My Mold

I've got mold now on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside my walls get damp and gray.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My mold (my mold, my mold)
Talkin' 'bout my mold (my mold)

I've got so much mold now the spores fly around.
I'll get allergies the doctor said with a frown.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My mold (my mold, my mold)
Talkin' 'bout my mold (my mold).

I just discovered that my walls are a breeding ground for hairy fungus. Its literally sticking its ugly head out through the wooden panel in my living room...which come to think of it is unbelievably ironic considering that I have just started a Masters degree in microbiology...Not only that, my supervisor wants me to write about toxic mold in peoples homes...I can taste the irony...and it is bitter.

I guess if I play my cards right, I can do the fieldwork in my own apartment...

The guilty pleasure of shameful music

I remember everything!
I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday.
I was barely seventeen,
and I once killed a boy with a Fender guitar.
I don't remember if it was a
Telecaster or a Stratocaster
but I do remember that it had a heart of chrome
and a voice like a horny angel.
I don't remember if it was a Telecaster or a
Stratocaster
but I do remember that it wasn't at all easy.
It required
the perfect combination of the right power chords
and the precise angle from

which to strike!
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards
and the blood was sough dark and rich,

like wild berries.
The blood of the guitar
was Chuck Berry red.
The guitar bled for about a week afterwards, but it
rung out beautifully
and I was able to play notes that I had never even
heard before.
So I took my guitar, and I smashed it against the wall!
I smashed it against the floor!
I smashed it against the body of a varsity cheerleader!
Smashed it against the hood of a car!
Smashed it against a
1981 Harley Davidson!
The Harley howled in pain! The guitar howled in heat!
And I ran up the stairs to my parents' bedroom...
Mummy and daddy were
sleeping in the moonlight...
Slowly I opened the door, creeping in the shadows
Right upto the foot of their bed.
I raised the guitar high above my head,
and just as I was about to bring the guitar crashing down
upon the centre of the bed,

my father woke up, screaming: "Stop!"
"Wait a minute!
Stop it boy! What do ya think you're doin'?
That's no way to treat

an expensive musical instrument!"
And I said: "God dammit daddy!
You know I love you...

But you've got a hell of a lot to learn about

rock 'n roll!!"

I was looking for some music for my workout, when I came upon on old Meat Loaf album I have...Its one of those albums you're afraid to admit you love...so you kind of hide it behind some of the more "respectable" ones...Anyway, I put it on and realized I still know pretty much every song on the album. In case you are wondering its the "Bat out of hell II (back into hell)" album and the intro above is from "Everything louder than everything else".

"A wasted youth is better by far
than a wise and productive old age!"

Im not entirely sure I agee with that statement, but the song kicks butt. You can say whatever you want about old meaty, but he can make rock n'roll if he really wants to.

I admit that this is the first CD I ever bought (being 13 or so...), but I still love it...so shoot me.

A female secret revealed

I like to cry...

There. I said it. The cat's out of the bag. No turning back.

I like to cry. -But only if I can choose under which terms the crying takes place.
Example: You've had a long week, work has been a bitch, Uni has been a bitch and all you want to do is hang out and relax with a good movie. Now, any other person might choose a comedy. Gotta laugh to feel better right?
No.
I would choose a sappy chick flick.
Why you ask?
So that I can cry.

There is something cleansing and liberating with a good cry. The more tears you can produce and hence the more swollen you can make your face look, the better you will feel afterwards (-unless you have to step outside in the public eye of course)...And if you can manage to bring forward the sob that starts in your toe and moves up your legs and lower waist, through your stomach and out your mouth in short, deep moans, you've really hit the happiness-jackpot. We're talking a happy-trip better than any drug can induce. A good cry like that is cleansing, but it has to be a good cry...None of that "my boyfriend broke up with me"-cry, or "I just lost someone I love"-cry...-cries that make your stomach hurt for days and weeks and months. Those are awful and no one should ever have to go through those....I am simply talking about the voluntary cries. The cries you will have forgotten 30 minutes after you had them.

A good cry gives a feeling very similar to sexual release and I will bet my ass (if I just had one...) that you can ask any girl out there, -and possibly some guys too, about it and they will tell you this is true. A good cry makes your body relax, and it makes you feel twice as happy about your own situation as you did before you initiated the crying. Why meditate when you can cry?

So now you know guys. The secret is out.

Im sorry girls. I know I am telling one of womanhoods deepest secrets here...but I think the male population needs to know. They need to know so that they will leave us alone the next time we watch Ghost. No more of that "Poor baby"-shit. We aint crying 'cause we're unhappy! We're crying cause it makes us feel good.

So there.

Various forms of the Happiness drug:
North Country
Finding Neverland
Ghost
Philadelphia
City of Angels
Pay it Forward
Brokeback Mountain

Feel free to add your drug of choice.

One of those days...

-”You’re unlucky” is nothing more than a frame of
reference for the lucky, Mr Fisher. You are unlucky so that I may know I am not. Unfortunately, the lucky don’t realize they are lucky before it is too late. Take yourself for instance; Yesterday you were better off than you are today, but it took today for you to realize it. But today has arrived, and its too late. You see? People are never happy with what they have. They always want what they had, what other people have.

Sometimes when all your friends have other plans, and you are forced to spend a Saturday night home alone (yay to single-life...), what you need is a good movie (can you figure out which one?), rain hitting your window so hard you can hardly hear yourself think (if you could hear thoughts that is...) and something good to eat; For instance a good steak with potatoes and vegetables...a white russian to drink while making said steak with potatoes and vegetables, spanish pepper-& olive pringles and a big bag of chocolate...and a bunch of candles to heat up the cold apartment.
A decent end to a blue day.

October 1st

I saw a butterfly today.

First day of October…in Norway….and I saw a butterfly. You gotta admire that kind of stamina and will. That poor larva has probably waited all summer for its wings…getting fatter and fatter in the pupae, before it finally one (unusually) warm day of October broke out of its organic prison, happy and content of its newfound winged life. It looked happy. Poor ting wont get old with this weather forecast…

I wonder if you can be happy enough for a lifetime in one day.