Obey

Those fantastic black and white sticker/stencils/posters of Andre the Giant started popping up in Philadelphia ca. 1997. Due to some urban legend or something, I believed the artist who created this phenomenon had his studio at 1026 Arch St., which was a bit of a creative hotspot at the time. Ha. I couldn’t have been more wrong about the origins of the artist, Shepard Fairey.

My apologies to the artist, but the internet wasn’t so comprehensive back then and it was so much easier to believe a drunken game of “whisper down the lane” than to do any research. Crazy to say, but the cultural phenom of Obey keeps popping up. Two incidents particularly stand out: The first was a sales person I met in Las Vegas last year who was/is an Obey devotee. She was obviously impressed that anyone at the end of cool and over 30 knew of Obey, too. The other incident was a signpost.

For the record, I love signposts. They do a thankless job, and since I tend not to know where I’m at, let alone where I’m going, I pay attention to them. Take for instance, this signpost at the intersection of Grønlandleiret and Tøyenbekken in downtown Oslo. (You’re technically looking at the backside of the signpost, but bear with me.)The photo on the left was taken about 10 years ago and the photo on the right was taken just last year. It may not be easy to see, but a lot has come and gone since these pictures were taken. For starters, the one-storey, 100 year old wooden buildings were torn down to make way for a five-storey shopping center and apartment complex. A whole lotta inner-city garbage, graffiti, empty lots and history got moved and was not so gently put back. Oddly enough, the very ordinary signpost wasn’t touched. In fact, it acquired at some point between 1997 and 2007 this little addition:







I’ll be schnooked, yo. Obey is a 100% global phenomenon and I was the last to know.

Avoid Baby BBQ

Can somebody tell me why baby clothes have "KEEP AWAY FROM FIRE" printed on the labels?

There Was a Time

The scenario would have been totally unimaginable to me some time in my past: Iraq just played against Pakistan for the 2010 World Cup Soccer Qualifiers in Lahore. One judge hailed from Jordan and another from Kyrgyzstan and the head coach of Iraq hails from Norway. Coverage of fans’ reactions was filmed in Qatar, Syria, Pakistan and Norway.

It was, in fact, a slow game with very little drama. Iraq easily crushed Pakistan 7-0 with a mere 3 minutes of overtime. As soccer goes, this was really a boring match. Sponsorship was a bizarre mix of Pakistani and Norwegian companies. Al-Falah Bank ads were next to Bohus Furniture and the ubiquitous Coca-Cola. Despite the crazy and unlikely internationality of it all, would it be unpatriotic of me if I cheer for Iraq? But then again, would Norway see me as a passive supporter of arranged marriages if I cheer for Pakistan? Hmmmmm… now this is a dilemma. :D

What's in a Name?

Choosing an official name for a baby is no simple task. What do you take into consideration: Tradition? Trends? Culture? Pronounceable in how many languages? Or worse yet, does the name we've chosen mean “The Ass of a Donkey” in a language he or she may use in the future? Well, for what it’s worth, we made our choice. Theo will have to live with it and manage the best he can.

The poor guy, however, does not get the chance to manage all of the nicknames he’s acquired in just 2 ½ months. I routinely call him “Tiger” and depending on his mood, “crab cake”. If he’s super cute, some days he even gets called “babycakes”. Anders has used every single pet name he can think of in Norwegian. Theo often becomes “Lille vennen” (Little friend), “Gullungen” (Golden Child) or “Gullklompen” (Golden Lump). The latter often gets shortened to just “klomp” and then translated into English.

Long story short, we like Lump and Lump likes us.

September 23rd

It's one o'clock in the afternoon and I'm still in my pajamas. I've got a hot cup of coffee in my hands, jazz on the stereo (JJ Inc., by J.J. Johnson) and there's a fire in the fire place. It's a gray and overcast day. The leaves on the trees are changing. Anders and Theo are cozying up on the couch and Ibsen is asleep on her favorite chair.

Today's a good day.

Sounds From the Teenage Years

In the days of Napster, I randomly downloaded the MP3, When Nothing's Changed by Vitesse. There was something about the song that haunted me because it was reminiscent of a sound I hadn't heard since I was a teenager. This was way beyond the overtly 80s synth pop of, say, Barcelona. After a few rounds of discussion with friends, it was decided that Vitesse reminded me of Joy Division.

Now there's another song that has me stuck in a musical déjà vu: An End Has a Start by the Editors. I assume that is indeed Echo & the Bunnymen I think of when I hear this song, as All Music suggests. My problem this time is that I'm reminded of a specific song, not just of a particular sound. So which @&%! song is it? It's killing me, and I'd love some help with one, people. Any suggestions?

Twilight Zone

I didn't think this would happen, but I love maternity leave. I honestly thought I'd go nuts being at home all day. And, truth be told, I still go nuts being at home all day. My solution, therefore, is to get out as often as possible. This means meeting friends often at local coffee shops and many, many pointless trips out for one or two grocery items.

I didn't notice that there were all that many women and men out with baby buggies at first. Then, as if Rod Serling were narrating, more and more prams started to appear. And finally, people with prams are all I see. Case in point: on my way to buy some groceries yesterday I didn't see a single person who didn't have a baby buggy.

It's freaking me out.

Angel School

As you may or may not be aware, Norway's Princess Märtha Louise has opened an "angel school". She claims that she can help people learn to be sensitive enough to the presence of angels by using her psychic powers. Not surprisingly, Yahoo's Odd News section thought the story was funny enough to put on their homepage about a week ago.

Of course, when I read about this in the Norwegian newspapers, I didn't quite get it. I thought "Engleskole" was surely a metaphor for something and couldn't possibly be taken literally. It was only after the local press, the foreign press, the layman and the academic started to criticize her in earnest did I realize that this was for real. (The Swedish foreign press mocking Märtha Louise is especially ironic. Their King Carl XVI Gustaf is one of the last of the surviving wingnuts from the hay day of inbred-monarchies. He's harmless, though he keeps the PR secretaries in whirl trying to tone down his antics.)

A great headline regarding the princess' antics was "Finally! Märtha Louise Will Turn Norway into a Republic!" The author was referring to the debate on whether or not Norway should do away with the monarchy all together. The media has tackled every angle of this absurdity and they have very nearly done with a straight face. I started laughing every time I saw a commentator's lips twitching when announcing the lead up to yet another "Engleskole" segment.

Märtha Louise has been a real trooper, speaking out in the press on behalf of her school. One of her lines of defense is that she "doesn't understand how we can teach our children not to mock one another when the adults behave as they do." Which, of course, left me in breathless hysterics.

The Plan Came Together

Today was a surprisingly good day where all kinds of small schemes came together very, very nicely.

The first was that Anders and I remembered our anniversary all by ourselves - the first time in four years. We thankfully had several people remind us of the day just the same.

After two weeks of encouraging Theo (his name is officially Theo now) to eat every 2 to 3 hours instead of every 1 to 2 hours, we hit a comfortable rhythm for the first time. Without too much fuss, I was able to change his diaper, and have him eat and sleep within a reasonable time. If this continues, I just might survive next week when Anders goes back to work.

Lastly, I was totally surprised that I managed to squeeze my postpartum ass into a pair of pre-pregnancy jeans. I read over and over again that a new mom must be patient with her body after delivery. It was best summed up as "9 months up, 9 months down". I took the advice to heart and I have been relaxing and not stressing about the new, odd shape of my body. What I didn't count on was how fast little Theo would be sucking the life out of me while breastfeeding. Most pre-pregnancy clothes still do not fit me on account of the newly acquired canteens on my chest, but the jeans were a pleasant surprise.

While riding high on all of these small achievements, Anders and I decided to go to Ikea with Theo in tow. The chaos of it all shattered his two week old nerves and the poor thing first sobbed, then retreated into shell-shocked silence after we got to the check out line. With our nerves equally shot, we left the store with not much more than a guilty conscious. Uff! I don't think we're gonna repeat than experiment again for a while.

Theo Campbell Bettum*

Theo was born July 19, 2007 at Ullevål Hospital in Oslo at 8.25am. He weighed in at a healthy 6lb 15oz (3.154kg) and was 20 ½ in (52cm) long. He's got a good blend of my features and Anders'; so much so that we can't tell who he takes after more. We are pretty certain that he's got my nose which means his boxing career is over before it started.*We haven't committed 100% to the name "Theo" yet. Regardless the name, we love you, we love you, we love you.

Strawberry Ikea

This has been a wet summer. Well, every summer gets a wet beginning here in Oslo. The spring and summer usually goes something like this: we have relatively good weather in April and May, and then it rains the entire month of June. July and August are usually warm and pleasant in the waning daylight of high summer. This year, June was pleasant and dry, while July has been wet with record amounts of rain.

Two very Norwegian phenomena have been affected by the unusually high amounts of rain we've received so far. The first is the strawberry crop. There are few Norwegians out there that aren't convinced that Norwegian strawberries are the best in the world because of the long summer days. (I'm not gonna touch this nationalistic hot spot – you'll have to judge the strawberries for yourself.) This year, the strawberries are rotting on the vine and drowning in the fields. Not to be too dramatic, but the bad weather conditions are giving rise to what the Norwegian newspapers are calling a "Strawberry Crisis".

The other Norwegian phenomenon that has been affected by the weather is this rich nation's obsessive need to fix-up the house. (A house is essentially a work in progress.) The Norwegians are notoriously DIY and you will see ordinary people take on projects that would send other people straight to the contractor's. Since working outside on the new terrace, patio or siding has been limited by the rain, people are turning to the inside of their houses. Ikea has seen a sales increase of 15% in the stores in areas where the weather has been the worst.

To no one's surprise, the other jump has occurred in ticket sales. Travel agencies are selling tickets to anywhere other than southern Norway hand over fist. ;)

What I'm Listening To

I wanted to share the videos from the (newish) band I'm digging these days: meet Superfamily.

I heard them not long after I moved to Norway, but then they got lost in the Franz Ferdinand/Killers craze. I thought the video for "It's a Lie" was fun, although I don't remember that they got much airtime on the radio.

I certainly didn't realize they were Norwegian until I saw "Taxi Dancing". The video gives a nice midnight tour through downtown Oslo, starting at one of my favorite clubs, Garage. Like so many other songs written in English by Norwegian artists, the text uses another standard of artistic license. I don't get half of what they're saying, but it's OK. The lead singer belts out the abstract weirdness of it all with so much heart and that he makes up for it.

If you have been charmed by these guys as I have, you can check out their latest song at their website. "The Radio Has Expressed Concern About What You Did Last Night" is the early summer hit and it gets played a lot. I pity the DJs who struggle with the title every time they announce the song, though. It has been reasonably shorted to "The Radio has Expressed...". Enjoy!

Me Troglodyte

Troglodyte

–noun
1. a prehistoric cave dweller
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1), © Random House, Inc. 2006

-jargon (Commodore)
1. A curmudgeon attached to an obsolescent computing environment.
The Free On-line Dictionary of Computing, © 1993-2007 Denis Howe

I'm currently debating the value of the mobile phone. I'm waaaaay beyond the whole etiquette/ privacy thing. I'm not even questioning the validity of the mobile phone – Lord knows it's here to stay. What I'm debating is the value of the newer features.

Take the MP3 feature for instance. I love the idea of taking all the small, hand held bits of gadgetry and combining them into one gadget (that is easy to lose). I'm so down with the phone, the PDA and the MP3 player combo. What I *hate* about this fabulous MP3/phone combo is that people have figured out how to turn mobile phones into ghetto blasters. It's irritating to listen to Britney Spears – period. It's downright grating to listen to people shouting over Ms Spears while blasting it out of their phones. What on God's green earth is the point? There are so many dumb asses in the world and this new technology lets people advertise just how low their IQ really is. Charming.

On the flip side, the video camera offers one of the coolest things I've seen regarding mobile technology to date. Until recently, I wasn't jazzed about the built-in video camera. I saw the ads on TV and promptly forgot them because it had no relevance to my life. I basically use my mobile as a pager/answering machine and appointment reminder. (Hence the troglodyte bit.) The deaf, however, have had worlds opened up to them because of new technology. IMs and text messaging has been an invaluable interface between hearing and non-hearing folks. But did you know that deaf people can use the video cams on their mobiles to talk to each other? Isn't that the coolest damn thing EVER? I was witness to this phenomenon one day on the trolley. I sat behind a kid who took a phone call from a woman who was probably his mother. It looked like they were having the typical "where are you…" convo with their hands. I tried not to stare, well, since eavesdropping is impolite, but I couldn't help it. I think in the end, she told him that I was "listening" since she could see me peeking over his shoulder on his video cam. It was pretty embarrassing to get caught like that, but who'd'a thunk? (Again, I must be a troglodyte if I'm not creative enough to think of these things myself.)

So typical of technology, there are pros and cons to every new feature and development. I'm a convert to the usefulness of the video cam (if not for me) and I loathe the mobile phone as a ghetto blaster. I just ask the developers of mobile phone technology to find a way to prevent downloads of crappy pop music to the mobile before I start smashing the damn things.

Getting Away

Thanks to a killer offer from Ryan Air and my desire to be anywhere on the Mediterranean coast, Anders and I took a mini-vacation in Marseille. We had only five days and I was determined not to stress on this vacation, so for better or for worse, we decided to stay in Marseille and not trek around the whole of Provence. In all honesty, I wanted my biggest concerns to be where we would nosh and which beach we would to go to. Marseille provided just that.


Let me start off by saying that I knew absolutely nothing about Marseille or Southern France when I booked the tickets. Sure, you can prattle on about Nice and the Riviera, but I figured I'd need more money than I had to find decent accommodations in those places. Always one for adventure, I booked the tickets first and read up on Marseille afterwards. It all worked out very, very nicely. Case in point: check the view from our hotel->

Marseille is, in fact, a 2,500 year old port city. It's dirty, got a prominent working class and centuries of blended cultures give the city its distinctive air. The churches, for example, have details of Syrian ablaq, Catholic imagery, Greek/Byzantine mosaic decorations and text in both Latin and Greek. The medieval cathedrals of Northern France have had less of an impact than you'd expect. We spent most of our time in the old city, where there was only one example of church architecture from Northern France. The weather was perfect, so lazing our way through the streets was truly relaxing. The architectural styles we saw reminded me of Cairo: the balconies, high ceilings, the big windows and the wrought iron detailing everywhere. (I know that Cairo adopted the style from France, but since I was there first, yanni.) Hell, even the ugly modern concrete high-rises reminded me of Cairo.

(<- Here's some of the cityscape I'm talking about.) Of course, a trip to France would be nothing if you didn't go crazy for the food. Restaurant fare was tasty and I recommend trying the bouillabaisse, which is Marseille's specialty. The greatest thing was popping into a grocery store or into the myriad of small boutiques to buy fresh baguettes, goat cheese, sausages and fruits that would have cost a fortune in Norway , if they would have been possible to find at all. Honestly, we had a divine lunch of goat cheese, chorizo, blood oranges and Orangina that we bought at the local stores. I had almost forgotten the delights of well-made white bread, since almost all of the Norwegian breads are some kind of blend of healthy whole wheat, oat, rye, or you-name-it whole grain.


And if you are lucky enough to get out of the city, the Canalques provides some spectacular sites. We didn't get to the Canalques proper, mostly because I was tired and ill-prepared. (Read: this girl had on impractical foot ware.) The white stones were covered in poppies in bloom, hearty scrub pines and the succulent plants typical of the region. Anders scouted around after we made camp at this little inlet and said the landscape only got better. I'll have to take his word on that, since I was too busy loading up on vitamin D and UV rays. As pretty as Canalques was, there was very little that was going to distract me from my mission of sun, surf and pure relaxation.

So despite having the worst reputation of all the cities on the southern coast of France, Marseille was still a great place to visit. We had a lovely trip and managed to thoroughly decompress and unwind. For that, I tip my hat to the last place anyone would ever want to visit in Southern France.

Winter Came Late This Year, Revisited

Though the lingering winter was kicking my ass in March, spring started to show it’s warmer and softer side in April. The days got suddenly much longer after we switched to daylight savings time, the rain abated and there are touches of green in the landscape. It’s safe to say that spring is here and I’m a happy camper.

So what do we do for Easter? We do what every sane Norwegian does: we run to the mountains for one last hurrah on skis. To be perfectly honest, I couldn’t get my head around the idea of leaving the gorgeous weather in Oslo for the snow and ice. Still, the last time I did this four years ago, the sun shone brilliantly and the temperatures were high despite the 2½ feet of snow that was on the ground. I remembered that the Easter holiday was actually fun and I had a bit of tan when it was all over. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Despite all of the advancements in transportation, there are still places that cars can’t reach in the winter. The locals switch to snow scooters and skis and continue on as usual. Since we don’t live up by the cabin, Anders’ family will load the heavy food stuff on to a rented scooter and ski up with their clothes in backpacks. It’s about 6km (ca. 4mi) from the nearest parking area to their cabin. To a Norwegian, anything less than 10km (ca. 6mi) is horseplay – a mere walk in the park. In fact, the Norwegian language doesn’t have the verb “to ski”. Literally translated, they say “to walk on skis” (å gå på ski) because it’s all really the same thing to them.


I should add here that I’m talking about cross-country or telemark skiing. These techniques are the only kind that you can use in the mountainous terrain. If you’re moving uphill you can “step” with your skis, using them as a kind of snowshoe. It’s amazing the places you can go on skis that other automated ground transport can’t reach. It’s also at these times that I marvel at the properties of snow. Whether you’re gliding or stepping over the snow, it appears deceptively solid. However, for all of the things that snow is, it is mostly air. If you take off your skis, you’ll sink up to your hips in the fluffy stuff and there is no graceful way out of the freezing quicksand trap. For someone who’s never really seen more than 30cm (12in) of snow at time, the phenomena of 1m+ (3ft+) of snow at go still fascinates me.

Having said that, can I just tell you what a pain in the ass this past Easter holiday was? Christ Almighty, when we got to the parking area up by the cabin Thursday afternoon, it was windy and overcast. The snow was blowing horizontally and stinging our faces. Even though it was overcast, I had to use sunglasses to keep the snow out of my eyes. We used about 2 hours to ski those 6km to the cabin because we were fighting the wind and poor skiing conditions. The temperatures were not that low, so the snow would clump up on the bottom of our skis, requiring us to stop frequently and scrape the snow off so we could glide. I was so tired and at times I wanted to take my skis off and walk up the steepest hills, but that was a no-go, as described above. When we finally got to the cabin, I was so exhausted that I started bawling after I changed into non-ski gear. Luckily, the cabin was warm, a fantastic dinner was waiting for us and my mood turned around quickly. The cabin is really very cozy and it’s hard to be in a bad mood when there’s a roaring fire and good company.

The weather didn’t get much better over the next three days. In fact, three feet of snow became four feet (1.2m), maybe five feet (1.5m) of snow, all told. We took short trips out when the wind wasn’t blowing too much or if the sun managed to shine. All of that suited me just fine, and I was wiped out by these short trips alone. There was, of course, great food to be had and the traditional Easter dinner of lamb’s ribs was served in all of its fanfare on Saturday. (Most holidays here are celebrated on the eve of the actual holiday, Lord knows why.) We skied out on Easter Monday and even though we had brilliant sunshine and good conditions, I was done done DONE with winter. We packed up the skis and I took some pleasure in knowing that we wouldn’t need them again for quite some time. I was so looking forward to the warm springtime in Oslo we had left only four days before.

And do you know what? As we drove towards Oslo the weather turned bad. God help me, it f¤&%ing snowed that night.

Don't Say Happy Birthday

I realized recently that Norway is the only country I've been to where they don't sing "Happy Birthday". As in most places I've been, the tune's the same but the text is different. My friend recently celebrated her 30th and we wished her a happy birthday in no less than nine languages: Russian, Polish, German, French, English, Norwegian, Spanish, Portuguese and Arabic.

It was then that I realized that I never learned the text to the Norwegian birthday song. It's kind of embarrassing that it escaped me for so long, but there you have it. I learned the tune, which is completely different from the "Happy Birthday" tune most countries seem to use. Even in Egypt, they sing the "Happy Birthday" song with the text "senna helwa, ya gamil" ("A year of sweetness, my love"), but not so in Norway. I found the Norwegian birthday song text on the internet and I thought I'd share. The song goes like this:

Hurra for deg som fyller ditt år,
Ja, deg vil vi gratulere!
Alle i ring omkring deg vi står og se,
Nå vi vil marsjere,
Bukke, nikke, neie, snu oss omkring,
Danse for deg med hopp og sprett og spring!
Ønsker deg av hjerte alle gode ting og
Si meg så hva vil du mere –
Gratulerer!

A very loose translation goes something like this:

Cheers to you on your birthday,
Yes, you will we celebrate!
Everyone in a circle around you stands, and look!
Now we will march, bow, courtesy, nod and spin,
Dance for you with a hop, a leap and a jump!
With all of our hearts, we wish you only good things and
Tell me what else you wish for –
Congratulations!

You stand up when you sing the song and children will usually act out the commands in the song while the adults tend just nod and bow. It's cute, really. There are a lot of birthdays in the coming months and I'm glad that I've finally learned the words.

Gratulerer med dagen!

Winter Came Late This Year

It's March 1st and it's snowing. Given where we live, I suppose it's no surprise. However, it's been snowing everyday for the past week and it's been overcast for the past two weeks. The forecast calls for partly-cloudy skies tomorrow, which means we might be so lucky as to be teased by hints of sunlight before we plunge into another week of overcast skies and snow.

I have to admit, winter in Norway without snow is a bit dreary. It's so dark in the winter and the snow adds a bit of (reflected) light. We had one big snow fall in October and then nothing until after Christmas. For Norwegians, it's pure torture. What's the point of the cold, if there's no snow? How do you go skiing??! Again, that's not really a problem for me. I don't mind a lack of snow since that usually means sunshine and traction on the sidewalks, but it drives the locals nuts.

Having said that, I must admit that I was eager to get out when we finally did get enough snow for skiing. On a bitterly cold, but brilliantly sunny day, I took a short cross-country ski trip. I've learned a few tricks from the Norwegians about enjoying the outdoors and first and foremost, you must have enough coffee and chocolate at all times. So I packed a pleasant snack of boiling hot tea, homemade cherry biscuits, Clementine oranges and chocolate and headed out to reservoir that freezes over every winter. The frozen, snow-covered lake makes a great track for inexperienced people like me. That day, I thought I was going to die of exhaustion before I reached the other side of the reservoir. When I reached my goal, I made a comfy seat out of the wind and in the sunshine, took a break and ate my goodies. Wouldn't ya know, I managed to work up a sweat on the way back, which was no small feat in 8F (-13C). I found my rhythm, got my arms and legs swinging, and I actually started gliding across the snow instead of stomping across the snow on 2m long fiberglass toothpicks. I was really damn proud of myself, even though I had to make way for an elderly couple of about 70 who were going about twice my speed.

These overcast days kill my inclination to go outside, even though I have heavy-duty winter coveralls. It takes the pull of the good company to drag my ass off the couch and get moving. I was so grateful that my friends invited me to come along for a day of sledding at Holmenkollen last Sunday. That was a whopping 7 hours of sledding and walking out in the winter landscape and it was fantastic. We collapsed into my friend's couches at the end of the day and we were warmed by brownies, hot chocolate and later, a lovely meal of homemade Indian curries.

However, it is now March and I am looking forward to spring. Obviously, it's premature to start thinking about warm(er) weather just yet. Hell, I'd settle for a sunny and cold day just to take advantage of the 4 ½ hours of daylight we've gained since solstice. In short, the weather is kicking my ass. Again.

Demographic Misfire

I am a white, middle-aged man. Betcha didn't know that, didja? I betcha didn't know that I'm rich. In fact, I've been watching my IRA and various mutual funds and trust funds grow over that past 40 years of my fabulously successful business management career. I'm looking forward to exotic travels in my (rapidly approaching) retirement. I'm going to treat my wife to Alaskan, Greek, and Scandinavian cruises, thanking her for sticking with me while I worked long hours and also for not divorcing me and taking half of my fortune in alimony after I cheated on her with one (alleged) mistress. I drive a caddy. It could be sedan or SUV, but it's a caddy. I know I should drive a Prius and be more Earth conscious, but I've made it, haven't I? Oh, and those walk-in bath tubs that Ed McMahon promotes are looking pretty good. Last but not least, I have contacted my doctor to talk about the new meds that can fix those pesky bladder, heart and gallbladder problems that reduce the spontaneity of my (soon-to-be) active retirement lifestyle. Oh yeah.

At least, the magazines that I read believe I belong to that demographic. There was a time when I thought I didn't fit into a easily defined marketer's demographic, though that was never true. Those Holly Golightly ideas of individuality didn't last very long. Now, however, it's crystal clear that I am outside of the expected or targeted demographic. It's bizarre and pretty amusing.

The first Lollapalooza demonstrated exactly how many people like me were running around out there. Advertisers couldn't wait to get their hooks into the newly identified target market: white, educated, suburban raised and city dwelling, just to the left of center politically and simply adores great design. Simply put, it worked. All kinds of products started popping up that were cleverly and clearly targeted to me and my demographic. I wanted what VW was selling, for example. Y100 wasn't so bad to listen to when I was driving my two-door beater that didn't have a CD player. High Fidelity was the pinnacle, though. It wasn't my life, per se, but it accurately described at least 3 or 4 very close friends/ boyfriends.

Of course, the advertisers learned that my demographic earned a bit less than what was expected. While we all wanted these products, there weren't enough of us in the demographic who could afford them. It seemed like the marketers and companies bailed and changed tack. Y100 switched formats and advertisers started focusing more on GenY than GenX because GenY's parents gave them more money than GenX had to spend. Or something like that. Here in Norway, there are few ads that I see that make me want a particular product - excepting Scandie furniture and interior design. Although I've started to earn an OK salary, Ikea is still all I can afford. It's odd to realize that I really am outside an easily defined demographic for the time being.

Now who can guess which demographically incorrect magazines I subscribe to?

(Mom and Dad – you're not allowed to post your answers!)

Photo Forthcoming

As a postscript to the previous blog, I have received a few comments and emails complaining about my dirty tricks. It was actually not very nice of me to describe my new hairstyle without actually posting a photo. For that, I apologize.

On the other hand, I don't have a photo of me with the new haircut that I'm willing to share. A series of blurry photos of me and my friends doing the hand jive on New Year's Eve don't really do the 'do justice. I'm afraid you all will have to wait a little longer 'til I get a decent snapshot.