30 000 pictures

The counter on my Canon EOS 40d just reset itself for the third time since i got my beloved camera back in 2008. This means that I’ve take more then 30 000 pictures with it. All this hard work has taken it’s toll. Also, being in my possession is not always easy. You might have read about what I did to my laptop a few weeks ago. My laptop have had it’s struggles, having been brought back to life 4 times by experimental fixes of this sort: “Hey, Peder (my brother)! Which of these parts is the hard drive?”. My camera has simply not been dead enough for this yet, but much to the dismay of my parents, I have never hesitated to take it out in all kinds of weather. After all, I didn’t get an expensive semi-professional camera so it could sit on a shelf and look fancy all day, did I? It has proven relatively “Ankiproof”, but now it is a bit of a senior citizen of cameras and the decay is starting to show in the form of dead pixels, sensor blooming and the likes. Also, the amount of times I’ve dropped it and nearly drowned it may not have helped. With all it’s flaws it’s still a damn good camera, but it’s lifespan might be nearing the end. So what to do? Should I spend more money on a similar camera?

I think it’s time I try something new. I have been on the lookout for perfect shots for years, and it was only recently that I realized I’ve brainwashed myself. You know there is something wrong with you when you can’t enjoy a view if you know it wouldn’t look good on camera. Like an angry little wasp, you feel cheated that the world would dare to taunt you by showing you something you can’t attach to film and put your name on. There is a little demon in the back of my mind that tells me I can make a beautiful scenery my art if I can catch it on camera. This funny way of thinking can only be the works of my ego, which is always lurking in the shadows, pulling string, tying knobs and cutting corners whenever the opportunity comes.

This has been taking the joy out of photograph for me for some time, and last year was my least productive year in a looooong time. Even when I do take a lot of pictures, they tend to stack up to the virtual ceiling of my hard drive, awaiting sorting and adjusting.

For years, I’ve been into surrealism and meanings that are unclear even to myself when I paint or draw. I love when I can just let my mind go, draw a random line, and my brain will immediately apply all kinds of images and meanings to it, in order to understand and categorize it. Later, I almost feel like I can psychoanalyze myself by looking at my drawings and symbols I never consciously put there. I think it’s time to try to apply that to my photography. I might not be better, or ever good at all, but at least I might enjoy it more.

As far as drawing goes, I’ve been into faces and people for some time now. I’ve changed my sketching technique a lot, and this has helped me to draw more. I’m a lot happier with my drawings now, though a lot of them are quite weird. I suppose it reflects the mind behind it :P Here are a few of my drawings:

I have also been doing some more naturalistic portraits of different people. The one below is of snowboarder Markus Malin. The same person I posted a drawing of a few weeks ago. Had to do another one, because the last one was really bugging me. I’ve overdone the contrasts as usual.

 I used permanent markers and ballpoint pen for this one, but I had to remove most of the color because it was a bit too much up close as I used shades of orange and red. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually wish I would have scanned it in 300 dpi instead of 600. Oh well, probably wouldn’t have made a difference. Also, it’s drawn on the cheapest paper you could get, because this paper is actually perfect for my markers and much better then thick, expensive paper.

Car crash

Since this blog is called ”Life in the rear-view mirror”, I figured it was time for a story of what I saw in the rear-view mirror the other day. It was something I try very hard not to fear. Because even though fear is quite a rational response to what my eyes were telling me, blind fear is rarely helpful. Every idle moment while driving (which seem to grow on trees these days as driving becomes less and less challenging) my mind occupies itself by playing out all kinds of scenarios that could occur if I mess up. First I thought it was the product of my anxiety, then I figured it was the mental doodles of my dwindling concentration, later I have found it to be quite helpful as it have gotten increasingly realistic and well calculated. Anyway, I had been over this in my head many times. I don’t remember thinking, but I acted, apparently. Because when my car shot forward, and not by its own force, I had my left foot on the clutch and the right had only just lifted from the break to let my car roll it off when about 2 tons of Audi rear-ended my little Hyundai Getz (speed limit was 70 km/h). It took my brain only a moment to come up with everything I had ever learned about collisions of this sort. Had it stuck with its normal pace I may not have flipped back to reality fast enough to remember that my car was still moving. As I hit the brakes and came to a smooth stop I was concentrating on sitting still. Why? The top result returned from my brain search was “neck injuries”. It had also bothered to come up with every memory on how to tackle this. Luckily my neck was fine. But, had my brain worked half as good as this when I try to dedicate it to my schoolwork, I would be a top student. However, my brain seem to take a particular liking to anything involving high speed and danger, so naturally, it refuses to remember anything I don’t need to know to survive such activities. I even remembered to check if the car was in gear before letting go of the clutch for crying out loud! Who the fuck remembers that while wondering if their neck is seriously injured? I wish my head had a shift stick so I could just change gear when I wanted to think this fast. I feel a bit cheated, though I should just shut up and be happy I think fast when I need to.

I also remembered something else that came in handy. If I put off driving for too long, I would be afraid, very afraid. When I finally figured enough was enough, and got behind the steering wheel again two days later, my hands were trembling, I felt sick and my eyes where wet with tears. Having just found out my Getz was damaged bad enough it would never be back on the road again didn’t help. I know it would only get worse the longer I let my fear pull my strings. When I got out on the road I was definitely getting emotional, but I found I that I was almost willing myself to drive like I was scared. I’ve always found my own relationship with negative emotions to be slightly disconcerting, but this was just downright senseless. So I quickly gave up and fell into my old habits of cutting turns and driving as fast as I can possibly justify. I was definitely scared of something, but what? I’m a pretty good driver (if I have to say so myself) and at that point in time, I might be scared of driving, but I just wasn’t scared of my own driving, if that makes any sense. The following day, I and my mum went to the nearest city, two hours away. At this point, it became clear that my newfound fear just wouldn’t take, and it was soon put in the corner by the itching in my fingers when I was in the passenger seat. I ended up driving most of the way.

I was still scared of something though. Right after the accident, the muscles in my neck was twitching uncontrollably when I was cold. I hadn’t experienced it since, but when we stopped to have a look at my car on the way home, just the sight of it had my neck twitching again. I suppose this is normal, but it really bugs me that I just can’t put my finger on exactly what I am afraid of.

At first I was quite keen on just leaving the whole thing behind and try not to think about it anymore. But this feels a bit like lying to myself, and this is probably the number one thing I just can’t wrap my stubborn head around. I am a terrible liar, and like my immune system goes after a virus, my mind will go after a lie, hunt it down and refuse to take my focus of it until it’s dead and gone, or I’m dead and gone... or I’m so sorry that I wish I was dead and gone. Any of those will do. So you can understand, I needed to work this out another way.

I came to think of those life changing revelations that I’ve heard of, the ones that happens to people when they almost die in an accident. I want one of those. I realize I didn’t almost die and my brain realizes this too, unfortunately, so I wasn’t about to get one for free any time soon. But who says I can’t make one? After all, it’s all in the mind right? And you know what they say about mind over matter and all that stuff. Who is to say that my mind didn’t almost die of fright? Okey, I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s 3 am when I’m writing this and I’m expecting that this is starting to show... but bear with me, I’m almost done. I’m not saying I’m seriously mentally damage, it’s not time to lock me up just jet, but I was shaken up a bit. Maybe if I stir the pot some more I might have something to work with. It is defiantly wouldn’t hurt to switch up my understanding of fear and what is dangerous.

I used to think snowboarding was dangerous and my parents are always hoping I will give it up and get into something different, like... knitting or something. But if you look at it rationally, getting to the resort is the really dangerous part. I could break a nail or twist a knee if I go snowboarding, but if I take my car out on the road, someone might have to scrape me of the asphalt and fit me in the statistics. I’ve never tried it, but I’m sure it would be very unpleasant. Maybe I should loosen up and relax a little bit.

Today I was out to get some pictures of a ship that has gotten stuck not too far from here and afterwards I ended up on a beach all the way out on the coast in Grotle (Norway) just before sunset. It was quite windy and I always find the ocean strangely enchanting. I had a real good time climbing rocks, walking in the sand and taking pictures for almost an hour while the sun was slowly setting on the horizon. I started thinking about the waves and the warnings from my grandfather and my good friend Janne. I grew up in a small town next to a fjord where the water was mostly quiet. As a child, I spent nearly every waking hour all summer in the water. I learned to swim at an early age and became very comfortable in the water. I never really learned to fear it. I know of waves, I’ve sailed in two meter high waves around Lindesnes in a 30 feet sail boat. My dad even had to let me steer so I wouldn’t get seasick. In later years I have been told of how the ocean can change in a second. One moment it is playfully reaching for your feet, the next it is pulling you down into your wet grave. I know this, but I can’t tell the good from the bad until its right on top of me. I didn’t realize it until my grandfather told me I was lucky I wasn’t dead after a photo shoot I and a friend did during a storm. Not everything is what it seems and fear is often misguided and misunderstood. It is not always the face of reason though it may seem like it. Someone cleaver once said something like this: you should change your mind from time to time just to keep it clean.

Now my neck is twitching again... I hope that’s going to stop soon, because it’s driving me crazy!

Here is what I meant to take pictures of:



This is what first distracted me:



This is what distracted me even more:

Pick your brain

I started to write the beginning of this about a year ago. I’ve currently got a LOT of time on my hands so I figured it’s time to finish some of the stuff I have started to write and hopefully post more often.

A few days ago I was reading about Kevin Pearce on the internet. As you may know he’s a pro snowboarder who had a terrible accident exactly a year ago when I’m writing this. His story could very well have ended here, but he somehow pulled trough and has made a miraculous recovery. However, this is all over the internet for everyone to read so let’s get down to the point: I found his story truly inspiring as I am recovering from a slightly less serious sports-injury… a ruptured ACL… like I said: a slightly less serious injury :P As the winter is passing slowly and painfully snowboarding free this tiny injury is nagging at my usually endless patience. The decision between surgery and just training is still pending, six months after my accident.

With that said we can finally get down to the actual point, which is helmets. Pearce’s injury was caused by a hard hit to his head that supposedly would have been positively fatal had he not been wearing a helmet at the time. From what I’m hearing he’s been promoting helmets since. This got me thinking about how I came to get my helmet. I got it for my 20th birthday. I only get to ride Olympic halfpipes in my mind and see them on TV, but even I wasn’t safe from life and it’s lessons which it is always happy to force on you.

The story about my helmet and how we came to be inseparable starts almost two weeks before I turned 20, on January 16, 2009. In small-town-Norway, standing out is apparently a very scary thing to do. So when I arrived on my local ski resort that evening, I was not bringing a helmet, like any other person over the age of 10 that was not racing down the hill on slalom-skis. Belonging to the mentioned age-group one should also stay clear of any bright colors and stick mostly to black and blue. One might wonder how people who are free to wear anything come to be so boring. Anyway, back at the ski resort I was now on the top lift (the type that is clearly made for skiers!). It caused me quite a few bruises when I was a kid, due to it’s habit of giving you a flying start, and also traumatized my mum enough for her to give up skiing in her teenage years. But I have long since conquered this dinosaur, so I was busy checking out the view. This was around 7 pm, which means it would have been pitch black, but of course the resort was lit. At this time of year the sun is too low in the sky to overcome the mountains that this part of Norway is famous for, but even if it did, we get so many cloudy days that we probably wouldn’t notice the difference. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve known nothing but flat light for as long as I have been snowboarding, or skiing for that matter… which is always. The light this evening meant it was actually possible to tell where you were going. Aside from that, the slopes were covered by a thin layer of fresh powder. And while I was travelling sideways up the hill, it was quite except the sound of the lift and my board. Without a sound, the scarcely clouded sky started a light sprinkling of white. Sailing down in slow motion, it settled gently on my face. And then there was the icy bump that made me lose my balance. I bet you didn’t see it coming either! At this point it seems like nothing but a very embarrassing blooper. However, as the back of my head hit ice, it became clear that whoever is pulling the strings of life had decided it was time for me to learn a lesson (or is simply sadistic and bored). But I didn’t really reflect on this at the time, as I was too busy holding on to my head as tight as if it was about to come right off. Luckily for me, my brother wasn’t too far behind me on the lift. As he is very supportive and understanding, he did what any good brother would have done: he laughed at me and claimed he didn’t know me. Having quickly estimated and compared the bruise in the back of my head to the one my ego would take if I stayed on the ground for another second, I got up and rode back down to the beginning of the lift. You know what they say about getting back on the horse. This time I paid some attention to where I was going and made it to the top.

On my way down I could tell my head wasn’t quite right and already at this point I knew it had been a bad idea not to just call it a day. But I was still standing and there is nothing like some fresh powder to cloud your mind and make responsible decision making oh so difficult to focus on. Also, a hard hit to the head doesn’t help with the focusing. I was just cruising down the hill when I spotted a black dot further down the hill. Actually, almost directly below me, right where I was headed. I’m a little bit of a speed freak and my brother always says I’m going too fast. I turned my board all the way over on my heel-edge and for once I had to admit he was right, because there was no way in hell I was going to lose speed quick enough. At this moment I freaked out. I’m usually quite good at keeping my cool. In fact, so much so that after every dangerous situation that I’ve been in I remember everything clear enough that I can pretty much replay it frame by frame in my head and make out every detail of the situation and my actions. For example I remember coolly considering my options while my car was sliding downhill towards the car ahead of me, knowing my breaks wouldn’t grip in time if it didn’t speed up. Fear wasn’t an option because there was no room for it. I had no problem concluding that I had to steer the car off the road if the situation didn’t resolve itself quickly. But it was only later that I learned to perfect this while driving. My recollection of what happened next is a blur. At this point it was clear that I had to make a turn. The person was a little bit to my right, so the best option was to go left one would assume. However, I ride goofy (right leg first) and I’m not inclined to go fakie (“backwards”) in any sort of situation if it can be avoided. In a high speed situation in which I don’t feel on top of things, I’m just not going to go for it even if it can’t be avoided. The slope was steep and even though I might still have had 15-20 meters to make a turn to go about 1,5 meters to the right, I could tell right away it was hopeless. Just before I hit him there was about 30 cm left to go to clear him. Enough of the tail of my board to hurt like hell. So I remember making a split second decision to throw myself around to save the poor guys ankle. I don’t really remember how it went. I remember starting on the maneuver. But there is a black hole in between there and the unforgettable feeling of sliding downhill, head first, on my back. After slamming my board into the ground a few times I managed to stop. I turned around and caught sight of the guy further up the hill. He was sitting up, watching me, but laid down when I turned around. I called out twice, asking if he was all right. I had no idea how hard I might have hit him, so when he didn’t answered, I might have panicked just a little bit: “Oh my God! I’ve killed him!”. This was pretty much the worst moment of my life! It still hurts just to think about it, like my brain is digging away at it and working very hard to transform it into something that will suit my ego better. It is the only time I’ve considered never snowboarding again. I immediately started unstrapping my board to go check if he was still alive. By the time I had managed to get one foot loose, I looked up again and the ski patrol was already with him. To my relief, he was now sitting up and one of the ski patrol people was heading my way. She said he was all right, and then started lecturing me about how we shouldn’t be riding so close together. I immediately broke her off. My brain had detected something else it repels like a foreign object: things that are not true, espessially if the misunderstanding benefits me. This is not very smart and helpful so I don’t know where I get this from, but I can’t help it. I might be painfully shy, but I wasn’t about to let the poor guy share the blame. I was very keen to let them know this was all my fault. Not that it really mattered what she thought, but this is a personality trait that is set in stone and that I wouldn’t be able to turn away from even if I wanted to. Had I just let it slide I would have hated myself for it. She looked at me funny, undoubtedly because she had expected my objection to be of a different nature, but then quickly changed the topic to “snowboarders” and “too high speed”. As I was feeling like an idiot, I was all for her lecturing me. But still it sometimes bothers me that I let her blame it on snowboarding. But this wasn’t a misunderstanding; this is a long lived myth that just won’t seem to die no matter how many times I almost get run down by idiots on slalom skis. Assholes come in all shapes and forms, and certainly with all kinds of footwear. Back on point, the guy finally got back on his feet, and I figured it was time to split so he wouldn’t have to worry about me hitting him again. I was still feeling so bad about it that I couldn’t really focus, which leads me to strike tree of this lovely evening. I was making my way down the hill. Heel-edge, toe-edge, heel-edge and so. Usually I would be completely entranced by this. I was keeping my speed down and had turned my board sideways, balancing on my heels, but still had considerable speed. I was letting up a little bit, pushing my left foot forward so it was ahead of my right foot. I was almost riding fakie but still heavily on my heel-edge, when my toe-edge touched down. Just slightly, on a different day I might have been able to save it. If you don’t snowboard I’m just going to tell you this is bad. My initial thought was “It’s karma!”. I went straight on my face, hard enough that I saw a flash of light and was pretty sure I was dead. And this isn’t even an exaggeration. I actually literally thought I had just died. It might seem like a funny thing to think, but at that point in time the thought came quite naturally. I had no feeling in the lower part of my face for an hour after that, as a compensation of sorts I had acquired a bunch of decorative red dots where the sensation was missing. I actually tried to drive home, but I almost went off the road before I had gotten on it (again, no exaggeration), so I had the sense to park the car again as quick as possible.

Two months of nothingness followed. I couldn’t watch TV, use my computer, drive. I was exhausted just from walking to school. My once quick head just didn’t work right. I could hardly focus on anything, not with my mind or eyes. I had mood swings and would get so angry I would actually break stuff and curl up in a ball with every muscle in my body strained like I was trying to break myself into pieces or about to implode. Even at the time I could tell it was completely crazy and uncalled for, but I just wasn’t able to control it. I would also get overly anxious, stressed and very depressed. Everywhere I looked, I saw nothing but risks. Everything was something I could potentially hit my head on, and I could hardly think of anything else. Still to this day, it bothers me to lean the back of my head on anything. It still feels like it might break. I would talk about it endlessly. I could tell people were getting bored with me, but I didn’t have anything else to talk about. For the longest time, my life was nothing but a blur tinted by my concussion.

So, there you see! You don’t have to do crazy shit to get a concussion. A little bad luck and an unprotected head is all it takes.

I was going to post this yesterday, but I had to spend all evening filling out forms, waiting for an ambulance that never showed, going to the doctor and chewing painkillers because I was involved in my first car accident. I had to stop because the the car ahead of me was turning left and had to wait because of oncoming traffic. Then a car hit me from behind because there was something wrong with his breaks. Pretty much every single muscle in my torso hurts, and especially my neck, but I was lucky and will be all right. My car was damaged pretty badly though. The speed limit was 70 km/h so the impact was pretty bad. I’m hoping to get the car back as I am quite fond of my silly little Hyundai Getz. Also, as the car technically belongs to my parents, I will probably find myself carless if the damage is so bad they end up getting it back in money. Oh, well, maybe I can talk them into lending me some money for a cheaper car. After all, they paid for my brother’s car for some abnormal reason. I didn’t think anyone with their head on straight and properly connected to their body would lend that guy money, as he seem to have a particular ability to be throwing them out the window with both hands (I sure hope he doesn’t read this). They have somehow failed to discover that I am a much more credible person (and a year older… and a better driver. Just follow the money! When he gets in an accident, he pays, when I do, I get paid) and have shut down my attempts to get a similar loan. Life is unfair.

I also find myself boardless at the moment because I was on my way to the ski resort when I was hit and my board was in the back. It might still be possible to use, but it’s got two cracks in it. One on each end, about halfway between each binding and the nose/tail. I’m hoping to get that covered too.

World Snowboarding Championship etc

I don’t usually watch TV a lot (something that comes from living in a student apartment with TV or internet connection) but last week I was stuck for a few days watching the World Snowboard Championship live from Oslo! I could not believe the amount of coverage this was getting, as you don’t see a lot of snowboarding on Norwegian television. Way to go NRK! It’s about time too, as they certainly manage too fit enough skiing into their schedule. Surely they could cut out some of that ski-flying crap and some reruns of everything, to fit in Air & Style and the X-Games at least? Snowboarding is the only sport you will ever catch me watching on TV, and I was defiantly prepared to sit it all through. This is really good entertainment! I think the best part was the halfpipe finals. The level was crazy all around, so the results were pretty much wide open all the way to the end. Unfortunately, none of the Norwegians made it this far. But the Norwegian commentators were ready to adopt any of our neighbours, so the Finns would do.

Anyway, I figured I better work on my drawing skills and was on the lookout for something to draw. So I ended up doing a portrait of one of the contestants, Markus Malin. It’s my first ever portrait done with permanent markers and I’m not very good at doing portraits in the first place. I ended up messing it up, so I did another one in ballpoint pen. I’m working on figuring out this technique, as pencil drawings are more of my speciality, but I gave it a go. Even though the similarity isn’t exactly striking, I’m pretty happy with it. A little pop-art-ish I think :P

At the moment I’m building up the courage to go for an education within arts and/or design instead of becoming an engineer like my parents wants me too. I don’t know what it’s going to be yet, as this is a very half finished plan. And I’m planning to leave it at that as I’m worried the smarter part of my head will get the better of me.


While I was writing this I had a bit of an accident. I had just picked up a bottle of water when I realized there was something stuck to the bottom of it. I flipped it over to see what it was, wandering what had infested our fridge as this was where the bottle had just come from. As I was inspecting this sticky, brown substance I could see my dad leaning towards me in my peripheral vision. Then he goes “KA DU DRIVE MED?!” (what are you doing?) and I looked up to realise he was not talking about the stain. Turns out I had removed the cap, so the water was flowing out and, this is where it gets good, straight onto my laptop keyboard. This is so typical! But it actually turned out good. I just turned it off and left it upside down to dry. I even seems like all the keys still work.

Skal, skal ikkje

Val er luksus. Eg har vore så heldig å vokse opp i et fritt, velstande, demokratisk land, altså har eg et val. Eller… stryk ”et”, eg har sjukt mange val! Val er som sakt luksus, og med luksus kjem luksusproblem. For når ein har val som skal takast og alternativ som skal overvegast har ein ansvar, om ikkje anna for seg sjølv. Valga bør vere velgjennomtenkte, for seinare skal ein stå til ansvar for dei. Ikkje minst over for seg sjølv.

Eit av dei store valga i livet står eg for øyeblikket over for: kva skal eg utdanne meg til?

Det eg for øyeblikket har satt meg i haudet, er at eg vil bli filmfotograf. Dette har ikkje komme heilt ut av det blå. Blant mine kjæraste eigendelar finne du eit litt for dyrt speilreflekskamera av typen Canon EOS 40d, eit stort antal skissebøker som eg har brukt årevis på å fylle og eit snøbrett. Nå lure du sikkert fælt på kva dette har med film å gjere, og det skal eg fortelje deg. Så lenge eg kan huske har eg hatt ein forskrekkelig livlig fantasi. Når eg var liten kom dette kanskje først og fremst til utrykk i form av mørkeredsel og overdriven innlevingsevne. Det var jo fullstendig håplaust å leike zombi i lag med meg, kunne mine leikekameratar konstatere, for eg fikk fullstendig panikk. Etter kvart begynte eg å oppføre meg ytterligare merkelig. For eksempel reagerte eg på min bror si beleiring av familiens første PC med å bygge min egen PC av pappkasser, til foreldrene mine si stor forundring. I barnehagen fant eg på livlige historier som eg lurte både dei andre ungane og ikkje minst meg sjølv med. I seinare tid har eg blitt fortalt at eg burde bli kunstnar, designar, fotograf, forfattar osv. Enten det, eller så burde nokon vurdere alvorlig å få meg lagt inn på eit mentalsjukehus. Den livlige, på grensa til hyperaktive, aktiviteten i hovudet mitt har gjort meg lærevillig og lettlært, men av og til lure eg på om det kjem til å drive meg frå forstanden. Men du veit kor det er: haudet sitt blir ein ikkje kvitt uansett kor ein snur seg. Uansett kor mykje eg prøvar så lar dei merkelig, fargerike og til tider svært så underholdande tankane min seg ikkje bytte inn i pengeinnbringande tankar. Tankane mine er rett og slett ikkje særlig likvide midlar (for dei som forstår seg på økonomi og sånt). Men altså, tilbake til mine kjæraste eiendelar. Alle desse tinga er ting som hjelpe meg å tømme haudet mitt, for det trengs virkelig til tider. Kameraet og skisseblokkene fungera fint til å få ideane ut av haudet mitt, og når eg står på snøbrett er det rett og slett ikkje plass til så mykje anna enn det øyeblikket ein befinne seg i. Eg meinar at eg trenge å jobbe med noko kreativt, og etter mykje overveiing har eg komme fram til at av alle dei kreative alternativa er film det beste.

Uansett kor mange val ein har her i livet fins det ting ein ikkje kan velje. Eksempelvis foreldra sine og tida ein leve i. Ingen av foreldra mine har høgare utdanning, og førskarane kan sei akkurat kva dei vil om at eple ikkje felle langt frå treet, men her i huset har det vore desto viktigare at eg og broren min skal ta høgare utdanning. Min eit år yngre bror er snart ferdig utdanna ingeniør, mens eg…. vel. Eg har gått eit år på Kunst og Handverk, to år på Media, IKT og Design og eit halvt år på Teikning. Det var nok ikkje akkurat det foreldra mine hadde i tankane nei. For ein ser det ein er og når mamma og pappa ser på meg ser dei ein person som kasta vekk si tekniske innsikt og sitt ”mattehaud”, som mamma seie, på ubrukelige utdanningsvegar. Dei festar seg ved mine gode mattekarakterar og at eg eigenhendig har fått laptopen min tilbake frå dei døde 4 gangar sjølv om eg veit fint lite om korleis den fungerar. Deira syn på saken passa selvfølgelig perfekt inn i ”tida”. ”Tida” er jo eit litt flytande begrep. Eit såpestykkeord, som ein lærar eg kjenner ville sakt. Men etter kvart har eg forstått at denne ”tida” som folk så fint snakkar om er meir enn bare tåkeprat. ”Da alle skulle blir noe med media” står det bak på ei bok eg kjøpte ein gang. Denne linja slo mot meg, for eg skulle jo bli noko med media. Eg har alltid sett på meg sjølv som, og fått høyre at eg er, ein relativt frittenkande person, men no er eg begynt å lure. På tv kan ein høyre ekspertar som meiner alt for mange utdannar seg innafor… (GJETT KVA!) Kunst og handverk og media. Det er då ein kan begynne å lure på om ein bare er eit produkt av si tid. Eg tenke at ideen om å bli det eg vil bli har komme frå meg sjølv, og i utgangspunktet virka ideen om at eg skulle vere sterkt påvirka av tidsånda (får å bruke endå eit såpestykkeord) som ein usannsynlig tanke. Eg drikke ikkje, brukar ikkje sminke eller høghela sko og ler hjertelig av dagens motebilete. No har eg likevel begynt å lure på om eg lurer meg sjølv. Den siste tingen som dukka opp i hovudet mitt mens eg lista opp dette, droppa eg. Det var tanken om at ingen skal fortelje meg at eg ikkje kan få til noko fordi eg er jente. Den tanken er jo bare så alt for typisk for ”tida”. Er ikkje det nettopp dette som er ”tida”? At alle tankane ens er så spesielle og kjeme frå ein sjølv? At alle kan gjere seg synlige i det offentlig rom? Daglig ser eg folk vandre gjennom livet som marionettar styrt av trådar av bakenforliggande motiv som for meg er openbare men som mange kanskje ikkje sjølv er klar over. Altså ville det vere ei logisk slutning at eg sjølv og er styrt av indre, underbeviste krefter som eg ikkje har oversikt over. Ein skremmande tanke må eg medgje.

Viss ein tar omsyn til dette når ein skal bestemme seg for kva ein vil bli, og altså unngå det ein vil bli viss det er moteriktig , kva skal ein då basere avgjera på? Som sakt er mamma og pappa sitt syn på saken mykje mindre moteriktig og altså meir ”fornuftig”. Dei vil at eg skal bli ingeniør! Selvfølgelig er alle ekspertane einige med dei, for ingeniørar er det bruk for. Rasjonelt sett har dei sjølvsagt rett alle saman. Som ingeniør er ein vel meir eller mindre sikra jobb. Dessutan er ikkje medieverda står nok til å faktisk kunne romme heile verda, uansett kor moteriktig det måtte vere. Spesielt medie-Norge har ein svært begrensa stjernehimmel. Dette bringer tankane tilbake til lista over dei 50 best kledde kjendisane i Se og Hør i jula. Min første tanke var noko sånt som ”har vi stort meir enn 50 kjendisar i Norge?”. Vidare kan vel ikkje tettheta av mediefolk per kjendis vere så ekstremt stor heller?

Mitt største argument mot at eg skal bli ingeniør er mangelen på kunstnarisk utfolding. Ein anna ting er at eg har eigentlig ikkje inntrykk av at nokon eigentlig veit kva ein ingeniør drive med. Eg har høyrt at ein ingeniør er ein leder. Men eg har ikkje tenkt å bli ledar for noko som helst! Eg som ikkje klare å bestemme meg for kva eg skal bli eingang? Eg har eit og anna talent, men gode ledareigenskapar er absolutt ikkje eit av dei. Ei venninne av meg beskreiv meg treffande nok som ein anti-diktator og har leande uttalt at eit land der eg er diktator er det same som anarki. Elles har eg høyrt at ein ingeniør planlegge prosjekt og sånt. Alt dette virka i grunn lite tiltalande på meg. Internettsidene til skulane som tilbyr aktuell utdanning bidreg heller ikkje til folkeopplysninga. Dei fokuserer heller på retorikk og fengande formuleringar og satsar hardt på at lesaren sine forutinntatte idear fylle ut meiningstomrommet. Institusjonar for høgare utdanning er nemlig minst like glade i såpestykkeord som samfunnsvitarane. Dei forklarar gjerne at du kan få ein spennande, utfordrande og variert jobb der ein av og til jobbar i grupper og av og til sjølvstendig, men akkurat kva spenninga, utfordringane og variasjonen består seg i er det ofte heller vanskelig å forstå seg på. Altså er ein fri til å ta sitt eige, hjernevaska val utan at skulane på nokon måte prøvar å villede ein ut av transen.

Altså har vi fått på det reine at min eigen ide om å utdanne meg til filmfotograf muligens er planta der av denne ”tidsånda” som snike seg inn i hjerna di som ”the ghost of christmas present” og vaska den på 90 grader for sikkerheitsskuld i eit forsøk på å gjere den fin og stuerein. Då den konspirasjonen altså er avslørt er det vel bare å snu på dørstokken og ikkje sjå seg tilbake i frykt for å bli dratt inn igjen. Eller? Viss ein innser at ein går blindt i ei bestemt retning og reagera med å snu seg og gå blindt i motsatt retning har ein vel i bunn og grunn ikkje oppnådd ein dritt. Dette er den enklaste løysninga fordi den krever minimalt med hjerneaktivitet og gjer at ein sleppe å begynne med sånn slitsam sjølvransaking. Det kan jo vere at ein finne ut noko ein ikkje likar viss ein begynne med sånt. Altså kan det i beste fall seiast å belyse ein avgrensa forståing av verden. I verste fall har underbevistheta di igjen eit blindt overtak over di evne til logisk tenking. Med andre ord: ein lurer seg sjølv.

Det eg prøva å få fram her er at det er noko til inni h******* vanskelig å ikkje lyge til seg sjølv og det er søren ikkje lett å vete korfor ein eigentlig gjer det ein gjer.

Taxi og bensin

Du veit du har gjort det bra når du har brukt opp pengane dine på både taxi og bensin... en skulle jo tru en klarte seg med ein av delane? I alle fall på ei og samme natt?

Laurdag kveld hadde eg tatt turen frå Sogn og Fjordane til oslo. sammen med ei venninne og to andre var eg på Nationaltheateret og såg "Rokkeulven". Etterpå tok eg og venninna mi (Janne) toget tilbake til Gardermoen der bilen sto parkert.

Eg hadde vore framsynt nok til å forutsjå at en kjøyretur inn i Oslo-sentrum med en GPS som formiddla sine opplysninga på tvilsom Ålesundsdialekt i litt retro (les: utdaterte) stil ville vere meir enn eg kunne klare å sette pris på tidlig en laurdags morgen. Derfor parkerte vi på Gardermoen som en kjeme seg til ved å "holde til høgre og ta en høgresving om 30..... nei eg mena 400 meter".... GPS'en har en tvilsom sans for humor med andre ord. Men vi fant fram etter å ha kjøyrt feil et par, tre gangar.

innimellom all banninga og stressinga var det en ting eg ikkje tenkte på. Sidan eg fylte bensin hadde eg kjøyrt den ca 7,5 time lange turen frå Nordfjord. Greit at beistet av en Citroen Berlingo har en tank på sikkert 50 liter, men den er tørst som få.

Heller ikkje då vi returnerte til bilen i 10 tida om kvelden tenkte vi på at bilen i bunn og grunn sto der og frysetørka som ein pose med turproviant. For det er rart med det. Dei ser i bunn og grunn heilt like ut uansett ka dei drive med dissa bilane. Likevel, når vi satt oss inn starta den uten protest. Uvitande om at det var ein sjukt dårlig ide kasta vi oss ut på nærmaste motorveg og susa gjennom natta i retning Notodden. Til alt hell endte vi ikkje våre daga i målneskinnet midt på ein 8-felts motorveg i Oslo. Berlingoen hadde litt meir å gje om den var aldri så svoltefora. Så vi kjøyrte lenge og lenger til det var slutt på motorvegane og vi kjendte oss igjen, for vi var komt til Kongsberg. Dei som er kjendt i traktene veit at Kongsberg er ca en halvtime frå Notodden, og at den halvtimen tilbringe en ute i ødemarka.

I motsettning til den bilen eg egentlig hadde tenkt å låne av foreldra min, en Peugeot 307 sw, lika Berlingo'en å lide i stillhet. Peugeot'en pipe og blinka og gir skriftelig beskjed om ka som er i vegen. "Fuel level low" seie den på displayet sitt og pipe med jamne mellomrom i tilfelle ein er alvorlig senil eller noke sånt. Berlingo'en derimot, er sjentert og forsiktig. Hadde eg ikkje vore opptatt med å speide etter elg og fotgjengarar hadde eg kanskje fått auge på et lite rødt lys på dasjbordet. Problemet er bare at bilen er hypokonder. Ved siden av det lisje, raude lyset som er vasellampa for bensintanket blinkar nemlig eit betydelig større og knall oransjt lys: varsellampa for airbaggane som har blinka dei siste åra og som verkstedet påstår at ikkje er noke å bry seg om. Altså lot vi oss ikkje merke med lysande varsellampa eller tenkte tanken at ein ikkje kunne kjøyre i det uendelige på éin tank med ein svært så tørst bensinmotor. Altså kjøyrte vi vidare.

Etter nesten 20 minutt begynte bilen så smått å lugge. Hadde eg tenkt litt då ville eg huska at ei venninne av meg fortalte meg i sommar at det skjer med bensinbilar når tanken er nesten tom. Men den gangen var vi på jobb med bilen full av bensinkanner og den ustanselige rykkinga i bilen skyldast litt for svak og overoppheta bil, litt for tung hengar og veiar ala Vestland. Altså hadde ikkje kunskapen festa seg tilstrekkelig til at hjerna mi kobla. Dessuten var bilen lånt og min bil, en liten Hyundai Getz, som eg er vandt med, er så hinsides overfølsom at den lugga bare gassfoten ens viser tegn til liv, som at det strømmer blod gjennom den. Altså såg hjerna mi tre alternativ som den fant i tidligare erfaringar: bilen er overoppheta, du har en forferdelig tung hengar bakpå eller bilen er sutrete og vanskelig og trenge bare litt meir turtall. Alternativ en blei raskt utelukka etter et blikk på temperaturmålaren. Alternativ to blei og utelukka fordi eg ansåg det som ekstremt usannsynlig at en hengar skulle ha materialisert ut av det blå. Altså måtte løysninga vere å gire ned. Likevel fortsatte bilen å lugge og snart rykkte den til ganske grundig og begynte å miste fart.

Så satt vi der. Ute i ødemarka midt på natta i en bensintørr bil som sto klaurete parkert på sida av vegen. Kanskje 10 meter bak var det ei stor avkjøyrsle som vi kunne stått trykt på hadde eg bare innsett kva problemet var litt før. Heldigvis fikk vi trilla bilen litt ut av vegen. Eg insåg at eg blei nødt til å trosse telefonangsten og ringe til NAF. På NAF-kortet sto det et nummer eg kunne ringe. Framfor dette nummeret stå det "døgvakt". Dumme meg trudde at et døgn besto av 24 tima og strakte seg... vel, døgnet rundt. Men så feil kan ein ta! NAF sitt døgn strekke seg nemlig bare frå 08.00 til 16.00 kunne ei automatisk stemme opplyse i andre enden. Eventuelt er ideen at ein kan ringe til alle døgnets tider, men at ein ikkje nødvendigvis får svar. Derimot kunne eg få lov å taste 2 for å bli medlem... way to go NAF! Så sto vi der altså. Vi bestemte oss for å gjere et førsøk på å få flytta bilen bak til avkjøyrsla. Eg satte meg inn og passa på å svinge rattet heilt til høgre. Då Janne begynte å dytte og fikk bilen i bevegelse viste det seg fort at rattet ikkje var svinga heilt ut, fordi bilen skapte seg vanskelig og rattlåsen var komt på. Altså satte bilen kurs rett ut i vegbana. Eg fikk av rattlåsen men det viste seg at bilen då sto slik til at den ikkje var til å rikke og dessuten med bakenden en meter ut i vegen. Det eg skulle komme til å oppdage seinare er at bilen antagelig på dette tidspunktet sto i gir... veldig lurt! Ikkje rart den ikkje ville flytte på seg. Altså hadde vi gått frå aska til ilden. Her var det bare å få ut varseltrekant fort som fy! Vi kunne ikkje ha nødblinken ståande på av frykt for å tappe batteriet og hengte derfor en refleksvest på den. Vi kom og fram til at det var best å komme seg ut av bilen og bli der med mindre vi var gira på nakkesleng og en flytur. Bilane suste forbi og det var like spennande kvar gang. Janne ringte til kjæresten sin for å høyre om han viste kven vi kunne ringe til. Etter at han var ferdig å le seg ihjel var han til god hjelp og foreslo taxi. No var det Janne sin tur til å ringe.

Etter at Janne hadde forklart situasjonen for dama på Taxi-sentralen lovde ho fikse taxi og forhåpentligvis bensin til oss. På dette tidspunktet var det fristande å gjere saken så enkel som mulig og ta taxien tilbake til Notodden og la bilen stå igjen til dagen etterpå. Ein kunne jo for eksempel tenke tanke at dinna forbanna, ubrukelige, drittbilen kunne bare stå der ute i ødemarka, men bilar er jo som kjendt kalde, livlause vesen som ikkje innehar evna til å konspirere mot deg og som det følgelig hjelpe lite å skulde på. Dessuten er den som nemnt ikkje min, så vi måtte nok ha den med oss nogen lunde uskadd. Altså kunne vi ikkje la den stå igjen og bli påkjøyrt, så eg satt meg i taxien som dukka opp etter ei stund og ga sjåføren det leie oppdraget å skaffe meg ei bensinkanne midt på natta. Han kunne fortelle at alle bensinstasjonar var stengt på den tida av døgnet, noke som førte til mild til moderat noia på mi side. Heldigvis hadde fyren kontakter så han kunne muligens skaffe til veies ei kanne. Altså la vi i veg i retning Notodden.

I det vi passerte skilta til Høgås og Høgås studentby der eg holdt til tenkte eg at det var søren meg urettferdig at ikkje dinna teite bilen kunne trille noken kilometer til før den tok kvelden. Jaja, sjebnen var nok ute etter meg. Men den hadde om ikkje anna ofra en tanke for det økonomiske aspektet ved si ondskapsfulle plan. På alle dei timane eg hadde tilbrakt på shopping den dagen hadde nemlig ikkje Oslos travle gater vore i stand til å mane fram nok entusiasme i mitt lett påvirkelige sinn til å få meg til å kjøpe en dritt. Eg kunne ha sittet baki den fancy bilen med et rødglødande kort i lomma og vakum på kontoen, i staden hadde eg på mystisk vis klart å beholde Oslo-budsjettet meir eller mindre intakt. Altså slapp eg å betale med lånt kort eller med knyttneven som eg har høyrt er en utbredt skikk rundt om i det ganske land i helgene. Sistnemde alternativ hadde vel først og fremst vore latterlig i og med at mi muskelmasse i armane er på et absolutt minimum.

Etter kvart fikk sjåføren tak i ei kanne på Esso og redda dermed dagen, eller natta rettare sakt. Med ei full kanne med bensin på fanget var eg så letta at eg nesten ikkje kunne tru det! Den kanna skal følgje meg her etter. Huska eg sarkastisk sa til pappa en morgon i sommar ”don’t you just love the smell of gas in the morning?” mens eg lempa 3-4 nyfylte kanner med bensin inn i jobbilen. Men akkurat denne natta skulle eg gjett mykje for dei irriterande kannene som stinka ut bilen og alt som var, og derfor satt eg gladelig kanna inn i baksetet før vi omsider kunne spurte og hente varseltrekanten og trill i retning Notodden. Takk til Notodden Taxi og alle folka som stoppa og spurte om vi trengte hjelp, men ikkje noke takk til GPS'en! Hadde ikkje den leda oss ut på ville veiar og fått oss til å kjøyre feil så mange ganga hadde vi kanskje nådd fram til Notodden. Den kan brenne!

Kjeda meg litt her en dag :P

I’m at this meating on day. About 10-12 people were spread across 3 sofas around a table. One task has been appointed, now it’s time for the other. So, who can do it? Silence. We all look around at each other. The sooner someone accepts it, the sooner we can all go home. I have been successfully dodging this task for almost two weeks, and was planning to keep it up for the remaining two days. However, this was my chance to rise and shine... or burn. “I can do it if nobody else wants to”, that’s what I told them. Though I had naively thought they would gladly accept anyone at this point, clearly this did not extend to me. As an even deeper silence (if possible) filled the room, I felt the temperature sink and the room darken as between 10-12 pairs of eyes stared at me with a mixture of surprise, disbelief and hope that some other option would emerge out of the deep dark waters of our minds. As the seconds past it became clear to all of them, apparently, that they couldn’t dismiss my suggestion solely on the grounds that they did not like me because I was too shy, even if they felt that my shortcomings might hurt our common objective. For a moment I was about to tell them what I was thinking: “Hello! I know you’re all too polite to tell me ‘no, that’s a terrible idea’, but it’s spelled out quite clearly on your faces. I was only offering to fill the role (for one day) of the person who delegates work to the other “journalists” in our pretend newspaper/wordpress blog that reaches about 0,0 people! Even if I mess up horrendously, what can passably happen? We’re not even being graded in this! I know you’re all very ambisious and shit, but we’re a team! It’s not all about you!”. Before I got around to telling them off and putting them all in a defensive position, the elected editor for the following day went: “Fine”.