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All that is greed

An oblique view of the body as a category in a lived life.


[exercise] The body is buzzing. I am not fond of talking about the body, ie the "body". Still, I am so terribly happy in my gym, even though the body there is most present. I have a feeling that it is trying to give me everything I need in life. I think they should have for the trial.

They have water and competitions and prizes if I've been good. They have sun, bananas, they bother to talk to me about cramp in the toe, and even show up with old friends who happen to show up.

Anthropologist Marcel Mauss was concerned with social contexts which he called "total social facts". At the fitness center, they provide me with food, nature (sun), care (toe), shelter, and physical education. If not a total fact, then at least big enough for me. In addition, getting back to training is both time spent for yourself and required work. So they give me both a kind of job and a kind of leisure time. There are two things at once, and the third is the best: the moral fellowship with strangers.

Mauss' colleague Marc Augé has written a book about the metro in Paris, and describes the train journeys as the community of strangers, the union of strangers, characterized as being by the same experience where they sit and try not to look each other in the eyes. At the gym, we sweat side by side, but not the hell if we go to the shock-absorbing step of giving each other eye contact. Surrounded by strangers and panting on the Fordian assembly line for individualists, I relax. The calm also comes from the difference I otherwise only get on the subway: the pensioner who trains in the morning, the teenager who trains with lip gloss, the weight boys who school. And not least the brave ladies who work hard to joke and entertain their personal trainer, so he should not have anything to say about her even if she is not finished tightening.

[movie] "The body" is bad enough. "Oblique look" is even worse. It is a terrible journalistic banalization of hard-fought, psycho-approaches. I think I see the outlines of a very peculiar way of telling at Kurdish Norwegian Hisham Zaman. Winterland is a short hour inside of a fetch marriage and premieres Friday, February 19th. Surely, it's not so easy for patriarchal women hunters who have little cash and live far to the north. At least not when the disappointment is mutual when the lady arrives. The film is full of extraordinarily beautiful images of Målselv, and creates a liberating stencil-like image of Norway. It's not my stencils, nor Norsk Films finished carving, nor embarrassing attempts to see themselves from the outside. I relax here too.

[concert] Worst of bad categories with good things in: "Live life". The latest to go on a leash in this booth in this booth is the North London, anorectic and 23-year-old soul singer Amy Winehouse. She plays at Rockefeller on January 26, and then there will be buckets of mixed drinks and buckets of cultured love life. Winehouse became the British tabloid's vodka-pervade favorite in 2006, giving them headlines such as: "Amy Winehouse punches fan then boyfriend in drunken rage." I hope she stays sober enough to sing, but of course there may be a lot of life and little life, and that the album Back to Black is such an orderly alternative.

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