I found this message glued to my Rolodex today. A ninth anniversary present belated of sorts (the message, that is, not the Rolodex, silly), from my significant other, which had me regret that I don’t really use ink that much any more.

How wonderful it would be to inspire a million to think, by way of mere writing. I wouldn’t even dare be as presumptuous as to imagine prompting even a handful of people to think. Then again, I’m not really in the business of committing thought-inspiring writings. And that’s just it: How do you write awe- and mind-inspiringly about subjects you really can’t be bothered with yourself, such as (for the time being) labour law and an assignment publication for an employers’ federation — some twenty articles in a fortnight or so. By all means, I’m adequately qualified for both, but I’d be lying if I said I really cared. I don’t even remember my last assignment, finished about a week ago. They come in numbers, usually overlapping, all dealing with matters to which I’m perfectly indifferent, demanding my full attention, days, nights and weekends – more or less. Hell, I should’ve been at it this instant, interviewing business executives on a Sunday afternoon, in order to meet crazy deadlines.

I’m sure you’ll understand how, after weeks, nay, endless months of uninspired writing, I must yearn to write even more. The truth of the matter is, however, that I don’t feel compelled to write even about matters that I care about. Actually, writing is a curse, noe less. Still, with Nick Drake’s Which Will on my ear a sunny Sunday afternoon, I will myself to put down these lines, in order to process my reluctance towards writing in general, I suppose, which must seem quite the oxymoron — and which is when it really dawns on me: I’m actually blogging.

Could it be that a notepad and a fountain-pen would make it possible to revive my innate — now perished — pleasure in writing? With all probability it’d lead to the inevitable end to blogging (which, in all honesty, is a price that I’m more than willing to pay in order to restore my ability to write).

Or… How about abandoning professional writing altogether? I’ve played with the idea ever so often; that of taking on a whole new line of work. Baker, gardener, receptionist or a sexton (but only if it implies tonnes of sex), even. Taking my mind off thinking at all during “office” hours, ready to charge millions to think on my sparetime aplenty — with a drop of ink.

But I’ll tell you this much, in case you’re ever mislead to think writing is a “glamourous” life: It is everything but.

I’ve come to appreciate music again. Not that I ever didn’t, but I have to confess it’s been all work and no play lately. Professionally, for instance, I’ve made a habit out of recording all my interviews for the last six or seven years, which has its downside — or rather, it has two:

1. Recorded interviews involve an awful lot of writing, as no details are lost. You have it all, right there, in glorious audio, to such an extent that you risk losing sight of the essence.
2. With audio recordings, the only hearing devices at your disposal are in fact occupied for days on end, if you have a lot of interviews to put down in writing, that is — which I do, rendering me quite unable to indulge in the joys of music, which would only be a nuisance, especially when you try to concentrate on whatever it is that your sources are trying to put across.

I’ve put an end to all that. My days are indeed wondrously transformed, as I’ve gone back to the very basics of journalism: That of taking notes. For one, it offers the opportunity to focus on what really matters, omiting the irrelevant (I never tire of putting the blog’s name to proper use) chitter-chatter that inevitably goes with the territory. But musically transformed, too, and very much wondrously so, insofar that I actually get to listen, for the first time in ages, making new musical acquaintances, as well as rediscovering old ones.

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! It’s the old ones that tickle my… je ne sais quoi… whatchamacallit something. I’ve been listening to Yes a great deal lately. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a late bloomer, who didn’t really discover them until 1977, at the age of 15. The band released its legendary album Going for the one that year. The visual person that I be, I think it must have been the Hipgnosis cover that drew my attention. Wait a minute… Pas de tout! (Ok, so this is where my French quota reaches its limit) BBC 2! That’s it. I used to listen in, as my parents’ house lay on a hilltop on the Norwgian westcoast, facilitating ease of British FM transmissions across the North Sea, in stereo no less. I found great pleasure in observing what went on on the British music scene in those days, and that’s when it happened, as the album’s Wondrous Stories hit the UK charts. Funny how you forget…

Which brings me to the heart of the matter. In much the same way I came across an old acquaintance, quite unaware, the other day. I remember thinking “Hang on, I know that song! Hell, I know the lyrics by heart, but I can’t seem to remember…” Besides, this was a 1990’s recording, by Moodswings, featuring Chrissie Hynde (yup, the old – in every sense of the word – Pretenders lead vocal), would you believe. Here goes:

As the background chorus began to chant, I remembered. Not quite Yes, but I thought it qualified for a cigar: Yes lead singer Jon Anderson and Vangelis’ (didn’t care much for the latter, though) Private Collection, 1983 (though at first I thought it had been on the 1980 Short Stories), in its original version:

Wondrous Stories, you say? Oh, my goodness… All right, I suppose I’ve asked for it:

Bear in mind: I was 15. Horrible lip-sync there, by the way. That aside, switching from recording interviews to taking notes truly has lead to a wondrously wonderful transformation of the stories that I write (hence the title). Well, except for this piece of crap, obviously.

I stumbled upon this little bugger on the patio yesterday. Does anyone have a clue as to what we’re looking at here?

Prior to our Constitution Day (yesterday) several cities debated whether or not foreign flags should be allowed in the parades. Personally I really couldn’t care less, as I sport my European flag on every 17 May, albeit in a very decent fashion (you have to admit that cuff links aren’t very likely to stir emotions).

It just cannot be helped: I’m afraid that on 17 May every year I’m still in Europe Day mode (commemorating the 9 May Robert Schuman declaration).

So shoot me. I’m sure that quite a few of the 50 or so percent Norwegians who do not consider Norway a European country wouldn’t hesitate to call me a traitor.

Oh well… There’s Norway for you.

I’m sorry about the blurry image. Twas the best my mobile camera (or I, maybe) could do around midnight.

I suppose doing laundry, dishes, mowing the lawns, tidying the house – and watching over the neighbourhood’s kids, who are having a picnic in our garden, feels less of a chore when you have a sixpack of these in the fridge.

Oh, and I seriously don’t mind the premature summer.

Just one more before I hang up the laundry, perhaps.

I’m not easily annoyed, but must confess that I’m just a little frustrated by people with sunglasses demanding instant recognition. These two gentlemen, on the other hand, might just prove themselves hard to recognise without said device, but that’s way beside my point. Or maybe not.

Rubber biscuits, anyone?

There’s no use in denying it: I’m quite the nostalgic, as you may already have surmised, if you frequent my blog on occasions. Today gave way for yet another dive into days gone by, as I passed a beautiful version of the 2008 model Fiat 500. I must say though, that I actually had to look twice.

I mean… Look at it! I could’ve sworn it was a 1960’s Fiat. At first glance, that is. Seriously, I’m quite taken aback by the striking resemblance. You just have to hand it to the Fiat designers, don’t you, who’ve performed way beyond any design lover’s wildest expectations. Man! I grew up practically surrounded by them. Call it a slight exaggeration, if you will, but I swear it’s (practically) true. Those of you not old enough to remember, may want some kind of proof, so here goes:

See what I mean? My only regret is that they didn’t have the courage to turn the doors the other (some might argue “the wrong”) way, which truly would’ve been a bold approach in today’s car manufacturing industry. It certainly would’ve added a certain je ne-sais quoi. A flair of… well, the nostalgia they’ve tried to achieve, obviously. I’m left completely dumbfounded. Will you look at that! You may have gathered by now that I’m deeply and profoundly awestruck, although I’ve maintained my ability to raise a glass in sincere reverence and praise of Italian design, even if I seem to detect a touch of Japan in there (am I right in assuming that Fiat and Yamaha have something going?).

Having said all that, I must confess that I’m a little ambivalent. After all, I strongly oppose the presence of fossil-fuelled cars altogether, but as fossil-fuelled car come, this one’s an aesthetic triumph, no less. Or, at the very least: a successful stroll down memory lane.

But let’s not fool ourselves: deep down it’s all a question of vintage design offering the mental promise of simpler times revisited.

Time to get real.

In the months leading up to the Beijing 2008 summer Olympics media will be brimming with information fed the press by BOCOG’s (the Beijing games’ organisational committee) communications department and the Chinese propaganda machinery. Our attention towards the Tibetan uprising, now seemingly quelled, will vanish, more or less overnight, and Chinese officials, who devour bloggers for breakfast, will, once again, be granted undisturbed continuance of their inhuman practices – painted in a picturesque tableau, courtesy of the world’s “free press”.

Paralysed by-standing is, of course, a non-option for concerned bloggers and citizen journalists. As luck has it, however, Norwegian bloggers are raising their voices against China’s inhuman ways. Initiatives are afoot among bloggers, included in English:

Scandinavian citizen journalist group blog iNorden recently launched its Beijing 2008 campaign, inviting Danish, Norwegian, Swedish and international bloggers and civic journalists to submit stories on China’s infringement of human rights – by way of reports, YouTube flix or commentaries. Read the invitation here.

I urge all bloggers (or whomever would happen to stumble upon this) to partake in a balancing of the slightly distorted version of China that mainstream media is about to convey up until the Beijing summer games’ official opening ceremony on 8 August. Help making sure that the impression left remains more than happy Chinese children, traditional Chinese opera, the radiant Shanghai skyline and a nation in general progress.

China’s 1.5 billion population – and the free wor(l)d – deserves it.

Submit your story – or your view on China’s appalling conduct – today!

Should you however feel somewhat inhibited, short on sources – or if you do not have a blog of your own: please feel free to put this badge in its sidebar (link to this page):

(I would appreciate if you download rather than “hotlink” the image)

Oh, my goodness… Colours! Please forgive the distraction. It’s just that colours don’t very often appear in these parts, but let’s forget about that. While taking av few moments off work this afternoon, I watched 2010 on TCM (Turner Classic Movies), offering another glimpse of predecessor 2001: A Space Odyssey’s HAL 9000.

Now, let’s be clear on one thing: Peter Hyam’s 2010 (by some dubbed 2010: Odyssey 2 or 2010: The Year We Make Contact), was nowhere near Kubrick’s original, which, in its entirety was a sight for sore eyes. And remember: It premièred in 1968. However, as always, I digress. I caught a glimpse of HAL 9000’s keyboard again, you see, which layout reminded me a lot of the Genigraphics computer graphics systems we used back in the early eighties, hardware courtesy of DEC (Digital Equipment Corporation). It wasn’t, of course, but I’d be surprised if the keyboard wasn’t from DEC. The computers, originally equipped with floor-to-ceiling CPU’s were first made for NASA’s space shuttle programme, so there’s definitely a link in there somewhere. By the way: the workstation shown here looks exactly, and I mean exactly like my own workplace for the better part of the eighties. All of our offices looked more or less the same, see, I just never realised how much.

Oh well. Back to HAL. Did you know he even spoke German?

Have you noticed how people who never used to be particular about speaking of Senator Clinton by her full name (included Rodham) all of sudden have become overly anxious to do so, in order to allow themselves emphasising Senator Obama’s Muslim ancestry by including his (Hussein)? Right up there, alongside “Osama Obama”.

It’s really not surprising, but I am a little disappointed. We even see them in our neck of the woods (please note: In err… something resembling Norwegian).

Oh, the humanity!