Away from home

So this week is a busy one, with many photographs and posts to come, but I'm traveling.

I spent almost 48 hours in New York, popping in for Megan's wedding, visiting with Cousin Jane and her husband Shane and doing things like wander my old neighborhood and get my hair cut.

Then off to Gainesvegas for a quick visit with Big D and the family for a few days.

Sweet Huband is at a crucial part in his project so he couldn't scoot off with me. He's at home with the rest of the Pack, but is keeping me updated.

It's good to be here for a visit, but better when we're all together.

But I'll be back in Stavanger on Monday...

5:30 am in Brooklyn

I've never been a good sleeper.  

Unless I am extra exhausted, I tend to be restless and wake up ultra early.  Up until just a few years ago, I would have really wild dreams in which my teeth fall out* while riding motorcycles and shooting guns. 

While I still get up early, the restlessness and crazy dreams have waned a bit, but as a general rule, being good at sleeping is not in my skill set.

When I lived in New York, when I would wake up early, often I would just get up.  

The sun would be barely rising, but when the choices were sit in my apartment with my thoughts and cleaning to be done or go out and see what the city was up to while I mulled, the choice was obvious.

The time in New York when the sun is rising is one of the few relatively quiet times in the city.  Sure there are some sounds, but the horns that were blaring at 4am, aren't now.  The giant motorcycles aren't pulsing down the street.  And no one is talking all that loud.  While there is always activity, it's really calm. 

Sometimes I would go running** on the West Side down to Battery Park. I would watch the boats on the water and scoot by the public art along the way (You have to know where to look, but it's there...a giant chess board, odd little statues and weird oblelisks staggered in the park.)

But my favorite was just to wander south, through Washington Square Park, down through Soho and into Chinatown.  I would pass by the club kids heading home and the allnight partyers making "the walk of shame."  

I know where the vendors keep their carts, locked up in an alley right off Houston Street.  When they gather to pick up their carts, and wheel them out, it's like an awesome parade that trails off into their own specific directions.  

Then on to my favorite---the fishmongers of Chinatown.  Seriously, perhaps it's creepy and strange, but I love to watch the process --- a whole fish, sliced and diced, lightening quick and put into its place on the cool ice.  (I feel the same way about meat stores as well.  It's just orderly, skilled and artful.) 

I would wander a while more and watch the city wake up.  Then I would head back home and get ready to move onto my own day.  

I think of it now, as I sit in my cousin's apartment in Brooklyn.  I've gotten up early, not only because I do, but because I am still on Norwegian time and in my head it's almost time for lunch.  The buildings are tall and shiny in the near distances and the sun is streaking the sky with reds and yellows and blues.

*Yes, I know this means a fear of growing up coupled with a desire for freedom, along with other general anxieties.  I'm over it now.  Thanks.

**Yes, yes, I did.

Sixth Monthaversary

We don't always leave the country or even the house for the monthaversary.

Sometimes we stay home.

For our sixth monthaversary, Husband, who is a great cook, but is also nortoriously slow, made me dinner. I didn't even have to chop, which I normally love to do, but just didn't feel like today. We had spent the morning, shopping for goods that we don't need for a while and I was tired. But not too tired to climb on a chair to attempt to get a photo of all of us.


Then Husband showed me an easier way to take a family photograph. which still didn't work, at least not exactly. Often you hear celebrities complain about the paparazzi,* but I think it would be great to have photographers around. I would totally let them into the house, too, but would hope they would stay off the furniture.

This is how it started out...Mmmmm mmmm mussels.

This is how it ended up...Mmmmm mmmm mussels.

And while Husband is slow on cooking, I am quick to stain my clothes. So I changed before we took the last photo.

Next month, Paris!

*As a once, current and future celebrity reporter, I can attest, this sentiment is phony on a variety of levels.

While there are some people (the Jolie-Pitts, anyone getting married, etc...) that the paparazzi hound unmercilessly, take a close look at where most of the photographs are taken. They are outside of Green Door, the Ivy, particular LA-area Starbucks, etc... While ocassionally the paparazzi are hanging on the street or sidewalks outside of the celebrity's house, it's usually when there is a scandal or a movie coming out.

I am not condoning stalking at all, I am merely saying that, in many cases, the attention that the celebrity decries in public is courted in a variety of ways. Also, especially when a project is released to the public, so is the celebrity. And then each caption will say, "Jane Doe, star of Movie, and her pekipoo Lala nosh on organic chickpeas with an unidentified male companion. Who is he?" Each mention in print is a coup.

Skype and A Small Lesson on International Mail

Skype is the schnizzle.  

When we moved here, Husband hooked me up with Skype, which, for the uninitiated --- and in its most simple definition --- is direct connection over the internet. 

A quick program download turns your computer into a phone.  Add a (relatively) cheap video attachment to your computer and presto!  you have an in-home video conference.  

It's free from computer to computer, and just a few pennies (or kroner) to call a land line or a cell phone.*  

Next to Husband, Lillie and my red cowboy boots, Skype is one of my very favorite things.  

When we moved here, several of my best friends, who didn't have the program already, loaded Skype onto their computer and got the little video attachment.  

So --- not nearly frequently enough --- we will figure out time zones and schedule a visit. 

It's really like the weirdest television show, ever.  Along with the main stars of the program, occasionally there will be guest stars or a field trip.  To wit:

Megan and I have discussed the final details of her upcoming wedding, then we've introduced my Lillie 

to her Adele (the Airedale).

 

When Kathleen and I talk, often her daughters, Addie and Lula, who are some of my favorite short people ever, will pop in to tell me about school.  And on occasion, Kathleen has walked me (the camera) through their new house so Addie could show me their new pink room.  

In the middle of a visit with Wendy, Husband will sit down for a minute to say hello and to discuss the waves and their common love of surfing. 

(And that's just what happens with the friends who have video.  Guests drop in as well when it's only voice, too.)

All that to say, I love Skype, almost as much as I love my friends.*  

Husband and I are all the way over here and they are all the way over there, but with a little bit of timing, all that can work out.  

Everyone (for now) can live where-ever we are and if you forget about the time difference for a while, it's almost like they are next door. 

A few weeks ago, Wendy and I were visiting. I was filling her in on some news, which included a a ridiculous story about crying over udon noodles a few nights before. 

This is the Reader's Digest Condensed version of the story for the curious: 

It all began when Husband said "What would you like for dinner tonight?"

And the first words that popped out of my mouth were "Doc Chey's," which is an Asian restaurant we used to frequent in Atlanta.  And the minute I said it, I wanted it so badly I couldn't think of anything else.  

But there is no Doc Chey's here---not even a close approximation. 

So, I got a little teary eyed.  Luckily for Husband, who is patient and kind about these things, it only lasted a few minutes.  

Then we went and got a burger, which is a close approximation of any burger I have known and rated 5 on a scale of 1-10.

She laughed for a while, then said, "We have that here, all over the place."  

Then she was quiet for a while and said, "You know, you probably need some pudding, too."

And immediately, I realized that I did.  I needed pudding and badly.

So 6,819 miles and slightly more than two weeks later, this is what arrived.  

Look closely at the label. 

It says "Used Clothes."

While that is not entirely untrue...

Inside were two articles of clothing.  Both of which I have decided are good luck because one has been worn happily by Wendy and the other has been passed down from Kathleen to Wendy. 

It is also not entirely true...the package was not full of only used clothing.**  

Inside (and you'll have to trust me on this...) dear Wendy had not only stuffed in packages of udon noodles and boxes of pudding, but also a note covered with good wishes.  

And underneath that note were things I didn't even know to want, at least not yet. But every single thing shoved into the package was thoughtful and exactly right.  (Though there was one item I desperately hope I will not need or want anytime in either the near or distant future.  Though it is good to be prepared, for sure.) 

What did I do with udon noodles and packages of pudding?

Of course I immediately made a (simple) lunch which consisted of one bowl of awesome and a cup of pudding-y goodness.

Then I ate it. 

What happened to the rest of the pudding?  I put it in the refrigerator with a note.***  

*You're welcome Skype.  Now I would like some free things, please.

**It's all about the taxes. 

***Don't worry.  Husband understands, plus I made him brownies.

One of the Few Times I Will Ever Discuss Bodily Functions

Our sweet Lillie is an American Bulldog. 

(American Bulldogs have occasional skin issues.  This is one of those times.  She is wearing a cone until one of her paws heals. Poor sweet Lillie.) 

For those that aren't familiar with the breed, those dogs tend to be overwhelming good-looking, fiercely loyal, slightly clownish and just smart enough.  

They also often have slight issues with flatulence.  

When we lived in Atlanta and (Not Quite Yet) Husband worked from his home office, Lillie and Milo would lie at his feet and slumber peacefully all day.

But Lillie just can't help herself.

I would often get a text from (Not Quite Yet) Husband that would read simply, "Ack, Ack. Am choking on Lillie fumes. xo."

But Lillie is an integral part of The Pack, so we (meaning me especially) tend to overlook her few flaws, including the flaws we (meaning me especially) would find repugnant in almost any other creature. 

We (meaning me especially) even tend to think of the small "pffffsssstttttts" that escape from her hind regions as special little fragrant blown kisses. 

We even find them amusing when they are slightly louder and she'll spend several minutes startled and befuddled, wondering where did that come from???

We (meaning me especially) tolerate because this because we love her. 

These days, because I do not currently have a J-O-B, often I am at home much of the day.  And while the sweet dogs slumber (punctuated by Lillie's air kisses), I sometimes keep the television on in the background. 

I favor a mix of CNN and Norwegian Children's television. That way, I am either learning about what's happening in the world, or subconsciously adding to my meager Norwegian vocabulary.

Right now, this is the commercial that is on practically every single second and it drives me nuts. 

Imagine it dubbed into Norwegian, if you can.  

Traveling 4,209.19 Miles of Makes No Dang Sense

As you may know, Husband and I got married almost six months ago.  

We had a very short engagement of only eight weeks.  In that time, Big D (my mother for those who just arrived) and our friends and family pulled together so we could have a wedding that was lovely, and, in record time. 

Overall, everyone was incredibly generous in myriad ways from events to gifts to all sorts of unexpected and lovely kindnesses, so naturally that means thank you notes should be soon on the way. 

We had our hands full with moving and getting settled and a few other family worries, so the notes did not go out absolutely immediately, but they did go out, well under the Emily Post-prescribed time period.  

Some were even written twice, but that is not the point of this missive...

What I mean to share today is a letter we received last week.  

You'll have to trust me on some of the following information because, in the interests of privacy---the intended recipients', not mine---you'll see I have shielded some of the information on the envelope...

This is a note that was posted from the Stavanger Post Office more than ten weeks ago.  

The problem is, apparently, the people to whom the note was addressed have moved.  And, in the time between sending my wedding invitation and sending the thank you note, their forwarding address has expired. 

So as a matter of protocol, the US Postal Service sent it back to us.  

As an American citizen, a long time resident and United States Postal Service user for more than 36 years, I understand this system. 

Someone in the Gainesvegas Post Office had to handle that note, look up the new address, print out a sticker, affix that sticker, flip over the letter for the return address, see the address in Norway and then toss it into the "international" or perhaps "Europe" bin. 

And then, some time later, that note arrived back to us, here in Stavanger, Norway.

What a giant waste, of time, resources and money. 

That $2.50US that we spent to mail it from Stavanger, Norway to Gainesvegas, Georgia, United States, is just a fraction of the roundtrip cost.

I also know from the time period, that, even if I missed the forwarding window of time, it was only by a few days, at most. 

The Gainesvegas Postal Service People know where this letter should have gone. Both the old and the new addresses are in the Gainesvegas city limits, exactly 3.81 miles from each other.  

So, really, Postal Service People, don't get me wrong.  I admire your "neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night..." brand of perseverance. I'm really sorry you sometimes have to deal with vicious dogs and that whole "going postal" reference is really bad PR.  

But let's be clear here:  I pay taxes to the US government.  The US government runs the US Postal Service.  So, even if it's just a teeny tiny portion, I pay your salary, so that kind of makes me your boss, even if it only works out to a fraction of a second of one day every few years.  

So, I'd like to use my moment of authority right now to say: What were you thinking?  How could it make ANY sense to send a letter back over the 4,213 miles it had just traveled instead of just forwarding it on 3.81 miles to its real destination?

Seriously, peoples. 

In Which I Explain Red Carpets and Introduce a Candidate Better Than the Wrinkly White Haired Guy

On red carpets, the order of celebrities is fixed and firm.* 

And how much control any reporter is allowed in their questioning is in direct inverse order to the particular celebrity's fame. 

The socialites, party girls and reality stars come first posing and preening, while the big circulation magazine reporters talk to each other instead of asking them even the most meager of questions.**  They usually don't have handlers or publicists.

Next are the up-and-comers, the kids who are debuting in the Next Big Show on the network. Often they will come in a group with one handler or they will each travel down the line of reporters, but their publicists will be junior.  (This will change over the course of the season according to the show's popularity, if one actor dates another in real life or if "secret" naked shots are "found.")

Then come the D listers, who were once on a  hit television show, but have been on hiatus or on an extended vacation. They will have publicists who will helpfully offer tips on lines of questioning and any access necessary.  Often the actor will be standing there looking a little plaintive, so you humor the publicist.  Plus, often you loved that actor in when you were in middle school, so it's kind of cool.

Then the C-listers, who are niche actors.  They are either eagerly clambering up the next two rungs of the alphabet ladder or are just confident and happy about where they are. Often, if they are well-managed and smart, they've have branched out into producing or writing.  

So really they just don't care a bit about this event and will love it if you've done your homework and know their resume.  They have slightly pushy publicists who will either stand back calmly and let you chat or will tap their foot smugly.

B-Listers and A-Listers often slip between the two levels depending on their visibility on any given day. Both have solid careers and name recognition, and the shift often comes when that actor has a project coming out.  (B-Listers come before the A-Listers on the red carpet, of course.)  

Both have toe-tapping publicists, but the real key comes with the amount of questions allowed.

The publicists of B-Listers, say "Two questions, ONLY." (Note: Be warned---If one of these is "Hi How are you today?" That counts.) 

Publicists of A-Listers, smile and say "Sorry, we're just doing photos today."

Then there are the ones that defy any category...the REALLY big stars.  They always have publicists who are cold, but friendly.  These stars talk all they'd like to the news outlets they like and to the journalists they know. 

Then when the doors to the event are almost closed, here comes another round of the socialites and party girls.

All this to say, that back when celebrity reporting was my full-time job, I remember when Paris was in the groups at the very beginning and at the very end, stopping in a few of the alphabet stations along the way.  If there were photographers, she would go to the opening of a window as well as the VH1 Music Awards After Party at the Four Seasons.  

Because those sorts of things were in my job description as well, I've interviewed her sporadically her over the years. (And once, after an interview, I ask her to give back the fuzzy fingerless gloves she wore for a photo shot.)  

While, I've always though she was more intelligent than her vapid onscreen persona would have you believe, I am impressed with her newly unveiled knowledge, grasp of politics and prowess in the matters of energy conservation.

So, while I am wholeheartedly supporting Obama, if for some reason you can't get behind him, Vote for Paris.  

I'm fairly certain she'd be better than the Wrinkly White Haired Guy.

Loves it.

See more funny videos at Funny or Die

(From Funny or Die via Gawker)

* This is merely the condensed version of the Red Carpet Rules.  There are many nuances and exceptions to each rule. Trade secrets, you understand.  I'd tell you, but you'd have to pay me. 

**Unless of course that socialite, party girl or reality star is dating or working on a "project" with a celebrity who ranks at least in the first three letter of the alphabet.

Publicist wanted

I hope Obama gets elected for a variety of reason, not the least of which is that because I hope he'll hire a better PR rep than the current administration has. 

Seriously, every single day, I am appalled at what non-Americans seem to think. For example, let me share a portion of a conversation I had just last week. 

(NOTE: I am going to disguise the person's sex as well as switch out the nationality because that person may read this, though I doubt it.  I don't want to hurt its feelings, but I've been thinking about it and it's my blog. The most surprising thing is that this person is travelled and educated, though they have never visited the US.)  

Person I Know: So what do you find most different about Norway from the US?

Me: (Not really focused, so I give some innocuous answer about the number of hours of daylight or other general topic.)

PIK: Really, that's it?

Me: Oh I don't know, there are loads of things that are different, but that is true of pretty much anywhere, but really it's all good.

PIK: What about the Coke bottles?

Me: (Confused) Excuse me?

PIK: You know---The Coke bottles, they are smaller here.  Aren't they giant in America?  You guys are so consumer-focused.  Do you even drink all of it?

Me: Ohhhhh, you mean because we Americans like giant things and are so wasteful?

PIK:  Yeah.

Me: Ohhhhh, well then, definitely.  The Coke bottles here are so weird and small, but I don't care.  I like to buy them anyway, take a sip, then throw it away, just because I can.

PIK: (Not looking in the slightest bit confused and clearly NOT getting what I hope is my polite sarcasm.) We were thinking about going to visit America. My partner's been there, and loves it, but I don't think I want to go.

Me:  Oh really?  There are so lovely and interesting places to visit.  Let me know if and where you choose, I'd love to offer some suggestions if you need it.

PIK: Well, I have heard it's really cheap there.

Me:  I guess it depends on where you go, but the dollar is pretty weak, so it may seem cheap, at least right now. 

PIK: I really meant the food at the all you can eat buffets. 

Me: What?

PIK: Well, aren't most of the American restaurants fast food and all-you-can-eat buffets, so they can eat giant portions. 

(We go back and forth on this for a minute because I am just not sure I've heard correctly.)

Me: That's not where all or even most of the Americans eat all the time.  At least not the ones I know.  Maybe if you are old or live in Nebraska. 

PIK:  Well, that's what I have heard. 

Me: Well, please don't believe it and let me know if you go.

PIK: Well, don't you have thoughts about where I am from?

Me: Sure, all you guys are blonde, wear wooden shoes, have windmills in your backyard, frequent hookers and are constantly high. 

PIK: That's not true.

Me: Really?

A Cookout (or "The Beginnings of a Brainteaser with Just a Little More Effort")

Even though the weather report forecasted rain (for the most part, when doesn't it?), last week, Erin and Kyrre hosted a cook-out. 

It was a really fun mixed group, both nationally (Norwegians, Americans, Dutch, Australian, Swedish/Italian, Venezuelan) as well as professionally (school administrator, various kinds of project managers, engineer, journalist, consultant, physician), so it was pretty lively overall.

And no, this is not the beginning of a brainteaser, though it could be:  

Eleven people were at a barbeque. Six were women and five were men. The majority were European--- 4.5 of these were Scandinavian---but there was also one South American, one Australian and three Americans.  Everyone has a profession, but some don't work in an office. Four were drinking beer pulled from a Norwegian's purse where it had been stuffed.  Three were drinking champagne.  One was drinking a fruit cocktail that most of the rest thought was stiff with vodka.  Eight sat on chairs, while one lounged and sneaked bits of sausage to a sweet dog who just wandered up.  The Norwegian, Dutch, French and English languages were all used, often in the same conversation. So who was a vegetarian?

(I used to love those.) 

But back to the shindig.  

Husband was charged with opening the champagne bottle.  He aimed it out the window because he didn't want to put an eye out, at least not one of anyone we knew.

Then the guys went outside to help Kyrre get the grill going. Truthfully, I'm not sure Kyrre needed the help, but the rest of the men enjoyed it. 

Kyrre and Husband are hard at work.  Note that Husband is wearing my flip-flops, over his socks.  When I noticed my shoes had gone missing (remember no one wears shoes inside houses in Norway...) I immediately (and with Erin's permission) stole a pair of Kyrre's.

Most of the rest of the crowd on K&E's back porch, waiting on the good eats.

Alex is a bit sassy and grins when she sees cameras in the vicinity, Åshlid, while also sassy, missed the grin moment.

Alex does not know that dog, but thought it looked hungry.

Husband is not a grump, he's just playing one in this photo.

Eva is trying her sausage wrapped in a potetkaker, which a sort of potato pancake. It's used instead of buns.  It's really tasty and much lighter and you can still stuff it full of the good stuff like sauerkraut and ketchup. 

Eventually, the party moved inside.