Signs that Iceland is Still a Small Nation

Reykjavik is a small town with megalomaniac tendencies, its inhabitants tend to think that they are quite the metropolitans.
While most of us have indeed spent some time abroad (if only for extended vacations in various hot spots such as the Canary Islands or Crete), there are a few things that always reveal that less than fifteen years ago beer was illegal, nobody knew what a cappucino was and pizza was only for special occasions.

1. Icelanders park like they just pulled into the farm yard.
See those neatly painted white stripes? THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON. Not a day goes by that I don't notice a remarkably bad parking job - I don't even own a car. Pulling into a marked parking spot seems to elude most Icelandic drivers. Not only do they often end up taking two or more spots, but absolutely blocking pedestrian traffic seems to be an added bonus.

2. Icelanders stop to chat in doorways.
Or stairs. Or at the top/bottom of escalators. And they do not move when you really need to get by. When you finally have their attention, they will shoot you a look that should be classified as a deadly weapon. You are, after all, disturbing their favorite pastime; gossiping.

3. Icelanders are still building Malls
And showing them to tourists. Nuff'said.

4. Icelanders think a 40 minute drive to the Airport is LONG.
Therefore, rerouting all domestic flights to the international airport is out of the question. Much better to have an airport in the middle of the city. Much better.

Nonetheless, Icelanders produced someone like me, so they can't be all bad...

Inept

I just don't have anything to say.
We are taking it easy after a very relaxed Thanksgiving.
If you can call it that.
More like a faux Thanksgiving, I whipped together stuffing out of the box, popped a huge yam in the microwave and opened a can of cranberry jelly. Of course, there was no turkey- no oven you see...
I am going through a patch of non-writing.
The crazy rantings of the Anti-Feminists are exhausting.
It gets dark at 4.30 pm.
My job situation is slightly bleak/non-existent and my arse is to lazy to do anything about it.
Nordic Ennui? Mais oui.

Chocolate Conniption

There is an ad campaign for a chocolate bar with the slogan "it's not for girls" along side a symbol of a girl with a stop sign written over her. The Icelandic translation of the slogan is even worse; "it's not for hags".
Um. Ok, fine.
Some, myself included, have decided that if they don't want our business, then they wont get it. The whole company can just do without me for sure. I'm fairly certain this multi national corporation doesn't give a flying forklift about whether or not I buy their products. Nonetheless, I don't feel like giving them any of my money for any of their products.
A whole bunch of young men are writing on the feminist message board that the boycott is extreme.
What?
This ad is not only offensive, it evokes images of apartheid and segregation. There are parts of the world where women are not allowed to vote, where they are not equal in the eyes of the law, and even in our own fabulous egalitarian society we do not get paid in accordance with the male norm and we do not have the same possibilities of advancement.
Many a young man seems to think that we are taking things too seriously. That we don't understand jokes.
That may be. I for one, find this ad campaign tremendously un-funny. Would we laugh if it excluded a race, ethnicity or even religious belief?
The point is that it overtly bans people, if instead, it said "it's for boys" it would simply be a statement that this had somehow been designed to appeal to boys. Granted, I don't really know how that applies to a chocolate bar, but then again this whole thing is incredulous.
On a much sweeter note: A team of researchers in the UK have found that cocoa is three times more efficient for curing a cough than traditional cough drops and other medicines, including codeine (!). The Husband, having been very sickly for the past week, can look forward to many cups of hot chocolate.
It won't be of a certain brand though.

Who is Kiddi? And What the Hell did He Do?

The following phone calls took place last Friday.
Me= E, Caller 1 =C1, Caller 2 =C2.
The name Kiddi is a common nickname for men named Kristinn (same as the English name Christian).

The phone rings. Elin, in the midst of painting, answers.
E: Hello.
C1: Is Kris*^% there?
E: I'm sorry, there is no Kristina here, I think you have the wrong number.
C1: No, not Kristina, Kristinn, is Kristinn there?
E: Nope, sorry, you have the wrong number.
C1: Well is there a Kiddi there?
E: You really have the wrong number, I 'm sorry.
C1: But...------
Caller hangs up.
Elin continues to paint. Ten minutes pass. The phone rings again.
E: Hello.
C2: Is Kristinn there?
E: Seriously, you have the wrong number.
C2: What is your name?
E: That is none of your business.
C2: I'm calling from the police, it's regarding a Ford Taurus.
E: I don't own a car. I've never...
C2: Is there anyone using this number named Kristinn?
E: No, come on.
C2: Do you know anyone named Kristinn?
E: A friend of mine's husband, but...
C2: Does he work at the BSI?
E: No, he works at the university, I think.
C2: Do you know anyone called Kiddi?
E: Gwwah! No, but I call BSI a lot.
C2: Oh you call BSI? Okey. ---
Caller hangs up.
Elin is confused and whishes she knew what Kristinn/Kiddi did.