The new meaning of racism.

Yesterday Lars Erik Blokkhus from the band Plumbo said something unfortunate during Spellemannsprisen. I probably don't have to elaborate, unless you've been living in a cave you HAVE read, seen, discussed and commented on the horrid, monstrous affair (spot the sarcasm).

Having a song called 'Møkkamann', I would think there are worse things you could twist it into than 'Moccamann'. Honestly, when I was a kid I used to save up just to buy Chocolate covered Moccabeans, they're delicious and not a mean spirited comparison.

Wouldn't it have been worse if he just said 'The song Møkkamann makes me think of you', or something along those lines?

Seriously, this isn't racism, if you think it is you're really, really dimwitted. This was a happy and proud guy, not used to being in the spotlight, winning something unexpected and uttering something a bit unfortunate in the middle of the whole chaos.

Madcon walking off stage in a huff was childish and not at all helpful. If you want to fight racism you really won't help anyone by acting like a eight year old primadonna.

I am not even a fan of Plumbo, I'm just sick of people being scared of saying things the wrong way. Has the true meaning of racism really transformed into THIS?

Racism is when someone really, truly means that someone not of his own skin colour is worth less than himself, that some people are inferior, not because they're idiots or have done something wrong, but simply because of the way they look.

That is racism.

Making a bad joke by comparing someones skintone to mocca isn't. It really, really isn't. It was thoughtless, not because it was an offensive thing to say, but because of the reactions that just HAD to come off of it.

Aren't you tired of having to watch your mouth all the time? I am. I am so not a racist you wouldn't believe it, but I still have to watch what I'm saying, like you always feel like you have to do around horribly obese people. Being horribly obese can be considered a disease, and it's certainly not healthy. You don't walk up to someone like that, saying, 'so, had any good cake lately?'
That would be rude, most fat people aren't happy about being fat.

So, by having to watch everything you say around someone with a different skintone, aren't you then sort of making the assumption that this person is ashamed of him/herself and secretly wants to change?

I might be exaggerating for effect, I know black history is a horrible affair with unforgivable crimes commited by white people, but come on, how long are we going to let history control us?

We won't ever get rid of racism, not until everyone feel comfortable talking about each others differences without hate, nervousness or overreactions.

Chillax.

The accidentally elephant-themed blog post.

Do you know that feeling of not having eaten much all day? If you add a bazillion cups of tea, two bottles of water and some milk, you sort of feel like this after a while:

But that's beside the point, I was really going to write about a funny conversation I had the other day, but then I realized that I haven't had any funny conversations lately, so I made a joke about peeing like an elephant. I think I'm waiting for the summer a lot. Or spring. Or just next year.

Oh, actually my friend told me about this dream she had. Her boobs were full of warts, and when she squeezed one a maggot came out of it. So she put the maggot on her boyfriend and it turned into an elephant.

WOW, when I put up the picture of the elephant I had no idea I was going to write about an elephant.

The only awesome thing about Christmas is I get a visit from Best Friend With The Thousand Faces. She is likely to kill me when she sees this, but that's okay because I believe in reincarnation.

Perhaps, in a few months, when I've lost all my winter chubbiness (read: cake) I'll even post a picture of myself and not just everyone else.

I have to pee.

Return of the absent blogger.

It is actually a complete coincidence that the day I choose to start blogging again, is the day I wake up sick. Seeing as my last post was also written while sick, you might start wondering what sort of blogging business I'm managing here, but I assure you, coincidence.

So yeah, Christmas. Deck the halls and lock in your daughters. Or is that just here in Oslo, group rape capital? Either way, I'm not feeling it. That famous Christmas spirit. I made some garlands out of old magazines, but it looks more like someone tossed some trash on to the shelf than it mimics Christmas decorations.

I've apparently managed to alienate my dads side of the family, and my mom is ecstatic over the fact that for the first time in twenty four years she doesn't have to celebrate Christmas, because my sisters are respectively pregnantly celebrating elsewhere, and going to Spain, and my brother is on a train somewhere in Europe.

My boyfriends plan was to go to Bergen to his family, but when I told him of my plans to celebrate by myself in Oslo, he started changing his mind. I'll convince him to go to Bergen, it's good for him. And it's not like I'm going to be miserable spending Christmas by myself, I have big plans.

We're talking chocolate cake, pizza, rivers of beer and a Supernatural marathon. T'is the season to be jolly, right?