I still remember the moment when I discovered that George Sand and Frederic Chopin were lovers. There is something about the unexpected link between two people who are each already established in my brain with their own specific contexts and labels, neither of which contains the other.

That is how I felt when I discovered Charles Dickens and H.C. Andersen had met. The one belongs to British Victoriana, and is of course surrounded by all sorts of PhD-related associations for me; the other belongs to the Scandinavian, fairy tales and my childhood. I knew they lived more or less at the same time, at least I would have if someone asked; but they would never be linked in my mind.

The most delicious part of the story, however, is not that they met; but how soon Dickens got tired of Andersen once he came to visit and wouldn't leave.

I believe it is conventional to start at the beginning. The two first met in 1847, from what I can tell, during Andersen's trip to England. That year, Andersen dedicated his A Christmas Greeting to Dickens (incidentally, I believe this is where the Tin Soldier first makes an appearance; Dickens declared it one of his favourites in a letter to Andersen the following January). Afterwards, they exchanged letters. It was all very amicable.

But then, almost ten years later, in the summer of 1857, Andersen made the mistake of taking Dickens up on his invitation to come stay ...

Today I have learnt to create an elephant at the touch of a button. And to find Tor in a list. Not to mention the delight of turning a string into a list.

Confused? Me too.

I was especially discombobulated (I am taking refuge in friendly words) by Tor's assumption that I would know how f(x) worked (I associate it with differentiation and therefore with annoyance and pain, neither of which are conducive to happy learning).

Everything got much better once I managed to get him to admit that when he was talking about variables, he was really just talking about algebra (or at least algebra as it is defined in my brain; I always found it to be the friendliest branch of mathematics because it managed to avoid those pesky numbers, and I would ask you to not take this illusion away from me by explaining algebra beyond a high school level).

First thing's first: I set up my terminal to look cool. I instantly felt like a hardcore hacker.
We decided I should learn Python, because apparently Python is friendly and nice and will give me warm, cuddly feelings any moment now.

Tor then explained about functions and variables, and how variables can be anything from text strings (he seems obsessed with 'elephant' as a word -- I got much more excited when I realised text strings could include whole works of literature) to numbers (of all shapes and sizes -- I am less excited about them ...

Coding, to me, has always seemed rather unapproachable. A little bit like magic. Not the fun "as much chocolate as you could ever want, for free!" kind of magic; rather, a way in which to accomplish things that I could never hope to master. I know how to count in binary (of all the useless skills in the world); I am fascinated by programming languages (without really understanding them); I'll happily read books on the Difference Engine or the Enigma machine (although that may in part be due to my fascination with Lovelace and Babbage and Alan Turing); and I'll admit to sometimes staring at my iPhone in a sort of gleeful "how? HOW did you do that?" kind of way, while my mind tries to connect ContreJour with the opening and closing valves of 0 and 1 (who doesn't?).

I have always preferred books to computers, and my fear that the machine would die (possibly taking me with it) if I accidentally pushed the wrong sequence of buttons has entertained (and possibly frustrated?) Tor immensely. Much as I love technology that makes my life easier, I have had a (healthy) respect for the digital. You know where you stand with books. Unless you set fire to them or drop them in water, they will not accidentally get rid of your text; the worst they can do to you is give you a paper cut or fall on your head.

There may, however, be something in the ...

Every year on March 8, feminism and feminist concerns are suddenly in the media in a happy and encouraging kind of way. To the extent that focus on world problems can be happy and encouraging. It almost gives you hope for mankind. And then there is the rest of the year. My plan is as follows. Every week (I hope) I'm going to update this post with some of what I come across (with an emphasis on the West), pretending that the days from March 9 to 7 are also days when feminist concerns are important. I'm interested to see how it will look on March 8 2014.

If you do not click on links, you will get little out of this. Also, feel free to add to it through the comments section.

March 8: It is fitting, I suppose that the final instalment of this March 9-7 post is published on March 8 (thought that strictly speaking falls outside its scope). And it is no surprise that it repeats the patterns of the earlier ones. I’m headed to town now in order to join in the demonstration against the new rightwing government’s chipping away at the right to abortion. It looks like I won’t be the only one (though I would like to have a word with the person who decided to place IWD right in the middle of the flu season). But first, let's have a look at the week's nuggets ...

I løpet av de siste ukene har det dukket opp en ny kampanje i gangene på NTNU. Den vil ha DIN IDÉ og lover 1.000.000 KRONER. (Etter nærmere ettersyn viser det seg at den egentlig bare vil ha mine og andre NTNU-ansattes idéer, og sannsynligvis bare dem som er kompatible med "technology transfer", et uttrykk med tunge Gløshaugen-assossiasjoner.) Tittelen på konkurransen er "Gullegget".

Men tilbake til grunnen til at denne artikkelen er arkivert under "rant".

På pauserommet vårt dukket det nemlig opp en glassbolle full av gull-fargede plastegg.

Jeg vet akkurat hva som har skjedd. Noen har sittet og brainstormet på et møte med for mye sukker og for lite fornuft, og idéen om å knytte navnet på konkurransen til håndgripelige gullegg ble for vanskelig å motstå.

Jeg antar at målet med dette stuntet ikke var opplysning (det henger som sagt plakater overalt), men heller et forsøk på å 1) gjøre prosjektet til et samtaletema under lunsjen og 2) skape positive assossiasjoner til prosjektet ved å knytte det til sukkertøy.

Hos oss gikk dette i så fall ikke etter planen. Første reaksjon var undring (er det julepynt? Påskepynt? Hvem har så dårlig smak?). Deretter oppdagelse, og så irritasjon og et anstrøk av forakt.

Dersom NTNU-ansatte ...

I have recently started watching Star Trek: The Original Series. I grant you, my new found interest is probably helped by the quaintness of the 1960s style (I never managed to get into Voyager, for example). My ability to suspend disbelief is always helped by less than stellar (see what I did there?) sets: when I am in the process of suspending disbelief with regard to the sets, my brain fills in a number of other blanks as well. I enjoy this. But I confess the main appeal of the series is found in the characters. What sets The Original Series apart, as far as my experience of Star Trek goes, is the beautiful assembly of a cast that works. One where all the major players are interesting in their own right (although I must admit to a preference for Spock).

Now to the heart of the matter. Having watched the first season and a half of the show, I got a sudden urge to rewatch J.J. Abrams' Star Trek (2009). I remember being unhappy about it when it came out (while I am new to the series, I have watched the old films, and I had formed some definite ideas about how Spock, in particular, would act). I returned to it with my earlier views more fully grounded (you can shout "confirmation bias" all you like; I can't hear you), and I am increasingly convinced Abrams and his cronies (I am looking at you, Lindelof) have made ...

Advarsel: Jeg akter å synse. Jeg er nemlig litt sint i dag. Det begynte med at jeg våknet og trodde jeg var enig med Frp (jeg kommer tilbake til det senere), og det er jo aldri en god start på dagen. Jeg har også litt gjenværende sinne fra i går. Jeg leste nemlig nyhetene.

Jeg er alltid litt skeptisk til å bli sint basert på slike nyheter, mest fordi jeg alltid har en ekkel følelse av at jeg ikke har fått hele bildet (jeg vet jo ikke hva retten vektla i de forskjellige tilfellene, og jeg har ingen bakgrunn i psykiatri). Men. Jeg uttaler meg herved som et middels oppegående medlem av samfunnet.

Jeg er helt enig i prinsippet om at hvis man var psykotisk i gjerningsøyeblikket skal man ikke straffes. Er man syk skal man heller få hjelp. Men dersom man er syk og ikke vet at man er syk er tvang gjerne nødvendig for at man skal få den behandlingen som gjør at man ikke lenger er farlig. Problemet, slik NRK fremstiller det, er at det er et gap mellom det som gjør at man blir frikjent fordi man regnes som utilregnelig og det som regnes som sykt nok til å kreve tvunget helsevern. Kravene som skal oppfylles for tvunget helsevern er i følge NRK følgende:

Lovbryteren må begå en alvorlig kriminell handling.
Det må være stor fare for gjentakelse.
Tvang må anses som nødvendig for å verne samfunnet.

Og det høres jo også helt fornuftig ut. Alt ...

As most of you will know, Charles Dickens never published his novels all in one go. Some were published in weekly instalments in literary journals; but the type of publication which is most closely associated with Charles Dickens as an author is that of monthly parts publication: It was how he helped revolutionise Victorian publishing, being the first to master the format with Pickwick, and the last to make it profitable, with Edwin Drood.

We propose to read one of Dickens' less famous novels, Martin Chuzzlewit, as it was published, exactly 170 years after the fact: Dickens started publishing this novel in January 1843; we will start reading it this January. Dickens published the novel over 18 months; we will be reading it over 18 months.

And we want you to join us (you must at this point imagine me wearing a star spangled top hat and pointing intently at you).

This is what will happen: Once a month, like a pleasant, albeit expected, surprise, a fairly large .pdf file (the first one will be 19mb) will appear in your inbox. It is large because it contains a beautiful facsimile of the original parts from 1843 (and later 1844), complete with the traditional green wrappers (which was a staple of Dickens' early publications, and which he returned to in his final books), and the nutty Victorian advertisements we know and love. You will then read about 3 chapters a month (no cheating by buying the book and finishing it ahead of time) over the next year and a half.

How can you resist?

Send me an e-mail, and I'll add you to the list.

GODT NYTT ÅR!

01.30
To visdomsord for å avslutte:
Du skal ikke sykle i snøstorm med blinkende lys på rompa og tro at du er trygg.
Og du kan ikke dra på fest på Bolsøya uten at det er en du ikke liker der.
Så da vet vi det.

00.55
Før den tid måtte vi imidlertid knuse pepperkakedødsstjernen (årets høydepunkt). Slik så det ut:



00.45
Nå kommer Moldes fremste matematikk-lærer snart for å hente Silje, så da må vi avslutte (og gå og spise Tiramisu hos tante og denslags).

00.40
Vi er enige om at vi skulle ha lest på 1600-tallet, for da ville vi vært veldig, veldig kule. I alle fall hvis vi var menn.

00.35
Vi diskuterer hvilken ordklasse "da" og "når" tilhører. Silje sier vi bør sjekke bokmålsordboka, som sier det er et adverb (det var det vi gjettet på). Men hvorfor er det et adverb? Bør man unngå å diskutere grammatikk så sent på kveld? Huff.

00.30
Addendum: Karoline erklærte at Siljes ekstreme reaksjon på fyrverkeri og annen skremsel "reddet 2012". Det var jammen bra; Silje er selvsagt glad for å ha kunnet hjelpe.

00.25
Så var det resten av årets nyttårsforsetter: Tor skal fikse den jævla fordømte burdagstingen som alltid gjør overgangen til et nytt år til et frustrasjonsmoment. Ellers har han ingen planer; alt er på stell for de neste 35 årene. Han skal kanskje komme seg på trening. TO ganger i uken. Vi venter i spenning ...

Tittelen på månedens oppskrift er kanskje en smule misvisende. Dødsstjernen skal nemlig lages av pepperkakedeig; jeg mistenker at selv om den var veldig tøff, smakte ikke imperiets romstasjon så veldig godt.

Jeg har laget min andel pepperkaker, men jeg har aldri før vært ansvarlig for å lage deigen. Jeg har imidlertid hørt veldig mye om hvor vanskelig pepperkakedeig kan være, og hvor fint balansert den må være for å fungere optimalt, så det var ikke uten ærefrykt jeg gikk oppgaven i møte. I slike stunder er det fint å kunne hvile seg på en autoritet, så jeg vendte meg til Den store rutete kokeboken, redigert av Ingrid Espelid Hovig, som min mor hadde vært forutseende nok til å skaffe til veie, og fant den eneste pepperkake-oppskriften den hadde å by på: Skårne pepperkaker. I retrospekt burde vi kanskje spurt hvorfor oppskriften spesifiserte "skårne", men det kommer jeg tilbake til.

For å være på den sikre siden doblet vi deigen og sørget derfor for å ha for hånden følgende:

250g mandler
400g smør
400g sukker
2dl sirup
4ts malt ingefær
4ts malt kanel
4ts malt nellik
2ts natron
ca 700g hvetemel

Kvelden før kvelden før kvelden sørget vi for å skålde mandlene. Da jeg var liten var jeg overbevist om at "skålde" refererte til å ta av skallet. Jeg har siden den gang lært at man bruker ordet også i andre situasjoner hvor noe blir badet i kokende vann. Dessverre har jeg lagt igjen Falk og Torp i Trondheim; hvis ikke ...