To jog or not to jog

Over the easter/passover holidays I celebrated my teeny weeny little sister's 18th birthday, and it made me realize that I am definitely not getting any younger. To tell you the truth I have no idea what I've been doing all this time. One thing is certain, for a time there things weren't looking good for my grand plan of becoming a healthy human being with cucumbers in the fridge and worn out running-shoes by the time i turn 25.

So this easter I decided to start a new life. This basically involves more vegetables, less chocolate and a pair of happy looking running-shoes. I have become a jogger. I do admit there is more walking than running involved, but nevertheless, I am no longer a couch potato. There is, however, a few things I hadn't thought through before I started this new healthy hobby of mine. I will elaborate.


I don't know how this works in the rest of the world, but where I come from, in the modest yet glorious Kingdom of Norway, this is a golden rule: whenever a person goes missing only to be found weeks or months later lying dead in a swamp, a ditch, behind a tree or under the melting ice, he or she is always found by an innocent jogger.

Norwegian newspaper reports: "Jogger found dead person in the forest".

I am not sure I am ready for this. I am barely coping with the taste of blood in my mouth after running, and now I have to handle other people's blood as well? Isn't it a little too much to ask? To be frank, I'm pretty sure nothing takes the joy out of jogging like stumbling over a dead body. It would scare the jogging-urge out of me, thats for sure.

But there is more. In quite a few of the cases where a person goes missing and is found lying dead out in the wilderness, this dead person is in fact a once oh-so-happy jogger. He or she used to be a happy trouper, running around spotting dead bodies in the terrain, but something went wrong and boom! the hunter becomes the hunted.

So now I find myself forced to reconsider. Is jogging really worth the risk?

(The above pictures were borrowed from here and here.)

Peace and Love, the Norwegian Way

It's been a couple of days since I last put on my blogger-outfit and wrote a sparkling post for our famous blog, and the reason is of course the veggie vs. meat conflict. While the cynic and the gossip engaged in a blog post war, I have been standing on the side line like a true Norwegian, trying to get an overview of the situation in order to later lend a hand in the peace talks. As you all should know by now, Norwegians are born with two things:

1.Skis
2.Mad negotiation skills

This is why, in every conflict possible, Norway butts in and force the arguing parts to shake hands. Suuurely you all remember the glorious moment in 1993 when Norway at last made peace possible in the Middle East?


It was during the famous Oslo- accords that the Norwegians introduced their new negotiation style: “Hey hey hey, don't fight! Let's all go home to my place and I'll wait outside while you sort out your problems. Later I'll give my friend full credit for the whole achievement.”

Norway as a country take great pride in being everybody's friend. Your friend. My friend. Palestine's friend. Israel's friend. The underdog's friend. We Norwegians like to think that we are tolerant and awesome, and that everyone should strive to be like us. And we do not like war. We live in our safe Scandinavian bubble and condemn everyone who uses a weapon to fight, nearly regardless of the cause. We want everyone to have peace, love and freedom just like we do, and whenever Israel goes to war, we feel comfortable enough in our friendship to tell them that they are wrong and should bring the Palestinians to our place and talk it all out. It is the Norwegian way.

This week, however, Norway's self-esteem suffered a serious blow when the famous Israeli newspaper The Jerusalem Post put Norway's friendship with Israel to the test by publishing an article in which the Norwegian foreign minister was accused of having yelled “death to the Jews!” in a public demonstration rally in Oslo during the Gaza war. (Long sentence! I dare you to analyze it and translate it into Arabic with the correct case endings and helping vowels.)

This inane article basically suggests that Norway is now the #1 anti-semitic country in Europe. As a gentile, I can't attest to what life is really like for the Jews in Norway, all I can do is to carefully footnote my sources when I say that I think the journalist needs to get her facts right; the article was removed, fixed, and published again after complaints from Norwegian Jews who walk the streets of Norway feeling perfectly safe. And about the “death to the Jews”- incident: our foreign minister of course never said anything of the sort.

In conclusion, Norway is awesome, and the media is to blame for all the madness in the world. All I can say is that today's journalists could really learn a thing or two about footnoting. And to my dear partners in blogging: I invite you to my place for a peace talk- barbie in the near future. Bring your meat and vegetables.

The Afikoman vs. The Easter Egg

In the midst of this paper-ordeal, I am distracted by sweet thoughts about the upcoming holiday. While the Israelis prepare for passover by ridding the country of wheat and its like, I am preparing myself to go home to good, old Norway to celebrate easter. This year, easter and passover fall conveniently on the same dates, and I get to leave the country without missing valuable lectures in Arabic and other Middle Eastern peculiarities. I am free to explore the ski tracks of the snow- covered Norwegian forests without having to think about heavy grammar, impossible shadda's and squiggly letters. I will embrace the piles of yellow easter chickens that will fill each and every house and store, I will take a deep breath and finally relax.



Around three years ago, I came to Israel to visit my boyfriend's family for the first time. It was easter and I packed my bags feeling lucky that I would escape the holiday-closed Norway and spend my vacation in exciting Israel. I had no idea passover would be even more holy and strict than the easter I was used to, in fact I had no idea about passover at all. My boyfriend had informed me that there would be a family dinner, and although nervous, I felt confident that I would at least survive it.

Little did I know that passover dinner, the Seder, is not even comparable to a normal dinner. When the eggs and the salty water and what not were passed around and my boyfriend's family was reading the Hagada (the story about the Jewish liberation from slavery in Egypt), I didn't know what to say, let alone what to do. I watched as the youngest one got up on her chair to sing some odd song, and devoid of anything better to do, I took part in the clapping. I ate the grayish gefilte fish and did my best to hide the fact that I thought I was going to die. My first Seder dinner still stands as the most obscure encounter I've had with a different culture.

If you're not Jewish, moving to Israel can be confusing to say the least. Luckily for me, my boyfriend's family is what I would call extremely secular, something which in most situations has made my encounter with the Jewish/Israeli world easier. As an ignorant gentile I have had to learn the customs and traditions from scratch, and after all together 2,5 years in Israel I can finally say that I know a thing or two about Jewish holidays and traditions. I am no longer surprised when I, on what I assume is a normal week day, enter the super market only to be met by huge “happy holiday”- signs. After all, this happens at least once a month. I have even learned to like it.

Passover can be quite nice, so why am I so happy about going back to Norway for the holidays? What can the yellow easter chickens and the fluffy easter bunny possibly offer me that passover can't? The answer is simple. When having to choose between the Afikoman (a piece of the cardboard tasting matza bread our beloved cynic wrote about in the previous post, wrapped in a napkin and hidden around the house for the kids to search for after the Seder dinner) and any average candy-filled easter egg, I'd be out of my mind not to choose the latter.




I will admit that the whole easter bunny – thing is weird and somewhat disturbing, but as long as those eggs keep popping up around my garden, I simply can't, and will not, complain.

-The... Norwegian-

Wearing My Grandma's Party Dress

Reading the two previous posts makes me truly appreciate my civil status. When you're in a relationship and never have to think about the art of dating, you tend to forget the downsides of being single. So thank you guys for making me see my relationship in a new light. It's been refreshing!

As interesting as this “Sex&the City”- way of blogging might be, I think it is time for a new topic. While other people exert themselves figuring out the secrets of dating, I have been working my fingers to the bone trying to put together a decent piece of work for last semester's term paper. Why is it that when I have some four months to write a paper, I never get started for real until the deadline is so close I can literally smell it? Is it at all possible for me to get a paper done without its due date breathing down my neck?

As a language major it hurts me to admit that writing academic papers isn't one of my strong sides. Yes I do enjoy writing, and yes they do teach academic writing at the igloo university of Oslo, still I must say I do not feel quite confident about the whole thing. What is considered common knowledge? When is footnoting necessary? Is it possible to over-footnote a paper? What is worse, over-footnoting or under-footnoting? Is footnoting even a word? If not, can I take credit for it and call it my own? Or will I be accused of plagiarism? All these questions are keeping me from freely composing a single sentence. And then, of course, there is the language barrier.

As you know by now, I am scared witless at the mere thought of having to express myself in English writing. As weird as this may sound, coming from a language major and all; foreign languages make me feel downright awkward. I loathe situations where I come across expressions like “a knockoff” and, confusing it with “knockout”, take it to mean something positive. It is amazing how this keeps happening to me still, after 17 years of learning English. I can't even get the spoken jargon right, so just imagine my encounter with academic English.

When writing academic English, I get the same feeling I used to get when I was 5 and got dressed up wearing my grandma's party dress. It kinda makes me feel grown up, it's sort of exciting, still something about it just doesn't fit.

In my despair I emailed my professor and asked him: how do I know when something is considered common knowledge? He emailed me back and said: good question, and as ever with good questions, what is the answer?

- The... Norwegian -

Igloos and Polar Bears

Now that it has become evident which one of us is the cynic, I guess it is time for me to prostrate my norwegian-ness all over this site. I agreed to take part in this blog solely in order to prove to my good Moroccan/Canadian friend that I have in me the ability to express myself in English, however I have to admit that this whole blogging-in-English business has proved to be quite a nerve wrecking experience so far. What if the English version of Mie-on-the-web turns out to be such a flop that people will surf away from the site after reading no more than the headline of my post? What if my posts will be the only ones with no comments? What if my language skills prove to be of such second-rate standards that even my English will be labeled Snorkendorken from now on? Nevertheless, as the saying goes in Norwegian: nobody has ever captured a polar bear without leaving his igloo. Okay that is not really a Norwegian saying, but I assume my point is taken. I am hereby stepping out of my igloo.

As the single representative from the Kingdom of Norway in Tel Aviv University's international graduate program, I feel obligated to educate my fellow classmates (and the readers of this blog) on life in Norway as we know it. I am sure that deep inside all you non-Norwegians know that we do not live in igloos or have polar bears roaming around in our neighborhoods, still this is a question I think most Norwegians hear when they travel abroad.* To your guaranteed disappointment I will also inform you that not all Norwegians are tall, blond, blue-eyed and beautiful, though most of us are, of course. To you people who think Norway is the capital of Sweden, i have nothing to say.

Although we claim to be living our lives like people of any other average country, there are certain things we do have to struggle with which I have learned one can escape only by moving to Israel. First there is the crisp, refreshing air that fills the house on any summer day and makes the air condition redundant. Then there is the abundance of parking lots which makes having a car easy and enjoyable, and then there is the non-chlorine-tasting tap water. All of the above are things I haven't had to deal with in Israel so far, and you can all imagine my jubilation. I will admit, though, that what I really do not miss, is to be met by this every morning:

There are no limits to what we Norwegians have to put up with. After reading my draft for this post, my Israeli boyfriend of nearly 3 years turned to me with a puzzled look on his face and said: you don't have polar bears in Norway?

Hello, I speak English.

When co-writing (if that is a word) the previous post, the two native English speakers told me that there is no such word as gossiper in the English language. It is called a gossip, they said, and as a simple Norwegian who is learning new words in English every day, who am I to argue?

I could however not take their word for it (after all they both have serious bilingual/trilingual-issues), so I went home and secretly checked the Oxford dictionary.

Here is what i found:



Did I hear someone say snorkendorken?