work that the climb from town was much less tiresome than it has been before. Could just be a freak occurence, but also could be that gym is actually helping.

Reading Salmon of Doubt yesterday I was again hit by the incredible feeling of loss that Douglas Adams’ death last year produced. Stephen Fry says in the foreword that one of the qualities of DNA’s writing was the feeling it produces in the reader that he is talking to you and you only. That, while other people may admire him (only proper) and enjoy the books, you are the only one who really gets it. I think he is perfectly right, that is precicely the feeling you get. Or I get, anyway. Which makes his death seem so much a personal loss, rather than just a “Oh, that’s sad” kind of occurrence. It all reminds me, though, that I need to update the Adams page in the bookshelf.

Music in my head: Just Like a Woman (Dylan)

The more I think about it, the more I realise that this blog stuff is a really weird form of communication. It’s very personal and completely detached at the same time. It’s immediate, but it’s also available long-term (as long as the archives work). It’s honest in a way, more honest (in the sense of open) than I normally am face to face with people. On the other hand, the persona I project in the blog is as edited as the persona I project in real life. It’s just edited differently. I am honest and open about different things. Or about the same things in a different way. I don’t know. In real life, I’m a terrible liar. It’s easier to lie in writing. You can’t see my face. Actually, I’m worse at lying if I get asked an unexpected question. If I’m unprepared. That also makes lying in writing easier. I can stop and think and make the lie more convincing. Which is not to say that everything in this blog is a lie. Far from it. It is a truth of sorts. Edited truth, though. I’m not as much of an exhibitionist as I sometimes must appear.

The scary part, or the exiting part, depending on which way you look at it, is not knowing who reads this. I mean, I know some of the people who read this. Some of them I’ve even met in real life. For the rest, who knows? My next-door neighbour? My boss? My best friend? A weird little lady in Fulham, and her cat? A super-intelligent shade of blue?

One thing is certain, the comments make this much more fun than it would otherwise have been. I like comments (hint, hint).

Am half-watching Jack of All Trades while writing this. Funny. I want the Dragoon’s cape. Nice red velvet.

Music in my head: The Roger Ramjet theme song (set off, no doubt, by the Jack of All Trades theme song, but not the same tune at all, of course. The tune itself is really called something else, but I can’t remember what. Think it’s a Sousa march, actually. Anyway, it’s in my head with the Roger Ramjet lyrics, so what does it matter. Think I need to go an put some other music on…)

I HAVE SALMON OF DOUBT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Doing jiggy-dance (just in my head, though, other people at work, too…)

Unfortunately, also have work to do, so can’t go home submerge.

Why, when there is finally something to write home about/use war-type headlines for/sound in barbaric yawp over the rooftops is no fuss made anywhere at all? (Except here!)

Remembered what it was I was going to check yesterday. Yay me.

Also found my favourite summery trousers without turning the flat upside down and shaking it. Yay me.

Went to the gym. Yay me.

Unfortunately, came out around dinner time and there’s a kebab-shop just across the street. Oh well, proteins are good for you, I’ve heard.

Music in my head: Underneath Your Clothes (Shakira – I find myself liking that song, didn’t like the previous one, oh well)