La famiglia

We're at it again.
The usual suspects with our friendly spam, bickering and expressions of love.

Wish you were here (no, that he was here), sign. (that is, me) and I talked about doing something this weekend, yes lets, aren't you away, I'll be back in the afternoon.

And so I sit here, feeling

love.

Very much so.

Globalization

The world is such a small place.

Two of my close friends are evacuated from the Hurricane Katrina. I watch CNN videos online, astonished.

That's when it occurs to me. The consequence of a global world is everyone feeling connected to things.
I also know someone in London.
And a friend of mine in India just missed the Tsunami since it arrived relatively early in the morning. So, only some dead, compared to thousands and thousands who would have been had it hit in the afternoon.
A friend of a friend lost his son.

I've been, to New Orleans. I wouldn't want Bourbon Street washed away.
But I'll have eye witnesses to ask, when they return home, discovering that university papers don't know hurricane-timeouts.

Case of you

I'm listening to Joni again.

It's pouring rain out, its way past my bedtime, but I'm online, in a nearly tidy livingroom.
I'm online, because, I don't know why.
Not sober, not drunk, I've been out with Anna and friends of hers, and enjoyed the experience of feeling happy, strong, secure, and relaxed, in meeting people. Even danced some with the pretty sorry excuses for men we found ourselves among. I mean, they were allright, but no dancers. And if they were, they were too drunk for it.

I smell of Nefertiti, and I'm wearing my "get-lucky-blouse". Nefertiti is an Egyptian perfume. It's spicy and poignant, and sexy, and too much most of the time. The get-lucky-blouse has reputedly been lucky on two occasions, which isn't all that much, but I'm comfortable in it.

That is not the point of this blog.
Today I've worked on home improvement.
Tidying. I'm actually quite surprised I got something done, it seemed to me I was only procrastinating the whole day.

Not sober, not drunk. Not sober.

On Wednesday I picked up tickets for a concert tomorrow. I also got the general program for the season. No familiar name where it should have been, according to the pick-up-line (and the callouses on his hands).
I emailed him. After consulting a friend who said Yes Yes Yes;
"so, as I can see you're not there there's no need to bring the theatre binoculars to scout out the violin section then". He responded that he's in one opera and one ballet (reputedly, we all know how it is with him and truth, don't we). ps. Theatre binoculars are only useful when there's something to look at, isn't it.
And: Happy belated namesday. He noticed. Does that mean anything? And he replied, fast, what should I read into that?

He's got the most gorgeous eyes. I didn't say that though. How do you orchestrate a meeting?

Even if I read nothing into it, can anyone tell me, how do you go from terrific bar flirt to cozy one-night-stand and consequtive cameraderie, music and eggs and bacon to second date?
I'd like to know. Apparently, the emailing is functioning quite allright.

That was not the point again. I think the point to this post, if I can manage it without typos, was that music stores feeling. I got Blue post-T, and subsequently bought Court and spark. Playing them, I invoke the eerie feelings of homecoming and possibility and solitude and sexual power that were present, post-fuck. To be crude. It was more than that. I think, I've stopped going home with people for that end only, the fuck is secondary or an added bonus. I don't know. I don't know what I want to say here. Not sober, certainly.

But Joni, she talks to me, of realizations that are, or have matured, and of life.

More than anything, I feel full. Fulfilled, whole, a whole lot (bursting at the seams), who can be as much! and
blessed
with trust and friendships and insights


- and in this I've neglected to disclose one other aspect of the feelings that Joni calls upon, they are possibility and associated with

cognac

and I will go there,
again.

Patrizzios finfina fisksoppa

Jepp, har fått receptet av Putte, men det kommer försvinna i kaoset om jag inte sparar det nåt vettigt ställe. Soppan serverades på påskafton 2005, vinet var gött, sällskapet fenmenalt, och soppan en gräddig dröm. Finns egentligen i Bonniers stora kokbok, hoppas inte någon kommer saksöka mig. Rig, darling, (den ene som leser bloggen som kanskje spiser suppe :p) this tastes great!!


400 gram blandade fiskfiléer
4 tomater
1 liten gul lök
1/4 purjolök
1/2 fänkålsstaud (fennikel for norske lesere)
1 paket saffran
1 vitlöksklyfta
1 dl torr vermouth
2 dl fiskbuljong
2 dl vispgrädde
1 tsk salt
1/2 krm cayennepeppar
1 dl hackade örter

Skålla och skala tomaterna, ta ur kärnan, skär tomatköttet i bitar
Hacka lök, purjolök och fänkål
Fräs i olja så det får lite färg
Tillsätt saffran, vitlök o vermouth
Späd med buljong o grädde
Salta, peppra, sjud så det blir en slät sås
Lägg i fisk i 2-3 cm stora bitar o sjud i 3 min
Lägg i tomater så att de blir varma, lägg i örter
Servera

Vilikke...

Iblant kommer visshet til en fordi en må ta en beslutning. Velge noe. Det er først når en konkret sak foreligger at vissheten blir reell.

Eksempel: Skal bestille bredbånd, og vil ikke ha bindingstid, fordi jeg ikke vet om jeg bor her da. Jeg tenker

1) Uff, skal jeg flytte?!

Eller idag: Spør Putte om når konserten blir, han svarer januar, jeg tenker
2) Hva om den kolliderer med Trettendedagsaftenkonsertene

og 1), forsterket;
Uff, jeg vil da ikke flytte.


Hypotetiske planer er vel og bra. Når en tenker på å gjøre dem om til praksis kommer prioriteringene for en dag.
Reise hjem? Reise på besøk? Dra på ferie?

Påfallende nok har jeg nok med å være

hjemme

sukk :)

Namnsdag!!!!

Jag har namnsdag idag!!!!

Signe

kommer från det fornnordiska namnet Sighni som är en sammansättning avordför seger och ny. I sagan var Signe namnet på en kungadotter som följdesinälskade i döden. Signe användes i Skåne redan på 1300-talet och framtill 1800- talet förekom namnet nästan bara där, men sedan spred det sigsnabbt och blev vid sidan av Gerda och Ingeborg det mest använda fornnordiska namnet i slutet av 1800-talet. Signe kom in i almanackan 1901. Antalet namnbärare är runt 19 100, av dessa har knappt 10 400 det som tilltalsnamn.

Signhild

härstammar från det äldre nordiska namnet Signil som är skapat från två ord som betyder seger och strid. Under medeltiden var Signhild vanligt,men blev med tiden alltmer sällsynt. Först på 1820- och 1830-talenbörjade namnet bli relativt vanligt igen. Antalet namnbärare är runt 3100, av dessa har omkring 1 100 det som tilltalsnamn. Cirka 500 stavar namnet Signild.

This one's for you....

... or, I don't really know what it's going to be about at all.

Considering my present efficiency, it's hard to fathom how I made it to the PhD. Have I ever done a day's work in my life?

- That was what I wanted to say? Hardly.
- Yeah yeah the thing is, I don't know how much I want to say?
- Oh, you mean, about the man thing?
- Yes, the man thing.
- What's holding you back?
- Oh, I don't know. The risk of anyone reading it. The fear of jinxing it. You know.
- I see. We're there, are we. You've started telling yourself that you might care one way or the other, which means that you are risking something from this point on.
- Something like that. Well, the risk is not that large yet. I don't know. I'm just - worried that he'll disappear now I'm beginning to maybe like him. It has been known to happen.
- Mhm, but you haven't slept with him.
- I didn't always have to sleep with them to make them go away. Hah!
- I know, I'm just kidding. So, are you still at work hoping to chat to him if he comes online.
- *blush* maybe. What if I am?
- And you haven't thought that it's a bit soon, since you saw him twice this weekend?
- I have.
- So, why don't you go home.
- I know, I should. I'm going.
- Ok, so you're not telling anything after all?
- Guess not. Hah!