February 2006

Happy Cream Puff Day!

That’s right: this is the day when children spank their parents and get cream puffs as a reward.

Just thought you might like to know.

[Bolla: bun a.k.a. cream puff. Dagur: day.]

Penis Mall exposed
Tarantino: the scandal
A long post about Oprah and sex
If it makes you want to puke, is it art?
Get naked
Committee split
Time Warp
Sherlock
The Yule Cat
Potmen
Icefood
Cottage country
Sauna Zen
Slimy pool at Lýsuhóll
The hissy fit
Leaky pipe
The Immortal Plumber
Icelanders dissected

… There. Hopefully those will tide some of you over until my return. Ciao!

Is there a place where burnt-out bloggers go? Because if there is, I need to go there.

I suppose this is something that happens to every blogger eventually, and now it’s happened to YT: I need a hiatus. Time to regroup, re-evaluate, decide where I want to invest my energy. Whichever way you look at it, maintaining a blog and posting regularly requires time and effort, and this time and effort is consequently not being devoted to other things. I would be a happy camper if I could make a living writing blog posts all day long, but alas. And please don’t say that I can blog only occasionally - I’m not that kind of gal. It’s all or nothing.

I’ve loved this time, enjoyed this little community, but it’s time to go. I don’t know if or when I’ll be back, and if I do decide to continue this little labour of love, I don’t know in what form it will be. I need perspective. Thanks to all you readers out there, extra special thanks to those who have stuck with me from the beginning and read pretty much every day, and extra extra special thanks to you who have shown your appreciation by leaving comments. After all, appreciation is [usually] a blogger’s only reward for his or her efforts.

Adieu!

So yes, as many of you Icelandophiles will already know, Sylvía Nótt took home the trophy in the Eurovision preliminaries last night. No big surprises, although there was one song that did for a short while cause a little bit of uncertainty as to the hands-down aspect. The selection was conducted via televote and – believe it or not – over 100,000 votes were cast by this nation with a population of 300,000.* Are the Icelanders Eurovision fanatics? Nah – whatever gave you that idea?

Eurovision parties abounded – those are always fun as most of the evening is taken up with opining about the contestants [which, this being Eurovision, mostly means slagging them off]. EPI’s sister invited the extended family over for soup and bread [and wine and coffee and dessert] ostensibly because it was Benni’s fourth birthday celebration, but obviously it turned into a Eurovision-preliminaries celebration once the birthday bit was out of the way. [If that sounds callous, it’s not meant to be, because Benni is one of the cutest, most sweet-natured kids to walk this earth ever and deserves the best birthday celebration imaginable.] And everybody opined like crazy about the various different songs and voted like crazy when it was over, and acted not surprised when Sylvía Nótt won, and then watched Spaugstofan and laughed uncontrollably [well at least YT did] and then said thankyouverymuchforthisprogramme and went home.

So anyway, getting back to Iceland’s sexiest woman** Sylvía Nótt – in her acceptance speech she thanked all the warm-up acts for coming out to support her [ouch!] and said that after she wins Eurovision she’s planning a goodwill tour of Africa to distribute her CD, because she will not evade the responsibility of ‘showing sympathy’ for those less fortunate than she. Meanwhile, RÚV tried unsuccessfully to get a comment from her for the midday news, but got only her voice mail which stated that now that she’s so ridiculously famous she’s clearly going to have to get an unlisted number, and that she has no time to answer questions because she’s busy learning European. You gotta love the girl, you really do.

Incidentally, there’s a lot of discussion now as to whether people outside of Iceland will actually ‘get’ Sylvía Nótt - most people seem to think not, that her special brand of humour is too local to translate. I beg to differ - and turn the question over to you, friends in Blogland. Will Sylvía earn little more than bemused stares from the general Eurovision audience - or does she have a shot at the finals? To aid you in your assessment, here’s a link to last night’s winning turn, inadvertently provided by Robyn [takk!]. Accompanying her are her two back-up dancers Hommi [English transl: Gay - Sylvía: ‘It’s OK to call him that because he doesn’t speak Icelandic’] and Nammi [English: Candy. Ostensibly her ‘boyfriend’.]*** Watch and weep.

AND OUR SUPERDUPER WEATHER ON THIS WOMAN’S DAY?
Is very fine. Very fine indeed. Sunny spells, very moderate winds, mild, temps of 6°C. And yes, it is woman’s day, Iceland’s equivalent to Valentine’s Day, only for women exclusively. And now if you’ll excuse me, I have some pampering to subject myself to. Sunrise 09.10, sunset 18.14.

* Mind you, you were allowed to vote five times from the same phone number.
** Sylvía Nótt was voted Iceland’s sexiest woman last Friday. The woman behind the character, Ágústa Eva Erlendsdóttir, ended in fourth place.
*** Hommi and Nammi are actually two Icelandic actors.

So, the avian flu is systematically spreading through Europe, and next stop Iceland. At least that’s what they’re predicting, since our migrating birds come here via the UK and Scandinavia. As reports reached these shores of dead swans in Denmark, the Chief Veterinarian’s Office sent reps to hold meetings throughout the country with regional veterinary authorities and the like, just to put everyone on the alert.

According to EPI, someone said the flu already came to Europe last year [I can quote no sources, consequently I’m not selling this story for a higher price than I paid for it*]. Which raises a few questions about our thespian swan, which those of you who have been reading for a Very Long time may remember. The abridged version if you’ve joined us since: EPI and I found a swan just over a year ago, out by the golf course where we like to stroll on fairweather days [and other days]. It was dead, in pristine condition; the National Theatre caught wind of our discovery through reading TIWR and our swan ended up starring in one of their major productions, and EPI and I got complementary tickets to go see it in all its limelit glory. And now our swan has been in our thoughts of late, particularly because there was no obvious cause of death. At the time we speculated that it might have been killed by a flying golf ball, but in light of recent events we’re no longer so sure. Macabre it is. Oooh.

SPEAKING OF THESPIANS…
We went to The Theatah this evening to see The Threepenny Opera. [Incidentally, I am consistently amazed at the incredible standard of cultural productions in this country of merely 300,000 people, it truly is incredible.] One of my very favourite musicals, on account of the excellent music and lyrics by that supertalented duo Brecht and Weill. Don’t those songs just kick ass? Classics like Pirate Jenny and the Jealousy Duet and Mack the Knife [of course] and all the rest, too… this particular production was directed by one of Iceland’s young megatalents Stefán Jónsson, who has come through with a handful of razor-sharp and supremely entertaining theatrical productions in the past few years. It was all punked up, adapted to our life and times, of course, and all the various scenes were ‘Brought to you by Bónus’, or ‘Sponsored by KB Bank’ or ‘… Og Vodafone’… or any number of other large corporations. They weren’t really, but it was a crafty touch, and quite funny to see ads and logos from the various companies life-sized on billboards there up on the stage. Sort of like Baz Lurmann meets Bertolt Brecht.

The cast was fabulous, particularly a new starlet named Halla somebodyorother, who has completely catapulted herself to Icelandic megastardom with her performance. [Although not so much that her last name escapes me at the moment.] She actually did this whole number [… for 3pO aficionados it’s the song that goes: ‘No you can’t just let a man walk over you, cold and dignified is what you are…’ don’t know the official name of it] on a yoga mat, doing the most backbreaking, double-jointed exercises imaginable: standing on her head, back-flips, legs up leaning on her arms… man, it was superhuman, really it was… and the whole time she sang like an angel, without even getting slightly short of breath. I was in complete and utter awe. Truly. It didn’t seem humanly possible for her to do those things, but she did them and moreover she looked very human doing them.

[Update: if you’re interested in hearing a couple of songs from the production, here’s a link. The page downloads kind of weird - at least in Firefox - but if you click on either of the links on the far right of the page you can listen to a) Mack the Knife b) a duet between Mack and the Police Commissioner - don’t know the English title. Below are the lyrics in Icelandic. The former is sung by Selma Björnsdóttir, who serious Eurovision fans will recall as Iceland’s contestant from last year.]

WHICH BRINGS US TO ANOTHER AWESOME WOMAN…
Namely old Sylvía Nótt, who today was elected Iceland’s sexiest woman. Why? … Was she elected? Well, you remember a couple of weeks back when we had Man of the House day [Bóndadagur in the vernacular]? And they elected Garðar Thór Cortes as Iceland’s sexiest man? Well, Sunday is Woman’s Day [hehe] and so they had to elect Iceland’s sexiest woman, obviously – equality and all that. So for what it’s worth. I thought you just might like to know. Seeing as how you’ve been following her career and all.

OH AND THE WEATHER HAS BEEN ABSOLUTE CRAP
Seriously, the last two days have been horrid – dry and extremely windy [like, gale-force]… just the sort of day where you want to hide under the duvet and not come out till spring, and we had two of them, back to back. But anyway, it’s all looking up now, temps have risen from sub-zero to 4°C and the winds have slowed somewhat so it’s getting bearable. And at least we have sunshine now and reasonably long days. And tomorrow, Saturday, we have the Eurovision Finals i.e. the Icelandic preliminary ones, in which Iceland’s sexiest woman is already the hands-down winner. Mark my words. Sunrise 09.17, sunset 18.08.

* Icelandic expression: Ég sel hana ekki dýrari en ég keypti hana.

RÚV – Icelandic State TV – has just begun broadcasting a David Attenborough series called The Amazing World of Insects, or something. Having been mildly fascinated by that bug movie a few years back [that French one that used all this new technology to film bugs close up – or am I confusing it with that migrating birds movie… ach! I don’t remember]… I keenly tuned in on Monday night to see what old David would get superenthusiastic about in this particular nature series.

Well, there were bugs aplenty – some of them mildly fascinating, and some pretty grotesque. But what kind of freaked me out was that through some trick of technology he had magnified up the individual insects so that they were huge and then spliced himself into the frame, with the effect that the insects looked proportionally about as big as he was.

Even scarier [much scarier] was when he turned his attention on this particular type of millipede that lives in Venezuela or somewhere. This disgusting creature is about the size of his [David’s] forearm and lives in caves where all sorts of creepy crawlies abide under rocks and at the bottom of the cave. In extreme close-up the millipede was seen out on a feeding mission, crawling over a dark cave floor teeming with beetles and the like, which it purposefully ignored on its way to the real food. It headed upwards to the roof and, once there, what did it do? Dug its poisonous fangs into a bat that was there hanging upside down, and ate every bit of flesh off its body in about three hours. Gah!! If that doesn’t make your skin crawl, I don’t know what will.

Anyway, long story short, what was intended to be a fascinating insight into the insect world turned out to be lengthy, mostly boring, frequently disgusting and occasionally interesting program about a life form that I’d rather not be on intimate terms with. I’d have to agree with the Blaðið columnist, who yesterday wrote that she started to feel like the bugs were crawling all over her arms and legs, and what she thought was going to be a pleasant nature program turned into an extremely disagreeable experience. Like her, I probably don’t have the stomach to watch any more of that five-part series. Shudder.

MEANWHILE, ON THE MORE AGREEABLE FRONT
EPI and I went to see Walk the Line last night, a.k.a. Yet Another Film About a Famous Musician Who has an Unhappy Childhood, Becomes a Junkie, Hits Rock Bottom, Gets Sober, Then Lives Happily Ever After. In other words, the stuff that Hollywood loves. It was perhaps just a tad too predictable – I mean, I saw Ray, did I need to see this? Well no I didn’t, but I’m glad I did, because for all its formulaic predictability it didn’t disappoint. Loved the acting – particularly Reese Witherspoon, who did an excellent job and gave the film both grace and dignity and who, judging by the sound clips we heard, is even a better singer than June Carter ever was. Joaquin Phoenix was pretty good, too.

Came home, and watched The 40-Year Old Virgin on DVD with AAH. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead watching anything with such an ingratiating title, but I’d actually heard that it was a notch above your normal teen-flick fare, and indeed it was. It was pretty funny and even had a moral, which was sort of an antidote to the porn culture that currently permeates everything. Which in and of itself is definitely a Good Thing.

… BUT THE WEATHER IS NOT GOOD
In fact ugh, it’s the worst kind of winter weather – cold and dry and very windy. There was a storm on last night and we still have the residues. Definitely not a day for a leisurely run along the seashore, but rather for cosying up with a blanket in front of the telly, which is just what AAH is doing. She’s been sick since Sunday – her temperature was very high for the first couple of days; yesterday she looked to be recovering, yet this morning her temperature is up again. Not a good state of affairs for a leading lady, whose show is due to open in about a month and who needs to get to rehearsals. Meanwhile the outside temperature is a blustery –3°C which with windchill is probably around –13 or something. Sunrise today was at 09.20 and sunset at 18.05.

Nancy [who may or may not be in the process of evicting her unborn baby from her uterus at this very moment] wrote an expose a couple of days ago about the dilemma of hugging. And since it’s bleedin’ Valentines Day [which I’m not going to acknowledge because I’m disgruntled at the fact that the Icelandic version of the Hallmark people have begun systematically marketing this day here when we have two perfectly good days for this sort of thing that moreover are traditionally Icelandic and thus much more interesting in my books *gasps for air*] I thought a post about kissing and hugging might be in order. Consider it a lesson in etiquette – for when you come to Niceland and want to do as the Nicelanders do.

Now, contrary to what many people believe, Icelanders do not rub their noses together when they meet each other or when they kiss. That said, Icelanders are pretty tactile when they meet. They will kiss one another on the cheek if they know and are fond of each other – but not at the first meeting or introduction, in which case they will shake hands. And those handshakes must be firm – none of those limp-fish shakes, unless you want to be instantly labelled a wuss.

In my North American incarnation, I was not in the habit or kissing or hugging my friends when I met up with them. Whereas in my European incarnation, I am. To the point where I cannot comfortably meet up with a friend without that single peck on the cheek on greeting and saying goodbye – which may or may not be accompanied by a hug.

The proximity of the hugging depends very much on the level of intimacy. There are brief, cursory hugs, shoulder-to-shoulder hugs, back-patting hugs, and what Nancy calls ‘full-frontal hugs’ but which I would probably describe as ‘bear hugs’. In most cases, I would say, the latter are reserved for immediate family members [i.e. spouse and children] whereas the ‘lean-forward shoulder-to-shoulder’ hugs are for the rest of the family [siblings, parents, etc.] and the brief, back-patting hugs for, well, anyone who’s not comfortable with any of the other types of hugs but who still wants to, um, hug.

Meanwhile, kissing is de rigueur up here and as I said, I cannot imagine meeting a friend or close acquaintance without the customary cheek-kissing. Indeed, I can recall the odd awkward moment when I have impulsively and without thinking alighted on a person from, say, the US or UK, ready with a cheek-to-cheek kiss, only to find the object of my kissing has suddenly gone stone-cold and absolutely rigid. One kiss is the norm; two kisses are also OK but denote a level of familiarity that is slightly more distant.

And there is one Very Important Factor that cannot be stressed enough: You Must Kiss Correctly. There is nothing worse than someone actually touching your cheek and planting a slobbering kiss on it. [yech!] The lips should not touch the cheek at all [unless you’re on very intimate terms, like share the same bed] but should be directed at the air next to the cheek. Peck. Like that.

So now that you’ve been duly informed of how we do things up here, how about you? Hug, kiss? One peck, or two? How about a little [V-day] missive in the comments to say how you celebrate meeting others…?

MEANWHILE, WE HAVE SPRING…
… While parts of the US are snowed under, including New York City. Incidentally, did you know that Iceland has the same average yearly temperatures as NYC? I bet you did not, unless you’re a serious Icelandophile or a native. But this is proof: while the Big Apple is in the throes of winter, we’re practically sunbathing out on the lawn. [They’ll get us back in the heat of summer, I know.] Our temps are due to plummet later in the week, but right now they are 4°C. Sunrise was at 09.27 and sunset is due for 17.58.

1.
Well, sowanso did not win the preliminary elections held by The Alliance yesterday, and despite YT having carted her butt off to the polling station, neither did my preferred candidate. At which I can now stop thinking about this and start not caring again.

2.
AAH is home with a fever. Second time in two weeks that she stays home because she’s sick. Who would have thought that moseying home from a school dance for an hour, barefoot and barelegged in strappy sandals and pedal pushers, in a thin nylon jacket and in sub-zero temperatures, would result in this? [certainly not AAH.]

3.
Who would have thought that going to a party with adolescents from all over the city where everybody was drinking and getting high, and carelessly putting down your iPod somewhere, would result in it being stolen? [certainly not AAH but I’m not very mad about it because in all other respects she was a model teenager, sensible and smart and sober, Yo.]

4.
The fee for applying for Icelandic citizenship is due to go up, but only by 1000 frigging percent so not to worry.

5.
The Icelandic Postal Service is recruiting foreigners for postal delivery because no Icelander will do the job, except for those who are independently wealthy and can regard the ISK 100,000 or so per month as pocket money. How those poor foreigners who come here are planning to live is the question that springs to YT’s mind, seeing as how just the rental of a small apartment would eat up more than half that amount.

6.
How can it be that the fever thermometer that two weeks ago had vanished into thin air and which no amount of combing Every Single Likely Place in the apartment would procure, has suddenly appeared Without Explanation in the very basket that was searched about a gazillion times?

7.
The weather is superfantastic – mild and calm and sunny. Ahhh… springtime, just around the corner. Even little buds beginning to form on trees [ohno!] and crocuses poking out of the ground. Can you say ‘Greenhouse Effect’, children? Temps are now holding steady at 5°C and the sun came up at 09.30 and will go down at 17.55 although darkness will not fall until 18.47 [and that is not due to the Greenhouse Effect].

Ring! The phone.

YT: Hello?
WOMAN ON OTHER END: Hello… EPI? Is he available?
YT? No, I’m afraid he’s out.
WOOE: Ah. This is [sowanso] from [sowanso’s] campaign office. Do you know if EPI has voted yet today? [In The Alliance’s preliminary elections…]
YT: No, I don’t.
WOOE: Have you?
YT: […] Um, I’m not a registered…
WOOE: Oh, you don’t have to be a registered supporter! These are open elections. So if you would like [sowanso] to head the list in the upcoming elections I would suggest that you join your husband [!] at the polling station.
YT: Um, yes… OK….
WOOE: And would you please remind your husband to vote?
YT: Um, yes… sure….
WOOE: Thankyouverymuchandgoodbye.

Sigh.

I’ve never been the sort of person who gets passionate about politics. Call me shallow if you will if you shall if you must [really I’m not] but somehow the whole political thing just seems kind of silly to me. While I can get enraged and indignant about injustice and subterfuge and corruption, the day-to-day business of politics usually seems to me more akin to kids in a sandbox than mature, responsible adults doing what is best for the greater good. Everyone has an agenda. And I’m a cynic. I don’t trust politicians, I really don’t. All those grip-and-grin poses and people taking credit for things that others have done all the work on and assuming positions of authority and power that they haven’t really earned… Bah!*

Nonetheless, I am a firm believer in using the vote. Having lived for most of my life in countries where I was not a citizen, the privilege of being eligible to vote is something I value greatly. And now this WOOE has raised in me a certain unease. Because the thing is, of the three candidates running for the top seat [and who will thus potentially become mayor] I wouldn’t choose [sowanso]. Since that phone call I’ve started examining my thoughts and discovered that there’s another candidate that I would, in fact, prefer. So perhaps a trip to the polling station is required, after all.

IF ELECTED, I PROMISE SUNSHINE AND BLUE SKIES…
… Which is what we have at the moment, in fact. The weather was pretty scary this morning, strong winds and heavy rainfall mixed with sleet, but then it cleared up and it’s now quite lovely, if still windy. This week it’s set to get warmer than it has been in the last few days – temps are currently 4°C and sunrise was at 09.33, sunset due for 17.52.

*I write this with some reservation, as my father-in-law has behind him a successful career in politics, was an MP and cabinet minister for most of his life. And somehow this cynicism of mine isn’t directed at his person because he is very dear to me, but in general – these are my sentiments.