I got kidnapped tonight. Not your regular going away just doing my thang kidnapped. I'm talking taxi driver kidnapped. Let me set the scene for you. Me, myself and Kevin are on our way to Winge's. We stop, right outside (which happens to be the address I gave the cabby). Kevin jumps out, and I tell him: go stop Winge, I saw him walking down the street! Now, at this point in time, I am still in the taxi. I have not made any sudden moves and I have not tried to get out of the car. The cab driver, however, decides that I am trying to skip on my tab and that I am jumping ship (or car, depending on your prerogative). Now. I find myself in the back of a Mercedes van, with the right door open, yelling at the cabbie. Who by the way, is still convinced that I'm not paying for the ride. The fucker drives me back downtown, to where I started (this, it appears, is policy). I get another cab to where I was going. I'm still just flabbergasted. As to why the cabbie thought that I was not paying just because Kevin jumped out of the car. Like seriously? I know I'm intoxicated writing this shit, and I know I have a lot of friends driving in this town. But this is some fucking bullshit. Like seriously?

Title!

Blogspot has a new design. Oh well. To the eventual executor of my will: It is hereby proclaimed that the tombstone of the owner of this blog shall read "Challenge Complete".

I think I am doing this just to avoid my homework. Seriously. I wanted to talk to you guys about art today. Yeah, I know, what I have been smoking/snorting/injecting? Right? For real though, I wanted to talk about self portraits as an art form. Not photographs. Photographs are honest (unless they are Photoshopped). Photographs convey a message from one particular moment in time. They show the world, or the world of the subject, as it was, at that exact moment. I like photographs. I wanted to talk about self portraits that are not photographs. Paintings. Sculptures. Whatevers. For some reason, I find them to be a wishful personification of the artist themselves, or just a very narcissistic. As in, why do artists need to create an abstract, or a concrete image of themselves for display? Is a signature on the piece itself not enough? A tastefully crafted photograph? I get the need to express oneself, after all, that is what I am doing here (and I am aware that this blog, the blog format itself (not to mention Twitter) is inherently narcissistic and self-centered). But to display an image of yourself, crafted in your own mind to the way you want it to look and then expect it to provoke emotion in other people? That's like me saying that I think everyone should feel a certain emotion when they see me. Not just the people that know me. I mean everyone. The bum outside of Beantown. The security guard at Ashburton. The baseball jocks in the gym. The TSA employee at Logan. Does that make sense? I don't know, I'm tired, hot and rambling.

We're not young....anymore?

My first year in my masters program is coming to an end and as I always do at the beginning of summer, I take stock of what I have and sometimes what I don't (this last part can be a bit self-destructive and is advisable only to professional optimists and/or cynics: nevertheless, it's something I do not do often). I find that this is a good way for myself to reflect on the things I have gained, both material (yeah, right!) and abstract (knowledge, skills, networks etc.) and provide me with a reference point.

I can honestly say that one of my classes this year, while entertaining and educational, has not been to my expectations. Bluntly put, the professor teaching it is not the right person for the course. Nothing against the person, I like him/her very much as a teacher and person, but not for that particular class.

But my biggest gain this year has been the intangible knowledge I have accumulated: tales from fellow students and teachers about their current or previous work situations, employment opportunities, and the fact that I can talk my way into a lot of good situations if I just put my professional face on. Moreover, I feel I am starting to plot out a possible career for myself after graduate school. Most of you have heard me talk about what I want to do and where I want to do it, but I really feel like I'm steering myself down a path (less traveled, I hope!) that can lead me to where I want to be and what I want to do. I hope. (Cynical optimism or optimistic cynicism?)

Also, I am sunburned.

Tonight. We are young.

So it has come to my attention that I might literally be the worst blogger in the world. Literally.

Apart from all the self-deprecating shit and destructive thoughts here on Friday the 13th (April at that, whaddayaknow!), I want to talk about something that is near and dear to me.

Music.

Today, specifically about music in advertisement.

We have all heard the rather awkward jingles on the radio, selling everything from tires, cars, chocolate milkshakes and hamburgers to spa days, shampoo and pet supplies. But one thing I have noticed is that new music is more frequent in advertising on American television than it is in Norway. It appears that up-and-coming American musical acts utilize the commercials of brand names to spread their music. Two examples: this video was used in a commercial for an evil conglomerate named Apple. Quite a catchy tune if you ask me. One might even sing along.

This here video was used in a commercial for an automobile maker, and I have to admit, I absolutely love it. LOVE. IT. It might be my favorite song this year. And this is a song that I probably never would have known existed if it wasn't for the medium of the commercial during sporting events (these make up the bulk of my TV time).

My question is, is this a useful marketing strategy? Or do bands run the risk of having their songs labeled "that Apple commercial" or "that awesome car commercial?"

...

Clicky

Versace

My updates are highly sporadic these days, owed to the fact that there is so much fun school work to be done! Also, I may have been busy having a little bit of some awesome times these past weeks. Nuvel.

Boston is walking briskly towards summer, some days the pace is so ferocious that the wind out here is unbearable. This is obviously no problem as jackets are meant to remedy such a thing. But I feel entitled to one weather-rant now and then. In other news, the Scandinavian labor movement does not exactly produce a ton of scholarly material: assignment proving difficult.

I do have a lot of stories from Philadelphia, some of them fun, some of them hilarious and some of them just...interesting. But it's getting late. So cross your fingers that I will remember to write something later this week.

Peace!