Interludium: Dùn Eideann – part two

Another belated entry. Saving the galaxy from the Collectors is time-demanding business, and throw in a cranky FACS instrument, some memory B cells which hold the right to remain exclusive and a bunch of utterly suicidal angst-ball germinal centre cells on top of it all, and you have a representative overview of the things which keep me preoccupied these days.

Wednesday:

After a day of typical “tourist stuff” we had another marvelous breakfast at the Bield – a pleasantly lengthy affair as we were getting to know two German ladies staying at the B&B as well. Talking to them was lots of fun, and it was almost noon before we managed to get to the city centre once more. Despite setting a pretty vast scope concerning objectives to cover during our five-day stay, we realized that we didn’t really have any plans for Odin’s Day.

First stop: Barad Dûr!

A partly burned out building which reminded me remarkably about a certain dark tower…

After criss-crossing through charming little alleyways appearing out of nowhere, we headed for a quick visit to the Scottish national gallery – can’t get neglect the chance to admire some art! Photography wasn’t allowed inside, which isn’t to say there were no pictures taken at any point, which isn’t to say mr. Boyfriend got never got caught taking said pictures, which isn’t to say he was being entirely honest when he sweetly told the guard he had deleted them all.

Beware of the dramatic chip-Lise!

Wednesday’s adventures continued with further exploration of the Royal Mile and some mandatory shopping ranging from whisky to hats to cheeses. And Crabbie’s, of course. Words cannot describe how much I fell in love with that drink. The ginger beer I am used to is of the variety that hardly can be called beers at all; mostly ginger-flavoured soda or imported brands like Bundaberg and Fentiman’s which still aren’t the kind of stuff you’d order in a bar. I could go on at some length about the universal yumminess of Crabbie’s Ginger Beer, but I can already hear the get-on-with-its and so I shall. Where were we? Yes! The Royal Mile. Despite being a total tourist trap, I found it a pleasant walk, and we did quite well dodging the ubiquitous souvenir shops. The Grassmarket, on the other hand, was quite another experience with its abundance of specialty stores (HATS!!!!) and restaurants and pubs.

Wrong. Just… Wrong…

Once in a while, however, strange coincidences occur. As we were traversing the old town, I kept scanning the signs of every establishment we were passing by. While we were planning our trip, I asked around for recommendations about things to do and places to visit in Edinburgh and this was where Twitter-acquaintance, @thremnir (or Nick Larter, if you will), mentioned the live-music pub called Bannermans. So, still on the lookout, we passed through a pretty hidden-away street and this was where I suddenly caught glimpse of a sign which unmistakably read “Bannermans”. However, I had barely read the first syllable when we heard someone yelling “HEY YOU! You two! I saw you on the Royal Mile earlier today and you like you have a great taste in music. My band is playing at eight and you should come!” Yup, that definitely sounds like a good idea. Not that we had any idea what kind of gig this would be and what kind of music it would involve, but the guy was definitely of the alternative-looking sort, so something appealing didn’t seem too unrealistic.

And impossibly long flight of stairs leading down a hill. The stairs were called… Jacob’s Ladder. Knowing it’s movie namesake, that name evokes more than just a pinch of eeriness. The walk was nice, though!

Further adventures involved walking, walking and some more walking and we got to see some rather charming spots around Calton Hill before we returned to the Royal Mile, briefly visited a cosy pub called The Jolly Judge, and then went for dinner at the Witchery. The Witchery almost requires a post of its own. A luxury restaurant just outside Edinburgh Castle with the most wonderful interior I could have imagined, it was totally out of a fairytale. The food was exquisite and the waiters were such nice guys. A particular mention goes to “the wine-guy” (I sadly didn’t catch his name), whom we had a long, nice what with, and who gave us some nice recommendations and sound advice.

By the time we had finished our meal, it was almost 8:00 pm and a concert still sounded like a good idea. By the time we were back at Bannerman’s, we recognized the guy from earlier on and grabbed a table with his band; Nightmare Frequency, an industrial act. They turned out to be a really cool lot, and Damien (yes, that was his actual name, believe it or not), the drummer, was into many of the same things as we are. Mission accomplished: Befriending cool Scotsmen!

Dino!

Damien who’s into roleplaying, Warhammer and thinks geocaching sounds cool!

Time for some music!

First band out was Trauma Inc, an industrial metal band. Both bands put on a hell of a show, and truth be told, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much at a concert for a long time, and that says a lot. After a couple of hours of pounding, angry industrial beats, we were invited to the after-party. It was impossibly tempting, but by the end of the day, it was time to get back and to bed (sadly enough). Another great day in Edinburgh was at an end.

Thursday:

It was hard getting up this morning. Luckily, breakfast was once again a delightful experience which involved more chatting with the Germans. This morning, two fellow country-men had joined us at the table as well, and turned out to be nice people as well, at least based on our brief acquaintance. Speaking Norwegian to someone who wasn’t Jan Tore felt slightly strange, though.

As opposed to Wednesday, our plans for the day were crystalline this time; Arthur’s Seat, the great hill surrounded by lower hills and crags in the middle of the city. (On a side-note, if I get around doing some Silmarillion-related stuff soon, Arthur’s Seat is almost Himring-esque).

After picking up supplies at Tesco (conclusion; I’ve heard too many Tesco jokes; a grocery store shouldn’t produce fits of giggling) we headed for the hills, not running, sadly. The trails to the peak come in three varieties: light (read: boring), intermediate and insane (bordering on dangerous). We went for the second one as it provided a bit of steep hill-climbing and some lighter legs without getting boring and with great view all along. The peak was pretty crowded, but the view made up for it all; it was amazing!

Soon…

The Keeper of the Sacred Tesco bag

The crags surrounding Arthur’s Seat

I regret I didn’t follow the example of the teenage boys next to us and climbed on top of that thing

Green; Apokalypse approves! (that vain little bastard…)

<Insert epic soundtrack of choice>

Here comes the part where we get utterly and confoundedly lost. Oh look! What a charming little stone wall! OH LOOK! There’s a trail passing through there, let’s walk off in some random direction after we’ve passed beyond the wall! (Don’t tell me you didn’t see that one coming…)

Six hours after departure…

With sodden clothes and aching feet we find ourselves back at the Bield. What a trip! Getting lost isn’t such a bad thing in a relatively small city such as Edinburgh, even with said clothes and feet taken in to consideration. I bet we hadn’t seen some of the spots we passed had we walked down nicely back from where we came. Adventures are tiring business, however, and it was clear there would be few further endeavours that day. We did go to the Last Drop in Grass Market, though, to try haggis. And… *drum roll* I loved it! To  be honest, I wasn’t all that skeptical about it in the first place; to me it just seems like sausage tucked into a different part of the gastrointestinal tract. The haggis was served with whisky sauce which enhanced the already yummy experience. However, after a more-than-decent meal, we decided to call it a day.

Friday

Departure. Sad, but inevitable.

An American couple joined the breakfast table alongside the German ladies this morning. They were fun talking to and said we were some of the strangest people they had ever met. I tend to take that as a compliment. It was a bit sad saying goodbye to the two Germans and Ken and Linda, all whom I had grown fond of during our week at the Bield B&B.

Our plane didn’t leave until late, though, so we had time for one final adventure. I’ve talked about storming castles earlier, and the beautiful, medieval Craigmillar Castle was ripe for the taking. Some 15 minutes by bus away from the city centre it wasn’t as run down by tourists as the more central sights by far. While we were there, I think I spotted three or so other families.

Craigmillar Castle has been left pretty much as it was at the time it was deserted, meaning large parts of the castle are partly ruined; roofs caved in and removed long ago, kitchen overgrown with grass, but I could still vividly imagine what it would have been at the time it was still inhabited. The oldest part of the castle date back to the 14th century where the Preston family who were barons in the area at the time erected parts of it. Throughout the centuries, Craigmillar Castle passed between several noble families and is particularly known for it’s connection to Mary, Queen of the Scots.
Craigmillar Castle proved practically labyrinthine, and we spent an hour or so exploring every single, hidden corner of the castle. Had we had more time, we would have stayed even longer. I only try to imagine how playing hide-and-seek back in the days would have been like!

Enter Craigmillar Castle

The inner courtyard

Dungeons and hidden rooms and narrow corridors – I love Craigmillar Castle!

Up, up, up to the top!

What was once the upper floor of the tower house.

I loved the tree inside the inner courtyard

The top of the castle provided a great view

I don’t know and I don’t want to know

Graphic evidence: The sun exists in Scotland

After some last-minute shopping, it was time to head out to Edinburgh airport and at last wave farewell to a city I had come to love over the course of only a few days. The flight turned out to be delayed by an hour or so, and we only barely caught the last bus back to Oslo city-centre. It was a fantastic trip, and I can’t wait until next time we get the chance to visit Scotland. Next time, I hope to travel around  Scotland in its entirety and see more of that lovely region.

Interludium: Dùn Èideann; part one

I’m back! Summer tends to do this to me; I find simply no urge or will to do anything worthwhile, not even anything scarcely worthwhile. So, now that I’m done playing Mass Effect (loving it; almost beaten it) and reading Harry Potter (for the first time ever, believe it or not – there will be an entry about it) from dusk to dawn and instead find myself back in the lab, ready to do some science, it’s also time to resume blogging activity. Here goes!

Once in a while, a time comes when one must simply follow the urge to follow in the footsteps of one’s ancestors. A time when you must travel across the sea (in the belly of a steel bird; no longships were harmed in the making of this holiday) to the land of the Scots to rape, pillage and burn.

BURNING THEIR WOMEN! RAPING THEIR CHURCHES!

No…

Wait…

That isn’t quite how it goes…

Sorry about that! You’ll forget about that part, right? …Right..?

What I did, though, was that I did in fact travel in the belly of a steel bird to the good ol’ city of Edinburgh together with Jan Tore, and Apokalypse, the fox, for a nice little holiday – much needed, I dare say.

Monday:

INCONCEIVABLE!

That. Is. The sun! Perhaps the forecasts were wrong? Perhaps there is a meagre that  chance our days across the sea won’t simply wash away? This looks good! Blimey! Still in Norway!

Our journey starts at Torp airport and Toblerone. Why Toblerone? I have wondered about that quite a few times; what’s the deal with duty-free and Toblerone? I think I could write an entry of its own about the phenomenon called “Toblerone on the border”. But enough about that for now (Toblerone is omnomnom, by the way). Jan Tore and I head towards the bar and are served by the sulkiest and most hostile woman I’ve encountered behind a counter for a while. However, her attempt at en-souring the mood was a failure, and then there were beers.

Not for us, mainly, as we happened to have a little alcoholic amongst us. Of the red and fluffy variety.

Enter Apokalypse!

Apokalypse – the furry alcoholic

Nobody expects the fox-inquistion; Apokalypse thinks a fox would look better on the cover rather than a lion

Well aboard a blue and yellow steel bird, our journey

begins for real.  The nigh-two hours between Norway and Scotland pass quickly thanks to books and gaming devices and as our plane descends through the clouds above the land of Driving on the Wrong Side where I quickly realize that my hopes of decent weather were in vain. However, searing summer sun wouldn’t feel right for the UK, anyway (I wonder how often they get that?). Well through the passport control we grab a taxi and soon find ourselves at the Bield Bed & Breakfast, Orchard Brae, Edinburgh. We’re met by Ken, and led to our room, which was both incredibly cosy and well equipped with tea-and-coffee-making-facilities. It’s late, but our mission has been accomplished; we’re in Edinburgh!

On a side-note: I’m of that opinion that you should always learn something when visiting new places; first thing learned: It’s Edin-burrow, not Edin-burg. Who kept me in the dark on this one all this time?

Tea-and-coffee-making-facilities!!!

Tuesday:
Waking up to the best breakfast I’ve had in ages, we’re off to explore the wonderful city of Edinburgh. Of course, there were plenty of buses and that sort, but then, buses are for the craven and faint of heart! So instead, we set off in some random direction which we believe is roughly the right way to the city centre.

The Bield – truly a home away from home

Sweetie looking mildly gruff. C’mon, you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself! Smile! 🙂

Smile, I say! 🙂

Despite the Bield B&B only lying a mile away from Princes Street, I think we spent well over an hour getting there. I was already falling in love, there was a charming house or store or church around every single corner, and soon, we hit the Waters of Leith.In fact, I don’t think I’ll say much about it, have a look instead! (Oh, and I think we managed to spot one of the fabled albino squirrels! CUUUUTE!)

I just found charm incarnated!

Neither flood, nor wet socks nor chill of feet can keep us back from the Waters of Leith

Awe-inspiring bridge. (There’s a cache nearby! Sssssh!)

Possibly millstone, definitely cool (the stone, I mean)

Everybody sing; Postman Pat, Postman Pat!

Had we had more time, we would have explored some more along the river, but a couple of geocaches later and narrowly escaping seriously sodden feet, a landmark familiar from so many photos suddenly filled the skyline; Edinburgh castle!

On our way up the hills surrounding the castle, we found another geocache, and Jan Tore thought we could finally achieve his prime goal of this trip; besieging at least one castle and its surrounding towns and villages. After zigzagging through a virtual sea of tourists, we find ourselves across the bridge and inside the castle, and don’t you believe we managed to kill a few hours there as well? Let me make one thing clear, I think Edinburgh Castle is a lovely castle in itself. However, the over-abundance of souvenir shops and general tourist-magnet image thwarts some of the fun (and having said that, I loved being there – tourist traps can just be a bit much sometimes). Almost every single corner of the castle was scrutinized to much detail, and a quick look at the crown jewels was more or less mandatory. And of course, you can’t visit a place like this without getting away with some new historical facts embedded in your cerebral region; something which I’m never averse to. We ended the visit with afternoon tea at the tea lounge inside the castle walls. Thus ended our siege of Edinburgh castle.

Time for pictures!

Creepy thingies! Taken inside the War Museum which could provide both some interesting scraps of Scottish history, the less peaceful parts, obviously, several pieces of weapons and armour/uniforms, art and a temporary exhibition featuring the history of protheses.

Nice armour!

The great hall; a beautiful and majestic thing decorated with countless weapons and just…stuff! I had lots of fun studying the different coats of arms displayed after one another along the ceiling.

Arm thyself!

Afternoon tea-time! Like a sir! *insert meme here*

As we were in the neighbourhood, our quest led us down the Royal Mile. Mr. Boyfriend added rare whisky to his inventory before we headed towards the Camera Obscura, which was practically one big playground. As one might expect from a house of illusions I felt dazzled and confused more than just once. Particular mention goes to the Vertigo Tunnel; a narrow bridge passing through a circular tunnel filled with rotating lights. I knew theoretically the vertigo reflex can be triggered by what I choose to call silly tricks, however, I hadn’t ever experienced it myself. At first I thought it couldn’t be that bad, but when I walked onto the bridge, it felt like the whole world was spinning wildly and I had to grab onto the rails to prevent myself from falling off. Yikes…

Let’s try again! Eyes closed. This is going really well. Until the moment where a pint-sized menace nearly knocks me over – eyes open – aaaaaand here we go again!

Playing around on the floor featuring many pinhole camera installments

Jan Tore just got Ned Stark-ed

Watch where you’re going!

At the end, we attended a demonstration of the camera itself. Some things never get old; such a spying on perfect strangers and pretending abuse of said strangers. The woman responsible for the demonstration was particularly funny!

After some exploring around the Royal Mile which featured a trip to Games Workshop (which apparently had been overrun by Norwegians lately), we got the directions to some good pubs from the guy behind the counter. We were both thirsty, and there can’t be any Scotland without beer, so directions sounded good. The pub we finally landed at wasn’t either of the ones we were tipped about, though, but all the same turned out to be a nice, little pub named Salsa which didn’t allow people in football colours *snigger*.

The Royal Mile

Day two in the lovely city of Edinburgh was at an end, and so is this blog entry. The latter part of our holiday will be up as soon as Jan Tore has finished editing the pictures from said latter part, and of course, when I have a little to spare of that fabled thing called time.

To be continued…

New blog name: Sword & Pipette

When I created this blog, I needed a title, and quickly, which I knew would only be temporary.
I have finally come up with one I believe is a far better, and far more representative; Sword & Pipette!

This is probably the name I’ll stick to, but I’ll still throw in a poll; which one do you think is better?

Da jeg laget denne bloggen trengte jeg en tittel og det raskt, og jeg visste den mest sannsynlig bare ville være midlertidig. Jeg har endelig funnet et navn jeg liker bedre, og som jeg synes er langt mer representativt; Sword & Pipette

Dette er nok navnet jeg vil holde meg til, men jeg slenger inn en poll for det; hvilken tittel liker du best?

 

 

PS: Holiday post from Edinburgh coming soon!

PS: Snart kommer ferie-innlegget fra Edinburgh!

Sketch of the Day: The Sword in the Darkness

Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.

A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin

Watercolour this time. And A Song of Ice and Fire (although most people only seem to refer to the whole thing as Game of Thrones these days, anyway…) and everyone’s (or at least my) favourite bastard. This is of course my own mental image, which is what I always stick to when I’m illustrating something from – well – any book which caught my fancy sufficiently enough for me to make a doodle or two. I mostly love what they have done with the tv show, and whereas I have nothing against Kit Harrington’s portrayal of Jon Snow, he simply doesn’t fit my mental image of that guy. However, here is a quick, little attempt at my Jon Snow, man of the Night’s Watch and his trusty Valyrian steel blade, Longclaw (which I may not have failed so miserably at, had I made this a more thorough piece, and not just mostly-a-sketch). If you wonder about those faint scars, those are kind of a minor spoiler from A Storm of Swords involving a bird with a bad attitude, which is all I’ll say about that for now.

Akvarell denne gangen. Og A Song of Ice and Fire (selv om folk flest ser ut til å referere til hele greia som Game of Thrones nå om dagen), og alles (eller i hvert fall min) favoritt-lausunge. Dette er selvfølgelig mitt eget mentale bilde, som er hva jeg pleier å holde meg de gangene jeg illustrerer noe fra – tja – en hvilken som helst bok som fanget meg tilstrekkelig til at jeg følte for litt dodling. Selv om jeg er veldig glad i det aller meste med tv-serien, og selv om jeg absolutt ikke her noe imot Kit Harringtons fremstilling av Jon Snow, så passer karen rett og slett ikke med mitt mentale bilde. Så her er e kjapp, liten verasjon av min Jon Snow, mann av the Night’s Watch med sitt trofaste, valyriske sverd, Longclaw (som jeg kanskje ikke hadde kludret så til, hadde jeg tatt meg litt bedre tid og ikke bestemt meg for at dette skulle være bare-en-skisse). Hvis du lurer på hvor de tre, små arrene kommer fra, så er det en liten spoiler fra A Storm of Swords som dreier seg rundt en pipp med dårlig holdning, som er alt jeg vil si om saken for denne gang.

The Sword in the Darkness

Technicalities:

Paper: Hahnemühle 200 g/m2, matt, 24 x 32 cm

Tools: Brushes from Cotman and DaVinci Cosmotop Spin and a scalpel

Medium: Watercolours in pans, tubes and liquid from Winsor & Newton, Schminke and Talens

References used: None per se, but I did grasp the chance to pose like a moron in front of the bathroom mirror with my boyfriend’s pretty bastard sword

Teknikaliteter:

Papir: Hahnemühle 200 g/m2, matt, 24 x 32 cm

Verktøy: Pensler fra Cotman og DaVinci Cosmotop Spin og en skalpell

Medium: Akvarell i skål, tube og flytende form fra Winsor & Newton, Schminke og Talens

Referanser: Ingen per se, men jeg knabbet muligheten til å posere som en dust foran baderomsspeilet med fiiine bastard-sverdet til kjæresten

Sketch of the Day: Pez Fernando

This gallery contains 1 photo.

I decided I’d start doing this. Now that my summer holiday has started for all practical purposes (article reading/thesis writing week still leaves a lot of time to do things I don’t usually get around doing), can finally do all this painting and drawing I want to do all the time! My first venture was […]

A woman named Henrietta

Before there was HeLa, there was a woman. Her name was Henrietta Lacks.

This could almost be a book review, but not quite, and it certainly took me far longer to write than originally planned. You know the deal; lab work, traveling, late-night RPG-sessions, all the stuff that makes time fly and where you suddenly realize there was a draft lying there somewhere that needs working on. Well, here goes!

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

As I’m aspiring to become a *proper* scientist, I toil away for hours every week in the cell culture lab. I shouldn’t use a word with such negative connotations as toil, though – afterall, I’m usually having lots of fun while doing my experiments. In our incubators, stand large cell culture bottles labeled with names such Sudhl-6, Ramos, Raji, Ros-50 – and so it goes, oh – and; HeLa. What’s this HeLa? you may ask; a familiar name to most people with some biological or medical training, but maybe not to you.

The scientific landscape as we know it today would probably have looked quite different hadn’t it been for cell lines; cells from a single source, often a tumour from man or beast. Due to random or deliberate mutations and/or other treatment these cells have been allowed to escape the limited number of cell divisions normal tissue is restricted by, commonly known as the Hayflick limit. Simply put, it means that these cells are immortal, and can be grown for ever and ever. Taken into consideration that cells can be stored almost eternally on liquid nitrogen, you have an almost bottomless reservoir of little guys who are ready to take everything you throw at them in the name of science.

There are many cell lines out there, but work on HeLa alone has helped developing vaccines against for instance polio, much work on HIV treatment, it has aided the development of in vitro fertilization and much more. HeLa is used in my lab as well, although not widely, as we mostly work on lymphoma cell lines better fit for our needs. The number of scientific publications released annually which involves work on cell lines is sky-high. In 2011, the number of scientific publications using or referencing HeLa alone counted 4586, according to PubMed.

However,  it hasn’t always been like this. It’s the mid-1900s, scientists are working fervently to grow a human, immortal cell line without much success. It seems like human cells, no matter how proliferative they might seem at first, just won’t grow outside their bodies. Things seemed dark, until one day, when a 31 year old Afro-American woman named Henrietta Lacks walked into Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore. For a while, she had been aware of a knot in her abdomen, and as it turned out, she had a particularly aggressive form of cervical cancer.She died a few months later after radiation therapy had failed. Autopsy revealed the cancer had metastatized to many tissues throughout her entire body. Left behind was her husband, Day, and their four children. However, one other thing remained; a sample from her cervix was harvested – without her and her family’s knowledge and consent – and they were proliferating rapidly in the lab of dr. George Gey. Her cells seemed to grow almost anywhere under any condition, and soon, they became quite popular with Gey’s scientific colleagues and acquaintances.

Henrietta

Little was known about this one woman who – I don’t think it’s an exaggregation to say that – changed cell culture-based science as we know i,t and while her cells became a money-mill, her family was too poor to afford health insurance. Then a young biologist- turned-writer came along. Rebecca Skloot had been deeply fascinated by the HeLa-cells and their clouded history from the time when she was in high-school,  and finally grasped the chance to create this little pearl of a book. It isn’t quite a biography, although much of Henrietta’s, and her family’s, lives are documented with much detail where Skloot paints a vivid image of the segregated America. It’s just as much a documentary about her own journey, the Lackses struggle for knowledge and recognition and a work on scientific history and ethics.

First, I am quite impressed by the amount of work Skloot has put into her work. The sheer amount of time, travel distance and number of doors-in-the-face she has met and traversed is huge, and it took nearly a decade from her first phone-call to Henrietta’s daughter, Deborah, until the book hit the shelves in 2010.

Skloot weaves a fascinating story as the book interchanges between recreated biographical scenes from Henrietta’s life and the research labs where the novelty and potential of her tumour were slowly unraveled, to diary extracts to documentary-style chapters where Rebecca herself becomes the main character. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is thus structurally complex, but well-handled.

This is a story about race, health, class, science, education and human beings, and, inevitably, the ethics behind tissue ownership and tissue-derived patenting become important themes visited and revisited throughout the book. Considering what a minefield that particular subject can be, this is where I feared the book would fail. I was pleasantly surprised. Rebecca Skloot objectively maneuvers the minefield and pragmatically, but not without empathy, describes the situation from both a potential tissue-donor’s and a scientist’s point of view, and underlines how modern medical research is totally dependent on willing donors (my own lab is a good example in this respect; a vast majority of our work is done fully or partly on human blood and tonsils) as she simultaneously problematizes how, her examples are all taken from the United States, patients had little or no right to know about and approve of the usage of their tissue in research. Skloot never concludes this or that, but draws rather from her general understanding of the human nature and leaves the readers free to draw conclusions of their own.

The last question is? Is this a book for science-people only? The answer is no, no and once again; no. If you are averse to any scientific terminology whatsoever, then I believe you wouldn’t pick up The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks in the first place, but if you think this might be a story worth reading, but are daunted by the fact that off-handed science-y comments like “RPMI 1640 is inadequate if you want to study intracellular signaling pathways” you can relax. Science is the backbone of this story, but then again, presented in a way any scientific lay-man with a decent amount of common knowledge should easily grasp. Surely, having some kind of relevant background leaves you with a deeper understanding-  more eastereggs if you like – but it’s certainly not required. And if that isn’t enough – appendices galore!

If you venture around teh interwebs, you’ll find that much and more has been written about Henrietta, HeLa and this book – you’ll surely find loads of better, more thorough and wholesome entries on the subject; mine is simply a minor attempt to write a post I really think should be here.

And here is my message: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks is a well-written and enrapturing read about a woman who changed the world. It’s a gripping story about human beings and of science as we know it coming into being. If that sounds even vaguely interesting, I suggest you’d give it a go!

HeLa cells stained with Hoecst dye

On a side note: As I was looking up some extra information while writing this entry, I stumbled across several different sources stating that HBO would be making The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks into a movie produced by Oprah Winfrey and Alan Ball. Sadly, I haven’t found any more recent information about this, but according to Rebecca Skloot’s Twitter account, something seems to be under way. If this is correct, I’m already getting excited!

Quest completed: Oslo Medieval Festival

A tale of the making of new acquaintances, of the bow and the sword, of fierce knights and brash vikings, dead rabbits, and a whole lot of mud.

Last weekend was the most fun I’ve had in ages! For weeks and weeks I had been looking forward to Oslo Medieval Festival, and finally, Saturday, the 16th of June dawned on us all. Or was there ever a dawn at all? That morning, Jan Tore and myself awoke to the steady thrumming of rain against my window. Things didn’t bode well at all. A few hours later, however, it seemed as Lady Fortune might smile down upon us after all. Rays of sunlight sparkled on the droplet-covered foliage and danced across countless puddles as we waited for bus 34 which would take us to Ladegården and Oslo Medieval Festival 2012.

Image

With Project Barcode rising in the rear, medieval tents and pavilions make for quite a contrast

We had only just entered when we stumbled into the first of Jan Tore’s many predicted encounters for the weekend; Peter and Renate, who turned out to be superb company! The weather, however, turned out to be less pleasant company, and we soon found ourselves well-bunked in the Feast Tent with Virelai entertaining the crowd. Poor Jan Tore ended up just where the water had gone through the tent canvas. Great luck he bought such a good cloak.

No idea what we did to scare those poor fools!

However, one does not simply waste away an entire festival day in a tent. We must away! There are quests to fulfill! Or, armour demonstrations to attend.

Armour demonstration: The foremost guy wears a peasant’s war gear, except for having a pretty good shield, the guy behind him wears what a well-equipped low-noble might wear.

Then it was time to butcher Sir Piggy: A ham was brought into the area, hung up, and dressed in padding, chainmail and leather-covered plate armour and a guy with a sword and a girl with a spear were to take turns swinging and thrusting at the unfortunate beast. Or was he that unfortunate? Spear or sword, the leather was barely broken. Off with the plate! Even chainmail proved pretty good protection, and only the spearwoman was able to actually break through the rings. So far, Sir Piggy would return from battle bruised, but whole. It turned out that padding alone also provided a fair share of protection, but then, the padding was removed. They say a picture says more than a thousand words:

And the moral of this story is: With good armour, you’re quite safe, without, you’re pretty much screwed (Picture by Jan Tore Høyland)

After that, we attended an interactive storytelling session with a guy who was so eerily alike Conleth Hill’s Varys that I was seriously freaked out. He also thought Jan Tore was some guy named Kristian. Does my boyfriend have a dopppelgänger? And what does the Spider want with him? *le gasp*

Derpicorn knows everything; he is the wisest creature in the universe and beyond. (Jan Tore Høyland)

By the time the storytime was at an end, it was time to catch up with all of Jan Tore’s blogger friends. Many pleasant acquaintances were made that moment, and I was finally rid of my greatest burden; Derpicorn the Omniscient, Marita’s new pet.

Before the day was at an end, Jan Tore had bought a really beautiful sword from a blacksmith who looked an awful lot like Gendy Waters (what’s up with these look-alikes, anyways?), and I bought two dead rabbits. The latter turned into a bit of a trend, in fact. Soon, everyone was buying dead rabbits all over the place!

Can’t leave those two alone for five seconds…

I’ll end the report from day one with some pictures from the weapons demonstrations by De Norske Frilansene (The Norwegian Freelances):

Preparing for weapons demonstrations (Jan Tore Høyland)

Tough guy! (Jan Tore Høyland)

Longbowmen out-pwn armed soldiers! (Jan Tore Høyland)

Rogue fight! *squee* These two were really impressive; they kept snatching each others’ daggers all the time, and when one guy seemed to have won, a third guy came and stabbed him in the back with a spear. So typically rogue… (Jan Tore Høyland)

Then, the weapons demonstration was at an end, and all of us were ready to get on with our business, when… The entire tourney grounds was run down by vikings! That was a conclusion to remember!

By the time I got home, I realized one thing was particularly authentic with regards to the period this festival tried to emulate; I won’t even try to explain the amounts of mud I was covered in!

Day two:

The weather gods were very much in our favour today. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping; you get the picture, right? Sunday would also feature the single coolest thing of the entire festival; the tourney. I think I was as giddy and excited as Sansa Stark.

First achievement of the day: Deer sausage with lingonberry! The woman who sold all sorts of sausages proved to be a greatly entertaining interlocutor. I learned that the sausage was based on an old, traditional recipe she had discovered at her father’s old farm. I just can’t keep myself from imagining how far back this recipe might go, and what kind of people who first made it! I also learned a few fun facts about the sausages from my own childhood-region. I’ll save that for some other time, though!

On our way back to the Feast Tent, we met Krijanis, a Latvian guy who had just moved to Oslo and who wanted to know LARP-people. Sadly, we couldn’t assist him there, but hopefully, we made good company all the same.

Me, Krisjanis, Marita and Kama (Jan Tore Høyland)

Back in the tent, the three of us sat down for a beer and I felt safe and comfortable when “SQUAAAAAAWK!!!!” By the Valar, what in the seven hells was that! Turned out it was this:

This guy brought his parrot! How awesome is that?

I was getting impatient for the jousting to start, but first, there was a thing I had to do.

That guy on the right owes me fifty! (Jan Tore Høyland)

I wanted a bow! If Jan Tore were to arm himself, so was I! I ended up with a bit of a beauty, in fact. This long, slender thing still needs a name! I’ve received a couple of suggestions already, but I’m still open for more!

On our way back, we bumped into a couple of really impressive-looking guys in really dashing armour of red-and-gold. Are there Lannister men-at-arms HERE?! Or, were they simply members of Friknektene (the Freeriders)? Not sure if I buy that… And a Lannister always pays his debts!

They were not too lofty to pose for a pickie, though!

A few more pickies before the great tourney:

Renate and Kama (Jan Tore Høyland)

Posing – like bawzes! (Jan Tore Høyland)

Peter and Kama (Jan Tore Høyland)

And now for the great event: Knights in shining armour riding at objects and each other!

This guy looks awesome!

Knights, knights, knights!

Jan Tore and I of course had to find one knight each to cheer for; I chose Sir Birk Steelball who apparently received his dodgy epithet after taking a lance to his private parts. Jan Tore was cheering for Sir Eigil of Hamar (only so he could shout “EIGIL MÅÅÅÅÅÅ!”) Such a shame that Birk won the entire thing. *smug*

The jousting was tons and tons and tons of fun, and made a great conclusion to a great festival. A big thanks and a big hug to Peter, Renate, Krisjanis, Marita, Kama, Frøydis, Camilla Rose, Eva and Martin for making this great festival even greater. Both Jan Tore and I can barely wait for next year!

The aftermath: Turns out several people have tried to contact me on Facebook over the past week, and that I have a doppelgänger as well. Let me make this clear: I am not on Facebook, and I doubt I’ll ever be, at least not in the near future. If you want to contact me or stay in touch, here and Twitter are the places to find me.

Group picture:

Kama, Renate, me, Jan Tore, Eva, Marita, Frøydis, Camilla Rose