John L. Crow, Concordia University, and Satanism Scholars

This is a long-overdue response to John L. Crow’s post about Satanism and scholars of religion. And by overdue I mean by almost two years. John L. Crow (whom I met briefly at the American Academy of Religion’s Annual Conference in Atlanta last November) had written asking for my thoughts way back in December 2014. At the time I was preparing for my research trip in Norway, and then life and work got in the way, and this year I’ve been ill, and well, academics have no good excuses for these kinds things, but here we are, and I can haz ideas.

So, with apologies to John for the delay, here are my thoughts on the experience as a scholar of religion actively focusing on religious Satanism in relation to the broader context in which Satanism is discussed in popular, religious, and academic forums alike.

Allow me to begin with a relevant passage from John’s post. He writes:

Satanism is treated differently by both academics and the public at large. This point was made apparent to me a few semesters ago when a couple of my colleagues asked me to give a one day lesson on religious Satanism as part of their world religions courses. I kept the history brief, focusing mostly on institutional Satanism, looking at the atheistic Church of Satan and the theistic Temple of Set. At the end, I also talked about the ways Satanism is constructed by Christian churches and the way this construction is projected upon Satanists. To illustrate the point, I showed a portion of an interview between Bob Larson, Zeena Schreck, daughter of the founder of the Church of Satan, Anton LaVey, and her husband, Nicholas Schreck, founder of a satanic school of magic called The Werewolf Order. The interview can be seen here on YouTube. What becomes apparent in the interview is that Larson’s conception of Satanism is quite divergent from the kind of Satanism that the Schrecks articulate. Numerous times Larson says what Satanists can and cannot do based on what he imagines are the rules by which Satanists live and practice. He says in satanic weddings, brides cannot wear white to which the Schrecks reply, why not? Larson claims that all Satanist believe something because it is in The Satanic Bible to which the Schrecks reply, it does not matter what it says in the book, and Satanists can do and believe what they want. Larson uses his understanding of Christianity as the basis of his approach to Satanism and he is repeatedly shown to be in error. Larson is not unlike many who approach Satanism, whether they are in the media, law enforcement, or scholars of religion. The way Satanism has been portrayed by Christianity colors the narrative, regardless of what the facts demonstrate. There are significant differences between the various kinds of Satanism but there is a scarcity of American religious studies scholars who can or will engage in any public discussion about these differences, a task that they frequently perform for other religions.

To answer this query about reception to Satanism studies in academia (specifically religious studies), allow me to begin with anecdotes.

In my department, I have received strong support from the faculty at large, the chairs, my doctoral committee and supervisor. From the early stages, way back in my undergraduate degree, I wrote an honours thesis on Church of Satan rituals. It was well-received, and I was encouraged by my supervisor, Dr. Donald L. Boisvert, to pursue the topic in graduate school. For financial and personal reasons, I stayed at the same university for all my academic degrees [barring a semester abroad at NTNU in Norway, to work with Dr. Jesper Aagaard Petersen].

As such, I can state that Concordia University has never even hinted at having an issue with my topic. The department of religion demonstrates their support by suggesting me for scholarships, writing letters of recommendations, offering teaching gigs, expressing a genuine interest in my atypical research, and a regard for my personal well-being (an undervalued asset to doctoral success). I am the recipient of three major awards: the departmental graduate fellowship, the Fonds de recherche du Québec – Société et culture (FRQSC) [in name only], and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC). The Concordia news department wrote a piece on my first academic publication in 2010 (Death and Dying the Satanic Worldview), which was picked up internationally. I have been a media contact for various stories on Satanism and Witchcraft, and even received a letter of commendation from the President and Vice-Chancellor, Alan Shepard [it’s framed and hanging in my office, because in moments of frustration and fatigue, it makes me feel like I’m PhDing LIKE A BOSS].

I have been fortunate. But in all of the above, the support I received was from people who know and interact with me personally—they have witnessed my work ethic, delight in teaching and helping students, involvement with graduate committees and events, and genuine intellectual curiosity. My point is that it’s not accidental support. There was already a certain amount of trust established between me and my department before I entered the PhD programme. This relationship is not circumstantial, but pivotal. It allows me to work independently (with the welcome kicks-in-the-ass) en tandem with the rigorous standards of departmental doctoral research. To be clear, my supervisor has challenged theory and methods, impressed the need to substantiate claims, and demonstrated a tough but fair approach as I proceed towards completion. But there has never been a voiced concern for the topic. If there have been objections or reservations to my research among faculty, they were not explicitly or subtly expressed to me personally.

In this sea of love, however, there have been a view sore spots.

At the dozen-or-so conferences at which I have presented a paper on Satanism, wherein I am a stranger to most, I’ve had the odd scholar behave in a combative and hostile manner during the question period, aggressively challenging me because how I describe Satanism directly contradicts their (mis)understanding. In the post-panel conversations, the objections are some version of these three things: LaVey really did believe in the devil; even if he didn’t, Satanism is by default evil and cannot be redefined; or my personal favourite, Satanism is an offensive religion and shouldn’t be studied. This type of scholar appears so repulsed by my topic, they cease all conversation. And once, even, someone refused to sit at the same breakfast table as me, declaring that Satanism was the “enemy of the church” and exposed the cross around their neck as a measure of what I can only assume was protection (against what is unclear, as Satanism does not view other religions as enemies, and instead views them as largely irrelevant—which is, perhaps, the more offensive claim).

My reaction to most of these incidents are a patient, bemused eye-roll. The rare scholar simply does not want to be convinced. The irony is, there is plenty to be offended by within satanic thought (separation of church and state; critique of theistic dogma; social-Darwinist worldviews; liberal sexual attitudes; no mandate for charity or good will towards fellow humans; libertarian(ish) political leanings; rejection of the idea of a “basic goodness” of humanity, instead viewing most humans as neutral reactionary fools, easily subject to mob mentality; etc.) if one bothered to understand it on its own terms. They object to Satanism for what it is not, instead of what it actually is. This is their failing. And more than a little lazy.

Now, lest my readers imagine that I am constantly confronted with rude academics, I must emphasize that these are small and occasional (if still consistent) occurrences, easily drowned out in the sea of overwhelmingly positive reactions to my research, wherein scholars are curious, delighted to learn something new, and be challenged on their assumptions. My personal anecdotal evidence suggests, then, that Satanism has a titillating draw, where scholars are largely supportive of the unconventional topic, taking an interest in a new avenue of intellectual pursuit, with only minor objections.

I was hesitant to even bring up these negative incidents publicly given that they are so trivial, but ultimately they are important, because they reflect the popular (which is heavily influenced by the theological) understanding of Satanism. If scholars, as John L. Crow suggests, simply make little effort to understand the nuances of popular, theological, and religious discourses on Satanism, the people that are ostensibly obligated by their very profession to be critical of assumptions and stereotypes, then perhaps is it out of an implied devaluation of Satanism as a legitimate topic of inquiry. Religious studies departments are woefully lacking in research on fringe and marginal groups and topics. One of the reasons for this is lack of support; ideally graduates interested in new religions seek out faculty that can supervise them, which drastically limits their options. When your topic is more mainstream (even if you’re doing new approaches such as feminist, queer, or race theory) you have more options. If departments of religion fail to encourage—by funding and otherwise—topics that fall outside of more standard areas of research, then it becomes a paradox: are there lack of resources because there is no interest, or lack of interest because there are not enough resources? The answer is likely not an either/or, but instead a nuanced negotiation between multiple parties: university administrations (what they’re willing to fund), graduate caution (putting the “passion project” on the back burner until they receive their degree), faculty expertise (rejecting students if they cannot offer full support, even if they have no objection to an unconventional research area), and job prospects (I often ask myself how to market my transferrable skills to other areas, as being a “Satanism Scholar” does little besides get me curious glances).

Finally, and specifically as it relates to me, let’s be honest about one thing: Satanism is weird (said with the utmost affection for weirdos of all kinds). But it’s weird deliberately. Religious Satanism is constantly negotiating tensions with its popular reputation, law enforcement, media representations, and academia. One of the manifestations of this weirdness, then, is its reception in the academy to scholars who study it.

To be clear: this is not a lament. My fantasy business card proudly reads, “Scholar of Religion—Fringe Division.” Examining such an unusual topic and its reception is a study in and of itself, and I wouldn’t change it, as being in this ambiguous space of researching a topic that makes people uneasy from inside the reputable institution of academia has offered unique insights into my meta-specialty of Things That Make Us Uncomfortable.

So if you’re considering a strange topic, I say go for it, just recognize beforehand that you will have to do some careful convincing. But it’s worth it to be among the freaks. You won’t regret it.

Academic Writing: Or, How to Avoid Being Sick Over Your Laptop

My writing process is thus:

1: Vomit words on a page.
2: Leave it for two weeks.
3: Re-write everything.

Or, as my friend Erik Östling puts it, the old “puke and revise” method.

Much of academic writing is taking two separate ideas and merging them together. A basic formula could be: here’s this one dudette’s theory on something religion-related, and here’s this religious group behaving in ways I find interesting, so my job is to see what is gained or lost by applying this theory to the practice. Does it fit well? Why or why not? What insights can we glean from the group’s practice? How could the theory be revised? Etc.

It’s simple enough. Good scholarship does this kind of thing seamlessly.

The problem, is that academics are rarely marrying just two ideas (that’s for undergrads [P.S.: I love teaching undergrads.]), but are instead trying to present a seamless disscussing on one topic by weaving in multiple theories, discourses, and ideas in a way that does not leave the reader confused, angry, and unwilling to fund, publish, and work with you.

I am obsessive. Before beginning to write I collect mass amounts of data before I get a clear idea of what it is I am actually trying to do, overwhelming the issue and confusing myself for days, before I finally streamline my thoughts. The eventual clarity is a glorious euphoria: Oh this is what my paper’s about!!!

The current problem under review: how do you write a thesis proposal on the Church of Satan, which incorporates two separate fields of study, western esotericism, and media/material culture studies? That is, how do I look at the material culture of these Satanists in a way that corresponds to similar studies on magical groups, without the study reading as disjointed?

For those unfamiliar, it is somewhat rare to study contemporary ritual/magical groups in terms of material culture. First, because modern magicians simply are not as studied, and second, because when they are, they are usually studied under the rubric of western esotericism (not material culture).

There is always overlap between fields. The issue, is that when you go cross-disciplinary, your methodology requires refining to adapt to the tug-and-pull of different disciplines, in a way that benefits the particular study best. The proposal I put together at the beginning of my doctorate is no longer completely relevant, as I’ve refined my approach. It’s now time to put it all together.

That’s where I’m at. I’m not yet certain how to do this. And I have a thesis proposal (over)due.

Lucky for me I can vomit on my blog.

Transposing Vodou: Haitian Spirits in the (Virtual?) Diaspora

Alexandra Boutros, in her article, “Virtual Vodou, Actual Practice: Transfiguring the Technological,” examines the intersection between virtual interaction and Vodou practice, and how practitioners navigate technology and popular depictions. She writes: “digital technologies—the possibilities and limits generated by the interaction between technology and technology use—shape manifestations of Vodou in the digital public sphere” (2013, 239). That is, there are now practitioners of Vodou who have no national or genealogical connection to Haiti and thus Vodou, but who nevertheless have become immersed in its virtual community.

Boutros argues that popular depictions of Vodou, despite often being wildly inaccurate, are also the initial draw for the virtually curious.[1] Because of this, Vodou practitioners that have initial contact online may or may not interact with Haitian practitioners; the demographic has expanded far beyond a connection to Haiti. Boutros writes:

Vodou is a fluid and orthopraxic religion in which multiple voices from multiple geographic centers can potentially address the constitution and the constituents of the religion. This multi-vocality maps itself onto the workings of new media, where social networking and software publishing practices seem to create an all-access public sphere. (2013, 241)

Boutros states that the intersection between religion and technology is often framed negatively; technology somehow dilutes or diffuses the notion of an “authentic” religious experience (and yet again, we bump up against the idea that “legitimate” religion is solely defined by an inwardness and sincerity). Yet there are many religions developing an online presence in the face of the overwhelming amount of virtual interaction increasing in the modern world. Examples range from; Ask The Imam and Catholic virtual confession app for smartphones, to new religions such as pagan technomysticism, and even religions that are born online through chatrooms, such as therianthropy (do watch the short video below, it provides a succinct description of how this fascinating movement emerged).

Boutros examines how these virtual spaces intersect with religion, but I would like to back up a bit to look at how grounded (quite literally, in many ways) Vodou is with Haiti in the first place, in order to then to consider Boutros’ comments.

Karen McCarthy Brown (perhaps best known for her book Mama Lola) writes in her article, “Staying Grounded in a High-Rise Building: Ecological Dissonance and Ritual Accommodation in Haitian Vodou,” that when Africans were enslaved in Haiti their homeland became spiritualized (1999, 82). Practitioners wishing to call upon their spirit ancestors draw a cornmeal veve on the ground of temples or shrines, directed at specific spirits. Veve are considered a passageway through the “watery subterranean world they call Ginen” to a spiritual African homeland (81). The veve’s intersecting lines have cosmological meanings, as McCarthy Brown writes: “It is both a crossroads, the ritually accented place where two roads meet at right angles, and a map of the cosmos itself; both a reference to an intimate corner of human-scale space and a cosmogram” (1999, 82).

Veve Erzulie
Veve Legba

McCarthy Brown argues that the first migration (from Africa to Haiti) transformed Africa into a mystical homeland, one accessible via rituals and the spirits. The second migration (from Haiti to North America) again transformed Vodou practices (it itself a mix of indigenous, African, and Catholic sources; the indigenous Taíno population did not survive colonialism). Haiti, as the geographical location of the spirits, becomes transposed in various ways throughout the diaspora. McCarthy Brown describes Haitians who smuggle small amounts of Haitian soil back to their new residences, but even with access to the soil, certain practices such as pouring libations to the spirits presents a problem in such dense concrete clad cities as New York. She writes:

It is impossible to say how many times and in how many different ways the people who serve the Vodou spirits have to experience the impenetrability of the ground in New York City before they begin to feel that the spirits are starving, and they themselves are slowly being drained of life energy; in New york is it hard to keep believeing that “from up here to down there, in Ginen they hear,” when Ginen is so palpably inaccessible. (1999, 85)

The dilemma of “feeling rooted” then prompts a variety of practices that transpose Haiti in New York and other North American cities. One example is where a Priestess placed a tub to collect the water, rum, and perfume libations that were poured to the spirits. She then bottled the liquid in small containers, which practitioners took home to then spread the “bath” on their skin over three days, without washing, in order to absorb the liquid. The porousness of skin has replaced the absorbency of the earth. McCarthy Brown observes: “In theory, at least, one could feed [the spirits] as well through the skin as through the earth” (86).

Haitian Vodou, then, literally inhabits the earth, and this has cosmological, practical, and even national implications in the diaspora. Boutros is addressing the next step: from Africa to Haiti to North America to the virtual world. She states that as Vodou has become more publicly visible and acceptable, as well as its legal recognition in Haiti, has opened up the secretive and guarded religion to the public sphere (240). As non-Haitians become interested, their connection the earth in Haiti in then negotiated in various ways.

These individuals have no genealogical or geographic connection to Haiti, the cosmological center of Vodou, and they often “find” Vodou not initially through direct contact with Vodou practitioners, but through mediated representations that instigate a desire to seek out more information. (240)

When such individuals become interested in Vodou, it creates somewhat of a clash between those that view Vodou as inherently connected to Haiti, and newcomers without the genealogical or geographic connection. As Boutros quotes one online practitioner, commenting on non-Haitian practitioners:

I can’t argue that my experience of [Vodou is the same as] someone who grew up in a household where the spirits were served regularly. . . My problem with a lot of these sites . . . is that there is very little acknowledgement of that difference. Sometimes that difference can be opportune. I remember some of the things that I didn’t understand about the spirits, and that makes it easier for me to explain things to people like me: North American new-age-types who did not grow up in a culture that served the spirits. But it’s important to be honest about difference and ignorance. ( in Boutros 248)

The concerns over authenticity are then negotiated in two areas: first, in the connection to Haiti as the cosmological centre, and second in terms of how this connection is mediated via technology. This technology is developing its own notions of “space”:

Online religious practitioners often amend the term to talk about cyberrituals and cyberspiritualities, and more mundane concepts such as cybertalk and cybermalls pepper everyday speech. This vocabulary points to a hybridized conception of cyberspace as a terrain that blends the virtual and the actual, making durable links to tangible geographies and undercutting the notion that cyber-identities are free-floating entities with no connection to “real life.” (Boutros 2013, 249)

We may eventually view virtual spaces as benign to the religious experience, its integration into our everyday lives becoming so commonplace that it is no longer considered a threat to our perceived notions of “authenticity.” But as a new technology, is it yet another medium to navigate our religious experiences (such as texts, rituals, images, sounds, our own bodies, and other media). The experiential is always at the centre of how we self-define our religious notions, and virtual interaction is yet another way to mediate that experience: discuss, dissect, advise, consult, and promote our ideas.

[1] It is interesting to note that there is a significant amount of members of the Church of Satan who were also drawn to seek more information because of depictions of Satanism in the media, films, and heavy metal music. This differs somewhat from pre-Internet members, who sought information through occult bookstores and/or various New Age types of activities and groups, wherein pamphlets, leaflets, periodicals, newsletters, and bulletins produced by various Satanists for various purposes (magic, fiction writing, essays on Satanism, promoting a particular local cabal to national members, etc.). The difference is the initial level of commitment and certainly the ease of access. Some Satanists of the older generation lament that what they call First Phase Satanism (an overly enthusiastic and sometimes misguided interest in Satanism) is on the increase with virtual interaction, whereas before, it took a certain amount of genuine effort to actually write a letter, partake in a cabal, or attend an information session.

Boutros, Alexandra. 2013. “Virtual Vodou, Actual Practice: Transfiguring the Technological,” in Jeremy Stolow, ed. Deus in Machina: Religion, Technology, and the Things in Between. New York: Fordham Universty Press: 239-259.

Brown, Karen McCarthy. 1999. “Staying Grounded in a High-Rise Building: Ecological Dissonance and Ritual Accommodation in Haitian Vodou,” in Robert A. Orsi, ed. Gods of the City: Religion and the American Urban Landscape. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press: 79-102.

Research and Academia: Or, what the hell am I doing here in Norway, anyway?

There are two main reasons for my presence in Norway.

The second reason, is that studying in a different academic environment other than my home university demonstrates to potential employers that I have international experience. My bachelor, master, and (in-progress) doctoral degrees have all been at the same university. The reasons for this are a combination of funding (I worked full-time throughout my bachelor and master degrees, in a job that was not guaranteed elsewhere), support for my research (my department has been openly encouraging of my fringe research from the start), and domestic logistics (I have animals. They are as important to me as children, and uprooting them is a serious consideration).

By studying abroad for a half a year it shows I can adapt to new academic environments. Doctoral candidates are in this odd liminal space, where we are often part-time faculty, yet still students earning our degrees. We are considered professionals, but professionals that are in the process of building our careers. My portfolio now includes specialized research abroad.

The first, more significant reason for being here in particular, is to study under Dr. Jesper Aagaard Petersen. We are examining two thematic currents: the very broad category of Western esotericism, and the more specific modern religious Satanism. My dissertation focuses on one of the self-identified religious Satanic groups, the Church of Satan. Satanism is born within and responding to contemporary popular notions, while also reinterpreting ideas from occult and magical discourses. That is, Western esotericism informs how modern Satanists think and act. My work with Dr. Petersen investigates the relationship to, tension with, and reinterpretation of these historical arcane ideas into modern religious activity.

Now here is the Most Important Reason for me being physically in the same space as Dr. Petersen: when we met for the first time we had a general conversation about our plan here and discussed esotericism and Satanism, and it was the first time, ever, in a dozen years as an academic, that I had had a long conversation with a scholar that knows the field more than I do.

I cannot emphasize enough how important this is to the process of academic learning. Being able to bounce ideas off of another scholar, even if, especially if, you disagree is an integral part of advancing as a critical thinker. My supervisor at my home university has provided necessary and unflinching critique of my work (he never holds back, and I’ve eaten humble pie a few times!), but Dr. Petersen can catch problems with my work that might not be seen by scholars that do not know my field. Between my home supervisor and the host supervisor, I have a critical balance of feedback.

To put it bluntly, I’m looking forward to arguing. And being a nerd about all the weird stuff that interests me.

The End Times at NTNU

First thing: yes, I finally have a bed, but much more importantly, World War III broke out on the NTNU campus today.

There has been some issue about my official status here doing independent research as a visiting PhD. In order to rectify the classification problem, I have been on campus negotiating the administrative confusion.

Walking between buildings on campus and thinking about my next step, I was jerked out of my reverie by a sudden ear-piercing, all-enveloping cacophonous air-horn reverberating throughout the sky overhead. You know the horn that was supposed to bring down The Wall in Game of Thrones? This is what it would sound like if god blew on it before he was about to send the Archangel Michael down to battle Satan in the End Times.

Luckily, I have audio. Turn down your speakers. Or turn them up to experience what the apocalypse sounds like.

There were several students calmly strolling through campus at the time, clearly unconcerned with their immortal soul.

When the apocalypse comes it is announced with a trumpet so no one sleeps through it.

When the apocalypse comes it is announced with a trumpet so no one sleeps through it.

First, the good souls get taken up to heaven.

First, the good souls get taken up to heaven.

They leave behind their worldly possessions, because heaven is a nudest colony.

They leave behind their worldly possessions, because heaven is a nudist colony.

They don't have caffeine in heaven, which is a point against its appeal if you ask this heathen.

When you are raptured you cannot bring your coffee or cell phone, which are points against its appeal if you ask this heathen.

Well if my pets can't come I have no interest in going anyway.

Well if my pets can’t come I have no interest in going anyway.

Since no one seemed to be preparing for nuclear war or was raptured up to heaven, I figured I was still safe. At the International House I am informed that twice a year the city tests the emergency warning system. You can tell them it totally works. I peed my pants a little.


I’ll write more about the work I’m doing here in another post (coming soon). In the meantime, you may click the green icon below to donate funds to support my research. Many thanks to everyone who has already donated!

Norway, the First Few Days

Day 0: After almost a year’s worth of preparation, it’s finally here. I squeeze six months of life into two suitcases and fly out of -16ºC Montreal winter weather and hop on a plane to Trondheim, Norway. It’s exciting. I’m exhausted. And I will miss my cats something awful.

Oh and my family too. Of course.

Day 1: Travel time: twelve hours. It’s 3ºC. I arrive at the private housing for students, pick up my key, and lug my fifty-pound suitcases to the third floor. My dorm room is simple. And missing something.


There is no bed. A desk, a chair, a wardrobe, but no bed. Just a giant litter box.

I have not slept in twenty-fours hours and there is no bed.


There is, however, a tiny bathroom.


The administration gives me a small cot for a few days until I buy myself a mattress. I have no pillow or blanket, but I did bring a set of single sheets. I put the flat sheet over the window, the fitted one the cot, stuff the pillow case full of t-shirts, use my long down winter coat as a blanket, and fall into a deep sleep for several hours.

Day 2: I sleep until almost noon, and practically miss the few hours of daylight left here in the Norwegian winter. I have a sore throat and a headache. I also have no food. I lug myself to the grocery store to buy: bananas, tomatoes, an avocado, cheese, cold cuts, bread rolls, coffee, cream, and sugar and it cost me $1362.45.

Not really. But Norway is crazy expensive.

Day 3: I finally meet some flatmates.

The housing is divided into single, double, and small apartment units in buildings on a complex as a big as a city block. My floor is a seven-person “collective” wtith private rooms and bathrooms, and shared living-room/kitchen area.

As I exit my room I see a six-two, blond & blue-eyed, square-jawed twenty-one-ish year old boy-man cooking barefoot in the kitchen. God damn, Norway. Why do all your people look like fucking supermodels?

He didn’t get a bed either. The last guy in my room took his home with him to New York. I’m still 0-1 on the bed front. But the blond-god is pleasant and friendly.

The other flatmates are just as nice. I meet four out of six, get the details of our cleaning duties rotation, and tell them all about my sexy research.

Their English is so good it puts us North Americans to shame. And they keep apologizing for their “poor English.” Just stop it. You are all so far ahead in your education that even your English is better than most native Canadians. I should know, I read their university papers. Some students are excellent, some are lazy, but there’s a good chunk of them that simply were not properly prepared for how to write for university, and are even confused as to the main components and point of an essay. I’ll keep the rants for later posts.

Day 4: I head to the International Students Office to try to fix a registration issue, and have a lovely conversation with the gentleman in charge of the doctoral “free-movers” (as I am classified). He is German, married to a Greek, and went to school in Switzerland. We spoke French. He’s even been to Montreal and spoke fondly of the confusing Quebequois dialect known as joual. Crisse, qu’le monde est p’ti des fois, en?

Mr. German relates an amusing observation on Norwegian culture: “It is fully egalitarian,” he insists. “From Monday to Friday, there is no difference between man and woman. But,” he tilts his head slightly, “when Norwegians drink alcohol on the weekend they allow themselves to flirt.” I do not yet know enough about domestic mating habits to judge the accuracy of his claims. I’ll keep you posted.

On my way home I snap a few shots with the iPhone. As my friend M.H. says, Trondheim is a terribly handsome city.


Snapping a picture of someone snapping a picture.


Along my walking path.


Google maps did not anticipate my route being disrupted.


Typical homes.


A pamphlet in my welcome materials.


About 10:00 am.


NTNU campus.

Downtwon Trondheim from the NTNU campus.

Downtown Trondheim from the NTNU campus.


NTNU girls are so bad-ass.


The light at high noon.

Finally, here’s my makeshift bed. I’d like my mother to know that I have adjustable heating, and am not suffering despite the lack of proper bed and bedding. G’night, Readers. I’ll be dreaming of my IKEA shopping trip tomorrow.


Norway Diaries 1: T minus 24 days

So begins my series of blog posts on my research abroad in Norway. Twenty-four days and counting.

First thing’s first: here’s the link to my GoFundMe campaign to raise money for my trip, or click the many many green icons I have plastered and will continue to plaster around my site in order to help supplement funding. Monies are short, and Norway is expensive. You can also read about my project, including a detailed budget, on my Summary of Research Project page.

Second thing’s second: winter is coming. In a big way. Right from the arctic circle. I have purchased a good down coat and boots that keep me cozy in minus forty degree weather. Fun fact: Farenheit and Celcius match up around minus forty. Consequently, I also got me some Long John’s, and boy are they sexy.


Third and final thing: I have signed up for ice bathing in Trondheim’s fjord along with other lunatic international students. In January. I think it’s meant to be a bonding experience. I also think it’s meant for locals to laugh at the crazy foreigners.

Click pic for short video of loonies

I’ll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I’m still in preparation. Follow my blog (on the left-hand side colomn there’s a button to sign-up) and you’ll receive automatic updates on all my Norway adventures.

Stay warm.