Ski goggles, water, measuring cups

Last night was funny.

A common conversation

Someone: Where in the United States are you from?
Me: Seattle
(Washington makes them think D.C., and when I say "near Seattle" or "the Seattle area" they think they're places, like "Nearseattle" or "Theseattle Area." Best to keep it simple.)
Someone: Seattle, oh... hm. Wait, Grey's Anatomy?
Me: Yep.
Someone and everyone else in room: Ohhhhhh, Seattle!

A beautiful moment for me and for Trondheim

I boinged the bell. THE BELL.

The 6 American and 1 Dutch visiting student-teachers got a private tour of Nidaros Cathedral on Thursday. This place is gorgeous, and it's over 900 years old. Our tour guide, a professor in the education program here, knows the ins and outs of the cathedral, and she is a wonderful human being. That's why, after trekking up an uncomfortably tight stairwell to the bell tower, she turned to me (the first in line behind her) and said, "Would you like to boing the bell?"

Oh my God.

"Really?"

"Yes! Climb up this ladder." So I did. The ladder was rickety and it's possible the beams I walked across weren't totally secure, but I felt fine. I felt GREAT. I was going to boing the bell in the bell tower.

Swing once - miss. (I was trying to be gentle to our ear drums.)
Swing twice - miss. (Again, I cared so deeply about our hearing.)
Swing thrice - BOING! YEAH, BELL! YEAH!

Watch it on video!

When I climbed down from the rickety ladder - lower in elevation but high on the bell-ringing thrill - our tour guide looked at me and said, "You're like a little goat, aren't you?" (Because of all the climbing!) I laughed until I coughed up phlegm.

I love Saint Olav, bells, and my cathedral excitement that inspired me be first in line of the tour.

Washlet site

There's this device, The Washlet, that cleans your bum. Its mere existence is hilarious. The website, however, is probably the best and most ridiculous thing you have ever seen.

I want you to spend some quality time at that website and then tell me how much someone would have to pay you to be one of the Washlet spokespersons.

Ringo

The furriest one in this picture is named Ringo.



Ringo reminds me of Tiger, especially those first 45 seconds.

There's a Magpie outside my window, but I'm not going to write about it.

Want to know whether it's light outside without having to look out your window? Check out the Daylight Map.

Want to check to see whether I'm wasting the few hours of daylight I have by blogging instead of frolicking in the new inch of snow? Check out the Daylight Map.

Want to fulfill your fascination for the the earth's tilt and rotation and whatnot by saying, "Wowee wow wowowoweewow," at a great website? Check out the Daylight Map.



And holla' for these marketing skills. Is it obvious that I am the daughter of a business teacher? It is, isn't it?

Small Victory

I figured out how to remove my watch! Kelly Genius!

(Like Einstein, except that, as far as I know, his middle name did not lend itself to such convenient wordplay.)

Shooo'

I want to go to bed, but I can't get my watch off. It's stressing me out.

Will I never sleep again?

Ignorance is not bliss.

I am listening to Norwegian hip-hop. It's fine - I could dance some vegetable impressions to it - but it's frustrating not to know what the heck these rappers are saying.

Here are some words I might have heard:
-Gonad
-Playa
-Santa
-Nasty

Sure, I don't always know what rappers are saying in American rap, either, but I could if I tried. It's reassuring to have that option.

Thanks, Trondheim Public Library. Thanks for putting me at unease.

Goodbye voice. Hello fever.

Much of my communication in Norway is conveyed through nodding and smiling. Everyone knows English, but sometimes it's not worth the effort to let cashiers/bus drivers/laundry people know that I don't speak Norwegian. Now my reasons for nodding and smiling, though, are twofold.

1. I don't speak Norwegian, and...
2. I LOST MY VOICE!

This is the first time I have ever lost my voice. I don't like it. I'm a talker. And tomorrow is my first day of teaching. Plus, it hurts! It's possible that clearing my throat intensely would help me emit some squeaks, but that's sends little spikes of pain down my poor, poor trachea, or esophagus, or whatever body part is acting up.

If I could speak, I would curse this situation.

I will try to use this in the United States.

My school tour guide called the teachers' mailboxes "pigeon holes."

Hoooow cute. We could learn a lot from the Norwegians.

Sore Thoat (intentional misspelling that only a certain DWH will understand)

Yesterday, I felt a little coughy. This morning, I felt a lot sore throaty. Nooo!

So, after painfully conversing with the following people:
-Luis, last roommate to move in
-Devin, fellow American on bus
-Teachers mentioned in the last post
...I decided to buy cough drops. Fortunately for me, I remember things from high school, like when my German teacher said that in Germany, you had to buy medicine at the pharmacy, which was called the "apoteka" or something.

Germany is like Norway, right? Right. So I moseyed into the "Apotek" downtown and purchased some Ricola. Riiiiiicolaaaa. And my throat feels a tiny bit better.

You're welcome for telling you this awesome story.

Edit: I just saw cough drops at the grocery store. Still, I rule for knowing about the Apotek.