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Posts published in “Day: March 8, 2017

Mass enlightenment: Sun listens to warm crowd instead of drab experts in shinning return to Longyearbyen

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Read Time:3 Minute, 6 Second

Elliot Vale has been wearing sunglasses every day since he arrived in Longyearbyen two months ago, but on the one day they actually would have served their purpose he inadvertently left them in his dorm.

“It was a bit dumb,” the University Centre in Svalbard student admitted.

Not completely, since the “experts” were predicting heavy cloudy cover and possible snow flurries at 12:50 p.m. Wednesday, the so-called “unofficial” moment of the sun’s official returns – or maybe it’s the other way around.

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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Briefs from Svalbardposten for the week of March 7, 2017

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Read Time:1 Minute, 48 Second

Alternative ‘doomsday vault’ to store data on film in Mine 3
Sometime in the future, when the amount of “fake news” has become so large and complex the truth is unclear, one may be able to enter a new type of “doomsday vault’ in Mine 3 and check the facts.”

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
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