God tur!

Today is the one month anniversary of my travels abroad. Of course, I've only been in Oslo 3 weeks, but, despite a little global fluke that detained me awhile from my original objective, I'd say I have definitely been adventuring for a month, and that warrants some celebrating. Especially because I've been a little blue lately. I've discovered one very important thing: It's hard to move to another country. Really hard. Especially to an insanely bureaucratic and expensive country. I'm still waiting, for instance, for a bank account, for a library card, for gym access, for proof that their postal system actually works. And I'm starting to miss things... Bunny pasta, for instance. And darjeeling tea. Also, I've been feeling sick for the last few days, I think because I'm adjusting to all the carbohydrates I have to eat because I can't afford protein. Because of all this, I think I sounded a little less than convincing when I told the Norwegian guy I met yesterday that things were "fine." He's hoping to apply for a Fulbright to attend the U of C as a masters student, and, frankly, it was pretty cool of him to put up with my faltering Norwegian and to offer to explain to me why Norway is so weird in exchange for my insight into the ol' alma mater.

So, feeling a little bit better about things, I decided it was time to check up on this Antony and the Johnsons show I knew was happening sometime in September. I was pretty sure it would be at a small venue full of Norwegian hipsters and chubby queer kids ... Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was the show TONIGHT but it was at the Oslo Konserthus (aka a fancy venue where the artsy crowd turns up for their dose of "culture" and to make their monthly pretentious display) and it was SOLD OUT. Ack! I love, love, love Antony and the Johnsons, and if you read my blog, you know I've been excited about this for some time. I made the snap decision to at least go down to the venue and take my chances that some scalper or nice architect whose wife was sick would sell me a ticket. But do they have scalpers in Norway?

Turns out, no. Not so much. I showed up at the venue at about 6:45. The show started at 8. A few people were already milling about outside, including an adorable hipster couple, complete with backpacks and a "Billeter ønskes kjøpt" sign. If any of the rest of us were secretly scoping out our chance at tickets, I'm sure we were immediately in despair, because if that cute hipster girl couldn't wrangle herself a ticket, none of us could. I waited outside for quite awhile without any luck before I noticed there was a small flock of people waiting inside. I used my powerful deductive skills to determine that they were, in fact, ticketless, and that maybe by waiting with said group, I might eventually be rewarded ...?

I was in line for maybe half an hour when cute hipster boyfriend went bounding out of the line. Success! Some equally adorable man with a baby on his back had passed off a couple of tickets to his girlfriend. Cute hipster couple embraced and went off holding hands, looking completely smug and in love. To be honest, I kind of wanted to kick them a little. I mean, after all, they have each other, what do they need with Antony and the Johnson's tickets? Isn't Antony for people involved passionate but unhealthy love affairs? These two looked perfectly healthy to me. Then I remembered that time when Jesus said something about how to the person who has, more will be given, but to the person who has nothing, even what he has will be taken away, and I sort of wondered if maybe this was an attitude thing. Because when you're that happy in love you basically own the world, so why wouldn't more lovely things just fall down on you, by virtue of the magnetic force being that happy inevitably lends you. If this was, in fact, the case, the reverse would probably be true for me (i.e., my sour-grapes attitude would get me nowhere), so I decided to be happy for them and let whatever good thing might happen to me come as a pleasant surprise and not a vindication.

Besides, I already had a tremendous back-up plan: Sitting on the pier with my homework and an ice cream, listening to Antony on my ipod. Sounded pretty nice to me ...

Suddenly, the line I'd been standing in for 45 minutes started to move! A couple of middle-aged ladies got tickets (wha?). A couple of really excited teenage girls in cut-off tights got tickets. A guy standing two people in front of me got a ticket and then, no go. The boy standing in front of me with the Flock of Seagulls hair and the "Boikott Israel" button looked back at me and said, desparingly, "Så nært!" "Er der ingen sjanse?" he asked the ticket sales guy, who shook his head a little and said it was hard to say. So we stood around some more making worried faces at one another and watching all those smug ticketed people walk into the theater. Then, two minutes before show time, hooray! Four seats open up! And I get one of them! Flock of Seagulls boy and I exchange a "YES!!!" and go to find our seats. Pretty soon, a woman who had been standing behind me in line showed up in the seat next to me. "Du fikk en billett! Gratulere!" She nodded excitedly back. I think she thought I was pretty clever to say "Congratulations." Of course, I heard FoS boy say it to someone else first...

So, the show. Amazing. I don't know if you've heard Antony and the Johnsons, but it's almost as if that chubby, awkward gay kid who was a total choir nerd in high school grew up and became an angel. Literally, an angel. Wings and everything. The audience was one of the most appreciative I've ever been part of. They went crazy after every song, but as soon as he started to play they were dead silent. At one point Antony looked out and said, "Are you guys okay?" It's just the Norwegians, man; they're really polite!

My favorite parts of the evening? When he told us how he'd been to Svalbard three weeks ago and went around on a boat with 8 handsome Russian sailors and 6 elderly German naturalists. When he told us their instruments had been lost earlier in the day, so they had had to rent them in Oslo. "Don't trust British Airways. They're on my shitlist." Mine too, Antony! Another great part was when he did this song a cappella, and the audience was supposed to sing these two notes through the whole thing. Norwegians aren't big on the singing in public, and generally neither am I, but there was no way I was going to miss my chance to sing with Antony, dammit. The guy's an angel!

So, the Norwegians wrangled themselves 3 encores with their relentless standing O, and at the end Antony says, "You guys are So. Sweet." And it's true. These crazy people really can be sweet, albeit a little shyly and secretly. But sweet nonetheless. And it was nice to be reminded of that on my one month anniversary. Unfortunately, I've spent most of today in bed with that stomach thing that finally caught up with me. But it was worth it.