My friend, Sigrid, had the awesome idea of throwing a moving-in party at her flat in Sogn. It was, very appropriately, a themed party with the context of the neurotic Quentin Tarantino filmography as our backdrop. I saw this party as a perfect opportunity to play a little dress up and play a little with the gender categories in the minds of my fellow party-goers. Considering my assets and physical attributes, I decided on going as Gogo Yubari, Nihonjin femme fatale and cute bitch to boot. Our group decided to go thrift shopping for the necessary garb and we traveled to Grunerløkka to walk down the thrift-store ridden Markveien. The store that I found the skirt in was run by this (what I found) very attractive middle-aged gentleman of about 35. When I told him that I was going as a Japanese school girl, he laughed and smiled rather sparkly. Inside the prøverom (fitting room), I asked Lauren if it looked good and he made a comment, "Now dont let those boys take advantage of you...". I smiled at him, gave him the money and said, "Oh, I will try not to... although it might be hard". :)
Having that gorgeous plaid prairie skirt and red tie to be used as a my satin school girl blouse ribbon, we headed home to start preparing for later on that night. At the party, various Tarantino-esque thematic elements were in full swing in both costume and decor. The walls of the flat were festooned with snapshots of Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, and Jackie Brown. There was even a mini theater with a
projected movie watching experience in
which to enjoy the Tarantino cinematic legacy. Walking into the flat with my outfit on was exhilarating. After the initial cordials of introductions and home countries, the eyes traveled down my torso to my bare legs fashioned in plaid. The eyes of many correlated to their shifts in disposition to ones of confusion. I made my rounds to and fro and was complimented many times on such a brave and awesome outfit. I felt like a true participant in the unvinersal scheme of theme-party going. At the end of the night I came to this conclusion: genderfucking as a Japanese school-girl assasin is a must for anyone regardless.
In our flat, we have a jocular Frenchman who, like many Euro men, love the epic game of futbol. There was a game of similar epic proportions happening (the two teams of Oslo, Vålerenga and Lyn) and he invited Lauren and I to join him. This was my first experience to spectate an authentic European futbol match and did not hesitate in going. It was in a word: scintillating :)
The match took place at our neighborhood Ullevål Stadion and we joined the throngs of dedicated Norwegian fans in the queue. Already outside, crowd cheers for Vålerenga (our team!) erupted in unison. Once inside, the mural of red and blue created an atmosphere of utter ecstasy, something I likened to the social solidarity that Durkheim alluded to in his sociology. The match itself was amazing; I oohed and ahhed at the athletic prowess of both teams, the missed shots on goal, the successful goals and of course, upsettingly growled at the calls against our team. There was one facet I found peculiar: we were to be quiet during the first fifteen minutes of play as this was a show of the foolishness of non participation in crowd cheering. At one point, we were even "shhhshed" by the guy next to us! When the 15 minutes were up, the crowd exploded in riotous cheers, chants and Viking-like antics. Adrenaline was the operating word in this case. We lost but it was valiant effort of our boys that I relished watching. One thing is certain; the culture that is European futbol is one that is fascinating to watch and be a part of. It was an out of body experience that I will never forget.
Until next time, ha det bra!
- Jon
