nirinia: (Default)
There was never a better invention than student advisors, hired to help lost students figure out what on earth they're doing. They get paid to make sense of my degree. Yes, I went to see a student advisor. And she said that I could just do a double major, in English Language and Literature. Meaning that I get Russian and literature, as well as only a halfway useless degree. If the language part turns out to be horrid, I just get rid of it altogether.

My reaction to the grammar and linguistics courses is also entirely normal: they are legendarily hellish, apparently.

And I get to write a bachelor essay/thesis, provided that the faculty makes it available by then. I am almost delirious with happiness.
nirinia: (Default)
There was never a better invention than student advisors, hired to help lost students figure out what on earth they're doing. They get paid to make sense of my degree. Yes, I went to see a student advisor. And she said that I could just do a double major, in English Language and Literature. Meaning that I get Russian and literature, as well as only a halfway useless degree. If the language part turns out to be horrid, I just get rid of it altogether.

My reaction to the grammar and linguistics courses is also entirely normal: they are legendarily hellish, apparently.

And I get to write a bachelor essay/thesis, provided that the faculty makes it available by then. I am almost delirious with happiness.
nirinia: (Default)
Oh, gods, I want to move on to something beyond the basic "Ok, let's write an essay without even citing secondary reading". I want narratology, critique, theory!

And Narratology might be my new pet theory. I'm sure no one gets this, but in unbiased English it just means that I've found new ways to be nerdy. And that I wish I could have more serious tasks to tackle.
nirinia: (Default)
Oh, gods, I want to move on to something beyond the basic "Ok, let's write an essay without even citing secondary reading". I want narratology, critique, theory!

And Narratology might be my new pet theory. I'm sure no one gets this, but in unbiased English it just means that I've found new ways to be nerdy. And that I wish I could have more serious tasks to tackle.
nirinia: (Default)
We briefly heard something about one of our teachers burying his son as we left, this summer. And I read his name in a paper, but thought no more of it. I found out today that Terje lost his son, then. He was, allegedly, extracted from a meeting at school by police, the press in tow, and given the news. I cannot believe he was there those last few weeks of school. Terje was a marvellous teacher, and, by all accounts, a great man. I cannot believe the pain he must be in, and cannot express my admiration for him. Not only did he show up at our graduation, he managed to smile and give us our diplomas.

The pain he must have been in, as he stood there and gave them to us. The only thing I can compare it to, is losing a beloved pet. And this must be a hundred times worse. Why does always tragedy befal the best of us? Anyone but him, good grief. He does not deserve this.

We, the class, did not know. Making sure we didn't know was the right decision, of course. What would have happened, had we known? I can just see us invading his funeral, it would have been ghastly.


---

I survived the interview with Aftenposten. The journalist was nice enough, the photographer tall, dark and handsome. He spent most of the interview looking disconcertingly at me. I rambled about how I completed English, went on to University and why. Both Vigdis and the headmistress are big talkers, so I got off easily. I even guarded my tongue, and said nothing too awful about the school, or certain teachers.

The pictures are sure to turn out lamentably. The man got the brilliant idea of placing not only me, but Vigdis on an alarmingly red couch. "It's such a beautiful red!" Neither of us cared much for the experience. The journalist asked us, very cheerily, to talk about literature. I blanched, Vigdis looked perplex and she went on to ask "Well, why do you both love literature so much, then?" Neither of us said anything, shared a look and I quoted Nabokov ("Literature and butterflies are the sweetest pleasures known to man"). That must be some insane rite of passing: quoting once-controversial authors to (clueless?) journalists, and you are ... what?

Before passing the threshold, I had two cups of tea and one of coffee. I thought it might do something to subdue the nerves. Bad idea, I was so terrified I couldn't even have breakfast. At Nordstrand I was fed coffee. In the end, my hands were shaking and the nerves none the better. We sat in the teachers' lounge, before the interview. There was to be some sort of meeting there. As we walked out the headmistress managed to hold an impromptu speach about how proud she was of me, and the accomplishment. How wonderful it was of me to agree to this.The entire staff at Nordstrand stood and applauded. I was mortified. And, most of all, wanted to sink through the floor. There were loads of hugs, good lucks, and we're so prouds. Also, the teachers there hate the fake blondes with extreme side-parts as much as I do. Haha!


Listening to the footage with Pål Herlofsen at Dagens Næringsliv leaves no doubt he will be convicted with a tremendous bang.
nirinia: (Default)
We briefly heard something about one of our teachers burying his son as we left, this summer. And I read his name in a paper, but thought no more of it. I found out today that Terje lost his son, then. He was, allegedly, extracted from a meeting at school by police, the press in tow, and given the news. I cannot believe he was there those last few weeks of school. Terje was a marvellous teacher, and, by all accounts, a great man. I cannot believe the pain he must be in, and cannot express my admiration for him. Not only did he show up at our graduation, he managed to smile and give us our diplomas.

The pain he must have been in, as he stood there and gave them to us. The only thing I can compare it to, is losing a beloved pet. And this must be a hundred times worse. Why does always tragedy befal the best of us? Anyone but him, good grief. He does not deserve this.

We, the class, did not know. Making sure we didn't know was the right decision, of course. What would have happened, had we known? I can just see us invading his funeral, it would have been ghastly.


---

I survived the interview with Aftenposten. The journalist was nice enough, the photographer tall, dark and handsome. He spent most of the interview looking disconcertingly at me. I rambled about how I completed English, went on to University and why. Both Vigdis and the headmistress are big talkers, so I got off easily. I even guarded my tongue, and said nothing too awful about the school, or certain teachers.

The pictures are sure to turn out lamentably. The man got the brilliant idea of placing not only me, but Vigdis on an alarmingly red couch. "It's such a beautiful red!" Neither of us cared much for the experience. The journalist asked us, very cheerily, to talk about literature. I blanched, Vigdis looked perplex and she went on to ask "Well, why do you both love literature so much, then?" Neither of us said anything, shared a look and I quoted Nabokov ("Literature and butterflies are the sweetest pleasures known to man"). That must be some insane rite of passing: quoting once-controversial authors to (clueless?) journalists, and you are ... what?

Before passing the threshold, I had two cups of tea and one of coffee. I thought it might do something to subdue the nerves. Bad idea, I was so terrified I couldn't even have breakfast. At Nordstrand I was fed coffee. In the end, my hands were shaking and the nerves none the better. We sat in the teachers' lounge, before the interview. There was to be some sort of meeting there. As we walked out the headmistress managed to hold an impromptu speach about how proud she was of me, and the accomplishment. How wonderful it was of me to agree to this.The entire staff at Nordstrand stood and applauded. I was mortified. And, most of all, wanted to sink through the floor. There were loads of hugs, good lucks, and we're so prouds. Also, the teachers there hate the fake blondes with extreme side-parts as much as I do. Haha!


Listening to the footage with Pål Herlofsen at Dagens Næringsliv leaves no doubt he will be convicted with a tremendous bang.
nirinia: (Default)
I love university. It is, I think, as close as I will ever get to a Secret History experience, in that I am absolutely intoxicated when I leave for home. Strike that, I am home. Home, home, home. And in love. Insane discussions about macro- and microcosm, fools in disguise as a picture of identity and whom we are to trust. Shakespeare was fun, though I do not understand much. I am even writing nonsense in my LJ, very Secret History of me. Unastonishingly, I am back to maddening, complicated, spaced interpretations of everything. I am home, Darlings.

Someone exclaimed something along the lines of "You feel everything so strongly, Alex", and I am so glad I do. I pity those that never feel what I do when I read a very good book, eat something divine, hear something that leaves me in stitches or watch a sad movie. "And never have known the passionate undivided / Fidelities that I knew" ("The House Dog's Grave", Robertson Jeffers). They are missing out. I would not swap my temper for anything in the world. Nor my passion.

I think I know what it is about middle-aged/old(er) men. There is something in the way they carry themselves; a certain dignity, a hint of things lived and of knowledge possessed. Security, perhaps? It is very rare, but does occasionally occur in younger men. Not that they usually have pants that fit - as opposed to having the waist relocated to their knees - turns me off them, either.

I want to write my master's in English on Nabokov, and then go on to find some obscure question on to research for a Ph.D.

The title is, by the way, from The Secret History. Surpise! Off to print English-stuff on sonnets, Romanticism, eliot, et al, and be a very happy geek.
nirinia: (Default)
I love university. It is, I think, as close as I will ever get to a Secret History experience, in that I am absolutely intoxicated when I leave for home. Strike that, I am home. Home, home, home. And in love. Insane discussions about macro- and microcosm, fools in disguise as a picture of identity and whom we are to trust. Shakespeare was fun, though I do not understand much. I am even writing nonsense in my LJ, very Secret History of me. Unastonishingly, I am back to maddening, complicated, spaced interpretations of everything. I am home, Darlings.

Someone exclaimed something along the lines of "You feel everything so strongly, Alex", and I am so glad I do. I pity those that never feel what I do when I read a very good book, eat something divine, hear something that leaves me in stitches or watch a sad movie. "And never have known the passionate undivided / Fidelities that I knew" ("The House Dog's Grave", Robertson Jeffers). They are missing out. I would not swap my temper for anything in the world. Nor my passion.

I think I know what it is about middle-aged/old(er) men. There is something in the way they carry themselves; a certain dignity, a hint of things lived and of knowledge possessed. Security, perhaps? It is very rare, but does occasionally occur in younger men. Not that they usually have pants that fit - as opposed to having the waist relocated to their knees - turns me off them, either.

I want to write my master's in English on Nabokov, and then go on to find some obscure question on to research for a Ph.D.

The title is, by the way, from The Secret History. Surpise! Off to print English-stuff on sonnets, Romanticism, eliot, et al, and be a very happy geek.
nirinia: (Default)
Monday morning I did nothing sensible, and scampered off to school. There came the high-light of the day, a 6 on my SK essay. (With an "at last!" from the teacher.) I had somehow managed to pour water over half the contents of my bag, including a few books and rather vital notes. Then I had a minute to get to the group, where my attendance was expected at 14:15 - I got there at 14:14. Tuesday almost well before lunch, with the exception of not showing up to a test. I had to run to catch the buss, and when I got there, lo and behold, I had not one left and one right shoe, but two left shoes.

Today, I convinced myself that the lecture began at 11:15, rather than 10:15. Ingenious, of me, no? Applaud, Darlings, for I am utterly scatterbrained this week. I can't help but laugh exasperatedly at myself, there is nothing else to do.

(And, by god, "Days of Our Lives" is so badly acted it pains me to watch it.)
nirinia: (Default)
Monday morning I did nothing sensible, and scampered off to school. There came the high-light of the day, a 6 on my SK essay. (With an "at last!" from the teacher.) I had somehow managed to pour water over half the contents of my bag, including a few books and rather vital notes. Then I had a minute to get to the group, where my attendance was expected at 14:15 - I got there at 14:14. Tuesday almost well before lunch, with the exception of not showing up to a test. I had to run to catch the buss, and when I got there, lo and behold, I had not one left and one right shoe, but two left shoes.

Today, I convinced myself that the lecture began at 11:15, rather than 10:15. Ingenious, of me, no? Applaud, Darlings, for I am utterly scatterbrained this week. I can't help but laugh exasperatedly at myself, there is nothing else to do.

(And, by god, "Days of Our Lives" is so badly acted it pains me to watch it.)

University

Jan. 23rd, 2008 04:24 pm
nirinia: (Default)
I sat through my first lecture today, and, by heaven, I am still high on English. The professor just assumed we knew what iambic pentameter (and he seems to have a thing for the antepenultimate rule; he stressed pentameter three consequent times) and trochees are. I've mentioned them in connection with blank verse before, and now I need to figure the bloody things out. But, oh, it was so much fun!

We went to talk to some people after the lecture, and not only did they volunteer to answer any questions we might have, another associate professor impressed on us that should the fancy strike us we are more than welcome to stop by, perfectly unannounced, and talk to him. I now have several very highly educated people at my disposal, should I so desire. And I get to partake in the most wonderful lectures and groups. This is fantastic! I love university, I am home!

University

Jan. 23rd, 2008 04:24 pm
nirinia: (Default)
I sat through my first lecture today, and, by heaven, I am still high on English. The professor just assumed we knew what iambic pentameter (and he seems to have a thing for the antepenultimate rule; he stressed pentameter three consequent times) and trochees are. I've mentioned them in connection with blank verse before, and now I need to figure the bloody things out. But, oh, it was so much fun!

We went to talk to some people after the lecture, and not only did they volunteer to answer any questions we might have, another associate professor impressed on us that should the fancy strike us we are more than welcome to stop by, perfectly unannounced, and talk to him. I now have several very highly educated people at my disposal, should I so desire. And I get to partake in the most wonderful lectures and groups. This is fantastic! I love university, I am home!

Bob bob bob

Jan. 3rd, 2008 09:40 pm
nirinia: (cinema)
Again, it seems, as I do something to my hair it turns fashionable. As I am going blonder (not blonde yet, blonder), golden blonde is all the rage of the winter season. Headdesk, anyone? People are taking my change of hair weirdly, most compliment me on it (would they dare to do otherwise?), but those that did not know I was blonde to begin with generally take it as an afront to my individuality. I certainly get that there are enough blondes around as is, but come on, I am blonde by right. And really, I can be just as individual blonde as dark-haired.

This transition went more smoothly, oddly enough. I spent months jumping at my hair in the mirror after dying it black, and the blonde I am perfectly fine with after an impressive three days. It is, however, dry and a bit brittle. And I am growing it into a slight a-cut, if my hair-dresser does not change her mind and all turns out well.

And Vigdis has had a stroke of genious over the holidays: since I have so much time on my hands, if one of the other two can't make it to a lecture, I am to make notes and be their mentor. I am no teacher, I dislike one of my prospective students, my notes make no sense to anyone but me and I do not look particularly forward to braving a lecture on my own. Brilliance, I bow in thy presence!

Bob bob bob

Jan. 3rd, 2008 09:40 pm
nirinia: (cinema)
Again, it seems, as I do something to my hair it turns fashionable. As I am going blonder (not blonde yet, blonder), golden blonde is all the rage of the winter season. Headdesk, anyone? People are taking my change of hair weirdly, most compliment me on it (would they dare to do otherwise?), but those that did not know I was blonde to begin with generally take it as an afront to my individuality. I certainly get that there are enough blondes around as is, but come on, I am blonde by right. And really, I can be just as individual blonde as dark-haired.

This transition went more smoothly, oddly enough. I spent months jumping at my hair in the mirror after dying it black, and the blonde I am perfectly fine with after an impressive three days. It is, however, dry and a bit brittle. And I am growing it into a slight a-cut, if my hair-dresser does not change her mind and all turns out well.

And Vigdis has had a stroke of genious over the holidays: since I have so much time on my hands, if one of the other two can't make it to a lecture, I am to make notes and be their mentor. I am no teacher, I dislike one of my prospective students, my notes make no sense to anyone but me and I do not look particularly forward to braving a lecture on my own. Brilliance, I bow in thy presence!
nirinia: (Default)
At this time in 12 days I will be in London. HAHA! And in, er, 4 weeks or so, I am starting "Introduction to British Literature", and approximately two and a half weeks after that, I am off to London again.

------

Mari is 18 today, happy birthday, Mann XD

------

And we had a lot of fun on Friday.
nirinia: (Default)
At this time in 12 days I will be in London. HAHA! And in, er, 4 weeks or so, I am starting "Introduction to British Literature", and approximately two and a half weeks after that, I am off to London again.

------

Mari is 18 today, happy birthday, Mann XD

------

And we had a lot of fun on Friday.
nirinia: (Default)
Rant about Reisen til Julestjernen, my new favourite scenographer and the magnificence of the play coming up tomorrow, when I have enough presense of mind to edit this. And am not sleep-deprived, slightly hung over and suffering from too much food.

---------------------------

There, I am coherent again, so edit follows:

Reisen til julestjernen was absolutely magical. The few edits, or liberties, they had taken to make it more modern did nothing to make it less sweet or less of a good story. It made it more appropriate and fun. But what completely blew me away, was the scene! And the costumes. The gothic touches to the building, the grandeur, it reminded me of Burton at his best. Ah, the count, the count! I mustn't forget him. He reminded me of a Disney villain, and I cannot pretend to not have found him delectable. He even mwhahahahaed. And was generally cute.

The next time the scenographic genious that is John-Kristian Alsaker does something, I am seeing it no matter what. Well, perhaps I'll amend that if it is Godot or Le theatre de l'absurde, in general. I just cannot deal with that movement. Maybe I'm too young, or just uneducated.

Following a reading of Time and Place, by Alan Sheridan, I announced that I was stage-struck. I thought I was slightly over that, but it appears I am not at all. I want to know everything about the theatre, the stage, the actors, the playwrights, the workings of theatrical magic. I am so in love (and very happy that I have no need to stand on-stage, but rather see something of mine performed on it.) Post-London I will have to go on a theatrical book-buying spree.

------------

University English and the course "Introduction to British Literature", is happening. I am doing the lot, including the exam (which, I am confident will be quite miserable). I even filed the world's shortest, most hopeless application of sorts. Haha, Katrine is totally to blame.
nirinia: (Default)
Rant about Reisen til Julestjernen, my new favourite scenographer and the magnificence of the play coming up tomorrow, when I have enough presense of mind to edit this. And am not sleep-deprived, slightly hung over and suffering from too much food.

---------------------------

There, I am coherent again, so edit follows:

Reisen til julestjernen was absolutely magical. The few edits, or liberties, they had taken to make it more modern did nothing to make it less sweet or less of a good story. It made it more appropriate and fun. But what completely blew me away, was the scene! And the costumes. The gothic touches to the building, the grandeur, it reminded me of Burton at his best. Ah, the count, the count! I mustn't forget him. He reminded me of a Disney villain, and I cannot pretend to not have found him delectable. He even mwhahahahaed. And was generally cute.

The next time the scenographic genious that is John-Kristian Alsaker does something, I am seeing it no matter what. Well, perhaps I'll amend that if it is Godot or Le theatre de l'absurde, in general. I just cannot deal with that movement. Maybe I'm too young, or just uneducated.

Following a reading of Time and Place, by Alan Sheridan, I announced that I was stage-struck. I thought I was slightly over that, but it appears I am not at all. I want to know everything about the theatre, the stage, the actors, the playwrights, the workings of theatrical magic. I am so in love (and very happy that I have no need to stand on-stage, but rather see something of mine performed on it.) Post-London I will have to go on a theatrical book-buying spree.

------------

University English and the course "Introduction to British Literature", is happening. I am doing the lot, including the exam (which, I am confident will be quite miserable). I even filed the world's shortest, most hopeless application of sorts. Haha, Katrine is totally to blame.
nirinia: (Default)
I take the liberty of quoting a mail from my English-teacher: "Har forresten et spennende opplegg for engelsk neste år initiert av rektor: et samarbeid med Britisk institutt. Planen er at det skal bli tilrettelagt for en gruppe flinke elever så de kan følge noen forelesninger i et emne avsluttet med et "paper" som vil bli evaluert av instituttet og oppnå studiepoeng. Interessert?"

I have not only had an amazing year, I now get to sit in on university-level lectures. I just might survive an oral French exam, now. Oh, and I'm not entering a classroom to have French with "Skinnebein" again, her two years are up.

LIfe is lovely, if you subtract the upcoming exam: I have lovely friends, I'm finishing Wilde's "De Profundis" ("from the depths", if translated), I get to toy with university-English this fall, I'm most probably taking a Russian-class, getting a manicure, have an appointment with my hair-dresser in a week, am celebrating with Kristine sometime, we have a grand idea for the Norwegian paper we're to write  next year, I think I know what I want to do after Nordstrand and I'm off to England in late July. Now if I could just write.

PS. I did not get "Macbeth". Am I completely hopeless?
nirinia: (Default)
I take the liberty of quoting a mail from my English-teacher: "Har forresten et spennende opplegg for engelsk neste år initiert av rektor: et samarbeid med Britisk institutt. Planen er at det skal bli tilrettelagt for en gruppe flinke elever så de kan følge noen forelesninger i et emne avsluttet med et "paper" som vil bli evaluert av instituttet og oppnå studiepoeng. Interessert?"

I have not only had an amazing year, I now get to sit in on university-level lectures. I just might survive an oral French exam, now. Oh, and I'm not entering a classroom to have French with "Skinnebein" again, her two years are up.

LIfe is lovely, if you subtract the upcoming exam: I have lovely friends, I'm finishing Wilde's "De Profundis" ("from the depths", if translated), I get to toy with university-English this fall, I'm most probably taking a Russian-class, getting a manicure, have an appointment with my hair-dresser in a week, am celebrating with Kristine sometime, we have a grand idea for the Norwegian paper we're to write  next year, I think I know what I want to do after Nordstrand and I'm off to England in late July. Now if I could just write.

PS. I did not get "Macbeth". Am I completely hopeless?

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