Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Bury my heart at Wounded Knee

Oh, March 2009. Let it be shouted from the mountain tops - you did me no favors. My receding hairline is evidence of a chapter of very small scale disasters. Once again I grab for the quill to spew my venom into this atomic dud of a confession booth.

What's the reason for this outrage you ask. Like all other evils it was started by the combination of a few cold ones and that forbidden movement known as the river dance. Gallivanting around in the late hours I saw it fit to perform some non-rehearsed steps for some lady friends. That never leads to a good thing. My left knee or fucktard as I so cleverly have christened it gave into the immense pressure and proceeded to leave it's socket for greener pastures to the left of the knee area. As I felt gravity pull me down I gently pushed it back into place before spreading out on the asphalt begging for mercy AKA cursing my existence.

Being a jokester is a double edged sword. Too many times have I pulled off late night shenanigans for a quick laugh, too many times to be taken seriously when my body collapses for what seems like no reason. For a good five minutes I was known as the boy who cried knee. Blessed be the old girlfriend who finally took the helm and ushered me to the ER.

The fine staff in the emergency room gave me a bed to spread on as I called everyone in my phone list for sympathy and advice. As I was still pretty intoxicated I wasn't really grasping the damages yet. I was given crutches and a prescription for heavy painkillers. Pain is for pussies I thought. Que the morning after. I stood up and in awe witnessed that my leg looked like a mogwai that was fed after midnight. And man was it angry about that.

Click on the picture to view it in all it's glory

Behold. Beauty and the beast hath become one. If I was an Asian philosopher I would be known as Contusios (too much Wayne's World sorry).

The days passed. What seemed a colorful blur was the constant streaming of Attenborough's documentary The Life Of Mammals. Sometimes only animal imagery helps. I learned that the Duckbilled Platypus secretes milk through it's skin rather than having evolved teets. That information kept me sane under the heavy meds.

A week later the physiotherapy was on. A young lass told me I have three to six months to become a man again. She gave me old person exercises to regrow the muscles. My left leg had now shrunk to skeletal thickness, leaving it's healthy brother looking like a Carl Lewis thigh. Oh the obscure hotness.

Yesterday, three weeks after this I did an MR. It was a sci-fi odyssey, I was consumed by the loudest space age machine I've ever laid eyes on. It screamed at me for my bone breaking stunts as a last reminder to never do anything physically demanding ever again. As of today my leg has grown a wee bit, it is now that of an anorectic prostitute in severe need of shaving. Huzzah.

I will be sure to let the world (or the three readers of this blog) know of future progress. Toodels me loves!

Monday, February 16, 2009


Greetings you spam ridden horse jockeys! Time for an update dontchathink?

Let's face it. The Americans don't want me. My sweet ass visa ran out yet again and this globetrotter was returned to his place of origin - the fjord loaded mountain vale of Norway. Trying to adapt to waking up with permafrost on my face is making me feel as out of place as an abortion in the life of the OctoMom. But hey, some punishment is in order after coasting through a winter in California that passes for summer anywhere else. As for the last three months in the US - I totally nailed them! If by nailed you mean procrastinated away and by totally you mean knowingly. I've been repeatedly asked what I was really doing over there and I'm trying to compile a list of the more interesting happenings that took place. It's more or less the randomest selection money can buy, and you're getting it for free.

It starts:

1. Thanksaroini in Josharoony!

The obesity I deserved after this years Thanksgiving was obscene. What has become an annual excuse to binge with no remorse for an already corpulent US nation, has now become the favorite holiday for one very gastronomically satisfied Norwegian. This year’s smorgasbord took place in a shack on the dry, cacti-zitted face of Joshua Tree. In a rehabilitated shack with fire pits all around, me and 6 friends fought the cold of the desert night armed only with skimpy clothes and hypothetical layers of beer force fields.

As some of you may know, turkey - the fowl - has something in it called L-tryptophan which apparently causes sleepiness. Combined with wine that only causes rowdiness the night ended early. In my defense it is difficult to tell time in desert rat territory as the darkness is all-consuming and the stars come out to play like nothing I've ever seen. To give you a perspective of the night sky out there:

It was thistimes like a 1000 or something!!

2. Funkaholics Autonomous

We grovel at the feet of the groove gods. Every Tuesday. Accomplice Tommy Nine Tones and I - MC Gyver, that's M.C. play the dusty spoils of once a great genre. The night, know as Cheap Soul, still thrives even in my absence at La Cita, place of beer and Mexican Christmas lights. Go there and tear the roof of the mothersucka.

3. Illusions of grandeur

So, I got into Magic Castle which is teh awesome. My friend Daniel borrowed me his suit and a chance to be puzzled for a lifetime. I've always thought magic was reserved for those with beards shaped like lightning and serpent walking sticks. I was wrong. Something happens to you when you see a hundred dollar bill end up inside an unpealed lemon. When a man's suit changes color from black to red and he proceeds to steal a tie off of a magazine ad you are in a different world where logic does not apply, much like sex at 17. Dazzled by these underdog mind benders I will never refer to this side of the entertainment industry as corny ever again. It is in fact fibery and nutritious.

I guess one of the rules of the club is to never talk about it. But I happened upon one of the less magicy but none the less entertaining acts of the night on BFF Youtube. There ain't nothing wrong with showing a little - right!? Despite Letterman's meh attitude towards the guy (did he offend him in the dressing room or something??) he puts on a jovial show for the whole fam to enjoy! I give you The Spring Snake Symphony!

To think that this blurb was inspired by the fact that I got one new reader comment! THANK YOU STRANGER! Hopefully I'll remember more about these 3 months... I should really buy some OMEGA-3 and jumpstart this noggin. Till next time lovers!

Friday, December 26, 2008

Like Christmas in Dubai (it rhymes with July)

HAIL!! The God of thunder summons you - Christmas spirit - for I am in dire need of thee and thou caroling ways. Allowing myself another yuletide experience overseas proved to be even stranger this time around. Me and sidekick Tommy jumped on the opportunity to stay two nights at the fabulous Fitzgerald, Las Vegas, for the measly sum of 60 bucks. After a quick 5 hours on the I-15 north we entered the sound of raining nickles as we passed through the lobby. No time to waste. To the pool! Armed with stiff nipples we soaked for a good 2 minutes in the outdoor jacuzzi proclaiming joyously that we were in fact there. An obvious but necessary quote when you've traveled many miles.

Gambling life is not for everyone. After numerous slot machine attempts at supreme moneyness we found ourselves at the roulette table clueless. Luckily the dealer Michelle provided useful information for ways to lose money. We bet on the twenties and double zeros and actually won what we payed for our stay. YAY! The winnings were later lost as we boldly bet on craps, game of no chance and dice. The outside being as chilly as a Siberian Husky after an unsuccessful mating season demanded hefty woolen sweaters and fake glasses. The Fitz was located on the old Vegas strip, the one you know from Honey I Blew Up The Kid.

This is seriously the biggest picture I could find on the web.

The casinos around old town were all inside our price range, but we wanted a gander at what we can never have and decided to taxi it to where mortgages are lost in the flip of a card. Las Vegas Boulevard was crammed with the different mogul boners, their neon venereal diseases gashed the flat landscape. The oohs and aahs were many. We decided to stuff our guts before strutting further down the road. Fear and Loathing is too good of a movie not to emulate so we chose Circus Circus as our first Vegan meal (NOT vegan). Amazingly enough all the food at the buffet had the same taste. Ass! (I dare ya to follow that link).

Being not loaded I definitely felt like a trout out of water in the humongous lounges of the upscale hots pots. The Encore, The Wynn, The Venetian, The Whatchamacalit were all awe inspiring and we knew better than to throw our money away at the high stakes. Maybe we should have stayed at those hotels if it would have kept us from gambling at all.

Getting to and fro was actually where the main dollar was dropped. We were literally and not literally taken for a ride almost every time. Smut peddling cabbies all wanted us to visit their favorite titty bars. Excerpt of dialogue:


Us: Uh, not right now. We're going to the Double Down inside the Fruit Loop.


Us: Not this bar. It's just located there.


Tommy: Architecture.


Us: I dunno.

We quickly learned to stay away from the checkered cabs as they came with a 90 to 1 possibility of containing an asshole. Apparently the taxi drivers get money from the strip joints for putting vagina in the tourists way, we saw several of them signing clipboards at stripper bar entrances. Maybe they were alimony checks for the scantily clad employees.

The Double Down Saloon was packed with punk kids and the house band was taking Judas Priest and Mötorhead requests, we downed PBRs to soften the ruckus. Many White Russians and Armenian cabdrivers later we collapsed at 5am.

To shorten this midgardsworm of a blog post the rest will be told in key word form. Morning after 3pm, Denver omelet, more sleep, meet Revel and girlfriend with sister, MGM Grand too pricey, back at Fitz, play craps again, less money, vertigo, blackjack, a woman shouts "Come on golden dragon" to a slot machine and proceeds to win a thousand bucks, short term jealousy, vodka sodas, Christmas dinner at McDonalds, Bukowskiesque feelings of manliness followed by Sartresque feelings of patheticness, amazing funk band playing wedding at the Plaza Hotel, giving the golden dragon machine a try, no golden dragons in this one, vodka soda, increased vertigo, sleepy time, morning after, driving, Peggy Sue's 50s Diner, home, sleep for 13 hours.

Hope you all got hard presents and lobster dinners, he said in an acidic voice. Dammit, I forgot to mention snowy deserts and will post someone else's picture of it:

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Second hand man

Slowly but surely I'm restocking on ancient artifacts to color my low-budgeted life. The other day I had my first dead mans garage experience finding all kinds of amazing stuff from the days of disco and polyester. Peering through the life of this deceased uncle I found some 70's picnic cups, a Kodak Instamatic 104 and a carry on American Tourister kit. Some pieces of Americana I had never seen before. Like Scandinavians have their strange Russian/German/French stuff lying around, the Americans are mostly self-provided when it comes to vintage knick knacks. I hope to reap more from this chamber of secrets.

I just came home from the ghetto surroundings of 7th and Lucas Ave. My fresh friend Alan took me there after we helped Jonathan carry his stuff into his new place. I'm weeping silent tears over not getting to live with him, you can't have it all. I am now thinking of ways to spiff up my living quarters for cheap, my last expensive investment was a mountain bike me and Alan just haggled down to 150 bucks. It runs great but needs some tweaking, I'm hoping Tommy will turn it into one of his many art projects so it doesn't look like a Sears Catalog item anymore.

If people are still wondering what this trip was about, I'll try to enlighten you. I am here to look for a way to legally stay. I fell in love with this town, the first time around and I would love to live here under a prolonged visa situation. The student life was good for me, but I would love to be able to work in some way, while being here - maybe even through Norway - in order to support whatever projects I get into in the future. I feel like my mind is being put to work again after repetitive months at the Book Club back home. I miss a lot of things about Norway, but the living in between the peaks feels easier on the soul over here.

Lucy the pit bull is snoring next to me and Jonathan took most of the lights with him as he left, leaving the place a dungeon. I have already started to put the wheels of cleanliness in motion here and will get this place back in ship shape ASAP. If I have to play the house wife/commanding officer for a while, then so be it. I hope your ever-sparkling thoughts are with me.

Peace out mofos, cause space echos in smelted legos and eat hardy!

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Alien Ressurection

Yes! It is I, Einar the pilgrim, the thirsty traveler, the newborn Pastafarian, the swollen member, the douche. Again I find myself on US soil, the wonderful turf that once supported many a corn field and roaming buffalo. And as the formula goes: US SOIL = BLOGGY TIME. As I continue to write these memoirs of an underachiever I secretly hope they will spread like chlamydia in a catholic choir answering a few questions you might have about my sense of reality.

So much ambition, so few plans

Arriving in my old stomping grounds of Downtown LA has been a different experience this time around. Already there are plenty of reasons to make me lose the pathetic strands of dead skin i call my hair. Anyone who's had a conversation with me in the last 4 years will know that I am a man of the feline persuasion. This is being put to the test as I am now living with a real breathing Pit bull. She's a bitch, literally and she is becoming very fond of me, so fond in fact that you can't be in the room with her without her throwing herself at my feet and presenting her overly teeted stomach. I might be developing a soft spot for her meaning I would definitely not eat her if given the chance.

This will no doubt be a different trip than the last as four months in this place with no Norwegian influence has made the place go completely apeshit. Downtown is evolving, like it or not, new mega structures are popping up and the homeless residents are finding themselves in spiffy well lit surroundings. Little Tokyo is unchanged however and I am enjoying my gluttonous self in my old favorite restaurants. I've fallen in love with an old Japanese couple who have a little hole in the wall called AOI. I often sneak in there to cleanse my sinful soul with green tea and suck in the timelessness of the surroundings. They have an autographed picture of Burt from the old comedy show "Soap" hanging over the register. That alone is worth the meal ticket.

I've decided to cut this blurb short due to laziness. Y'all have a nice time, ya hear! More poorly written stuff to come.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Being sunk and other gossip.

Holy Diver! The weeks are flying by like bats leaving their carefully filtered guano droppings to fill the pages of my little insignificant blog. A lot has happened in these last months, not all fun but mostly. About three weeks ago I got to see what the back seat of a cop car looks like. With my hands on the grill window that separated me from the deputy in the front seat I stared at the strategically placed shotgun next to him thinking "Well, I had a good run". Moving around in the wealthier parts of this metropolis can be a risky business, especially if you have what the clean shaven refer to as a suspicious appearance. Apparently I do. I was reparking my extremely beat up rent-a-wreck car - It looks like R2D2's retarded mother - in West Hollywood. I got out to check the parking sign to see if I could actually leave it there, when a vehicle from the jolly old sheriffs department suddenly u-turned and zeroed in on me. "Put your hands on the hood for me, sir. Spread your legs, please". I gestured accordingly. Then one officer uttered a sentence that scared the ghost of Montezuma out of me. He looked at the other officer and muttered "Want me to sink him"?

Wait a minute! Sink him? Sink him!! Are they gonna shoot me? Make me lie face down on the ground? T-bag me? Thankfully my understanding of the blue lingo was faulty. Sink him means put him in the back of the car. They couldn't just say that however. Instead - Sink him. Such a neutral, non-threatening, not to mention catchy expression has apparently proven to be the proper terminology when dealing with pedestrians. SINK HIM!

A cop car doesn't smell, and believe me my senses were fully alert sitting back there while a fat rookie ran my license number through the machine. The leather seats were hard but comfy enough. "We're pulling over anyone who looks suspicious, there's been a lot of car burglaries in this area". Yes sir, thank you, sir. Amazing how the mind works when it gets into worst case scenario mode. For a moment I was thinking they might get me for the time I ate worms in kindergarten. I do have a clean record thank Judas, and I was out of there in less than five minutes, returning to my scene partners house with a zombie-like complexion.


On the performance side of things it's been looking up for ol' Wisty. I did a play in Santa Monica College directed by Kamil Haque, a scene based on two Hemingway short stories. I realized that I'd never done drama in front of an audience. A strange experience and it felt fucken sweet not having to gun for laughs. Kamil was happy and we celebrated by going to Santee Alley together and I bought some bomb ass shades that I managed to lose later that night. Me and Tommy was there the week before looking for the appropriate fabric for a Yeti costume. I am proud to say that I have haggled on Yeti fur. Tommy equals fun. I don't know what I'll do without him.

I got my first paying gig later that week when two strange French men contacted me to do a voice over. Long story short, I am now the voice of a 50-year old handsome Californian in a romantic film set in Malibu/France. Apparently the original actor ran away after finishing his scenes (maybe he saw the footage. BURN!!). Time for Dildo Haggis to step in and do the dirty work. The French boys had no filming permits so we had to sneak past the lobby of a snappy apartment complex in the Valley, we hid in the corner and I pulled out my deepest tongue and injected it into the boom mic. The script was worded in the way that only a French script would be allowed to be. Insane philosophical declarations of love. The director threw his inspirational fit in his stereotypical French-English accent and the camera man winked at me an whispered "Just ham it up". And so I did. 200 smackers for 20 minutes of work. Gotta love it. That munny's going into my NYC budget - I'll be stopping by Martin in Brooklyn and Velaug on the Upper East Side. Having never been to the Big Apple I'm ready as ready can be to suck in the atmosphere. I'm not sure what we'll be doing over there but I have to stop by The Jonathan Levine Gallery, which was one of many things I set out to do when I left for the states. There's apparently a ticket booth on Times Square that sells'em cheap the day of, I gotta get my hands on something Arthur Miller or Tennessee Williams. The lack of big theater productions in LA has left me hungry for the real thing.

Since summer has reared it's pretty face Downtown is turning into decadence central for hipsters, shysters, geeksters and scenesters. Tommy, again in the drivers seat, expert at bringing out the hedonist in me. We spent a Saturday on the Standard roof, shooting each other with Super Soakers that looked like sowing machines and drinking champagne. It also made for some pretty swanky photographs of yours truly. As the most un-photogenic guy I know - I got that from my mother, YES YOU!! - it was nice to see that even I can look human on camera once in a while. The man behind the sophisticated image taking tool was Jiro, event photographer extraordinaire.

Now what did I forget? I went through driving school after being pulled over for the warrant on the former owner, took my first HIV-test which basically means you think you have AIDS for a week while you wait, I've been the subject of utter humiliation and ego trips, I got the worst case of athlete's foot ever that took a month of limping to cure, my car died and I sold it for the grand total of 125 bucks, I played a gay Mormon and got mad props... total typecast, I saw the Hi-def Final Cut of Blade Runner which is still the greatest movie ever made, I've started DJ'ing with Tommy under the name MC Gyver - funk and soul which I never seem to tire of, I've gotten a new roommate - Ross - who get the easy going person of the year award, I got a subtitling job that could pay me through Norway, I bought the first season of Ultraman which you should see before you die, I bought a turquoise Member's Only jacket from the eighties - I don't know what went into me, I am the proud owner of THE SHOES that Rivers wears in the new Weezer video Pork and Beans (I suspect they are what gave me athlete's foot), I've been doing rent a room karaoke introducing A-ha to those unbeknownst to it's greatness and I joined the YMCA to trim some of that fat off my ass, working out actually works if you do it. Fuck Atkins and Fedon. Gi meg en ribba måltrost, boller og råkost.

Monday, March 3, 2008


Yeah. I know. There and back again by Dildo Haggis, fabled blog of the ancients, has been overlooked by the author for far too long and unlike fine wine has aged sour, its historic value left moldy and passe. I'm not gonna lie about it, the writer in me has been a lazy bastard as of late. No more excuses! You wanted news, and now you're gonna get'em. Boring as they may be! Get a cup of caffeinated drink of choice and strap yourself in.

I bought some pants a month ago. I wear them quite often! Other than that there's definitely been things afoot. School is still a huge time swallower, but I think I'm learning still. I feel like I'm going through phases, learning more about myself as I progress. The position of favorite teacher has shifted over and over and the crown has settled on the magical Hedy Sontag. This woman embodies the wisdom and mania to breathe inspirational life into a 26 year old rapscallion from Tromsø. As the work we do in class is often highly personal, the trust issue is key, and I have an easier time dealing with trauma of yorne in front of this Queen of Drama (not to be mistaken for the loosely used term drama queen, I know a fair share of those too, but they will not be mentioned in this blurb). If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about when I say dealing with trauma, I am simply addressing what the work is basically about, bringing back and reliving experiences from ones past, in order to evoke behavioral reactions that will color the nature of the performance. If successful one will find that the words and life of any given scene will unfold quite differently than if you were to "play" it. Or in laments terms, if you're really having a good or horrendous time up there, it'll show. Mrs. Sontag has been a shepherd through many a rough patch and knows me better then the rest of the faculty cast.

WOW! What the hell is going on with me. That was the most pompous shit I've ever written. The pen really is sharper than the sword, and way less entertaining obviously.

I had a rough last week of the semester, sick for the first time in the US, I hauled my pale rump to school, for a day of half-assed performances and the reprimand of a lifetime. One of my teachers called my display garbage and bullshit. Pretty fucking harsh I tell thee. In retrospect I think it was mostly a scare tactic from his part, as I've been a good boy for the rest of the semester, but given the horrible performance he might have been afraid that I had become to comfortable and lazy. He might have been right, when it comes to this particular incident. Laziness is inexcusable and I'm glad he gave me a heads up. Still there's not a lot of educational value in the word garbage. I have to remind myself sometimes that the certain individuals of the teaching staff at the institute sometimes fall into the egomaniac category of humans. We are after all dealing with actors here. The lowest form of the human species! This page is really a mirror to the soul for me. Thank you blog - waste basket of rotten food for thought.

A lot of straying Norwegians have stopped by lately! The balls from which I sprung, or my dad for short came accompanied by my 10 year old brother and wife Bente. In one week we managed to squeeze every tourist attraction in town into the schedule, and still have time for coffee and biscuits. I love them. Don't get too much family time when you're on the other side of the world. We went ballistic in Disneyland and later Universal Studios. I haven't been to a theme park in years, and I've forgotten how much of a pussy I am when it comes to rides. Luckily my brother was there so the danger level of the entertainment kept itself inside the PG limit. Some rides stood out - The INCREDIBLE Star Tours! Star Wars themed space ship flight to Endor. Jesus. I can now die a happy man! The came Terminator 3D. Oh my God. With Arnold, who needs method actors!? Set inside a gigantic dome, armed with the dorkiest glasses since Mark Mothersbaugh made the scene, we witnessed the fall of Cyberdyne at the hands of a Austrian robot and his boy. Beats a wild night of Kama Sutra sex any time. After all, who needs to procreate when the world will be nuked and inhabited by robots in the year 1997 anyway.

Hanging with the fam provided a good chance for me to show them my local hot spots and my unmatched chauffeur skills! My brother pushed the physical limits of how much pancake a not fully grown human can consume. Honestly man, that boy can thanks his lucky stars he was born millions of miles away from the most fattening food culture in the world. No wonder people are larger than life over here. Everything is so good and full of fat! God... Maybe my inner obese child brought me here. Who knows?! Don't question my ways!

We're getting a new roommate soon, as Jonathan is leaving for London for 4 months. I'll miss that home schooled Beetlejuice lookalike cobbler. Him and Tommy has proven more than friends and I'm gonna be crying myself to sleep when I leave this place. Fuck!! I can't believe I'm not gonna be here longer than June. We gotta do something about that. Marriage anyone?