Wednesday, 24 October 2012

How Facecbook Killed Death

Warning: Sensitive topic. Stop reading if you can't handle it.

Clearly Facebook is getting a too big part of everybody's lives - including my own. What stuns me, in a very bad way, is what happens on Facebook when people die. With between 150 and 200 friends, I occasionally have to red "RIP" statuses or similar, and even though I don't know the grandma of my friend's friend, I still can't help it to feel a bit sad. A family more or less known to me is now going through hell, having a damn hard time. Of course it's sad - I'm not a monster without feelings.

What makes me sick is what Facebook does to death. Highly unpleasant anyway, it is somehow treated without dignity. I am not meaning that someone shouldn't mention their loved ones and wish them well - at least that was what I thought that I didn't mind. While writing these very words, however, I started doubting what I just wrote. Where does the boarder go - what is private? I guess Facebook is too big of a deal now to just let it pass.

Recently a friend on Facebook lost his brother, what I learned through a status update. Ok - we are not that well known, and for me I guess it is natural to learn over Facebook.Yet, while, out of curiosity, clicking into the friend's profile to see what's going on, and what's up with the really sad status, I notice that someone acquainted with my friend wrote on his wall. Something in the tone of "random babble, bad news", as in "do you still X, by the way, your brother died, did you hear it?". Something that makes me wanna puke and explode at the same time. Who in their right minds would post something like that on someone's wall?! Like some random everyday post - it's just so damn wrong. Imagine learning about one of your dear ones passing away through a notification on Facebook - it's disgusting. Is this what the world is turning into? Is this not the situation where you go personally to the person who, after all, just lost his brother? Or at least pick up your phone and call him?

Another thing that makes me sick is linking people that have passed away "I miss you so much Jonathan Smith, RIP RIP" allowing anybody to click into some person who only 12 hours ago played Farmville and wrote statuses about how lovely the weather is, and what their days will bring. It is so morbid - it makes you wonder, as an outsider, what happened, why so early - and that regarding people you don't even know. Then I ask myself: should it not be more private - do RIP-ers really want that to happen? People that never knew their dear ones sneaking around on their profiles? It just seems wrong. 

Returning to my friend, there are also other things that seem wrong to me, namely RIP-Facebook groups. I guess in one way it is nice to talk about the deceased, your nicest memories, sharing pictures. I understand it.   So it is not the groups that I am against. What makes me sick about it is the linking and starting posts with "please share", or "please invite your friends", thereby turning a person into a group request on your side bar, or into a post in the news-stream that gets scrolled through thousand times a day - is it not too impersonal? Is it not misplaced?

Yes, social networks are getting a bigger and bigger part of our lives, and the topic of death is part of life. But some things should simply be obvious. It is a sensitive topic, treat it that way.

Friday, 17 June 2011

Learning Humour

I just realized what my biggest challenge is when living here in Germany. Language? Occasionally a problem, but no. Homesickness? Of course I have it, but no. The biggest problem is, readers, that I am completely incapable of being funny in German.

To be able to understand this, readers, I must present myself as a cake. A personality-cake. The cake that is me consists of 10 pieces. I suppose the type of cake is irrelevant, but let's say I'm a chocolate cake. The deal is that normally 8 of 10 pieces of the Trolldis-cake is humour. 8 of 10, that is like 80%! So this means that only 20% consist the rest of my personality, so you know, kindness, intelligence (we're only talking cake-crumbles in this field, but I guess it's there), and so on. Bottom line 80% of the Trolldis cake is humour, 20% the rest. So most of Trolldis is a lump of humour. Here's the problem: Turns out you don't only have to learn the language, and how the German people are put together, you also have to learn humour. Clearly I am completely incapable of being funny when talking German. It's not like I don't try, it's just that every try ends in a massive fail.

Mostly I learnt my lack of German humour when i.e writing someone. I often ask my boyfriend to look through, makes me sure I'm not sending something braindead to people. And more than once I got the comment "Ehm.. Yeah, well.. We don't say that in German". "That's not funny in German", "I don't get that". "Nobody will get that" - at least he kinda prevented me from saying something really stupid, so it did not seem like the 80% lacking was indeed a reduction of the brains.

At least the Germans can laugh when I fuck up in German, and make embarrassing mistakes. For example, replacing "Krawatte" (tie) with "Karotte" (carrot), or saying "Waffelstillstand" when I wanted to say "Waffenstillstand" (sorry, I have no good translation, so I guess this one is just for the Germans). Of course, I disgrace myself like this all the time, but that's not the kind of humour I mean here.

The biggest problem, when the 80% humour cannot be shown inside Germany, only 20% of my personality is left to be shown, and I suppose you can all imagine what this means: Not only do Germans see a Trolldis 80% reduced, but I must appear to be the lamest personality to ever have set foot in Germany. Imagine what person you appear to be if 80% of your personality is just gone. Yes, you may feel sympathy. Thank you, readers, it is so kind.

At least I hope that it is just in German that I'm lame, maybe I just really hope this is the case, when in fact I am just getting lamer and lame with age. And the day I turn 22, my humour will drop to 0% and people run away in order to not talk to me. So my 80% goes from humour to BORING. To be honest, I prefer to believe the "lame in German" thing, that means I can at least have someone smiling at me when returning to Norway. So, readers, let me live in this hope!

Whether I am capable of being funny in English or not is up to me to decide, but that's not my biggest worry. Now I will go learn some German, and I'm not talking about vocabulary or grammar. I'm off to learn some German humour!

Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Hopeless Intentions: Trolldis during Academy Awards

In my little world, intentions constantly.. let's say it in a nice way compared to what it really is - gets totally fucked up. And this does not only apply to intentions that argue with my lazy lifestyle. You know how cleaning the apartment is a good idea before you actually pick up the bucket and start washing? Or how training tomorrow is a good idea today? That's exactly what I'm talking about. Unfortunately, it also applies when I don't want it to. Like, for instance, when the Oscars were going on TV.

As you probably know the Academy Awards were a couple of nights ago, and then too, I had high intentions. (Not only in what I'm about to tell you - but I've been wanting to write this blog-post since the Academy Awards - point proven? Too well.). So the whole intention-game consists of what I intended to do, and what I did. And this is how it looked at the night of the Oscars.

What I intended to do
Stay up till 02.00, follow it with graciousness and full attention, in my imagination I looked elegant, very awake. With a cup of tea. I did not look like a troll, I did not have a hairdo of a, and please forgive the lack of creativity, troll. Breath like an angel, perfect makeup. So yes - nothing like I normally look at 2 in the night.

What I did:
Struggled like crazy to stay awake, fell asleep at 01.00, but my clever self had thought of that scenario, and the alarm went off at 01.50. Desperately forced my eyes to remain open till 02.00, though I suspect that I was actually asleep, just with open eyes. And then there's a lot of blah-blah, and Sandman had evil plans the whole evening already, and hid under the bed. So we fought. When the action finally started half an hour later, Sandman had kinda won the match. What a bastard. So what did I do? Sleep like a rock -  DAMN YOU Sandman. Hair like a troll, snoring. And though I cannot describe how I look when I am sleeping - I can guarantee you that it is no pretty sight. Not my most gracious Oscars, but what the hell - someone's gotta make the others bloom, ne?

But luckily my boyfriend had a back-up plan, and recorded it, so we had the opportunity of watching it the next day as well. As you can imagine, you still want the action, the excitement and the full glamour the day after. So no, you don't wanna read how many Oscars this and that film got at the front page of some tabloid, nor what this and that hottie had on. So the hours before watching the Oscars yesterday were hell for me. All potential spoilers hover around you like a hawk. TV remained off, Facebook was off limits, Twitter was creepy. And when it came to the news, well.. Anything could have happened yesterday, World War III could have started, dinosaurs could have arrived with huge spaceships from Mars, eating the American continent, and even chops out of Europe. And I wouldn't have known anything. But luckily it did not, and after a long struggle, around 20.00 it had all been worth it, as Colin Firth got the Oscar for Best Male Actor, and The King's Speech all in all 4 Oscars, I will go to bed for the next week with a huuuge smile all over my face.

For those of you who didn't hear about The King's Speech, do yourself a favour and check it out. Here's a trailer for you:

Enjoy! Good night, and I hope your intentions don't always fuck up as badly as mine.

PS: Really! Watch The King's Speech - It's awesome, it has everything. It's educational. Colin Firth. Funny. Touching. Great. Go go!

Saturday, 19 February 2011

I hope you did not find what you were looking for

I hope that it does not make me a bad person, actually I have several arguments (I would say strong arguments) that I am not a bad person:

One: I have the dignity to hide it when I laugh of people falling on their butt on the ice.
Two: When the punker-burglars on the main station runs after me asking for money (that they end up using on beer, beer and more beer) I do not ask them to fuck off. (I know, readers, an impressive amount of self-control)
Three:  When Jehovah's Witnesses ring the doorbell, I do not slam the door in their faces.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking? "What is she even doing still? She has clearly proved her goodness already." I could have listed a million reasons why I'm not a bad person, but I have better ways to spend my time. Old readers already know that I'm a giver, and for new readers: I'm a giver. So the whole "Is Trolldis a bad or good person" is not really a question anymore, agreed?

... either way, I still hope you didn't find what you were looking for - this applies to people finding my blog through searching terms like "panties made in Germany", "drunk Germans Lederhosen", "men in manties", and the terms "drunk German" and "lederhosen" in more combinations then you even would think existed, and when it includes the word "sexy", even more combinations come into light . Because - if you did search terms like this, and you did find what you were looking for, this automatically makes statement about my blog, that I would prefer was never made. Not only about my blog, but subsequently me as a blogger. If I were even half as fascinated with panties, and then especially manties, as most of my readers (ok, so not "readers", more "most of the random people stumbling randomly upon my blog searching random, and at times pervy words") I would personally send applications to the nearest psychowards begging them to take me in and fix my head, and I believe I would also get a spot pretty fast. We're talking sick, sick fetishes, ladies and gentlemen. I will not give you any percentage of pervy hits here, those of you who know me personally probably know that my strongest talents are not within maths, those of you who do not: I suck in maths. But who needs maths when they are such pure, good souls?

This a final proof of my striking lack of intelligence. What do you all think happens when writing a blog-post containing words that already bring many doubtful individuals to finding my blog? That's right, it is even more likely that these terms lead to my blog. If I continue like this I'll come before "" when someone search "manties" on Google. So, the chances are doubled that mantie- and lederhosen-lovers, people wanting sexy drunk Germans on Octoberfest, and other pervs end up right here. Plus, in this blog-post I also applied the word "butt" and "Jehovas Witness" - are we talking a fucked up new fetish? I will be sure to announce when someone stumbled upon my blog with these words. And if you're the person: Hi there, please send me a mail and let me write a blog about you. Love, Trolldis.

I suppose it's time to go to bed before I manage to write more crap, or fall asleep on my keyboard and post a blog written uniquely with my head, perhaps assisted by my nose.

Good night, dear readers! See you next time, then I'll try not to be overly tired and write crap. Promise. :)

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Saying Goodbye

It seems like yesterday. We sat around the table, drinking beer, laughing, having fun. Little did I know, that this evening would lead to something dreadful. Little did I know that what seemed like a triviality, would have major consequences.

It was early in the semester, plans, hopes, dreams and intentions. Things were new for us all, new subjects, new time tables, new challenges. I personally had nothing to do with what was decided that evening, I was just the observer. I remained silent when I should spoken, still when I should scream "No, for the love of GOD, NO!". Knowing that you could have done something makes it even harder to say goodbye. But it is inevitable, at a certain point you simply cannot refuse to open your eyes - see the facts - accept the facts.

So here I am, trying to enjoy the last evening with you. Somehow it is hard to realise that you will no longer be here tomorrow. Hard to realise cause I do not want to realise it. Please, give me one more day - one more week. Why now?

I'm drawing my fingers through you one last time, not wanting to let go. But I have to face the truth. You will not even die a graceful death. Tomorrow you will be cut off by an electric razor, fall in a pile of dead hair, and later be flushed down the toilet - what a fate! You will be gone - and my boyfriend will end up looking like an egg. But in all the sorrow, it is important to see, that it is not over. Hair grows out again. The world goes on. However, before this happen: if you will see five eggheads wandering around the streets of Leipzig, you know that they all sat around the table the very night in question - the night that would change their lives more than they knew.

So what's the deal here? What happened this special evening? I think the time has come to tell you, readers: This very evening my boyfriend and his friends came up with this wacko idea of shaving their heads if they were to pass a certain exam at the end of the semester. And great news - they passed. And here I am - about to be the girlfriend of what looks like an egg. A charming egg - he'll get that. I'll just have to think every day that it's hair - it grows out again.

Well, well.. Now I'm spending the rest of the evening with my soon-to-be egg, parting with his hair, in other words: Goodbye.

Sunday, 13 February 2011

A Bunch of Racist Assholes

Disclaimer:  My language is not particularly nice within this blog post, if you have a problem with the word "ass" and similar, I suggest you do not read this post. Really.

Na, so who do I mean in the headline? My own kind, Norwegians. Of course just a tiny part of it, and of course there are plenty of racist assholes all over the world. Ok, so if you're a Norwegian, and not a racist asshole - we're fine, no need to get insulted then. And if you are indeed a racist asshole, please get the hell away from my blog. If I find you I will hurt you. That having been said, let's proceed, shall we?

To be able to understand the rest, this is the song that will represent Norway in Eurovision Song Contest  this year:

I don't love it, but I don't think it sucks. My opinion on the song is anyway irrelevant, what is relevant is how much I hate these fucking racist assholes. Ok, so the comment field in youtube is clearly not the place to look if you want to locate the most intelligent people inhabited on earth, but sometimes I just can't help it. And it usually ends up pissing me off. Why? Some people can't think longer than their nose is, and should really all get a pair of robust boots up their asses.

The nominees for the price  "biggest asshole in the world" are as followed:

Asshole 1: "great.. african reps norway.. fucking proud of my country now ... right.. "
Asshole 2: "Go back to Africa and let a Norwegian sing."
Asshole 3:"she is way too ethunic for my taste"
Asshole 4: "And this is NOT representing Norway, our country in any way. We are not africans. "

First of all: You are all (please note: referring to the previously listed assholes) very welcome to kiss my ass, even though I would say my ass is not worthy of your kisses. Actually, you can hate the song as much as you want, I don't care, I'm not here to protect it, but the colour of her skin is irrelevant. Why is she less Norwegian than you? Because she is not as pale as a corpse, blonde haired, blue eyed? Guess what, shitheads - skin colour does not denote nationality, maybe it did an unknown number of years ago, but for Christ sake: We live in 2011, wake up! Multiculturalism. It makes me wanna puke when I hear/read these kinds of statements, why can't the world just be a nice place?

For the record: I find this song better than what Norway usually sends abroad. Finally someone who applies some rhythm, and makes it catchy in a way. For those of you "wanting something Norwegian", guess how many times "Norwegian" music got 0 points in ESC? 4. And Norway was last 10 times. Because? Crappy music. So in my opinion, be happy that someone finally does something different, and stop judging people after skin colour.

By the way, readers. If anyone of you happen to know Asshole 1, 2, 3 or 4. Please do the following: Kick their asses, and tell me that you did. I will bake you muffins, or cake. Whatever you prefer. One should get rewarded for participating in bringing justice to the world.

And now I'm gonna watch puppies and kittens on youtube to calm down and forget for a while how many idiots the world holds.

Sunday, 6 February 2011

With the intention of turning your Sunday-frown upside down

If you would drug me down, put me into a completely black room without any contact to the outside world, or any knowledge about time, day, week, month or year. If you would keep me there for years, feed me through a hole in the wall where I'd get all food in floating form through a straw. No television, no newspapers, no nothing. I would go completely crazy. And in the state of being completely crazy - I swear - I would still be able to feel when it was Sunday, cause I am 100% certain that Sundays will always just feel a bit sadder, greyer and shittier. Now, this is not me making a bet or anything, so I'd really appreciate it if you would not kidnap me.

This particular Sunday you are all in luck, this is, if you like British humour. If you do not like British humour, I suggest you locate the cross in the upper right corner and click it. I would really appreciate it, cause guess what, I do not wanna be the person who made the crappy Sunday even crappier. That would make me the devil or something! And you know readers, that's just not me.

Ok, so lets get to business. The first attempt of making that Sunday-frown turn upside down!

If it is still a frown I officially failed as a blogger. But I'm not giving up before Hugh and Laurie gave it a shot too.

One last shot. And this, readers, is a classic. Thus: You have to find it awesome.

I hope I have made your Sunday evening feel a bit less like a Sunday evening. And that you smiled at least once. Then I'm happy.If you did not, I've gotta try harder some other Sunday, and mark my words: Once I will rock your Sunday!

Have a nice evening, everyone :)

Free Blog Counter