November 2006

I thought you might like to know that I’ve started reading Crime and Punishment. I have no idea why I chose this particular point in time to start reading it, considering I’ve had it in my possession for aeons. If memory serves I bought it at a second-hand bookstore in Toronto during my previous incarnation as a North American person, althoughI can’t for the life of me remember why.

At around the same time, though, I bought The Brothers Karamazov, which is still sitting unread on my shelf, and Anna Karenina, with which I had considerably more success [read it, loved it], which makes me think I must have had a period of hypothetical infatuation with Russian literature. I’ve tried a few times to get into Crime and Punishment but without success. I think I found the prose too dense and psychological in the first few pages to really absorb me, particularly as the main character seemed to me to be decidedly unpleasant and… in fact the only word that springs to mind at the moment is the German word ‘abstoßent’ - which means ‘repulsive’ only without such a heavy connotation. Either that or it was the hideous book cover:

Seriously, isn’t that the most hideous book cover you’ve ever seen? I think the person who designed that book cover should be subject to punishment - I mean, what’s it supposed to be? A woman occupying a man’s brain? In the shape of a cross? Or in a grave? A giant mouth? Female genitalia? What?

Yes yes, ok, it’s probably supposed to represent the guilt the unpleasant repulsive main character feels after he’s DONE THE DEED that he keeps referring just like that in the first two or three dozen pages of the book. During that time he roams around hither and thither and we get extremely well versed in the contents of his brain and THE DEED that he keeps meaning to do and all the unpleasant people and squalid conditions that surround him. And then finally he gets around to doing THE DEED and even MORE of a DEED than he planned to, and then we get a minute, play-by-play account of his psychological state over the succeeding hours and days. And so far I’m only on page 126 and there’s still 402 to go. And, you know, I’m starting to wonder. Is this, like, it?

Still, I figure rave reviews for the last 150 years have to account for something, so I probably shouldn’t chuck it in the bin just yet. Even if that cover makes me feel like I have cooties on my fingers.

JUDGING THE WEATHER BY THE WEATHER
… And it’s been a perfectly pleasant day. Very light winds and mild temps and even some beautiful midwinter sunshine. Believe me, YT is grateful for any ray of light we get up here these days, which is why I cannot comprehend why people actually wear sunglasses in Iceland in the winter. You know those fold-up aluminium tanning things people used to hold up in front of their faces in the 70s so they’d get a better tan? I’m seriously thinking of getting one of those just for shining sunlight into my eyeballs. Temps right now a lovely 4°C and sunrise in the capital was at 10.36 and sunset at 15.54.

Almost got clipped on the head today by a private jet that was taking off from Reykjavík airport [I wish they’d move that damn thing to some out-of-the-way place!] and figured it was probably one of our billionaires going off to do their World Domination thing - or else old Harrison Ford*. This, in turn, got me thinking about that article I linked to the other day and the whole small-country-with-big-country-mentality syndrome. And I thought about this:

“There is a sense of empowerment in Iceland,” says Sigrun Birgisdottir from the Icelandic Society.

“Because the population is so small you feel you can be seen and heard, that you can make a difference. You take that attitude with you wherever you live in the world.”

… and I had to agree.

Most definitely, there are some drawbacks to living in a country with a small population. It can be claustrophobic, cloying, and provincial. However, I would have to say that the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks – at least in Iceland. There is an incredible sense of empowerment here. I don’t think it can be attributed to a single factor, it is probably a bunch of factors that come together, such as the raw energy of the land, the techno-savvy population, the formidable strength of the people gained after centuries of living on the edge of the habitable world… and, of course, growing up with the sense of being both “seen and heard” – which is something very special and which should not be taken for granted.

I experienced this intensely last week. AAH and I were in the Kringlan Mall, and by fluke we found out that there was a dress rehearsal happening next door at the Reykjavík City Theatre for Skrekkur, an annual talent contest for grades 8, 9 and 10 in Reykjavík. The kids – on their own initiative – form a group in each school and make up a skit 5-10 minutes long. They do all the work themselves – script, costumes, set, choreography, live music, etc. and eventually the finals are held at the Reykjavík Theatre, and the school that wins takes home the trophy for that year.

Skrekkur is a huge deal in the social calendars of Reykjavík schools and the kids really give it their all. Winning is a major honour and the group members that bring the trophy home to the school are treated like heroes. Sitting there in the darkened auditorium [we snuck in] I experienced a deep sense of meaning and awe in relation to the whole undertaking. First, there is the incredible creativity and depth exhibited by the kids. I mean, these are not skits about mundane, self-absorbed teenager things like shopping or makeup. They deal with Big Issues – parental neglect, drug abuse, losing one’s [national] identity, grief, insanity, selling out, and more. Predictably they also reflect the society in which we live – a daughter loses her father, a fisherman, to the sea; nature is mutilated in favour of aluminium production; and Iceland’s poetry and ancient stories are silenced in the age of globalization.

Amazing stuff, but what I also found incredible was that these kids were really being listened to – and seen. Every year they are given a forum in which to express themselves, as well as genuine encouragement and support. Under the auspices of the National Youth Council, they are provided with the second-largest theatre in Iceland for their show and buses to take their peers from the different neighbourhoods to the theatre on the relevant evenings [for the semi-finals and finals]. The whole undertaking is broadcast live and is also covered in all the media – print and broadcast. In short, the kids are celebrated, validated and given the message that what they have to say is important and worthwhile. They are seen and heard.

I’m not saying Iceland has found a magic formula for creating well-adjusted, happy individuals – or, for that matter, billionaires. But I certainly approve of the fact that my tax money is being spent in this way – and I’m glad that I decided to raise my child here.

WEATHER!
It warmed up a bit, was overcast and there was no wind, despite the storm warning [to be accurate, they warned of a storm offshore – which usually manifests as strong winds along the coast also, but not today]. Wind’s picking up now, though. Perhaps they got their timing wrong. Temps right now 4°C and sunrise was at 10.33 and sunset at 15.57.

* Old Harrison flies up here occasionally to have dinner at Austur Indíafjélagið, check out the nightlife, and such.

Remember our criminal ex-neighbours? Mr Aggressive - the abusive one with the doberman and the nasty tattoos, who was always shouting at his skinny little girlfriend in between smashing things up? If you’ll recall, they broke up and all went blissfully quiet for a while, except that she kept returning once a day with the doberman, staying inside for a few minutes, and then leaving again. A couple of weeks later Mr Tattoo returned and proceeded to party up a fricking storm with his buddies and some little blonde chick that he’d wasted no time in recruiting as a replacement. Until eventually the old girlfriend called the cops because he refused to vacate the apartment and she was in deep shit because she’d signed the lease.

Man, I felt sorry for her. Here she was, an anorexic little girlie who’d had the misfortune of getting involved with a drug dealer and knee-breaker who was completely fried in the head. They break up, and not only does he refuse to move out of the apartment that she had rented for the two of them, but he’s also got a new chick in there with him. What a turd!

In other words, in my mind she was the victim and she had my unequivocal sympathy and support. Which is why I was rather taken aback by the information EPI came bearing today, after a chat with one of our neighbours.*

Evidently Mr Tattoo is locked up at the moment because he beat the little blonde chick to a pulp. [No surprise there.]

Also, as we surmised, there was a massive amount of dealing going on. [No surprise there.]

What did come as a surprise, however, was this: the little anorexic girl, the one EPI and I consistently felt sorry for and wondered how on earth such a seemingly nice girl had got involved with a bastard like him, was actually running the show. She was the drug baroness - the mover and shaker behind the whole operation. That big-assed doberman was hers. She’d rented the apartment to use it for dealing. And apparently she’d been busted before - once, at least, at the airport, while trying to smuggle drugs into the country.

Here in Iceland we have a saying: The mouse that creeps is no better than the mouse that leaps. Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have taken her for the creeping mouse!

AND OUR MICELAND WEATHER IS…
It was cold and sunny today - a beautiful day, in fact, with just the hint of a breeze. Went out for a run in -2°C temps and it was gorgeous, save for the fact that I took my regular route and at 2 pm the buildings lining the road completely blocked the sun. Even at high noon the sun doesn’t rise high enough to get above those buildings, and by 2 it had sunk back down so low that the entire route was in shadow. On the upside, though, this isn’t Ísafjörður, in the northwest, whose sunshine is blocked by the nearby mountains for the entire winter. A storm warning has now been issued for tomorrow and rising temps are forecast. Currently still -2°C and sunrise was at 10.30 and sunset at 15.59.

* Apparently our neighbour knows a cop and got the inside dibs.

The third annual Gullkind [Golden Sheep] awards – Iceland’s version of the Golden Raspberry – were handed out yesterday. Some notable winners:

Honorary prize – Árni Johnsen. “For having shit up his back all day long but still carrying on.” Bravo!

Cock-up of the year – Silvía Nótt in Eurovision.

Event of the year – When Unnur Birna fell [i.e. our Miss World teetering on high heels took a tumble during some event or other – didn’t make much of an impression on YT obviously – shrug].

Worst advertising campaign – KFC [Jingle: “Nothing but a heartache every daaaayyyy….”]

IN OTHER CULTURAL NEWS
EPI and I went to see Borat this evening. It was some anticipation that we headed out, being big fans of Da Ali G. Show and everyfink. Matter of fact, I can hardly remember EPI and I laughing so much and so hard as when we watched Da Ali G. show a couple years back – in no small part due to Borat’s contribution. We literally had to pick ourselves up off the floor after each episode.

I wasn’t disappointed in the movie – but the days of rolling in the aisles are over. We’ve lost our innocence; we’ve become familiar with Borat. We know his tricks and knew what he was up to, so it had kind of lost the element of surprise that previously made it so hilarious. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t laugh [I did] – but mostly I just sat there filled with a mixture of amusement, amazement and awe over the audacity of the entire undertaking. I think Sasha Baron Cohen – who plays Borat and Ali G. – is a ficking genius. Never in a million years could I gather up the courage to do what he does – for instance I’d be scared shitless to get up in front of a bunch of rednecks in an auditorium and sing some bastardized version of the Star Spangled Banner. Or get into a motor home with three shit-faced and horribly creepy fraternity boys [who incidentally are suing the filmmakers] whose comments about women made my skin crawl.

However, the genius of Sasha Baron Cohen manifests not only in his audacity but also in his ability to expose people. The hypocrisy, the racism and anti-semitism, the baseness behind the glossy exterior. This has been written about ad infinitum in relation to this film, and it’s really true. Certainly some of his tactics are dubious – I felt especially bad for the sweet old Jewish couple who ran the guest house – and I can definitely understand the misgivings of the Kazakhstan people about being portrayed as primitive, backward and, well, worse. And perhaps that’s one reason the character has lost some of his hilarity in my mind – I honestly feel he’s taken some of that a bit too far, and cruelty is only funny up to a point. Still – I think in this case the end justifies the means to a large extent. After all, I hope everyone knows that the Kazakhs are not the way he portrays them – and that the people he exposes are.

MEANWHILE, I’M SUING THE WEATHER
NOT! [Har har] It’s actually been a beautiful day, calm, with clear sunny skies. So calm in fact that a smog has hung over the city and the bay – yes indeed, Reykjavík is often covered in a yellowish layer of smog on still, cold winter days. Believe it or not, I used to work for a company that had a vested interest in maintaining the image of Iceland as pure and pristine and I once got told off for writing about the smog in one of my weather reports. But that’s all in the past now – we’re due to have similar weather tomorrow, and then it’s going to start raining. Temps right now are –4°C and sunrise was at 10.24, sunset at 16.09.

* I’m sorry, it’s the only title that springs to mind, now that I’ve got that annoying song in my head.

Today the United Kingdom - tomorrow the world! Mwahahahahaha….

MEANWHILE THE WEATHER IS CONDUCIVE TO WORLD DOMINATION
Being as it is mild and calm, although seriously dark skies in the south, meaning we’ll soon have precipitation and it probably won’t be snow. Which means there will be slush on the ground. In copious amounts as the snow melts. And tomorrow we’re set for more freezing temps, so all the slush will freeze and we’ll have lots of slip-sliding and a packed waiting room at the National Hospital ER. But - ahem - I’m getting ahead of meself. Right now temps are 4°C and sunrise was at 10.21 and sunset due for 16.06.

[Takk to Greavsie for the link.]

I have no idea who these people are, but they sure do like my previous post about Árni Johnsen. My site traffic has skyrocketed today on account of a link they’ve posted. Vielen Dank, kind German people!

I have to say that I find their minimalist site design rather avant-garde. Clearly attracting thousands [I presume] of visitors to your site each day is not dependent on its visual appeal. Perhaps I was barking up the wrong tree with the three-column template… who needs columns when you can have, er… paragraphs? And lines?

AND TODAY’S WEATHER? IT IS…
Calm and mild and perfectly genteel. It’s awfully dark now, though, and this is the time of year when I start to fall intensely in love with my snooze button. Seriously, if the snooze button isn’t second in line to the Intenet in terms of Last Century’s Most Brilliant Inventions, then my name isn’t Alda Kalda. It’s also the time of year when I start selecting my jogging route according to the amount of daylight I’m likely to find. My regular route is lined with condominiums and as the sun doesn’t get very high in the sky these days they manage to cast a shadow across my path. Not good. Temps right now are 2°C and if this heatwave keeps up all the snow should be gone within a couple of days. Boo. Sunrise was at 10.18 and sunset at 16.09.

The most incredible farce has been playing itself out here in Niceland – a farce starring a former parliamentarian named Árni Johnsen.

This guy was an MP for the [ruling] Independence Party a few years back. He was a bit like the class buffoon – always sort of grinning and happy-go-lucky, the sort of guy that made you secretly wonder if he was a little vacant in the head. He was well-known for a couple of things: a) leading the campfire singing during the Þjóðhátíð celebrations [a.k.a. the rowdiest drinkfest of the year] every summer, in his constituency the Westman Islands and b) Getting Things Done. Because, evidently [it has since transpired] you could always count on old Árni to Get Things Done.

Which is perhaps why he was given the role of heading a committee that was overseeing the renovations of the National Theatre. Evidently he was so good at his job that the rest of the committee sort of stopped attending the meetings and just let Árni get on with it. So one day, Árni Johnsen shows up at BYKO [building supplies/DIY store] and an amazed worker watches as he climbs into the back of a delivery van, pulls out a thick marker, scratches out the address of the National Theatre, and writes his own personal address on the shipment instead.

So the BYKO worker calls one of the tabloids [OK, the only tabloid] and the tabloid sends its most heavy-handed investigative journalists out, and long story short, Árni Johnsen gets busted. It turns out that for around two years he’d been renovating/building both of his homes [in Reykjavík and a second one in the Westman Islands] under the National Theatre’s budget and had done a pretty fine job of it as well. [Whereas the National Theatre was falling to pieces… but that’s another story.]

So this supremely comical sequence of events follows, in which ÁJ first tries surreptitiously to shift the building supplies under cover of night into the theatre’s storage room, and lies and cheats and basically hangs himself with his own rope because it’s just so obvious to everyone that he’s lying, the evidence is all there. Obvious to everyone except Árni, that is, who vehemently denies the charges, and when he can no longer deny them, goes about justifying them. His main line of reasoning: ‘I don’t get paid enough for the committee work, so I decided just to take out in goods what I felt was owed to me.’

Not good enough for the Supreme Court, unfortunately, and ÁJ ends up being sentenced to two years in prison on charges of corruption, fraud and embezzlement. At no point does he show any remorse, except when the noose is already tight around his neck and the media keeps asking: ‘Why are you not showing any remorse?’ – at which point he allows this photo to be taken of himself.

So anyway, Árni serves his time at the comfortable, white-collar penitentiary Kvíabryggja, and makes it his first task on entering the prison to order a round of new beds for all the inmates. He makes good use of his time there, too, and creates an assortment of grotesque sculptures made out of big rocks and metal [truly hideous, in fact so much that no amount of online searching turns up even a single picture] and in such quantity that three huge moving trailers are needed to cart them all away.

Of course, while incarcerated, Árni Johnsen is unable to lead the singing at the Þjóðhátíð festival, although this does not stop him from applying for a special leave for just that purpose. Permission is denied, and you’d think the world had come to an end: organizers go on about how it won’t be the same without Árni, and he himself rants from inside his luxury suite – sorry, prison cell – about how unfair it is and why isn’t he given a break as he truly deserves it, and blah-de-blah. Anyway, it’s a no-go – however, he is released early a few months later on good behavior and immediately takes a holiday in the Caribbean with his wife, one of the prison guards at Kvíabryggja, and the prison guard’s wife who works as a cook in the kitchen.

After that, not much is heard from Árni Johnsen, until last August when out of the blue comes the news that he had been granted a full pardon.

[… ?]

Normally only the President is able to grant pardons, but coincidentally he is out of the country when the pardon goes through, and the acting executives of presidential authority [a.k.a. Árni Johnsen’s comrades in the Independence Party, including the prime minister] sign the papers at the behest of the Minister of Justice [also a comrade]. Yep – in other words the mice hastily use the opportunity when the cat is away to whitewash their man.

So the first question the media has is whether Árni is planning to return to politics but he plays coy and neither confirms nor denies. And then – surprise surprise – he takes part in the IP’s preliminary elections a couple of weeks ago, and lo! Wins the second seat in the south Iceland [Westman Islands] constituency, which means that if the IP wins the elections next spring [which they have since forever] Árni Johnsen will once again be in parliament and may technically become Minister of Justice. Hurray!*

Following his big coup, he was asked by the media what he now thought of his former misdemeanors and if he had any regrets. His reply has become the most oft quoted phrase in Iceland in the last week. Are you ready for it? I made a technical error. Mm-hm. When asked to elaborate as to just what his ‘technical error’ consisted of, he refused to comment. Perhaps wisely. After all, the guy can’t seem to open his mouth without putting his foot in it. Or worse.

Fréttablaðið had an excellent editorial last weekend, in which it defined the difference between ‘human frailty’ [basically when someone recognizes the error of their ways and repents] and ‘moral corruption’ [when someone doesn’t recognize their error and is intent on justifying it]. I think it’s clear to everyone where Árni Johnsen belongs.

WEATHER
I’ve rambled so much there’s hardly any room left [the blog equivalent of Árni Johnsen’s hideous artwork, perhaps] but let’s just say the snow has remained, the air is fresh and clean and it’s a winter wonderland out there. Temps –4°C at the moment and sunrise was at 10.12, sunset at 16.14.

* Hurray because with any luck people will be so sick of the whole business that they’ll vote the IP out.

AT THE CHECK-OUT IN STUPID OLD NÓATÚN, EPISODE 286
Went to s. o. Nóatún today to pick up a few things. Normally I try to avoid the place, but the massive snowfall we had last night made it impossible to move the car [read: it is still on summer tires] and even walking was a bit difficult, so it was a necessary evil.

In the shopping basket: ORA green peas, lettuce, milk, bananas and two types of apples - red delicious and jonagold.

YT keeps her eye on the items being rung through. The cashier, a young kid who looks about 12, rings both types of apples through under the same [red delicious] code.

YT: Those are jonagold, not red delicious.
CASHIER WHO LOOKS ABOUT 12: What?
YT: Those are jonagold. They’re not the same price.
CWLA12: [examines his screen]
YT: The red delicious are on special.
CWLA12: Oh. Well these [i.e. the jonagold] are more expensive than the other ones anyway, so just take them. I can’t be bothered to change it.

[In other words, this kid was prepared to rip off his employer without a second thought, just because he was too lazy to correct his mistake. And had no qualms about telling the customer about it.]

[…!]

THE WEATHER

It snowed! Look:

Bus shelter:

There were a lot of shovels aloft today as Reykjavikians dug their cars out of piles of snow that had descended on them during the night. Everywhere you looked there were cars stuck - within three minutes of going outside today I was helping push a vehicle that was stuck in a snowbank, and according to the news the Landsbjörg search and rescue team was called out 200 times today in the capital area. My own personal automobile [a.k.a. ‘the unit’] has not been moved today [see above] and I’m hoping that by tomorrow they’ll have cleared the streets enough to allow me to drive to my local tire centre to get the winter tires put under without risking life and limb in the process. I must say I’m thrilled to pieces to have snow [I may not be tomorrow, though - depends if they clear my running path tonight because finally there is no frost so running outside is once again possible hurray hurray] because it brightens the darkness and it’s all Christmas-y and stuff and soon there will be pretty fairy lights everywhere and it will all be so festive. Storm warning has been issued for tonight, though, [yes boys and girls, it’s not all fun and games] in the southeast of the country, but winds should die down tomorrow. EPI just whistled outside the window - I see he’s got the shovel out and is clearing the snow behind my car [having just dug his out] so I can be assured that I won’t be stranded in the morning. Phew. Temps currently a sweltering 2°C, sunrise was at 10.08 and sunset at 16.17.

I had one of the most traumatic experiences of my life today when EPI and I ventured out to the new IKEA they just opened in Garðabær [near Reykjavík]. Of course nothing less than the biggest IKEA anywhere in the Nordic countries would do for the shop-happy Nicelanders, never mind that our nation is about a fraction of the size of any of the others nations, or 300,000 punters if you want to be exact.

First, there was the actual navigating there in the dark [around 5.30 pm] because in true Icelandic fashion there are no proper signs to give you directions. Having finally found it, we just sort of stood outside and gaped at the sheer monstrosity of the thing, and the fact that they had couches lined up vertically on the walls, reaching two stories up – a rather bizarre display method that would surely make an alien from outer space surmise that the Swedes hang their couches off the walls and have their TVs on the opposite walls and use astro-projection to go to the kitchen to get beer.

A moment later, having ventured inside, we had to face the horrifying fact that we’d been swallowed into the belly of the whale and would quite conceivably never get out. The thing is absolutely monstrous. I can’t remember how many square metres it is nor how long it would take you to walk through the whole thing [although 3 hours somehow rings a bell] but it is a lot. We were late and it was about to close so we frantically kept searching all the signs and looking for arrows to follow and stopping, and going the other way, and asking for directions, and getting lost and asking for directions again, until we finally stumbled into the gigantic check-out hall where we could finally breathe a sigh of relief and turn our attention to the task at hand: buying candles and Christmas wrapping paper [that they magically had on display in front of the cash].

It was nerve-racking, let me tell you.

Before going to IKEA, though, we went to Penis Mall to see if we could find EPI some clothes at ZARA. EPI is of the species of male who will wait until his clothes are riddled with holes and falling to pieces before he will consider maybe going out to look for something new. So there we were at ZARA and I turned to the first clerk I saw to get some help with a size and guess what? He spoke only English!

It’s an epidemic.

Penis Mall was absolutely packed, for once [usually there’s hardly anyone there] and I figured it was because everybody was using the opportunity to go because it was impossible to be outside on account of the cold. [Later I found it was because the incredibly aptly-named girl-band Nylon was playing there]. As for me, I’ve come down with a nasty chest cold with an icky cough and I have not dared to venture outside in the –11°C temperatures with my lungs in this shape, so going to Penis Mall was a welcome respite for my cabin fever. I tried to erase the feeling that I was a tiny bit like one of those suburban American ladies I once saw in a mall in Syracuse NY, with their perfect clothes and hair-just-so, power-walking inside the mall on account of the cold. Something I found inexplicably pathetic.

In any case, I survived these escapades and am now at home in my snug little office and not sleeping in a display cubicle in IKEA like I feared I might be late this afternoon. It is still wickedly cold around here, although the winds have abated somewhat. Yesterday we went out to see a movie, and about halfway there I discovered that my windshield fluid was frozen and I’d made the mistake of turning my windshield wipers on so it matted the film of sea residue that had settled on my car in those several days of storm we had, so I could barely see the road in front of me. According to EPI, that windshield fluid was supposed to be good in frost of up to –15°C which goes to show how cold it was yesterday. Currently temps are [only!] –5°C [it was –11° today] and it’s started to snow outside. The sun came up at 10.08 and set at 16.17.