Now that I have finished finals and almost completely defeated the Norwegian plague I have been harboring for the last week...I feel like I should put a somewhat amusing post up. Ill try. So I'm going to tell you the story of a recent event in Norway that made me laugh so hard I cried. It involves a Viking, a mischievous redhead and a room full of witnesses. So it begins...
The weekend before finals I went out to get a couple drinks with Libby, Yngve and a new character Vebjørn. To say Vebjørn is a big guy is a bit of an understatement, he weightlifts with Yngve and is expected to make the Olympics in London 2012. Not only is he tall, but lets just say would want him on your side if you were ever in a bar fight. We decide on a mellow bar and all have to show our IDs. You have to be 23 to get in but Libby charmed her way in as she is 21 and Vebjørn who is only 20 looked down at the bouncer and said "Do I need to show my ID?" The bouncer quickly shook his head no and let him in. Funny thing is Vebjørn is more like a big jolly teddy bear than some intimidating guy...but you gotta do what you gotta do.
Anyways when we sat down Libby and I were looking at all the mixed drinks and commenting on them. I said "Ooooh look they have one called the San Francisco!" and Libby says "Ooooh they have Cosmos!" This is quickly forgotten as the night goes on until Vebjørn comes back to the table and says, "You tricked me!" We look up to see this giant man sitting there holding a giant fluorescent pink Cosmopolitan which looks like a cutsy little Barbie glass in his hands and he explains glumly "You said they were good." After about 5 minutes of laughter at the sight of it Libby asked him, "Havent you ever seen Sex in the City?" He tells her no and explains that he for some reason (which is still unclear to me) he thought it was a manly drink. So he went up to the bar and ordered a Cosmopolitan. The bartender looked and him and asked confused, "You want a Cosmopolitan?" and Vebjørn thinking it was a manly drink looked at the female bartender, nodded emphatically and said, "Oh yeah!" He then explained the shock that came over him when he was given the girliest drink he could have possibly ordered and then had to walk through the bar with it while he claims everyone was staring. Now, I know people at home are probably thinking, "oh they probably just assumed it is for his girlfriend" No dice. This is Norway the land of equality where woman get offended if I guy buys them a drink. So he had to sit there holding this dainty triangular glass with bright pink liquid uncomfortably sipping out of it with one pinky up because all his fingers wouldnt fit on the glass, until I showed him mercy and switched my rum and coke with it. So, now when he comes over and drinks he brings what he refers to as "Viking blood" and is a dark blackish drink he pounds as a shot. Compensation. But everytime he tries to act all manly Viking we are right there to remind him, "Hey Vebjørn, want a Cosmo?" Priceless.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Stick a Fork in Me...I'm Done!
Sick as I am, I'm done with finals! Now home for the holidays so I can infect everyone in California and on my planes with this Norwegian hybrid of flu and whooping cough. Enjoy! Though if it is truly a Norwegian strain then it will probably be killed off in the heat of the homeland, so there's hope for you yet Californians!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Happy Birthday to Me
My birthday party. The look on my face when they all yelled surprise must have been priceless. ;)
You can see Glenn, my supervisor in the front preparing to toast my special day.
Happy birthday girl...
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Look How Norwegian I Am
Reindeer in brown cheese sauce, mashed potatoes and lingonberry jam. Tastes better than it looks. I had to take a picture of Yngve's because by the time I realized I wanted to take a picture, I had eaten too much of mine to be able to make it look pretty.
Norwegians invented these cheese slicers. They are very proud of it.
Yngve was very happy.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanksgiving is my dad's favorite holiday because it is a time to spend with the people you love and to reflect on everything in your life you have to be thankful for. I think it is easy to take for granted things in your life which you are accustomed to, but I don't want that to be me. I find upon taking a step back, the feeling that my life is charmed. I certainly have much to be thankful for.
When I first decided to study in Norway the thought of leaving all my friends back home was daunting. I am fortunate enough to have the most hilarious, kind, trustworthy, wonderful friends that are a constant source of happiness. I really don't know what I would do without them. The only way I was even able to leave was because I know that our bonds are so strong that no matter where I am in the world, how long it has been since we have talked (hopefully not very long), I will always have them. Those are real friends.
Now that I am here, I often am baffled at the idea that if I would have continued my life back in the states, all the amazing people I have met in Norway would go on living their lives and I would have gone on living mine without ever knowing each other. What a shame that would have been. I have only been here three months and I feel confident in saying that I am forming friendships that will last.
And of course, I am lucky enough to have the most supportive, generous, self sacrificing, and caring family I could ever ask for. They taught me what love is and made me who I am today. My parents often tell me that everything I have achieved thus far has been my own doing, but I beg to differ. Everything has been made possible by their support and encouragement over the years. They taught me that happiness is not found in the number of extra zeros in your paycheck but rather in finding passion in life through things/people you love. It is with this mentality that I try to live my life and thus every adventure I experience and every joy along the way, they are a part of.
I'm sorry for the overly sentimental post, but I think it is important to tell people how much you appreciate them. I do not think you should need a specific day to do it, but Thanksgiving provides the opportunity and is a good reminder. So, I am thankful for my friends and family because you are what makes my life a charmed one.
When I first decided to study in Norway the thought of leaving all my friends back home was daunting. I am fortunate enough to have the most hilarious, kind, trustworthy, wonderful friends that are a constant source of happiness. I really don't know what I would do without them. The only way I was even able to leave was because I know that our bonds are so strong that no matter where I am in the world, how long it has been since we have talked (hopefully not very long), I will always have them. Those are real friends.
Now that I am here, I often am baffled at the idea that if I would have continued my life back in the states, all the amazing people I have met in Norway would go on living their lives and I would have gone on living mine without ever knowing each other. What a shame that would have been. I have only been here three months and I feel confident in saying that I am forming friendships that will last.
And of course, I am lucky enough to have the most supportive, generous, self sacrificing, and caring family I could ever ask for. They taught me what love is and made me who I am today. My parents often tell me that everything I have achieved thus far has been my own doing, but I beg to differ. Everything has been made possible by their support and encouragement over the years. They taught me that happiness is not found in the number of extra zeros in your paycheck but rather in finding passion in life through things/people you love. It is with this mentality that I try to live my life and thus every adventure I experience and every joy along the way, they are a part of.
I'm sorry for the overly sentimental post, but I think it is important to tell people how much you appreciate them. I do not think you should need a specific day to do it, but Thanksgiving provides the opportunity and is a good reminder. So, I am thankful for my friends and family because you are what makes my life a charmed one.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
I Come From the Land of the Ice and Snow....
It's about time I write something on here...but the truth is my life has been consumed with schoolwork and hasn't been particularly interesting. I'll see what I can do.
One new thing is the snow. I fully anticipated ice and snow when I planned on moving to Norway but I neglected to fully comprehend just how slippery and icy it would be. Now, on a good day I'm less than graceful so you give me ice and what my California ass thought would be proper footware and you pretty much have a walking disaster. No that is too kind, I no longer walk....I waddle. I'm slipping and sliding every which way and what kills me is seeing how well adapted the Norwegians are. They seem to just glide as they go from place to place while I am bambi on ice. I felt satisfied when after getting off the train I slipped and almost fell but then heard the person after me do the same. I thought to myself..."great, I'm not the only one." Then I heard them speak English and realized that it must be a foreigner thing. I bet no Norwegians have webbed feet. They wouldn't survive without the extra stability of toes. Survival of the fittest. What amazes me is that not only is the ground that clearly looks icy slippery, but also the ground that looks completely normal. It so deceptive because you think you are home free and you hit it and just start sliding. This happened to me on a hill and I feared I would never make it up. I have come to learn one trick with this. If it is sparkly, it is slippery as well. Beware the dreaded sparkly pavement because it is no ordinary pavement...it is a foreigner death trap.
On the bright side, I have discovered the joy of crunchy snow. In an attempt to avoid imminent doom, I started walking on the crunchy snow on the sides of paths. It was here where I discovered the joy of crunching snow with your feet. I really can't explain it, but there is something so satisfying about hearing and feeling the crunch of snow under your feet. It's a form of stress release I'm sure. I'm convinced its the equivalent to how a cat feels when it scratches a scratching post. Utter relief from any pent up tension. So much to Maria's dismay, I tromp around like "like a little kid" in the snow. This seems to be a good solution to the ice problem but there are hidden dangers involved with this as well. For instance, stomping around on the side of the path while talking to Maria caused me to smack my face into a tree branch that was hanging over the side of the path. She laughed pretty hard, but it's ok because the same thing happened to her the next day. Karma. Anyways, I can chalk this up into two lessons: 1) crunchy snow is great 2) beware of trees.
One new thing is the snow. I fully anticipated ice and snow when I planned on moving to Norway but I neglected to fully comprehend just how slippery and icy it would be. Now, on a good day I'm less than graceful so you give me ice and what my California ass thought would be proper footware and you pretty much have a walking disaster. No that is too kind, I no longer walk....I waddle. I'm slipping and sliding every which way and what kills me is seeing how well adapted the Norwegians are. They seem to just glide as they go from place to place while I am bambi on ice. I felt satisfied when after getting off the train I slipped and almost fell but then heard the person after me do the same. I thought to myself..."great, I'm not the only one." Then I heard them speak English and realized that it must be a foreigner thing. I bet no Norwegians have webbed feet. They wouldn't survive without the extra stability of toes. Survival of the fittest. What amazes me is that not only is the ground that clearly looks icy slippery, but also the ground that looks completely normal. It so deceptive because you think you are home free and you hit it and just start sliding. This happened to me on a hill and I feared I would never make it up. I have come to learn one trick with this. If it is sparkly, it is slippery as well. Beware the dreaded sparkly pavement because it is no ordinary pavement...it is a foreigner death trap.
On the bright side, I have discovered the joy of crunchy snow. In an attempt to avoid imminent doom, I started walking on the crunchy snow on the sides of paths. It was here where I discovered the joy of crunching snow with your feet. I really can't explain it, but there is something so satisfying about hearing and feeling the crunch of snow under your feet. It's a form of stress release I'm sure. I'm convinced its the equivalent to how a cat feels when it scratches a scratching post. Utter relief from any pent up tension. So much to Maria's dismay, I tromp around like "like a little kid" in the snow. This seems to be a good solution to the ice problem but there are hidden dangers involved with this as well. For instance, stomping around on the side of the path while talking to Maria caused me to smack my face into a tree branch that was hanging over the side of the path. She laughed pretty hard, but it's ok because the same thing happened to her the next day. Karma. Anyways, I can chalk this up into two lessons: 1) crunchy snow is great 2) beware of trees.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
You Look Beautiful, But Back Up Off of my Grill
It's been a week since I wrote a proper update and in that measly little time frame I have managed to start two movements soon to take Norway by storm. That takes skill...or pushiness, but I prefer the former.
Movement #1: Fo' Shizzel
Ok, I never said they were necessarily good movements. This story starts at our ecology and evolutionary biologists weekly happy hour on Friday. Yes, college students back home, feel free to weep with jealousy. Anyways, I was sitting with a few friends looking down at my beer and I hear one of the Norwegian friends refer to another as "homie." It was so out of nowhere that I just about died laughing. This paved the way for a conversation with my research group at a farewell dinner for one of our members. They explained to me that they at times don't understand American slang. I had to think about it a bit but we do use a ton of slang without even being aware of it. Somewhere along the line I started giving them examples of phrases like "homie" that are really not cool anymore like "fo' shizzel" and we started using them jokingly. I promised them I would make a list of slang, which I did (with the help of a skype session with Jiro) and categorized in "Commonly Used," "Ghetto" and "Ancient" phrase sections, so they would be completely up to date. This list was complete with all of our favorites including cupcaking, grenades and buttafaces. For some reason, despite my efforts, the ghetto phrases seem to have stuck better, particularly fo' shizzel. So now when I talk to Maria on line she will throw in a fo' shizzel or my group members will drop it in conversations. It is still a joke at this point, but I think it is only a matter of time before it morphs into just normal conversation. Pretty soon greetings in Norway will consist of "What up beezy?" "Dude, there are landmines everywhere today, feel me?" "Fo' shizzel, man." So if you hear back home how Norway has gone hood, you will know who to blame.
Movement 2: You Look Beautiful Tonight
So Maria and I have taken to complimenting each other quite a bit. Why you ask? Because Norwegians don't compliment each other, particularly men to women. We are both used to casual compliments here and there from people that aren't hitting on us. In Norway, if I guy compliments a woman, apparently it comes off that they are hitting on them. This is good to know because Maria and I were starting to feel like chopped liver. Anyways, after a couple glasses of wine at dinner in our biology conference, we started jokingly bagging on Norwegian men. Maria said they don't compliment women and that we should go to Sweden because she thinks it is much better there. Ouch. This got everyone at the table's attention (seeing how they were all Norwegian) and Maria conveniently slipped away to leave me defending our theory. Surprisingly, they agreed with me and admitted that it is weird that they don't feel comfortable complimenting someone. My favorite though, was when one confused Norwegian then looked at me and said, "well what would I compliment?" Dramatically, I dropped my jaw and everyone started laughing as he scrambled to explain that is not what he meant (which I knew). I explained to them, for instance, you can tell someone "You look beautiful tonight." So then of course all the men told the women this. I think it will take some time before they learn how to properly place the compliments, but babysteps. This also stuck a bit and the next morning despite feeling like death from far too little sleep Maria and I were told we looked nice. It was really amusing though when someone not aware of the new movement was complimented, and immediately got stiff and looked down awkwardly and my friend had to quickly explain he wasn't hitting on her. She was clearly in shock and didn't know what to do with the compliment. Thus, I think there will probably be an adjustment period, but they will come around. After all, a well placed, sincere compliment can make someone's day. In my eyes, this movement makes up for fo' shizzel, though I'll admit it's debatable.
So, it appears I am not the only one affected by my new life in Norway, but I'm leaving little bits of my influence with Norwegians as well. I wish that I was responsible for more valuable or significant movements than archaic words like fo' shizzel, but I've only been here a few months. Imagine what I can get myself into in 2+ years.
Movement #1: Fo' Shizzel
Ok, I never said they were necessarily good movements. This story starts at our ecology and evolutionary biologists weekly happy hour on Friday. Yes, college students back home, feel free to weep with jealousy. Anyways, I was sitting with a few friends looking down at my beer and I hear one of the Norwegian friends refer to another as "homie." It was so out of nowhere that I just about died laughing. This paved the way for a conversation with my research group at a farewell dinner for one of our members. They explained to me that they at times don't understand American slang. I had to think about it a bit but we do use a ton of slang without even being aware of it. Somewhere along the line I started giving them examples of phrases like "homie" that are really not cool anymore like "fo' shizzel" and we started using them jokingly. I promised them I would make a list of slang, which I did (with the help of a skype session with Jiro) and categorized in "Commonly Used," "Ghetto" and "Ancient" phrase sections, so they would be completely up to date. This list was complete with all of our favorites including cupcaking, grenades and buttafaces. For some reason, despite my efforts, the ghetto phrases seem to have stuck better, particularly fo' shizzel. So now when I talk to Maria on line she will throw in a fo' shizzel or my group members will drop it in conversations. It is still a joke at this point, but I think it is only a matter of time before it morphs into just normal conversation. Pretty soon greetings in Norway will consist of "What up beezy?" "Dude, there are landmines everywhere today, feel me?" "Fo' shizzel, man." So if you hear back home how Norway has gone hood, you will know who to blame.
Movement 2: You Look Beautiful Tonight
So Maria and I have taken to complimenting each other quite a bit. Why you ask? Because Norwegians don't compliment each other, particularly men to women. We are both used to casual compliments here and there from people that aren't hitting on us. In Norway, if I guy compliments a woman, apparently it comes off that they are hitting on them. This is good to know because Maria and I were starting to feel like chopped liver. Anyways, after a couple glasses of wine at dinner in our biology conference, we started jokingly bagging on Norwegian men. Maria said they don't compliment women and that we should go to Sweden because she thinks it is much better there. Ouch. This got everyone at the table's attention (seeing how they were all Norwegian) and Maria conveniently slipped away to leave me defending our theory. Surprisingly, they agreed with me and admitted that it is weird that they don't feel comfortable complimenting someone. My favorite though, was when one confused Norwegian then looked at me and said, "well what would I compliment?" Dramatically, I dropped my jaw and everyone started laughing as he scrambled to explain that is not what he meant (which I knew). I explained to them, for instance, you can tell someone "You look beautiful tonight." So then of course all the men told the women this. I think it will take some time before they learn how to properly place the compliments, but babysteps. This also stuck a bit and the next morning despite feeling like death from far too little sleep Maria and I were told we looked nice. It was really amusing though when someone not aware of the new movement was complimented, and immediately got stiff and looked down awkwardly and my friend had to quickly explain he wasn't hitting on her. She was clearly in shock and didn't know what to do with the compliment. Thus, I think there will probably be an adjustment period, but they will come around. After all, a well placed, sincere compliment can make someone's day. In my eyes, this movement makes up for fo' shizzel, though I'll admit it's debatable.
So, it appears I am not the only one affected by my new life in Norway, but I'm leaving little bits of my influence with Norwegians as well. I wish that I was responsible for more valuable or significant movements than archaic words like fo' shizzel, but I've only been here a few months. Imagine what I can get myself into in 2+ years.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I'm a Mutant
I am well aware that the minute I post this blog I will regret it. This post will inevitably set me up for a boulder-storm of mockery, but sometimes one must sacrifice them self for the sake of an amusing blog. You're welcome.
I have to start with some background first. One of the newest developments with me has been a newfound friendship in the form of a Norwegian weightlifter living in my hall by the name of Yngve. In his words, "I didn't really have a choice on being your friend" which was true. I pretty much decided we should be friends and pestered him enough until he caved. Anyways, being a weightlifter, him and his gigantic friends eat massive quantities of meat every night and this is where my story begins.
So for those of you that know me well, you know that I have a particularly...healthy appetite. As Yngve and I have begun trading off making dinner here and there, he has come to discover to quite frankly his utter shock, how much I eat. This is of course the source of numerous jokes about how no one could afford to take me out to dinner and blah blah blah. It made me flashback to the time when Jiro made rice for me and I ate it all only to discover when I complained about being really full that Jiro had cooked 3 cups of rice so that he could have some for lunch the next day. Oh he looooved that.
Anyways, last night I decided to go American and cook a double decker burger and some fries for myself. Yngve joined but didn't think two patties was enough so he made four and claimed, "If I can't finish it, I will just give it to you." Hardy har. Well, I had no problem with my burger (which ended up much larger than I anticipated) and looked over to see him struggling. He started breathing heavily and broke a sweat before he was even done with his burger. Amused, I smirked at him as I nonchalantly popped fries into my mouth and said, "what, can't you finish?" Sensing the threat to his masculinity, he managed the burger and one of the extra patties before he laid back and moaned in agony. Then he told me he feared eating meals with me would put him in danger of becoming "American fat." By that time, I had moved onto my chocolate dessert, and told him mockingly, "one more..." That was when he did something I didn't expect. He sat up and this look of genuine concern washed over his face as he reached for his plate and moved it away from me defensively. With real fear in his eyes he looked at me and said, "You can't have it. I want it for lunch tomorrow." I just about died laughing. The thought that this big weightlifter felt the need to guard his food from me like a mother protecting its young was priceless.
After the laughter subsided, I began to think. Is the day a weightlifter has to worry about me eating him out of house and home, the day I should ask myself: Is something wrong with me? I mean, where does it go? I'm like a black hole in female form. I'm certainly up shit's creek if my metabolism were to ever give out on me. Actually, nah I'm too stubborn to get fat..but still. Well, luckily I'm good for now, but I've decided that the only explanation is that I must be a mutant of some sort. It's probably some sort of evolutionary advantage that if it got fixed in a population would result in skinny vaccuum feeding descendants. Now there's a thought. You're welcome, mankind. For now though, I think I can conclude with two things. 1) My mutant ass officially eats more than a grown male, Norwegian weightlifter and 2) Regardless, I would take being a mutant over "American fat" any day.
I have to start with some background first. One of the newest developments with me has been a newfound friendship in the form of a Norwegian weightlifter living in my hall by the name of Yngve. In his words, "I didn't really have a choice on being your friend" which was true. I pretty much decided we should be friends and pestered him enough until he caved. Anyways, being a weightlifter, him and his gigantic friends eat massive quantities of meat every night and this is where my story begins.
So for those of you that know me well, you know that I have a particularly...healthy appetite. As Yngve and I have begun trading off making dinner here and there, he has come to discover to quite frankly his utter shock, how much I eat. This is of course the source of numerous jokes about how no one could afford to take me out to dinner and blah blah blah. It made me flashback to the time when Jiro made rice for me and I ate it all only to discover when I complained about being really full that Jiro had cooked 3 cups of rice so that he could have some for lunch the next day. Oh he looooved that.
Anyways, last night I decided to go American and cook a double decker burger and some fries for myself. Yngve joined but didn't think two patties was enough so he made four and claimed, "If I can't finish it, I will just give it to you." Hardy har. Well, I had no problem with my burger (which ended up much larger than I anticipated) and looked over to see him struggling. He started breathing heavily and broke a sweat before he was even done with his burger. Amused, I smirked at him as I nonchalantly popped fries into my mouth and said, "what, can't you finish?" Sensing the threat to his masculinity, he managed the burger and one of the extra patties before he laid back and moaned in agony. Then he told me he feared eating meals with me would put him in danger of becoming "American fat." By that time, I had moved onto my chocolate dessert, and told him mockingly, "one more..." That was when he did something I didn't expect. He sat up and this look of genuine concern washed over his face as he reached for his plate and moved it away from me defensively. With real fear in his eyes he looked at me and said, "You can't have it. I want it for lunch tomorrow." I just about died laughing. The thought that this big weightlifter felt the need to guard his food from me like a mother protecting its young was priceless.
After the laughter subsided, I began to think. Is the day a weightlifter has to worry about me eating him out of house and home, the day I should ask myself: Is something wrong with me? I mean, where does it go? I'm like a black hole in female form. I'm certainly up shit's creek if my metabolism were to ever give out on me. Actually, nah I'm too stubborn to get fat..but still. Well, luckily I'm good for now, but I've decided that the only explanation is that I must be a mutant of some sort. It's probably some sort of evolutionary advantage that if it got fixed in a population would result in skinny vaccuum feeding descendants. Now there's a thought. You're welcome, mankind. For now though, I think I can conclude with two things. 1) My mutant ass officially eats more than a grown male, Norwegian weightlifter and 2) Regardless, I would take being a mutant over "American fat" any day.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
To My Fellow Californians, This is What Fall Looks Like
And it's cold. It's actually a good thing I took these pictures when I did because it snowed the next day. Just a little, but enough to stick on the ground. I was actually really happy when it started snowing because I had been commenting on how cold it is for a little bit and everyone would look and me and be like "oh man you're in for it." I blamed being from California, but then last weekend I went to a dinner with a Colombian friend from my research group Maria, and she only had on a not so thick sweater and was fine while I was layered up in a sweater, wool coat, gloves and a scarf and was shaking. At that point I started to wonder if I was just a wimp. So when the snow came, I felt validated. If it is cold enough for snow, it is cold.
If you ask any Norwegians about the weather (which they love to talk about) they will tell you they had their coldest winter ever last year. I thought to myself...phew dodged a bullet there. But then on the train today I overheard a women telling her friend...."yeah, the weather forecasters are saying this will be the coldest winter ever..even worse than last year." So, cross your fingers for me. On the bright side, it means there will be a lot of snow for me to take up skiing like I have been looking forward to.
What else to tell you? Hmmm well...my research group is awesome. I was invited to a dinner hosted by a supervisor in my research group and he told us to bring Belgian beers for a beer tasting after. Consequently, I learned a valuable lesson about life in Norway: don't try to buy alcohol on a Saturday. So their alcohol laws are funny...the grocery stores aren't allowed to sell drinks with more than 4.7% (I think) alcohol..so if you want to buy wine, hard liquor or real beer, you have to go to the Vinmonopolet. Also, you can't buy beer after 8 on weekdays, after 6 on Saturday or at all on Sunday. I thought I was in the clear by going to the Vinmonopolet at 3:30 but it was closed. I thought to myself, are they taking a waffle break or something? But then I looked at the store hours and they close at 3 on Saturdays. Of course. So I came without Belgian beer to the dinner, but it was okay anyway. I thought it would be a early night in, but after a delicious dinner, our group hung out until I think like 5:30 in the morning. It was really nice to hang out with my research group outside of school, they are all really great. Most supervisors don't drink with their students and play in rock bands...so I lucked out for sure on this one. Also noteworthy, in a bit of a Belgian beer blur, I agreed to play floor hockey on Wednesday mornings. I'm fairly certain I will be awful at it, but I am looking forward to it because I think it will be a lot of fun. The friend that invited me Tore, also told me that Glenn (my supervisor) gets really mad when he gets scored on so I am a bit curious to see that as well.
Oh this reminds me, another friend Norith was nice enough to invite me to do yoga last week. Now, I am not exactly known for my grace or balance but I thought it would be fun to try it out. I brought along two other international students that were interested as well. Being the silly foreigners that we are, we went and sat in front of the wrong room and didn't realize it until right before class started. So, we had to run into the actual room only to find that all the spots were taken expect for the front. Crap. So we went in front and were surrounded by people so flexible they could probably lick their own butts if they wanted to. The best part though was when it was really quiet and we were all trying to hold a pose with out arms wrapped around one leg, my friend Katie lost her balance and fell ever so loudly into the table right next to her. I was dying I was laughing (quietly) to myself so hard. It took me about 5-10 min to gain composure after that. Though I'm not sure I ever looked particularly composed. Anyways, I enjoyed it and plan on going again next week and this time Maria will join as well. I think it will be a good relaxing thing to do after a long day of studying.
What else is new? I've waged war with US Airways. They are refusing to refund the refundable ticket I bought for coming home this winter. I can't use the flight because I have a final that day and because as I told my dad, I would rather have a kidney stolen by a band of gypsies than ever fly US Airways again. For the first time ever I lost it on the phone with a customer service person and have been swamping them with emails. I figure if I keep bugging them enough I might get my way, and if I don't atleast I will make it difficult for them. We'll see.
What else? Oooh there was a party for biologist on campus last night, which I went to. Every time I go to something like this where the have set up a bar and a music on campus I can't help but laugh and think of how different it is from back home. Americans are up tight. Though this is odd with how strict Norway is with their alcohol laws. Maria has a theory that Norway is only strict with the drinking laws because when it is cold in the winter, the government doesn't want people drinking and sitting around in the cold and dying. I think there may be some truth in that.
Well, it's time for me to go. There is a ski sale and my hallmate has offered to come with me to see if we can get some affordable skies for me. It is snowing, after all...
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I promise I will write a new blog tomorrow.....
Update: Ug, sorry. I lied to my own blog.
Update: Ug, sorry. I lied to my own blog.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
When You Think You're Good at Something
So I got a little gym crazy this week. Maybe it was because friends kept going to the gym and I didn't want to be the lazy one sitting at home instead, or maybe it was the deep seeded fear that I would come home for winter break with some extra lbs and give Jiro the satisfaction of being able to say "It was only a matter of time." Either way, I have been taking a page from the Norwegian's book and have been particularly active.
The newest developments in my workout regimen have been..ahem ragga jam dance class and swimming. I'll start with ragga jam. So, I really wanted to take Zumba, which my Estonian friend Liiri told me about...but she told me the classes fill up really fast and that you have to sign up for the Monday class between 8:00 and 8:15 on Saturday morning in order to get a spot. Ug, seriously? Well, I did it anyway...I ever so enthusiastically woke myself up bright and early on Saturday morning so I could sign on to my student housing page and then have them tell me that my password for booking sports doesn't work. Shocking. God forbid a password I type down in this country actually be correct. So later that day, I went to the gym with a friend and asked the receptionist why I can't sign up for group classes online. She scanned my card and said, "Well, you have to be a member to sign up for classes." I looked at her with my ah..kind eyes and told her, "I am a member." She then told me that I had not paid for the gym this semester and I told her, "Yes I have." And after 5 minutes of arguing with her, she discovered that I had paid but that they forgot to put my email into the system. Since Zumba was full now, my only option was to drop in to a ragga jam class. Fine. A couple days later, Liiri and I went to the ragga jam class. Before class, I was thinking..I did Zumba back home...I can shake it..I'm from California, home to hip hop and latin influences...I've seen the Norwegians dancing at the bars...maybe I should tone it down a bit so as not to scare them. Ha, well..little did I know that Norway is home to fifteen Shakiras all of which happen to take ragga jam class at the gym. After about 15 minutes of stumbling around like an idiot, I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. Fun fact: ragga jam is much more technical than Zumba. My favorite was a series of 4 choreographed arm and leg moves that we repeated 8 times and not once did I manage to get the whole thing right. I actually thought the teacher was trying to repeat it until I got it right, but gave up. Nevertheless, humbling as it was..it was a lot of fun. What wasn't so fun was when I woke up at 8 am again to try and sign up for the next Zumba class only to find that the receptionist did not actually fix my online account.
Now for swimming. So for those that know me well, you know that I swam in high school and did junior life guards and what not..so I'm a good swimmer. Well, I was talking to a friend in my hall and said I would like to start swimming laps over here instead of running. He said, "oh me too, let's swim together..how about tomorrow?" Happily, I said yes..it's always better to work out with someone. Then he proceeded to tell me how was on his college's swim team. "Crap. This is going to be embarrassing" I thought to myself. I am definitely not in swimming shape anymore. Then I made the mistake of mentioning to another friend later that I was going to swim laps the next day. He asked me, "are you a good swimmer?" and naturally I told him.."yeah." Well, he called my bluff. He then said "oh let's swim together sometime next week, I played water polo and swam a 3K race last spring." I thought to myself, "Oh fuck me, what are the chances?" So now after spending the last 6 days at the gym, two of which in the pool...I can hardly move. I actually woke up this morning thinking I had the flu because there was not a single muscle of my body that didn't feel like I had a knife in it. So as of today...I'm boycotting the gym until next week and I have decided that the next time someone asks me if I am good at something, no matter what it is, even knowledge of English..I should just say, "oh god, no."
The newest developments in my workout regimen have been..ahem ragga jam dance class and swimming. I'll start with ragga jam. So, I really wanted to take Zumba, which my Estonian friend Liiri told me about...but she told me the classes fill up really fast and that you have to sign up for the Monday class between 8:00 and 8:15 on Saturday morning in order to get a spot. Ug, seriously? Well, I did it anyway...I ever so enthusiastically woke myself up bright and early on Saturday morning so I could sign on to my student housing page and then have them tell me that my password for booking sports doesn't work. Shocking. God forbid a password I type down in this country actually be correct. So later that day, I went to the gym with a friend and asked the receptionist why I can't sign up for group classes online. She scanned my card and said, "Well, you have to be a member to sign up for classes." I looked at her with my ah..kind eyes and told her, "I am a member." She then told me that I had not paid for the gym this semester and I told her, "Yes I have." And after 5 minutes of arguing with her, she discovered that I had paid but that they forgot to put my email into the system. Since Zumba was full now, my only option was to drop in to a ragga jam class. Fine. A couple days later, Liiri and I went to the ragga jam class. Before class, I was thinking..I did Zumba back home...I can shake it..I'm from California, home to hip hop and latin influences...I've seen the Norwegians dancing at the bars...maybe I should tone it down a bit so as not to scare them. Ha, well..little did I know that Norway is home to fifteen Shakiras all of which happen to take ragga jam class at the gym. After about 15 minutes of stumbling around like an idiot, I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. Fun fact: ragga jam is much more technical than Zumba. My favorite was a series of 4 choreographed arm and leg moves that we repeated 8 times and not once did I manage to get the whole thing right. I actually thought the teacher was trying to repeat it until I got it right, but gave up. Nevertheless, humbling as it was..it was a lot of fun. What wasn't so fun was when I woke up at 8 am again to try and sign up for the next Zumba class only to find that the receptionist did not actually fix my online account.
Now for swimming. So for those that know me well, you know that I swam in high school and did junior life guards and what not..so I'm a good swimmer. Well, I was talking to a friend in my hall and said I would like to start swimming laps over here instead of running. He said, "oh me too, let's swim together..how about tomorrow?" Happily, I said yes..it's always better to work out with someone. Then he proceeded to tell me how was on his college's swim team. "Crap. This is going to be embarrassing" I thought to myself. I am definitely not in swimming shape anymore. Then I made the mistake of mentioning to another friend later that I was going to swim laps the next day. He asked me, "are you a good swimmer?" and naturally I told him.."yeah." Well, he called my bluff. He then said "oh let's swim together sometime next week, I played water polo and swam a 3K race last spring." I thought to myself, "Oh fuck me, what are the chances?" So now after spending the last 6 days at the gym, two of which in the pool...I can hardly move. I actually woke up this morning thinking I had the flu because there was not a single muscle of my body that didn't feel like I had a knife in it. So as of today...I'm boycotting the gym until next week and I have decided that the next time someone asks me if I am good at something, no matter what it is, even knowledge of English..I should just say, "oh god, no."
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sissies
Well, I was getting complaints that my former blog background was hurting some people's eyes. Disgruntled as I am about having to change the format I was rather fond of, I of course do not want to be the source of any migraines or temporary blindness. Being the fickle creature that I am, I will most likely change my mind on the format a number of times before I settle in. Fair warning.
Update: Alright, I'm sticking with this one.
Update: Alright, I'm sticking with this one.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Never Make Assumptions
Libby and I have learned that it is best to never make an assumption in Norway because you will inevitably be wrong. As we have fully embraced the "what can go wrong, will go wrong" attitude; just to keep us on our toes, Norway throws us a bone once and a while. Exhibit A: Train ticket checking.
Okay, so I have been a good little student and for the last almost 2 months have paid for my train tickets or had my 30 day student travel card and had yet to have anyone check it. My time to renew my travel card was a few days ago but I got a bit lazy and put it off thinking I'll get it tomorrow and that they don't check anyway. Well, of course they checked tickets in my few day lapse. I'll admit, I really should have seen that one coming.
Anyways, I look up to see a woman in a train control uniform asking for tickets. A wave of fear came over me, a woman controller, just my luck. She looked nice enough, but I was not to be fooled. No one wins with a female cop back home...always have something to prove, and I wasn't about to roll the dice on her. I contemplated bolting, but it would be a little bit before the next stop and that seemed awfully dramatic.
Then I saw the male ticket checker and thus a small glimmer of hope. I nodded to the woman that I would give it to him and did without any look of concern. He stared at his scanner thing for a second and then sat down next to me. Hmmm this is not good, I thought for sure he was sitting down so he could write my fine. He told me that my card had expired and I quickly told him, "oh no, I thought I had more time on it!" He stared at his monitor and said it didn't. I told him, "please don't give me a ticket, I'll get out and walk." He sat for a second, looked up to read me and without saying a word I told him "yes, I am a crier." He whispered back to me, "Get it today" and walked away to me whispering "thanks". Success! Naturally, I went to renew my card immediately afterwards but the only machine near my housing was broken so I have to attempt to deal with it tomorrow, but I didn't get fined. It is nice to know that even in the land of gender equality, the men have sense enough to know that a hysterical woman is best avoided.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Torch Walk, Løvenes Konge and Houseparty
Well, it's about time I actually write this. I think I'll write it in parts since each title topic has nothing to do with one another.
Part 1: Torchwalk
Last week my friend Libby and I went on a walk through town that apparently Norwegians partake in to celebrate the first day of fall. The walk started up near my student housing and wound along the river all the way past downtown into Grunerløkka. Initially, Libby thought we were going to be given torches as it was a torch walk, but I explained to her that I doubted the Norwegians would think giving a bunch of kids torches and sending them off into the woods would be a good idea. Turns out I was right. We arrived at the beginning of the walk and found the path was lit by TONS of candles so we followed the masses of people along the path. There were little mini concerts and artwork set up along the walk which was really great. Kids had set up waffle and coffee stands so we bought some coffee for the walk since it was beginning to rain, but were dismayed to find cheaper coffee stands only a bit ahead. Little kids ripped us off....oh well. Luckily we prepared for rain, because it started pouring midway through which actually added to the ambiance because it was really neat to look at the lit up artwork in the woods with this eerie sort of mist around it. We discovered the worst job of the night was...candle relighter. We noticed the minute a candle went out, a candle relighter would run up and light it again. I couldn't help chuckling to myself and thinking if it was in the US there would be some little bratty kid blowing out candles all along the way. So we walked, and chatted and walked..and walked and walked. At one point I was convinced that this was all a big trap to walk foreigners to death. Libby thought I was being a bit dramatic but I could tell she started to get worried towards the end too. Eventually after 2 and a half hours of walking through the rainy woods and town, we came to the end...and I have never felt so Norwegian. Of course when I came to class the next Monday I found that most of my Norwegian friends have never been on the walk...but it was still a good cultural experience all the same.
Part 2: Løvenes Konge
Laugh if you will, but I have taken to Disney movies in Norwegian to help me learn the language. You know it's genius. I have heard numerous people say that they learned English through movies and TV and decided that it would be a good idea for me as well. The only problem is finding the movies in Norwegian online as I don't have a TV nor the 50 million kroners it would cost for me to buy it from a store here. I think the fact that I am willing to watch the Lion King in 9 parts on youtube shows my dedication to learning the language. I can understand a surprising amount, which is encouraging...but then whenever I try to speak to a Norwegian they always chuckle and kindly say.."almost" so I've definitely got a ways to go. Something that concerns me is that apparently the characters in the Disney movies speak in all different Norwegian dialects, so one day when I said "konge" to a guy in my research group he said.."oh you said that in a good southern accent." I of course was not aware of this and was slightly alarmed as I would prefer not to develop a strange hybrid dialect that no one can properly understand. Vi skal se!
Part 3: Houseparty
A friend from class was nice enough to invite me to a party at her house last weekend which ended up being a great time and taught me a valuable lesson: Norwegians are punctual. I showed up with my friend Libby and a German friend from class a little before 10 when the invite said 8 and everyone was asking where we had been and were making comments about being fashionably late. Naturally, I blamed the German for it, but noted this to myself. When someone says a party starts at 8 back home, they don't expect anyone to be there until around 9:30 and even then it is a little awkward for the first people there unless they are close friends. On the other hand, in Norway when they say 8 they mean 8. Lesson learned.
I should also note that some Norwegian friends have started reading my blog as well. It's funny, I posted the link on my facebook page so I would not have to keep giving the site to my friends back home, but I neglected to realize that as I made Norwegian friends, they would read it as well. My initial reaction was to cringe at all the sweeping generalizations I have made about Norwegians because of course they are not all the same just as not all Americans are fat and religious. But then, I realized that my blog is not about being politically correct, it is about my perception of Norway and I must stay true to that. Luckily, my Norwegian friends found my blog to be funny and told me to continue to be brutally honest, so now I can safely say: Norwegians have an excellent sense of humor.
Part 1: Torchwalk
Last week my friend Libby and I went on a walk through town that apparently Norwegians partake in to celebrate the first day of fall. The walk started up near my student housing and wound along the river all the way past downtown into Grunerløkka. Initially, Libby thought we were going to be given torches as it was a torch walk, but I explained to her that I doubted the Norwegians would think giving a bunch of kids torches and sending them off into the woods would be a good idea. Turns out I was right. We arrived at the beginning of the walk and found the path was lit by TONS of candles so we followed the masses of people along the path. There were little mini concerts and artwork set up along the walk which was really great. Kids had set up waffle and coffee stands so we bought some coffee for the walk since it was beginning to rain, but were dismayed to find cheaper coffee stands only a bit ahead. Little kids ripped us off....oh well. Luckily we prepared for rain, because it started pouring midway through which actually added to the ambiance because it was really neat to look at the lit up artwork in the woods with this eerie sort of mist around it. We discovered the worst job of the night was...candle relighter. We noticed the minute a candle went out, a candle relighter would run up and light it again. I couldn't help chuckling to myself and thinking if it was in the US there would be some little bratty kid blowing out candles all along the way. So we walked, and chatted and walked..and walked and walked. At one point I was convinced that this was all a big trap to walk foreigners to death. Libby thought I was being a bit dramatic but I could tell she started to get worried towards the end too. Eventually after 2 and a half hours of walking through the rainy woods and town, we came to the end...and I have never felt so Norwegian. Of course when I came to class the next Monday I found that most of my Norwegian friends have never been on the walk...but it was still a good cultural experience all the same.
Part 2: Løvenes Konge
Laugh if you will, but I have taken to Disney movies in Norwegian to help me learn the language. You know it's genius. I have heard numerous people say that they learned English through movies and TV and decided that it would be a good idea for me as well. The only problem is finding the movies in Norwegian online as I don't have a TV nor the 50 million kroners it would cost for me to buy it from a store here. I think the fact that I am willing to watch the Lion King in 9 parts on youtube shows my dedication to learning the language. I can understand a surprising amount, which is encouraging...but then whenever I try to speak to a Norwegian they always chuckle and kindly say.."almost" so I've definitely got a ways to go. Something that concerns me is that apparently the characters in the Disney movies speak in all different Norwegian dialects, so one day when I said "konge" to a guy in my research group he said.."oh you said that in a good southern accent." I of course was not aware of this and was slightly alarmed as I would prefer not to develop a strange hybrid dialect that no one can properly understand. Vi skal se!
Part 3: Houseparty
A friend from class was nice enough to invite me to a party at her house last weekend which ended up being a great time and taught me a valuable lesson: Norwegians are punctual. I showed up with my friend Libby and a German friend from class a little before 10 when the invite said 8 and everyone was asking where we had been and were making comments about being fashionably late. Naturally, I blamed the German for it, but noted this to myself. When someone says a party starts at 8 back home, they don't expect anyone to be there until around 9:30 and even then it is a little awkward for the first people there unless they are close friends. On the other hand, in Norway when they say 8 they mean 8. Lesson learned.
I should also note that some Norwegian friends have started reading my blog as well. It's funny, I posted the link on my facebook page so I would not have to keep giving the site to my friends back home, but I neglected to realize that as I made Norwegian friends, they would read it as well. My initial reaction was to cringe at all the sweeping generalizations I have made about Norwegians because of course they are not all the same just as not all Americans are fat and religious. But then, I realized that my blog is not about being politically correct, it is about my perception of Norway and I must stay true to that. Luckily, my Norwegian friends found my blog to be funny and told me to continue to be brutally honest, so now I can safely say: Norwegians have an excellent sense of humor.
Bureaucratic Nightmares and My Contempt for Student Housing
As fond as I am of Norway thus far, it does not come without its pitfalls. I have come to learn that Norway is not only the land of good looking people but also the land of long lines and bureaucratic nightmares (hence the title) in which you have to follow a million and one steps to get a final result. And the minute you are lulled into a false sense of security and think that something just might be simple here...is the minute right before you are laughing at yourself for being so naive. This has been one of the hardest things for me to get used to here, mainly because I don't want to...but its just gotten to be a joke between me and my American friend Libby.
To give you an idea, I'll use opening a bank account here as an example. I thought the saga had ended once I finally got my national ID number from the tax office after waiting 4 hours in the police station to register, and then two weeks for them to send it to me, so that I could get a bank account, so I could transfer the money I had to put in my school banking account in order to get my residence permit, to my new bank account, so that I could touch the money I had sitting here to begin with. Alright. I went to the bank, took a number, sat down and managed fairly smoothly to open an account. This was odd. I was just supposed to wait in the mail until I got my debit card and I would be good to go right? Ha. Well, one day I received a text with a personal code. Then the next day in the mail I received a start code. Then the next day a pin code. Then my debit card. Then a security token. Apparently one of the codes needs to be plugged into the security token and then another code so that it can give a security code so I can log into my online account for which I have to punch in my security code and another code. I have yet to get the sequences of codes right and as the system locks up on me when I get it wrong...I can only hope that the banking gods will one day smile upon me and that the stars will align just perfectly so that I put in the correct combinations. Until then, all I can do is laugh...
On a different note....I was able to change rooms in my student housing! The only thing that I did not like about living in Norway (aside from the above) was that I hated the hall I got put into. There were various reasons for this which I'm not going to get into, but I had been on the waiting list to move rooms for over a month. I contemplated numerous ways to expedite the process. On the first day they said they were going to have new rooms available I got there bright and early and prepared the waterworks. Surely, student housing is not heartless and cannot deny my teary angelic face (haha). I wouldn't know though because when I got in there I overheard them telling two different sobbing people that there was nothing they could do as there were no open rooms. I just left. I had heard that a couple of people were able to move immediately because one had a mattress with bed bugs and the other had mold. I thought to myself..hmmmm mold takes too long to grow and where could I find bed bugs? No, no, too messy. But I noted...health issues gets people moved quickly. Then a week later after my friend apparently started hysterically crying in the housing office, she was given another room. That's when I snapped. I went home and sent housing a polite, kindly worded and matter of fact letter explaining to them that "the man in the room next to me has a strong odor (true) and I have very weak stomach (less than true) and at times fall ill. Consequently, I am worried about my health." And I got a new room the next day. :)
As I relished in my new bigger room with actual students in my hallway, where I could actually cook in my kitchen and walk in my bathroom without flip flops I was beginning to think student housing wasn't so bad...they had finally done me right. Then I asked my hallmate who lived there before me and he said "Oh that room has been empty for weeks."
So I go on strongly disliking student housing, but now that I do it in a decent room, I am happy. This happiness also enables me to better take the bureaucratic nightmares in stride. I suppose, in the end everything works out...it just happens a little slower over here.
To give you an idea, I'll use opening a bank account here as an example. I thought the saga had ended once I finally got my national ID number from the tax office after waiting 4 hours in the police station to register, and then two weeks for them to send it to me, so that I could get a bank account, so I could transfer the money I had to put in my school banking account in order to get my residence permit, to my new bank account, so that I could touch the money I had sitting here to begin with. Alright. I went to the bank, took a number, sat down and managed fairly smoothly to open an account. This was odd. I was just supposed to wait in the mail until I got my debit card and I would be good to go right? Ha. Well, one day I received a text with a personal code. Then the next day in the mail I received a start code. Then the next day a pin code. Then my debit card. Then a security token. Apparently one of the codes needs to be plugged into the security token and then another code so that it can give a security code so I can log into my online account for which I have to punch in my security code and another code. I have yet to get the sequences of codes right and as the system locks up on me when I get it wrong...I can only hope that the banking gods will one day smile upon me and that the stars will align just perfectly so that I put in the correct combinations. Until then, all I can do is laugh...
On a different note....I was able to change rooms in my student housing! The only thing that I did not like about living in Norway (aside from the above) was that I hated the hall I got put into. There were various reasons for this which I'm not going to get into, but I had been on the waiting list to move rooms for over a month. I contemplated numerous ways to expedite the process. On the first day they said they were going to have new rooms available I got there bright and early and prepared the waterworks. Surely, student housing is not heartless and cannot deny my teary angelic face (haha). I wouldn't know though because when I got in there I overheard them telling two different sobbing people that there was nothing they could do as there were no open rooms. I just left. I had heard that a couple of people were able to move immediately because one had a mattress with bed bugs and the other had mold. I thought to myself..hmmmm mold takes too long to grow and where could I find bed bugs? No, no, too messy. But I noted...health issues gets people moved quickly. Then a week later after my friend apparently started hysterically crying in the housing office, she was given another room. That's when I snapped. I went home and sent housing a polite, kindly worded and matter of fact letter explaining to them that "the man in the room next to me has a strong odor (true) and I have very weak stomach (less than true) and at times fall ill. Consequently, I am worried about my health." And I got a new room the next day. :)
As I relished in my new bigger room with actual students in my hallway, where I could actually cook in my kitchen and walk in my bathroom without flip flops I was beginning to think student housing wasn't so bad...they had finally done me right. Then I asked my hallmate who lived there before me and he said "Oh that room has been empty for weeks."
So I go on strongly disliking student housing, but now that I do it in a decent room, I am happy. This happiness also enables me to better take the bureaucratic nightmares in stride. I suppose, in the end everything works out...it just happens a little slower over here.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Jeg har en gruppe!
Ok..so good news. I have somehow managed to gather up the cojones to talk to the biology researchers on campus and have found a research group for my thesis! This might be a little less exciting of a post than previous ones, but I'll do my best and have put a few pictures of downtown Oslo at the end so you have something to look forward to.
Last week I went around to various group supervisors and asked what sort of research they were doing and I chatted with a PhD student for an unbiased assessment of them. I was immediately drawn to the research group run by the professor of my molecular evolution class and the head of the whole ecology and evolution department on campus (Glenn). The PhD student also told me Glenn is also one of the best to work with because he is very available to help his students. Before I settled on Glenn's group I was invited to attend their weekly group meeting so I could meet the rest of their group and hear what they were working on. They put me on the spot and I had to talk about myself, but they were great and I was sold on them. I knew it was a match made in heaven when at the end of the meeting they organized a pub night for the group later in the afternoon. So it was at the pub, with the beer that my supervisor bought me (and the rest of the group) in hand, I told him I would like to join his group and his response was "Cheers!"
So what will I be doing for my research you ask? My experiment looks into the hybridization of Italian and House sparrows. They are one of the only vertebrates that mate outside their species at times but they do not prefer it. We want to look into if they prefer not to hybridize due to sexual selection or if there is a genetic barrier involved. I will be going with a Colombian master student (Maria) in the group (who I really like..luckily) to Northern Italy and the border between Spain and Portugal for 1-2 months in the spring and will be doing mate choice experiments on Spanish, Italian and House sparrows involving their feather coloration. Then I will be genotyping (looking at the genetic makeup) of the birds to examine patterns of inheritance and to look at the genes related to their plummage color. I will complete the experiments with Maria but when it comes to writing our thesis' one person will write about the genetic aspect while the other will write about the behavioral aspect but we will both be co-authors on each paper along with of course Glenn and whoever else. Also, the genotyping we will be doing may be used by another master's student so we might be co-authors of his paper as well. So after this is all done, I will have at least two published papers. Pretty cool. Additionally, I'd been stressed because I was supposed to write a research proposal by Nov. 1st for an introduction to master's class I had to take but Glenn explained to me today he prefers to write them himself....sweet! So overall things are going really well here. I have a research group, a Norwegian bank account and Norwegian friends (all biology people as it is a relatively small community).
Though, I don't want it to sound like everything has been really easy over here because it has certainly been difficult at times. Especially in the beginning, there were many moments when I was completely intimidated and had to stop and make myself take a deep breath and think "you can do this." Luckily thus far, I have come to find that the things I have found the most challenging have ended up the most rewarding.
As promised...
PS. It has been over 1 month and I am still continuing to blog so.....suck it Jiro!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Now I Feel Like a Biologist
When you buy raingear the weather looks like this
It rains ~260 days out of the year in Bergen. We were advised to prepare for heavy rain. A rain jacket, pants and knee high rubber boots later, this is is what we got. Still, I'm not complaining.
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