I'm sitting at my desk at the university, apparently unconnected to anything except the power outlet, but I have wireless here, apparently. How about that?

"Blogging" and "Google" fads, says president of American Library Association

It is beyond premature to prepare to mourn the death of libraries and the death of the book. If I had shares in publishing companies I would hang on to them. This latest version of Google hype will no doubt join taking personal commuter helicopters to work and carrying the Library of Congress in a briefcase on microfilm as "back to the future" failures, for the simple reason that they were solutions in search of a problem.

-Michael Gorman-

He's the president of the American Library Association

Remember that guy who dismissed the Beatles because "guitar music is on its way out"?

Nobody said anything about closing down libraries, you twat. Google is just a different kind of library, working on different principles. It's not competition, because hypertext is not an antithesis to print, it's a complementary set, which will eventually combine to be greater than the sum of its parts. Google is good news to libraries, because libraries will, for most of foreseeable time, on some level form the raw material for the collation of data done by people using hypertextual technologies.

...

But Google's not all he's got a grudge against, check out his grudge against bloggers:

It is obvious that the Blog People read what they want to read rather than what is in front of them and judge me to be wrong on the basis of what they think rather than what I actually wrote. Given the quality of the writing in the blogs I have seen, I doubt that many of the Blog People are in the habit of sustained reading of complex texts. It is entirely possible that their intellectual needs are met by an accumulation of random facts and paragraphs. In that case, their rejection of my view is quite understandable.

Bloggers don't read complex texts. Damnit, you got me. That's how I got that bachelor's degree in comparative literature.

More to the point, that's also why such many good writers are also bloggers. And it's also why so many of your union members are bloggers as well.

It's much too easy to generalise and think that just because the blogs you've read are fourteen year old girls writing about how little homework they're doing right now, or goths writing poetry containing the words "dark", "infinite", "rain" and "mist," that that's what they're all like. In that vein, anyone visiting his local kiosk will think that literature is romance and mystery novels, or that anyone listening to the radio will think that all music is R'n'B. Getting rid of silly thinking like this is what reading books is all about.

Okay, so I'm taking a cheap shot here, but you have to be amazed that a president of the library association can say something this ridiculous about the very people - viz, the readers and writers of the world (which is what bloggers are) - in public.

I guess this highlights a general problem with people who are thinking traditionally about literature, both in terms of content and physical manifestation. They are ignoring the fact that an entirely new branch of writing, and hence also of litterature, is manifesting itself right under their noses, and they're dismissing it as a popcultural phenomenon, or a fad. They're not the first ones to do so, though:

Remember Socrates, saying writing will lead to us not remembering things anymore in Phaedrus?

Remember John Henry Cardinal Newman criticising the printing press in Idea of a University.

Remember Thomas Carlyle criticising the University as a mass institutions and educational systems as such in "Sign of the Times?"

We're laughing at them now*. And it's because we read complex texts like good books, and good blogs and the world itself that we can laugh at Michael Gorman too, without having to wait 200 years.

* And if we're not laughing at Socrates, it's because he said other smart things.

Happy anniversary, baby

A year ago today, I met a girl in the lunch cantina at my university. She was involved in a conversation across the table from me with my friend Anders O. It turns out I knew her brother, and we got to talking.

12 hours later, we were making out in Garage as the lights came on.

Two months after that, we were practically living together, and very much in love.

Six months after that, we moved in together in our new apartment.

And that was four months or so ago. We're still in love.

It's been a good year.

In the wake of the recent mp3 brouhaha (the new law, which almost got passed: you can own the copy-protected CD, play it, but not transfer it to other media, like an mp3 player. Also, you're not allowed to pour the beer out of the bottle and into a glass, anymore) I found these notes from a talk on digital rights. I very much agree with everything said here.

(Link courtesy of Jill Walker, who has got her own domain now.)

Skinnebenskarma

I fredags sparket jeg Einar "Engelen" Engelstad over skinnebenet.

Det var virkelig ikke med vilje. Jeg gikk forbi ham på en NHØP-konsert og så snublet jeg over mine egne ben, og kom til å sparke ham over skinnebenet i prosessen med å redde meg fra å søle ølen min og gå på trynet. Jeg tror ikke det gjorde vondt. Han smilte til meg etterpå.

Og så, instant karma.

Lørdag morgen har jeg i et anfall av akutt dødsdrift muligens kommet til å kalle min elskede lavkulturell, og den følgende, noe burleske, scenen utstpiller seg:

Jeg kommer løpende ned mot Vågsallmenningen fra Posthuset, med en skidresskledd Ragnfrid i hælene. Vi har begge full oppakning. Jeg har en mobiltelefon i hånden, og roper ut: "Nej, Far, nu må jeg løpe. Altså bokstavelig talt!" Det hele ser ut som en scene i en romantisk komedie, helt til en maks fjorten år gammel gutt på vei i motsatt retning stikker foten ut og spenner bein for meg.

Slapstick: jeg, veivende, med full oppakning, faller så lang jeg er, men klarer heldigvis å dempe fallet med pannen.

Idet jeg reiser meg, ikke uten forvirring, fra brosteinen begynner en samtale å sive inn i mitt hode:

- JO DU GJORDE!
- Nei, nei
- DET DER GJORDE DU MED VILJE! NÅ SIER DU UNNSKYLD!
- Han løp rett på meg ass.

Jeg reiser meg opp. Ordene "med vilje" fester seg i hodet mitt, og for mitt indre øye ser jeg en fot som går ut i rett vinkel. Det er egentlig først nu hjernen setter ting sammen og jeg skjønner hva som har skjedd. Ragnfrid står med mord i blikket og roper en fjorten år gammel gutt med en boks cider i hånden (heretter: DRITTUNGEN) og hans to kompiser opp i ansiktet.

DRITTUNGEN bedyrer visst sin uskyld. Jeg går mot ham med alle intensjoner om å drepe ham. Roper ut: "HVA FANDEN VAR DET DER FOR NOGET?!" Den rå, svært tilfredstillende frykten, som melder seg i deres kollektive øyne nå, stanser meg. De har vært fulle, og skjønner nok egentlig først nå hva de har gjort. Jeg kan håpe på at de skjønner de moralske implikasjonene i et plutselig anfall av etisk sans, men det er mulig at de bare skjønte jeg var tredve centimeter høyere enn dem og edru, og at denne manifestasjonen av ren, nordlandsk ondskap var på min side.

DRITTUNGEN forsøker litt halvhjertet å overbevise meg om at det ikke var med vilje, at jeg løp på han (noe jeg aldeles ikke gjorde), men sier så, tilsynelatende oppriktig, unnskyld, og tar meg i hånden. Tvilen begynner å melde seg: var det egentlig med vilje?* Det eneste jeg husker om ham etterpå er designet på hans tommelfingerring når jeg tok ham i hånden.

Resultatet er et skrapemerke og kul i pannen som ser verre ut enn det er, blåmerker på håndflatene mine, og et oppskrapt, oppsvulmet kne, som gjør ondt når jeg går opp trapper. Ikke så gale som det kunne ha vært (om jeg hadde landet på den støtfangeren, f.eks), men absolutt ikke verdt en ettermiddags underholdning for fjorten år gamle snottunger.

Jeg tenker på den impulsen som får folk til å gjøre det der. Bare spenne bein for noen. Jeg har gjort det selv, både med klassekamerater og min egen mor (når jeg var, liksom, et halvt år gammel eller noe. Ikke fjorten ihvertfall). Men hva er det som er galt når man tar den impulsen med seg så langt opp i årene?

Egentlig, når man tenker over det, er man, når man bor i byer, konstant avhengig av andre menneskers velvilje for å overleve. Man kan når som helst bli dyttet ut i trafikken. Ut av et vindu, ned fra en togperrong, tatt av en suicidal taxisjåfør i motgående bane. Særlig togperrongen, beinspennet, trafikken. Det er bare en enkelt feilslått, asosial impuls i en annen manns hjernebark, og du er tomatpure på asfalten. Hvor kommer det fra?

Det må være noe med at andre mennesker bare blir bevegelige objekter når man er fjorten år gammel og litt avstumpet og full. Hvor er skolevesenet, spør jeg! Hvor er barnevernet? Hvor er dødsskvadronene?

* (Ja det var.)

And he hasn't even tried pinnekjøtt

David Mamet:

"How has [the American condition] changed over time?

I don't think it has. It's still a problem of the national character. I don't think any country has it better than any other country. For example, in Scandinavia, they have to eat very, very salty fish. One wouldn't want to live like that either. "

PostSecret is a site publishing hand-made postcards containing a deep personal secret of the anonymous creator.

As I've noticed before, with the Group Hug website, the things most people are afraid to tell others are pretty banal, not big things. Generic confessions: "I'm in love with X", "I am secretly turned on by other women", "I find porn arousing," etc.

And of course, every now and then, there are the really sad ones:

"I was gangraped in college. I turned into a slut almost immediately afterwards."

"I started shooting heroin again."

"I haven't spoken to my dad in 10 years, and it kills me every day.

And the weird ones:

"I believe that my dead grandmother watches me with great disappointment every time I masturbate.

But I seem to find the small, quiet ones to be the most profoundly disturbing:

"I love one of my children."

"I talked someone into suicide."

Mostly, I guess I'm interested in the cathartic and communal nature of this artwork (and this is also why I like Group Hug - the idea being that people see that their secrets aren't that special, after all), though I suspect that the aesthetization that goes into the postcard design might in some way contaminate that effect. Glorifying, indulging in guilt. Any thoughts on this out there?

Also: I found this site while I was looking for a site which holds letters to be read after the death of the author, and which are online as though they were. I have forgotten what it's called. Does anyone out there know what I'm talking about?

Warning

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You understand that the material may involve language, content and themes of an adult, objectionable or controversial nature.

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Yes, it's a review of that piece of insurgent litterature, the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole.

How's this for a reductionist reading?

The Citizens for Literary Standards in Schools are taking the battle against bad litterature seriously. It's not about book banning, mind. It's all about choosing quality litterature, which doesn't have any gratuituous sex, violence or the "f-word." These patrons of the functional plot just want to make sure your children's minds are shiny, smelling of detergent and freshly scrubbed to a red glow. It's not as though they want to burn books.

See how they tackle the so-called "masterpieces" of English literature and show you what they're really all about:

Salinger: Catcher in the Rye.

hell 249 times, goddam 186, damn 113, faggy 1, ass 26, butt 2, bull 6, bitch 2, bastard 60, Chrissake 25, God (in vain) 32, Sonovabitch 15, Jesus Christ (in vain) 6, whore 5, fuck 6

Kesey: One flew Over the Cuckoos Nest.

- 12 uses of “fuck/fucking/motherfucker”, 9 of “shit/bullshit”, 12 of “bitch/son of a bitch”, 4 of “asshole/ass", 10 of “goddamn”, 10 of “bastard”, 6 of “ball-cutter”, 4 of "coon”, plus dago, tarbabies, black-ass, nigger and cocksucker

Vonnegut:

Slaughterhouse Five.

motherfucker, fucked, fucking, fuck, fucking, God-damned, Jesus, Jesus Christ, cocksucker, shit, piss, balls, pecker, whore, bastard, son of a bitch, hard-on, hell, damn

Chopin: The Awakening.

orgasm and suicide are two major topics

Various Artists: Bible.

Contains descriptions of rape, incest, war, genocide, violent death,
pagan sacrifice, etc.

(Ok, so the last one was mine.)

Jeg er visst uforvarende kommet til å fornærme de døde litteraturanmeldere. Det var ikke meningen, og pinlig. Jeg hadde rett og slett glemt at han var død.

Jeg finner det vanskelig å ha sterke meninger om noe en døende mann skrev om et verk som i stor grad handler om sorg.

Jon Fosses båt heter "Ales II," kan man snike seg til å se i dokumentaren.

Tilfeldig? Neppe.

Jeg elsker NRK. Hvor ellers kan man helt gratis og uten reklamer få lov til å streame en timelang dokumentar om Jon Fosse?

HO:
Det vart
ganske mykje
Jon Fosse
nå
HAN:
Ja, det vart det
HO:
Du skriv
ganske mykje
om han
HAN:
Ja, eg gjer det
Eg skriv mykje
om han
MARTIN:
Okay, nu kan i godt holde op med det der.

(Unnskyld, alle sammen)

I Dag og Tid sies noe som ser ut til å være typisk for resepsjonen i Det er Ales:

"Setningane strekkjer seg gjerne over ei og ei halv side, og Fosse hakkar opp dei lange og flytande setningane med korte innsmett av typen «tenkjer ho», «jo da» og sjølvkorrigeringar som «nei dette», «men dette» og «nei dette går ikkje an». "

Jeg mener at det er litt problematisk å snakke om tradisjonell gramatikk. Noe av dette kommer frem i kommentarene til denne posten, som jeg har redigert i etterkant.

"Don't get Helen all ragnfired up. You know how she gets."

The Iraqis holding their first-ever national election seems to drown out the news that Saudi Arabia is holding elections too.

That's right, our staunch allies in the war on terrorism are holding an election.

"But," you ask, "surely this election among our peace-loving allies is not such big news as a first-ever parliamentary election in a former dictatorship?"

Ah, my unknowing friend, you are not aware that our staunch allies have never held an election before? That this is their first nationwide election ever? You are also not aware that the elections are not for parliamentary representation, but for half the seats in the municipal councils? And no, women are not allowed to vote.

But: it is a step in the right direction, and it might actually lead to real will for democracy, rather than the Iraqi democracy-by-gunboat-diplomacy model. In fact, I think this is a better sign than the Iraqi elections.

What this does tell us, as if we needed to be told, is that American foreign policy is hypocritical.

Tootle them vigorously

Old school Japanese sex ed. Courtesy of William Gibson (link in sidebar).

Plan, snedig

1. Situationen, A. Fjenden.

Planen er et velkoordineret, lynhurtigt udført knipetangangrep mod British Virgin Islands og Bouvet Island, ikke Toscana, som først antatt.

(Og jer lurte på hvor all denne interesse i mediavitenskap og krigsfilosofi kom fra. Og hvorfor så mange af argumenterne lød kendte.)

En advarsel om kommende smålighet

I anledning at Tord Gustavsen trio nå faktisk topper VG-lista, så mener jeg det er på sin plass å komme med en liten advarsel. Denne advarsel er dette:

Når det uungåelige skjer, og det blir forferdelig pinlig å like Tord Gustavsen trio, på samme måte som det idag er pinlig å like Jan Garbarek, da vil jeg minne dere på at jeg aldri likte ham. Jeg vil minne dere på at jeg anmeldte ham i BT (en anmeldelse som desverre ikke lenger ligger på nett av en eller annen grunn), og selv om jeg allerede den gang var enig i at mange av formuleringene var flåsete og at jeg var litt kjepphøy (mest fordi jeg fikk instruksjoner om å være klar i meningene mine, fra BT sin side), så vil jeg minne meg om hva slags respons jeg fikk på den anmeldelsen. Jeg vil smile, ikke uten overbærende arroganse, og minne dere på hvor usannsynlig mye pepper jeg måtte tåle i ettertid. Jeg vil minne dere på hvordan mine anklager om glatthet, fullstendig manglende dynamikk, ensartethet, kjedsommelighet og bakgrunnsmusikk-estetikk ble ledd av, hånliggjort. Kritisert, ofte i overraskende sterke ordelag, av overraskende mange mennesker.

Når jeg har minnet dere om det, er det ikke umulig at jeg kommer til å le, eller iallefall fnise litt hånlig. Jeg vet at dette er smålig av meg, men jeg kommer til å gjøre det. Kanskje mest av alt fordi min skriftlige og faglige selvsikkerhet fikk en seriøs knekk av denne ondsinnete, bedrevitende slakten av denne min aller første artikkel på trykk i en papiravis.

(...Når det er sagt, så er jeg ikke mere smålig enn at jeg syntes det er fantastisk at instrumentaljazz er kommersiell suksess, og at jeg ønsker Tord Gustavsen all lykke, for jeg regner hele trioen hans for å være svært dyktige musikere som jeg har all respekt for i andre sammenhenger, men at jeg altså vil kritisere estetikken hans når som helst.)

Amateurism = amateurism

An interesting attempt to distinguish between a diary and a weblog by Barbara Peerdeman. I don't agree with every point, but I enjoy the attempt at distinction. Too many confuse the two, and too many people mistake blogging for a genre, when it is a medium.

The Alan Moore interview with Brian Eno is up.

Hey, weren't you in "Apocalypse Now"?

Lt. Gen. James Mattis, who commanded Marine expeditions in Afghanistan and Iraq, made [the following] comments Tuesday during a panel discussion in San Diego, California.

"Actually it's quite fun to fight them, you know. It's a hell of a hoot," Mattis said, prompting laughter from some military members in the audience. "It's fun to shoot some people.. I'll be right up there with you. I like brawling.

"You go into Afghanistan, you got guys who slap women around for five years because they didn't wear a veil," Mattis said. "You know, guys like that ain't got no manhood left anyway. So it's a hell of a lot of fun to shoot them."

Mattis' press office has not yet responded to a request to answer questions about his comments.

However, the Marine commandant, Gen. Michael Hagee, defended Mattis, calling him "one of this country's bravest and most experienced military leaders."

"While I understand that some people may take issue with the comments made by him, I also know he intended to reflect the unfortunate and harsh realities of war," he said in a written statement. "Lt. Gen. Mattis often speaks with a great deal of candor."

Hagee said he had counseled Mattis regarding the remarks and that Mattis "agrees he should have chosen his words more carefully."

Ya think?

Most of the time, I advocate a nuanced understanding of the American military and government, but I keep finding out that that's not really neccessary.

Idag avsluttes Phonofestivalen (se forrige post, er for trøtt til å skrive link tags) med en herlig fri-improvisasjons-duokonsert i Johanneskirken som jeg har vært litt med å arrangere også. Dette blir garantert noe du aldri har hørt før, og kanskje aldri kommer til å høre igjen. En høystemt og høylytt sak, forestiller jeg meg. Musikerne:

Frode Gjerstad: saksofon.
Nils Henrik Aasheim: kirkeorgel.

Herligheten starter klokken syv. Ta med alle venner og venniner og kom!

Tock.

(*hic*)

Festival!

Phonofestivalen er godt igang. Ikveld kan jeg anbefale en dobbeltkonsert som jeg har vært med på å arrangere: Ivar Grydeland Solo/Christian Wallumrød Solo. Det foregår i Galleri 3:14, kl. 19.

Kom! Kom! Medbring venner og godt humør!

A Week

A week isn't too long, when you think about it.

It's 7 days,
which adds up to a measly 168 hours.
168 hours, of course, is 10.080 minutes,
which breaks down to 604.800 seconds.
Sixhundredandfourthousandeighthundred seconds.

I'm sure that sounds like much more than it really feels like.

Tick.

"Rykter! Løøse rykter!"

Som jeg kanskje burde ha sagt for noen dager siden, når trykksverten enda var varm og fersk, så har jeg skrevet en artikkel i nyeste nummer av landets store ironiformidler, gratisavisen Natt & Dag.

Den handler, nepotistisk nok, om forlaget Gasspedal, der to tredjedeler (Øystein V og Susanne C) av redaksjonen er representert i sidebaren, og deres fire nye bøker. Jeg vil gjerne understreke at ethvert rykte om at denne saken var kjøpt og betalt av Gasspedal er løgn og forbannet avantgardistisk lyrikk.