I would have made a great German gentleman in the 1940s

Photos by a mysterius Greek gentleman by the name Jeorge Meisel or George Stratigis backstage at Oslo Fashion Week
See more of his things and stuff at captureandcaptivate.tumblr.com

Merry Gentlemans

I'll get my tits out for just about anyone

Photo: Guro Torget

"Man pursues black on white" Mallarmé

LAMEOGRAPHY

If this isn't inspired by the Monty Python's Flying Circus sketch Ministry of Silly Walks, I will eat several of my hats! And also, I approve. This is what I do in Athens when the weather is uncomfortably close to Norwegian and all public transport is on strike.. Look at EVERYTHING on the interwebs!

Travel tip: Don't go to Athens if you want to shop. It is like peddling in hummus through an endless sea of UGGs and Ed Hardy. Even ZARA and MANGO are broken here. I thought I would enjoy some take-advantage-of-your-crisis shopping today and all I found where shops, like the ones in Oslo, only with worse clothes. Even H&M was fashion-nonsense of disastrous proportions. Modern thinking and creator of democracy, yes. Historical, architectural and cultural magnificence, YES. One of the most picturesque cities I have ever been in, yes. But for some reason, people here dress like working-class Lithuanian hair-dressers from the mid 90s.

I tried going to the trendiest and indiest neighborhoods Gazi and Phyrri, but all their merchandise was horrible 80s vintage and the same LOMOGRAPHY non-sense as Grünerløkka.

I did however meet a impressively facial-haired male model who called himself Holy and had a pop-up vintage concept called Holy Mustache. I'm thinking of marrying him. I think he's gay, but as most gay men in Greece are closeted (!!), I'm assuming it will not be a problem.

Lastly, I choose to wear a short dress today. I shouldn't have. It got to the point of whistling and yelling of Greek things in my direction that I was afraid of being assaulted if I attempted to eat the banana I had in my canvas bag.. I have a new and fundamental respect for Greek women! Their integrity and openness does not waver even after facing a lifetime of these horny man-puppies. Has the hair bleaching that seems to be so popular here, even though it turns everyones hair orange, given them super-obnoxious-man-comment-repelling-powers?

HUZZAH

I'm off to cuddle a stray kitten!

Where's blond Siren?

I think I've had what the tweens are calling "bloggers block" lately. I'm sorry to the twelve or so people who seem to read this thing. I'm also under the growing impression that blogging is for a younger crowd of exhibitionist youths whom have perfected the art of the "fish-lips" in photos taken by themselves or boyfriends (gay, but won't admit it yet).

But, I digress. I find that I impress myself with my ability to digress before I've started writing an actual post. I think this is an ominous trend if I hope to one day become an author of works not exclusively read online, by my friends. The stream of consciousness writing has been done before, and done quite well..

I found some pictures of myself saved on my user in the University of Oslo computer system. I don't remember saving them or where I found them, but I'm blond and wearing a gold mask, so who cares. They are hilarious in a serial-killer sort of way. If there where children in the audience at Mote med Mening 2011 I can only assume we've scared them away from a life of fashion with this display of nightmare aesthetics. Not to mention the horrifying Portishead remix in the background as we walked!

Rehearsal, I choose to wear my mask here as well, the reason being that otherwise the cameras in the area might catch my horrid alibino'ness.

I should also admit that I'm only writing this post because I've been sick and stuck at home for three days (!!) and have to papers to write for my Uni. courses. As you probably know, I am a professional procrastinator! Off I fly, to once again check facebook, maybe tweet a little and clean EVERYTHING, before staring blankly at my computer screen where my assignments will glow in it's abjectly curricular way.

Hare Krishna

Siren

Deflowering Botanical Gardens

I had a great shoot in Oslo Botanical Gardens last week. A talented young lady sent me her idea and a request for me to model for her via facebook. I couldn't see the connection between her and me, and frankly, I'm great at facebook-stalking out any information about someone that I might need. I immediately liked the (lady)balls on this young woman and agreed. Why say no, really? Either I get some good shots or I can forget about the ordeal immediately after and giggle at the horrendous pictures when/if they are sent to me. I've had a few iffy experiences (one with stuffed Angry-Birds and early 2000s "vintage" comes to mind..) but they usually can't be bothered sending me any photos anyway

She asked me to come without makeup, wearing high-waisted shorts and that the idea for the shoot was heroin-chic. Some might think heroin-chic to be something other than a compliment on ones appearance, but for a skinny, pasty, boy-girl like me it was what I assume Christmas feels like for spoiled children in the American mid-west!

I was in and out of there in under an hour. Guro gave up all control of me and let me do my best Jack Duluoz (Pseudonym for Jack Kerouac in Vanity of Duluoz) if he where stuck on an island with nothing but his precious drugs for company; and nothing to write on!
I should think it would lead to a similar delusion of grandeur as felt by me yesterday when I was the only short-haired and boob-less girl at the casting for Oslo Fashion Week. I though: "They have to pick me, I'm special." Although I doubt that was what the casting people thought. I should expect my glow of confidence translated to a malevolent glitter of douchebaggery.

(Photo: Guro Torget. No make-up, styled by Guro)

After I had been in the casting I suddenly found several more short-haired girls waiting to go in and shatter my only castable advantage and as I talked to one of them, she told me she was on the cover of this seasons OFW magazine! I would be jealous, if she weren't so stunningly beautiful.

Hare Krishna

Slow-motion exile

I'm bored and uninspired. I stayed in bed all day intermittently reading chapters from Menneskehavn, I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive and Biografi, Dagbok, Brev to make up for the amount of crying I did while watching the new Harry Potter at the cinema last night. I think my goal has been met now that my eyes hurt equally, from reading, to last nights post-movie bleary-eyed state.

(Photo: Lars Venner)

Boob(s) O'Hoy

(Lars Venner)

That is all!

Bored, bored, bored

I want to (evilly) stop, and smell the flowers/eat the flowers/branch in an unfamiliar place.
Meander about in an unfamiliar city and show off my lovely bones in the sun. Wear white backless dresses, underwear be damned, boobs o-hoy!

(Photos: Lars Venner)

I hate the life of a pasty indoors-man. Drinking coffee to stay awake, instead of enjoying every sip. Analyzing the art I used to love, like an owl would devour its pray: whole and just spitting out the bones.

(Photo: Simen? I don't remember. Please tell me if you know)

I need something new and somewhere new!

A salute to bartenders

I salute you bartenders and barmaids alike and apologize to every person whom make their livings by, in some way, being sober around drunk people. The level of ridicolous behaviour on a drunken humanity can be measured in the same category as ridiculous face-painting that goes on during international sporting events. I say humanity, but after phenomenons like Paradise Hotel and Bartenderskolen I imagine a wholly different scenario if the drunk people in question where French or Spanish.I was a barmaid for about 10-12 hours one night of the Norwegian music-festival By:Larm. During which I contemplated both suicide and homicide. People started off nice enough. Complimenting my fanny-pack and asking inane questions about drinkprices and directions to toilets. Information which they could have gotten on their own if they chose to use their eyes for other than sexual partner-detectors and as douche, plastic and useless eye-wear background.

After a few concerts people grew restless in the lines. Their faces growing ever sweatier as the dancing, dehydration and alcohol took hold. The compliments towards my fanny-pack or lesbian hair-style became more frequent, paralleled with a loss of motor skills which inevitably lead to them spitting on me as they spoke. People kept coming back to me after hours expecting me to remember that "a nod and a wink" ment India Pale Ale or Gin and Tonic.

A young man bought a beer and felt the need to take my picture with his phone as he did so. Like a domestic cat would proudly present you with its latest small and furry animal victim, the man presented me with the picture every time he bought another beer. I wanted to as: "what do you expect me to do with the fact that a complete stranger has a picture of me on his phone?" but I just smiled politely and discretely shoved the tip-jar closer to him.

Another man presented me with a CD as tip for my services as a giver of beer. I am now the prowd owner of a CD by the hip-hop group Envy. I thought it was quite presumptuous of him to think I like hip-hop. I don't particularly look like a hip-hopper and move to the music about as smoothly and rhythmically as deaf person with vertigo.

The scream-spitting inane questions became worse as the night grew darker. Every sweaty-drunken female became living proof of Alice Coopers sense of style as their copious amounts of make-up painted their faces with the movement of the sweat.

A group of men thought it wise to grab my attention by bending down so far that only their heads where above the bar. I, once again, smiled politely and gave them their beers. The group luckily scattered from lack of attention except one rather dashing tall, dark-haired man. I thought this might be the handsomest man I've seen in weeks, and he's talking to me! Then I realized that his beer-goggles where as think as bottle-caps as he smiled, slurred his words and was quite unsteady.Last but not least a Spanish-speaking gentlemen between the age of 50-60 years old, came to the bar and bought a beer. I made the mistake of smiling at him and therefore had him staring, winking and muttering Spanish at me for about twenty minutes.

I ask you bartenders: How do you do this on a regular basis? Is it really worth the tips? Is that where the widespread alcoholism among bartenders stems from?

By Joab, I shall never again be THAT person of the many I listed above and I praise bartenders everywhere.


Hare Krishna

Siren

Off to a flying start

After refusing to have anything to do with the University of Oslo all Christmas I didn't realize how long my vacation actually is until yesterday. My first class starts the 17th of January; how ridiculous is that? After torturing me with exams until less that a week from Christmas Eve they're now forcing me to do something stupid, first thing in the new year, with all this free time!
Whilst on the topic of stupidity, I, being an easily depressed and somewhat spontaneous reactionary person had the honor of watching myself, like a fly on the wall with no say in my own actions, step into the new year by being bitchy to my "diddle-buddy" our last moments together before he fucks off to conquer the Americas and forge for academic gold in the vast hills of California; and later that day I would buy a weekend trip to Barcelona out of the blue.Granted the trip to Barcelona, with a certain blond bombshell, will be awesome, but I still feel like some intence therapy is in order, or at least some New Years Resolutions! (Especially after I managed to convince myself I actually looked like Hitler after dressing up like him on Halloween and ending up cutting my hair in yet another twelve-year old boy/nineties flat-chested chick from Baywatch sort of way in Bergen at the end of 2010; I'd show you a picture, but my current hair has been through both sleep and sex, so it is really not fit for viewing)
Resolutions

1. Try being being a little bit less of a bitch in emotional and stressful situations
2. Stop being Eyjafjellajøkul of grumpiness in the morning
3. Buy no more than one pair of shoes a month
4. Stop being so easy to steal from
5. Start using the kitchen for more than storage-space
   
6. Start doing Yoga, no matter how embarrassingly stiff I inevitably will be in the beginning
7. Read more non-curriculum
   
8. Finish Bachelors Degree
9. Write more
10. Eat healthier and more
    
11. Work out more
12. Get over fear of old people, babies and short people
13. Write angry letter about TV2bliss or change gender
14. Be more approachable
15. BLOGG MORE

That's a start isn't it? I won't say anything about my reckless drinking and what inevitably goes with it because we are young and I refuse to take life too seriously at this stage!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Winter wonderland be damned

Winter wonderland Oslo may not be. The first snowstorm has made this vibrant city into a former Soviet republic in the late 80s and I don't care for it. I'm to thin for below zero temperatures and wind might easily knock me over.
Not to mention that since I'm no longer living in horrifying yet exquisite solitude, in a government owned silo, I now must overcome my hatred of other people and their habits and individual gross'ity.
As today when I, as the only un-hungover person (in the world probably), had to endure the smell of hungover men. I cannot elaborate on the unfathomable smell, because writing the words to describe it would make me vomit and reading them them would undoubtedly make you vomit especially in your, presumably, fragile state.
To escape the horrid smell of my disgusting roommates whom vomit in their rooms, climb in windows and bleed copiously while at it, I would have had to climb inside a large animal of some sort to keep warm.
Luckily I'll have to spend the next three-four days indoors in lukewarm libraries, if I can get up in the ungodly enough hour to get a seat at a Stalinesq desk and an uncomfortable and often broken chair in a leaky library called Sophus Bugge, writing to home-exams.
Ah, what doesn't one do for a completely useless Bachelors degree?
So, let it snow, let it snow, let it FUCKING snow!

Hare Krishna

Siren

Apartement Family!

These are my family of lovely freaks in Toftes gate. They need no words!


Night Krishna