locked in the fridge

Unconcealed weapon

2006-12-02T13:10:00.000Z

In sharp contrast to my previous entry regarding the 10ml concealer scare; Mr Fridgegal was free to carry a 39 inch umbrella on board our last flight.

Privatized, please

2006-10-25T10:35:00.000Z

...or, NOT.

My Grandma and Grandpa are part of the generation that truly built the infrastructure of this country by dutifully paying taxes, only to watch the fruit of their lifetime of labor being sold to the (lowest) bidder with the best ties to the government.
Many people seem to be of the opninion that privatized = good. For me, it really depends on what we are talking about, there is the possibility of abuse no matter who is in charge.

The Icelandic Postal Services are a bizarre hybrid of privately held and government run.
Their customer service, their opening hours and their package delivery are nothing short of infuriatingly idiotic.
The mailman and the people who work at my local post office are absolutely adorable and the hardest working people I ever see.

Recently I had to ask them to hold my mail in twice within a six week period. The first time there was ample mail in our mailbox upon our return.
The following is the conversation I had with the customer service rep. Over the phone when it was time to hold the mail the second time.

Fridgegal: Hi! I'm trying to put my mail online, but the website doesn't seem to have a way to do that like it used to.

Customer Service Rep: Yes, it does.

Fg: huh, oh, sorry, where can I find it?

CSR: Under address change.

Fg: Aha! Ok well, perhaps you can make a note that it would be better if it were separate like it used to?

CSR: But it's there.

Fg: Right, but unless you call and find out that you are supposed to do it under address change, it really doesn't make sense.

CSR: But it's there.

Fg: Ok, yes. Now question number two, if I put it on hold and pay for it like I did last time, do I get my money back if the mail is not held? Because we returned home to a pretty full mail box.

CSR: No.

Fg: So there is no guarantee that my mail actually will be held for the fee that we pay you to do it?

CSR: No. I mean you can't just call after the fact and complain that you mail wasn't held. You should call during the time it is happening.

- Silence -

Fg: Huh? But. Wait. I'm away, that is the whole point, I won't be able to tell until afterwards.

CSR: Can't you get someone to check on it for you? Like a friend or a neighbor?

Fg: But. No. Then I would just rather give them the fee and my mailbox key and ask them to hold my mail. And that is precisely what I don't want to do. I don't want to bother them and that is why I ask that the people whose business it is to hold the mail actually hold it.

CSR: Well if you want us to blindly accept that your mail wasn't held while you were away, then you have to call while its happening. You can't expect us to believe it after the fact.

Fg: Do you not see how that defeats the whole purpose?

CSR: No.
---

And privatized gives the customer better service? What?

Concealed Weapon

2006-09-21T21:22:00.000Z

I knew my face could be a fright, but apparently my concealer is even more dangerous, at least to international aviation.
Good thing I had remembered about the water bottle ban and threw away my bottle before the security check, or the poor security person would have had cause to arrest me.
The offending make up was removed from my carry on, along with two bottles of Purell, two travel sized tubes of moisturizer as well as my toothpaste.
A sincere "Thank you" to all would be fanatic terrorists for making my flight not only uncomfortable due to dehydration, but also a halitosis infused, germ filled and haggard looking one at that.

Dam It

2006-08-18T11:46:00.000Z

This is what will be lost when the Karahnjukar Dam is finished.

Arguably, I have never been there nor do I have any intention of going there. I don't like animals, birds or nature as such. In fact, if you make me go there and, say, make me stay in a tent, I'll probably be in a bad enough mood to turn the faucet and flood it myself.

My irritation with the project is the sheer stupidity and short-sightedness of it. It seems like the reasoning when the decision was made to build it went something like this:

A: The Gargantuan American Group, aka GAG, wants to build an aluminum smelter and they need energy.

B: No Problem. We will build a dam. We will tell people that it will reinforce the economy, it will bring lots of jobs to the area and there will be joy and mirth.

A: Hm. What about the environmental effect?

B: Do not worry, we will stamp the findings with my super cool, red TOP SECRET stamp and the people will experience joy and mirth.

A: Ok. What about letting the nation vote on the issue?

B: Huh? Vote? What is this "vote" you talk about? The people will know that it will rejuvenate my econ..., I mean the economy, and there will be joy and mirth and happy tidings.

A: What about those pesky little earth quakes the sometimes rattle Iceland?

B: Yes, those are dangerous, so we won't tell anyone about it, avoiding mass-hysteria is important, the people should be joyous and..

A: Mirthful, yeah, of course Icelandic construction company will do well, so you are right, it will be good for the economy.

B: No, no, the construction company is Italian.

A: Oh. Well, the icelanders working there will strengthen the local economy.

B: No, no the workers are mainly Chinese and other foreigners.

A: Well, the workers will strengthen the area by buying locally.

B: Yes, they leave the container compound once a week for 12 hours. They have to because of stupid Icelandic union rules.

A: Well at least the Icelandic economy will gain enormously on selling the energy to GAG.

B: Yeah, it's fantastic, we are giving them a great discount.

Seriously.

Why are we focusing on a bizarrely old fashioned industry, when the majority of the population is skilled in high tech and service related industry?

Why are we giving up our land to the lowest bidder when we should be courting the tech companies?

Why are we not world leading in finding solutions to the renewable energy crisis?

Morons.

What to do when confronted with suspicious package

2006-05-13T13:34:00.000Z

Beautiful spring day an a corner in lower Manhattan.
Yours truly has finished her double americano and goes to throw away the coffee cup. (yes, yes, lets deal with the environmental aspect of that later).
In the trash she notices a large brown package. Wrapped in brown paper, with no addressee, no stamps, no nothing.
It looks like The Brown Package that has blown up countless buildings, modes of transportation and innocent bystanders in movies, TV-series and various semi-readable books.

I stop in my tracks and stare when two men approach me. One of them is older and walks with great difficulty, let's call him The Gentleman. The other one looks like your typical Lower East Side middle aged man; tank top fitting snuggly over a protruding stomach, basket ball shorts and a baseball cap on back wards. When he speaks it is clear that dental hygiene is not something he worries about. Lets call him Challenges Rational Explosion Tactics In NYC, or CRETIN for short.

I have just stepped back from the package, when CRETIN notices it, walks over and picks it up.
that's right.
Then he shakes it.
Yes.
Grateful that I'm still alive and in a totally un-New York savvy manner I initiate a conversation.

FridgeGal: Hey, I don't think you should touch the package. We should call the cops.

CRETIN: Why?

Gentleman: Yeah, man, don't touch it.

Fridgegal: It could be anything, we should call the cops.

CRETIN: Nah.

Cretin starts opening the package.

Fridgegal: I really don't think that's a good idea.

CRETIN chuckles. The Gentleman and Fridgegal involuntarily step back.

Fridgegal: Seriously, we should call the cops.

CRETIN: Nah.

The Gentleman: She's right, man.

CRETIN stops unraveling the unidentified package.

CRETIN: What? Is it your package?

Fridgegal shakes her head angrily and turns to leave. But again, in the most un-New Yorker like manner I turn around and continue to talk. (gwah, I'm glutton for punishment).

Fridgegal: Seriously, you should not be opening that package! It could be anything. We should call the cops.

The gentleman: Listen, she's right.

CRETIN: Nah, it's just a package.

Fridgegal: We should definitely call the cops.

CRETIN has lost interest in the discussion and is now busy trying to peel off the tape that's keeping the inner package sealed. I decide that being far away from the package when CRETIN opens it is a better idea and take off.

About twenty minutes later I spot a police car and tell them about the incident (in my mind, although there has been no explosion, it could still be chemicals or something).
I'm glad I was wrong.
But that day it became blatantly clear to me that it only takes one CRETIN to initiate disaster. And he is not necessarily elected.

Theatre of the Absurd

2006-04-26T16:06:00.000Z

Treehugger: Gas too Expensive? Dump Environmental Rules.

My least favorite form of theater is the absurdist movement of the 1950 forward, plays like Waiting for Godot make me nauseous.
To me, life is way too absurd as it is.

This afternoon a van from the Reykjavik Energy Company was parked in our yard. This would be a painfully dull statement, if it weren't for the fact that they had the key in the ignition and the van running whilst they were checking out whatever they were checking out.

For well over 30 minutes.

I have no choice but to pay these clowns every month for heating and electricity. There is no option if you live in Reykjavik. With the liter of gas going for 124 ISK (translates to roughly $6. 45 per gallon) it seems that most of what I pay is goes to keeping their vans running. Lovely.

But then again, why should they be any better than members of parliament? A while ago I drove my very own gas guzzler to a store in search for a present. Outside, I noticed a gleaming SUV parked, keys in the ignition, motor running. Inside the store nobody seemed to be in urgent need of help or in a hurry to leave. Fifteen minutes later, a member of the Independence Party and current member of Parliament left the store and got in the vehicle. A couple of minutes after that, he drove away.

So glad I can oblige by paying his wages too.

Leaving the car running is completely unsexy and astoundingly common in Iceland.

Man, I'm going to have buy a lot of TerraPasses. One for our own little darling, and several hundred to make up for the fact that I'm Icelandic.

The Other Reason I'm a Freak

2006-04-25T14:35:00.000Z

It snowed last night.
This morning the first Daffodils popped up on our lawn.
Gah, make up yourmind already!

Finnish Freaks

2006-04-25T14:02:00.000Z

Finland Squirms as Its Latest Export Steps Into Spotlight - New York Times

Ah!
And you wonder why I'm a freak?
I grew up in Finland.

Ohoy Matey!

2006-04-13T14:05:00.000Z

IcelandReview - Online

"According to RUV the Icelandic Coast Guard spotted three ships from Georgia on the North-Atlantic ridge last night. One of the three ships was shipping. The three ships were in the area of the North Atlantic fishing commission but outside the Icelandic fishing limits. Icelander are obligated to monitor the area according to international agreements according to Dagmar Sigurdardóttir, the information officer of the Icelandic Coast Guard. "

This would be funnier if it wasn't such a serious maritime issue these days.

I say we used the word pirate for the fictional shiver me timbers kind and keep celebrating them on September 19th and come up with a new word for these guys.

The New Yorker: THE IRAN PLANS

2006-04-09T11:48:00.000Z

The New Yorker: Fact

Speaking of Parking...

2006-04-05T15:20:00.000Z

Last night, as I was stepping out of the grocery store, I found our car blocked by two police cars, lights ablaze and all fancy like.
For a second I thought I had done such a poor job parking that they had to bring out the circus.
But, turns out they were calming down a person who insisted quite violently that he lived at the Subway next door to the grocery store. Or that was all I heard.

Note to God; when I eventually go crazy, can you please make me have delusions of living somewhere grander than the local Subway Sandwich franchise? Say the Louvre, or IKEA?

Note to Super Hero Drivers: I, too, have super powers, so when you park your "invisible" car in our drive way, I can actually see you. And your car.

Painfully Poor Parking

2006-03-04T23:47:00.000Z

Yesterday, I did something horrific.
I parked like an Icelander (the link goes to a Swedish page depicting Icelandic parking jobs so the comments are in Swedish, but the pictures speak for themselves).
Not only did I park on the "wrong" side of the street, i. e. facing traffic, but I blocked a driveway and had I the back of the car sticking out quite a bit.
Damn.

So of course, today the mechanic told me the break pads need to be replaced.
Instant karma.

Of course I, too, may end up on that Swedish page one day.

Dental Distress

2006-02-21T13:32:00.000Z

"You have a traumatic overbite."

I swear to the powers that be, those were her exact words.
For a second I thought the mere sight of my overbite was causing my orthodontist emotional torment. But then I realized it simply means that my lower jaw bites up into the gum.

Phew, far be it from me to cause undue suffering with my malocclusion.

Diction Darling, Diction!

2006-02-06T13:48:00.000Z

Curtain opens on a kitchen. The January darkness is visble through the windows. Elinlite (E) is preparing food, her The Husband (H) is emptying the dishwasher.

H: How was your yoga?

E: Great. Exept for the aerobic going on next door.

H: What do you mean?

E: Well, it's just that you're trying to relax and you know the music is so loud.

H: But why?

E: What do you mean why?

H: Why do they teach it there?

E: It's a gym.

H: Right, but how come they teach it at the gym?

E: Well of course they do, it's just annoying that they teach it at the same time as yoga and that it is in the room next door.

Pause.
Elinlite chops garlic.

H: But I still don't understand?

E: What? What don't you understand? That it's annoying? That the music is too loud? That it's difficult to relax with all that noise going on?

H: No no, just that....well, why do they teach arabic at the gym?

Phallic much?

2005-11-15T20:20:00.000Z

I'm totally going to skip mentioning the fact that it has been more than 7 months since my last entry. Nothing happened and nothing is wrong.

Not all feminists go without shaving, I have a hard time dealing with hair on my body and am very grateful that The Husband shaves regularly, not because I use his shaving tools, but because I really, really, really don't like hair except for in a couple of restricted areas.
For years I used whatever orange single use razor was at hand. Until the market caught up with with the fact that there is nothing natural about a hairless woman. At first they just took the blue razors and made them pink - and charged ridiculous amounts of money for the nauseating ugliness.
But then they started adding real perks, the double blades, the aloe strip and of course the realistic penis shape.
What? Did she just write PENIS SHAPE? Yes she did.

Actually the thought hadn't even entered my mind until this fall when when Gillette introduced their new Venus Vibrance. I kept thinking "Why would anyone want to shake the razor while they shave? It seems like an extraordinarily bad and bloody idea." And then I looked at it from another angle.

Up side down.

Now tell me it is all about the perfect shaving experience.

Nada

2005-05-05T11:28:00.000Z

This blog is dedicated to all the courageous people out there with creativity blocks the size of Siberia.
Blah.
Big oumphing Blah.
Must think positive thoughts...

The weather is nice, the season of light is upon us.
Last night it was still fairly light at 10. 30 pm.
And quite frankly our view is stunning.

Today is Ascension Day, a national Holiday in Iceland and Sweden.
Today is the 31st birthday of a friend of mine.
Today is Cinco de Mayo, in New York this is not as crazy as Puerto Rican day.

Looks like The Blairs don't have to move.
Last night I wanted our neighbors to move as they threw a very loud, long and smoky party.
My sister insists that I have write the following words in my blog: The pope s****s dope.
Omar from Quarashi is in a Smirnoff commercial, playing a Russian.
Jon Stewart is a very funny man.

Obsessed with the Pope? Me?

2005-04-26T16:39:00.000Z

In light of the news regarding the Pope and his attempt to cover up some of the darkest moments of the Catholic Church, this picture is not all that far fetched...

All Decked Out and Going Nowhere

2005-04-20T10:37:00.000Z

Why is it that it is the men in floor length dresses and fabulous headgear who are most vehemently opposed to homosexuals?
Are they feeling territorial?

Come on, lets get the boys in Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to redecorate the Vatican (a little extra spot lighting wouldn't hurt there, it's kind of dark in the corners). Give the new Pope some spiffy ways to combine all that red and gold, instructions on what NOT to say in public, like: "Yah, I whas in Ze Hitlerjugend", "Feminists are Zeer Evil" or "Ze only ones who are going to Heafen are my buddies and me, Ze rest of you are Doomed"- as these are things that just don't go over well in 2005 - and lastly, teach him to use hair product.

Hey, I'm all for men in skirts, but these Vatican guys just don't have the right attitude to go with it.

Fairy Tale

2005-04-18T11:03:00.000Z

What I really wanted to do was to buy the hideous pink t-shirt that said "I'm a Fairy".
But giving this particular t-shirt to this particular 1 year old boy would have been pointless.
Not only because his parents are really not the kind of people who need my self righteous gender lesson - after all the father is on a six month paternity leave - but because the point, I fear, would have been lost upon just about everyone.
And, really, a birthday present should never be about making a point, a gift should always be joyous and heartfelt.

It is just sad that little boys are not allowed to be fairies, they can only be mythical creatures if they are valiant and kill someone in the process. At the same time, we all know that a boy who is a fairy is gay - oh! The Horror! Personally I would rather my son turn out to be gay than a murderer, but hey that is just me.

The socially constructed gender categorizes children before they can even say their own name. Girls are sweet and soft, boys are rough and tumble and that is the way it should be. Except, are they?
When I was four years old there was a real bully, Benjamin, in my kinder garten who told me that girls could not wear jeans nor watch McCloud. Up until that moment I hadn't really thought about either one of those options. Luckily, I felt that there was something bogus about his statement and decided to ask my mother if he was right.
My mother, having read and re-read Pippi Longstocking out loud to me, was justifiably horrified and, despite our dismal finances, swiftly bought me a pair of jeans. Also, I was allowed to stay up and watch McCloud, but I think I fell asleep.

29 years later, I find myself perfectly capable of handling a power drill, I singlehandedly painted our living room with the 13ft high ceilings and built a functional albeit unsightly desk.
But what if my mother had said: "Yes, Benjamin is right, girls cannot wear jeans."
Would I have grown up thinking that there are things that a girl cannot wear? Would I have thought that there are things that girls cannot do? What are the things we tell little boys they shouldn't do or wear? Why?

Incidentally I ended up knitting a beanie and printing a t-shirt with cuddly little bunnies for the boy. Now, if I could just teach The Husband to knit we could make all the Christmas gifts this year...It may be April but it is never too early to start planning I say...

Knowing When to Quit

2005-04-13T22:10:00.000Z

Wake up, make coffee, turn on computer and I'm off to a good morning.
It's the rest of the day that has the potential to be stupendously annoying.

Last Friday was one of those days when I should have stayed under the covers, having coffee and computer delivered to my bed.
The morning ritual went alright, apart from an odd e-mail. One of those blast-from-the-past ones.
For lunch I decided to make myself some delicious, nutritious rye meal.
After about two minutes I realized that we had run out of gas. In Iceland, having a gas stove is fairly unusual and so we have a small 5 kg gas tank under the kitchen counter. Last time, getting a new tank was a terrible fuss and, being sans voiture, involved getting a friend coming around with a car and so forth.
This time I had seen an ad in the paper for a home delivery service. Sure, the gas tank was of a slightly different model, but paying for the switch and a new tap was so worth it.
Happily I put the rye meal in the micro wave oven and looked forward to a warm meal and the luxury of a hassle free gas replacement.

Then the rye meal exploded in the micro wave oven.

After cleaning the entire micro wave oven and underneath the counter in order to get to the gas tank - subsequently finding things I thought would have walked out on their own accord by now - gas guy showed up. Reluctantly, he switched the tap for me, I paid and off he went.

Of course the gas tank was exactly a fourth of an inch too big to fit under the counter.

Not only do we now have an unsightly gas hose visible but we can shut only one of our two kitchen cabinets. It was either that or leaving it in the middle of the floor, making cooking impossible and obviously being completely counter productive.

By now I was miserable, unfed and a hundred dollars poorer. Outside, it was pouring rain.
When one is in a sulky, bad mood one's best option is to do something practical. Or so I have often felt. In this case I went to the bank and made it before closing. A small victory, no?
I took my line number #390 and glanced at the sign displaying which number was up. It was 329.

There were 61 people ahead of me in the line.

I may revise my philosophy of "doing something practical" in the future.

By then, I was convinced yoga was the only thing that would keep me happy.
And it did.
It was only the next morning the excruciating pain in the shoulders and neck - from all the head stands - set in.

Dumpsite

2005-04-02T15:42:00.000Z

Being free of just about any claim to nationality or patriotism is indeed a mixed blessing. During World Cup Football games (football as in true foot + ball, not the freaky American variation of piling men on top of each other) I can pretty much pick whatever team I would like to support. Comes in handy since Iceland rarely qualifies.

The downside is that I do not understand what love for country means. I can fathom dying for an idea or democracy or liberty, but dying for a piece of land? Why? What is the point?
Iceland does not have an army, something I think we can all agree is fair as it would be small and useless. Also, we are not under any current threat, there are very few other countries that are fervently against Iceland and all things Icelandic. Therefore, I am slightly puzzled by the self congratulatory tone many Icelanders strike while they discuss other countries' problems.
Reading the Icelandic newspapers one gets the notion that we have some expertise in international peace keeping, that we hold the key to peace in the Middle East and that without us the UN would crumble and fall.

Well. The city of Reykjavik can't even provide simple functional recyclable garbage disposal. In the other Nordic countries - heck even in New York City for most of the 90's - all one has to do is throw the trash into three differently colored trash cans. In Reykjavik, one has to drive to the dump, be hassled by the people who work there and if one is lucky, the garbage container for one's specific needs is open that day.
If you are anything like me, the idea of driving to the dumpsite kind of takes the whole "ecologically meaningful" aspect out of it.

Who decided that just because we are 285 000 people who speak the same language and have no sound environmental plan for the future, we are better equipped at uniting under one flag than any other country born in the 1900s? Why is it that we can so easily publicly state that this that or the other country does not have the right to exist, whilst we happily march forth and destroy our piece of land?
I hereby announce the birth of the Republic of Elin.

Courage

2005-03-31T20:46:00.000Z

One of the most courageous people in the world.

Indisputable Signs

2005-03-24T11:07:00.000Z

I'm getting older: I noticed that I had better start moisturizing my neck.
It is displaying some rather turkey like characteristics.

Biological Fact

2005-03-19T13:34:00.000Z

Historical Fact

2005-03-17T12:54:00.000Z

Update

2005-03-16T18:24:00.000Z

Ice cream: Still in the same spot, now trodden upon.
Decaf: Purchased.
Herring: I failed to check.

Absurdity points collected nonetheless: Neatly dressed, 60+ man standing in the middle of the side walk screaming "YAAAGWH" at nothing in particular.

Food for Thought

2005-03-14T18:28:00.000Z

Q: Out of these three food related incidents that happened today, which is the most weird?

Finding a soft serve ice cream sitting intact on the sidewalk?
That there is no decaf coffee to be found in all of downtown Reykjavik?
Almost stepping on a half eaten pickled herring in the middle of the town square?

A: Obviously finding an ice cream intact wins; in order for it to be in pristine condition it would have to be below freezing.

Not only is it below freezing, but it is windy - even by Icelandic standards. What kind of a person buys an ice cream when all you have to do to get that special eyeball headache is to go outside and open your mouth?

Ok, so there is no decaf - Icelanders don't believe in things like "decaf" and "non-alcoholic" (although the latter one they probably should believe in as we are genetically predisposed to being drunk and disorderly). They do, however, believe in "diet" and "light" and "low-carb" since vanity is a virtue here.

As for the half eaten pickled herring, I can't explain that one. That is just queer in a Monty Python sense of the word.

Happy International W-day Everyone!

2005-03-08T09:43:00.000Z

It is ten years after Beijing , an occurrence that incidentally had tremendous impact on my private life.
And what have we accomplished?
The trafficking of persons is rapidly overtaking drug trafficking as the second most lucrative business in the world.
Not all trafficked persons end up being sexually exploited, however, predominantly women and children are forced into prostitution.

I cannot help but ask myself, who are these people who walk into a darkened room and pay to rape a person? What is it that an enslaved person does better than the dominant hand? Is it the fear? Is it the pain? Is the fact that they are unvilling such a turn on?

Once, I was in the midst of a heated debate on an Internet message board (yes, yes, the word heated is perhaps not compatible with the Internet) when my opponent wrote that in his opinion the sexual exploitation of children was no worse than making a five year old work in a factory. To this day, I have not been able to come up with a rebuttal, because to me, the difference is so enormous that it can barely be put in words. And this was a clever young man in Law School.
Obviously, I don't think it is ok that five year olds work in factories. I think we as consumers have to actively engage ourselves to try to find out what goes on in the factories that provide us with all the crapola we claim to need.

Perhaps the nucleus of the problem lies in the complete lack of empathy that many seem to display towards the victims of rape and sexual exploitation. Even I, who claim to be outraged, have a hard time really understanding the damage done to people who have been victimized by sexual predators.
I cannot fathom how this, one of life's greatest joys, can be turned into something painful and vile. Obviously, with support and therapy victims can turn it into joy at some point, but somehow I doubt that this particular group has access to that. In stead, if they are ever freed from their captors, many of them are ostracize from their community, as if the sexual violence was their own doing.

Of course I hope that the UNFPA and UNICEF are successful in their goals toward better helping the victims.
However, I think we need to put the buyer in focus, who are the people who feel that they are right to pay for the use of another human body? What in the general comprehension of right and wrong makes rape ok if you pay for it?

Happy March 8th everyone!

The Joy Project

2005-03-04T10:03:00.000Z

I want to exist in joy.
Live in joy.
Give joy.
I want everything that I do to be done in joy.
Yes even my tax return and the booking of an airline ticket.
Even dealing with the cable company.
Bear with me if this sounds too preachy or yucky.

If the weather is sucky, I have a number of choices;

I can complain and lament
I can curse the weather for making my day miserable
I can reflect that the weather is indeed very sucky and then move on.
I can reflect that the weather is indeed sucky, move on and dress appropriately

There is only one thing I cannot do; I cannot change it.

Joy to all.

I wish I were a Plumber

2005-02-28T19:23:00.000Z

Had I been a smart girl I would have skipped secondary school and gone straight to vocational school to become a plumber. Instead, I was a dumbass and got excellent grades - I mean, grades, what are they good for? Who gives a flying Dutchman?- then I got even more stupid and went ahead and got an edumacation, in ARTS of all useless things!
Seriously. Arts.
When did you ever hear anyone screaming "Help! We need someone to analyze this text!"?
Didn't think so.
Yes, yes, humanity needs art to evolve blah blah.

Just think of all the things I could have accomplished if I had become a plumber. Firstly, no student loans (being that in the country I was in at the time, vocational school was free). I could have entered the work force at 19 instead of being a useless, whiny kid until, well, now, my early thirties (barring some years in my twenties spent hurling drinks at people, very useful).
Secondly, I would have paid lots of taxes by now, not to mention lots and lots into a decent retirement fund. The way things look now I will be eating nothing but Ramen noodles in my old age, while being audited by the tax authorities for the 43rd time.
Thirdly, I could remodel our bathroom and fix the leaking faucet in the kitchen.

Agent Language Genius and I have discussed this quite a bit. ALG even went so far as to secure herself a trainee spot in a plumbing company. Unfortunately, the company was situated in the American South and she finally had to come to terms that even with the lure of a free trainee placement, she would never last in the Bible Belt.
Despite our different backgrounds we realize that we were both fooled by the academic dream. In our childhood we were often told that academic success was the only measure of a person's intelligence. Not so much by our families - even though they did their fair share of preaching- but as much by the school environment and society in general. I even have friends my age who seriously believe that their college degree means they are somehow smarter than others, yet they cannot pay their own credit card bills. One of them uttered the classic "If everybody could go to college, then everybody would have better jobs and make more money"...That is fantastic, but who is left to clean the streets? Drive cabs? Attend to your every whim at the department stores? How about making sure they get decently paid for the work they do instead?
Those who are academically curious will go to college anyway.
Alas, therein lies my Catch 22. As much as I love fixing things and puttering about, as much do I love being a good student. Argh.

However, right now, I really really wish I were a plumber so I could build us a new bathroom without risking the lives of innocent people.

Thoughtless. Not.

2005-02-24T21:25:00.000Z

Spring is in the air! I don't care how cold it might still get but it is light out at 7 pm! That is all I need! Joy! Happiness! Eye mask for sleeping!
I may be back in Icey, but some friends of mine asked me to mind their store while they are in Germany. As we all know, the best remedy for the post- production blues is brisk attending to other business, or other peoples' businesses. However, there is no Internet connection at the store so I am forced to read and knit between customers.
And think.

Thinking is never good. Especially for me, and absolutely not when I am trapped in my own head. I once saw it aptly identified as self-chatter. The real problem sets in when we combine much thinking with the creativity of spring. I have a tendency to get ever so slightly inventive in spring.

There are people who should not dial while drunk; me, I should never write while thinking. I might start thinking how I should make coffee and end up writing a letter to a long lost love about how sorry I am that I wasn't there for him when he needed me (of course there is never a question of how much anyone might have needed me, I am, after all, the epicenter of the universe).
Thankfully, I rarely mail letters written in this state of mind.

Today I wrote a letter to a friend and mailed it. For heaven's sake, I tried keeping it short and unsentimental, but I fear there may have been some eerie declaration of support and "thinking of you". Tomorrow, who knows, I might have to write more friends and what if- good grief- I get the urge to clear the air with people I feel misunderstand me!
Dear goodness, I may never recover. Neither may they.

If all goes horribly wrong, the store owners will find a crazed letter writer with no remaining friends when they return next Friday.

Still Friggin Foggy

2005-02-22T11:09:00.000Z

Yup. Visibilty 20 meters. Maybe 70. But I'm definately back in Icey. Must be, since I am in my own apartment and slept in my own bed. Also, The Husband is here so I assume I am in Iceland even though I haven't seen it yet. Oh, and the water smells like rotten eggs.

Suffering from severe post-production depression. But no worries, I always do. And I suppose I somehow enjoy this roller-coaster lifestyle, having a 9 to 5 job would suffocate me even though it might be good for me in the long run.

Maybe later, I'll write something smart- or funny even. But for now the only thing I can think of is this: Are there certain decidedly feminine traits? And if so, how come societies decided that they are less valuable? Think about it, if we say that a man has feminine traits we are almost always passing judgment, making him "less of a man" = "less than human"? Ergo the male is the good norm, the female is the abnorm.

Foggy

2005-02-21T18:17:00.000Z

The ground was invisible until we actually touched it. I am not kidding.
My brain, on the other hand, still has not landed. The instant euphoria of seeing my computer -and my spouse, I guess - has now dwindled into incapability of deciding what to do with all my Internet options.
Perhaps I should take nap next to spouse instead?

Baby got Back

2005-02-08T11:40:00.000Z

This blog is brought to you by way of a major Department Store. Having no internet connection for the 18 days that I am away from home I am forced to write this in the "youth clothing" department of one of the major Department Stores in Helsinki. I am surrounded by impossibly hip clothing and very bad pop music.
Poor me.
My back hurts.
It started hurting about 10 days ago, since then it has endured:
Yoga Classes
Acupressure
Meditation
Two Flights
Hauling a Large Suitcase
Sleeping in my own Bed
Sleeping in someone else's Bed
Sleeping on the floor.
Sleeping on the floor, on bed, on the floor, pacing, stretching, and finally falling a sleep the floor.
Meditation
Medication
High Heels
Tight Jeans
Stretching
Medication

Finally, this morning I could go to the loo without clenching my teeth, which is great, cause I was starting to get lock jaw.

Whatever the Noise is that Cows Make

2005-02-02T08:56:00.000Z

Because, unbelievable but true, someone did it again! That makes three in less than six months. Un-friggin-believable.
Once again I was asked if I was preggers! I thought I would be in the clear for a while now that one of my cousins is in the family way.
But No!
It makes me want to go tie my tubes. Just so that I could say people; "Pregnant, me? Oh, no I had my tubes tied."
And then watch as they scramble for the next comment.

A couple of days later I was trying on jeans. It is very hard to feel the unconditional love for my body that I normally feel while trying on a pair of jeans.
According to most major jeans manufacturers my legs are short, which I would argue that they are not, even though I am on the shorter side of average. However, short is relative, I mean, compared to 500 million Chinese women I am probably quite tallish.
Also, according to major jeans manufacturers, my lovely pear shaped is huge, which I find hard to believe since my BMI is 23.5.

And lately, I have been sleeping way too much, with crazy fatigue setting in around two and lasting all night. I even fell asleep during the short meditation following yoga. Like, totally crashed. I fear I may have snored.

Ergo, I am a cow, all I am good for is producing offspring, sleeping and not wearing jeans. Which we all know are the distinctive features of cows.

Things to Do while Internet Connection is Down.

2005-01-27T22:55:00.000Z

Rewire and exchange broken light fixture in the kitchen.
Accidentally put a nail in hair mistaking it for a hair pin.
Spend three minutes looking for a nail in hair, without finding it.
Wash down coat.
Hang painting on the wall in the kitchen.
Fold the laundry mountain.
Try to get Chemical Brothers' Galvanize out of head.
Very light (so as not to get too tired in the case of Internet reconnecting) dusting.
Read a treatment for a script.
Wash the four sweaters that cannot go in the spin cycle.
Make and drink coffee.
Read a chapter in a work related book.
Brush hair.
Find nail in hair.
Braid hair.
Get ready for yoga.
Climb giant pebble mountain in driveway brought to us by building site next door while being heckled by construction workers.
Realize that both glutei maximi hurt from yesterday's yoga class.
Climb giant pebble mountain in driveway in darkness.
Make dinner.
Write blog entry in Microsoft Word.

Pink Princess

2005-01-25T10:58:00.000Z

We were talking about pink. The color pink, not the singer.
I said something to the effect of how I hate that it is marketed towards girls in everything, leaving their poor parents without much option.
My friend replied "But I don't see why my daughter can't be allowed to play princess while she is a kid? I would much rather she go through her pink phase while she is young, than when she is say 16."
Knowing that I was entering the minefield where we non-parents are inevitably killed, - simply because we do not have children and therefore must shut up - I dropped the subject.

But what I was thinking was something like this:
When it comes to children's clothing there is a horrific gender gap that, honestly, makes them into the teenagers they become later on.
If we teach tiny kids that girls should be pleasing and pretty and that boys should be monster loving super heroes, can we be surprised when a thirteen year old girl is having sex with multiple partners and a thirteen year old boy is violent?
If all marketing is geared towards putting the value of a girl into how beautiful she is and whether she is wanted by all, can we be surprised that she seeks that same attention when she grows older? Is it strange that she wants to wear the sexy clothes that MTV- princesses are wearing? It seems to me that it is the next logical step.
The same goes for boys. If a boy is taught that his value is in relation to how violent he can be towards perceived bad guys, can we be surprised when he is violent at all?
We ask that teenagers know right from wrong, but how are they supposed to know any better than we teach them?
I don't know what it is like to be a parent, I can only imagine that it is a life full of wondering whether any of the thousands of decisions one has to make for one's kids will eventually harm them.
But perhaps there needs to be a quiet uprising against the gender marketing monster?

Old Friends

2005-01-22T21:43:00.000Z

This last week was spent traveling for work. And being selfish, I combined it with catching up with people and places.
It was one of those weeks where way too many things happen for me to realize the full impact just yet. Seventeen random things in no particular order:

Read an article in the paper written by an old classmate from high school. She is currently living in Sri Lanka and working for an international aid organization. However, she is on maternity leave and her husband, also an aid worker, had to work through the Tsunami disaster. She left with the baby for safety reasons. It made her feel out of place and relieved at the same time. I admire her.
Bought a t-shirt with the word Lapland printed on it.
Spent lots of time with two of my sisters. Both were born in 1985, but they are not related. They are discovering the world. I felt younger and older by being around them.
Had a dream Tuesday about a high school classmate who died a long time ago. In the dream he turned into another classmate whom I haven't seen for 13 years. That "then-boy-now-man" turned up at a restaurant I was at last night. Neither were close friends of mine.
Found out my step dad got engaged.
Met very interesting people who tickled my interest.
Fell in love with a scent. A cheap one.
Bought knee high socks with the word Helsinki printed all over them.
Saw men with very small towels wrapped "around" them congregating in a hotel corridor. They were discussing their plans for the evening, such as when to eat the ham left in between the double window panes.
I met with a friend whose father has just passed away. I wish I knew how to deal with death. I am completely incapable of consoling people mourning.
Spent a night at sea lolling about in a small bed feeling ever so slightly sea sick.
Was incredibly impressed by my friend's 22 month old baby. She is very smart and organized. Wish I were smart and organized.
Was also impressed by the baby's mom who is almost ready to pop out baby number two and holding up remarkably well.
Finished the Saturday crossword puzzle, bar one word. Argh.
Had dinner with four friends from high school. We do not seem to have much in common, but I have something in common with each and everyone of them.
I had pizza four times.
I had chicken twice and lamb once. I thought I was a vegetarian. Apparently not.

Brave New Words!

2005-01-11T13:08:00.000Z

The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changingone letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are this year's winners:
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in thefruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

This segment of Locked in the Fridge was brought to you via Finnish TV.

Dude, where is my Coffee?

2005-01-09T01:15:00.000Z

There has been a radical change, one that I'm not really sure I appreciate.
It used to be that The Husband would get up before me and make me coffee in the morning. I would awake to the sweet click-click of my cup being placed on my bedside table.
In the old apartment the kitchen was ten steps from the bed, only five steps from bathroom. Often we would place the alarm on the kitchen table so that we have to get up, from there the three steps to the water kettle were certainly not too bad.

Enter Luxury Problem No. 1. The kitchen in the new apartment is on what could be described on the first level and bedroom is on what could be described as the third, this sounds way way bigger than it actually is, however the kitchen is now at least 27 steps from The husband's side of the bed, 11 of those are going down the furry staircase. Quick explanation of the furry staircase: previous owner had put in fab super shaggy carpet. However it requires rigorous cleaning that we are not likely to provide. Too bad really, since I fall down stairs quite a bit. From the staircase there are 9 steps to the water kettle. Getting out of bed therefore is no longer merely a matter of turning off the alarm. First of all the alarm is in the bedroom, we can't have it in the kitchen since we wouldn't hear it, which means that lately there has been a lot of turning off/hitting snooze & going back to sleep. Secondly the idea of getting up and going all the way downstairs seems overwhelming. Especially when it is still dark out at 9.30.

Enter Luxury Problem No. 2. How to get perfectly nice Husband to get up and make coffee? I cannot nudge him and tell him to make coffee because:
a. I should refrain from speaking pre-coffee, doing so to The Husband would probably result in divorce faster than you can spot a Starbuck's in Seattle. Not because he sensitive or aggressive but because I am that horrific.
b. After I nudge him, I would be awake and aware and would feel guilty hearing him making the coffee.
c. After I nudge him, I would be awake and aware and the pleasure of being awakened by coffee is gone.

We are the French Press coffee type. I mean both of us detest filter coffee (except when my grandpa makes it, go figure) thus a coffee maker with a timer is out of the question.
Harrumph.

Bedsprings

2005-01-05T11:52:00.000Z

I thought this was something that only occurred in movies, but somewhere in our building there is a neighbor with squeaky bedsprings.
That's all I am saying, the rest is up to your imagination.

New Year's Resolution? What New Year's Resolution?

2005-01-03T16:28:00.000Z

New Year's Eve 1996 I made a promise to quit drinking for a while. Probably because I was hammered and not feeling all that well in the back seat of a cab, going to yet another party which turned out to be less than fun.
Also I think I may have been flirting with someone I should not have been flirting with. I have vague memories of somebody's angry girlfriend yelling at me. Or something. The details are fuzzy.
Either way my resolution was to tone down my drinking habits a notch or two.
That spring will always be a blur to me, for I have never drunk so much in such a short period of time (bar maybe the spring of 1993) I was pickled. I managed to do the following things while intoxicated: get married to a nice man who was completely wrong for me, piss people off - a lot, dance on top a bar at 9 am, but mostly, as with the screaming girl, the details are murky. Finally after wreaking havoc on my life I realized I had to quit - totally. Since then I have not had anything to drink.
On New Year's Eve 2002 I made a low grade, not quite-resolution-worthy-but-promise-like-utterance that I would work on my control issues. Six days later, when I was scheduled for a flight, I decided to pack down everything I did not need and only bring the most neccesary in my carry-on. Due to a "blizzard" ( it was a light snow fall of perhaps two inches which sent them into total mayhem) in Copenhagen, I landed in Finland at 1.30 am, in -30°c with nothing but a coat, my handbag and a toothbrush .
This New Year's, I kind of thought it might be nice to join a gym just for the month of January, to kick start the year and change things around. I prefer gyms that are:
1. Close to my house- otherwise it takes too much time out of my day to go there, and I would rather go for a daily run and stretch and NO I cannot run outside because I run into things.
2. No frills, the frills are never as nice as they look in the brochure and then I prefer to shower at home anyway.
3. Cheap. I really only use the treadmill and stretch area.
Luckily I saw that there was just such a thing located 200 meters from my house! So today I went there, the owner was very nice and I could see myself sticking out the month, perhaps even longer.
BUT they had lost their lease and today was the last day that they were open.
Man! It wasn't even a resolution, it was just something I wanted to do. That's it! I am never gonna resolve to do anything again.
Ever.
BTW, why does iceberg lettuce sometimes have brown speckles and is it okay to eat it anyway?

Happy New Year! Hooray!

2004-12-31T17:13:00.000Z

Once upon a time I, too, was a New York Waitress.
Ah, to be pressured into working Holiday Shifts!
Ah, to divert the attention of the customers AWAY from the wall where the cockroach was crawling at a leisurely pace.
Ah, to try serving without being groped!

I was a sucky waitress, not because I was slow or forgetful or neglectful. But because I was, and still am, very, very, very, extremely, incredibly, bad at hiding my true feelings. Simply a very bad liar.
I really wish I was a better liar since I have no scruples about lying. I think it is a good way of dealing with potentially harmful situations. Of course, there has to be a certain amount of morals involved.

The Ethics of Lying

You cannot lie about things that WILL or COULD make trouble for those you care for. Example: "No, honey, I did not empty the bank account and place all our money in various Terrorist Organisation Funds."
You cannot blame someone innocent in order to get off the hook. Example: "I didn't polish off the Johnny Walker bottle, Auntie Sheila did, even though she has been in the AA for years. Quite frankly, I am concerned."
You can, however, blame someone who already is of questionable repute, alternatively to frame someone who has wronged you. Example: "I certainly did not pelt your window with snow balls, The Minister of Foreign Affairs/President/Cable TV company did it!"
If you are a good liar, you should use you skill to combat evil. Example: "Nope, sorry, you have the wrong prison. There are no adulterers to be stoned here. You must be thinking of the one that is miles and miles and miles away."
Lying in order to protect someone's feelings is pretty much ok all the time. Example: "Oh, no, no, the dinner wasn't disgusting! I'm just allergic to burnt pasta, is all."
Lying in order to protect someone's feelings when this may in fact hurt them is not ok. Example: "Oh having that Eating Disorder makes you look stylishly gaunt. I hear the hollow eyed hair loss look is making a come back."

I read somewhere that when children start to lie, it means that they have reached a certain level of social maturity. They are capable of distinguishing that people have expectations of them and that certain outcomes are better than others. But what if one reaches that level and just never learns how to lie properly? Does it mean that there is a flaw in my social skills?

Only now, in my thirties, have I started to catch my 'gives', the physical signs I give off when I lie. No, I'm not gonna tell you. But I wish I had known earlier. It would have saved me a lot of trouble as a waitress. For example, I could have concocted some really great stuff in order to get out of working Holiday Shifts, such as New Years Eve.

But there is no use in looking at what could have been. Instead, in the spirit of New Year's Eve and New Times ahead; from the coziness of my couch, an Honestly Happy New Year to You!

Love, or Something

2004-12-29T22:21:00.000Z

Am grateful that my friend who was vacationing in Thailand is safe and sound. Am grateful for everyone in my life who is safe and sound.
About a week ago I read an article written by a man who was defending his belief in God. He said he could no more explain his faith scientifically than he could give exact proof of the love he feels for his wife. This pretty much sums up how I believe, except I refuse to attach myself to any church or following.
I cannot fathom how horrible the disaster in Thailand is. I don't get it. It goes beyond my realm comprehension. I have no idea what I would say to someone who has lost their whole family; I imagine that the last thing they would want to hear is that there is love in the world and a kind and gentle God.
I don't know what to do, how I can help, and I desperately want to.
So I suppose all I know for certain that I can do is to love my Husband, to love my family - yes even those who keep going on about pregnancies - and my friends near and far. And I hope I love them fairly and justly and that for someone, somewhere it makes a difference.
In two days The Husband and I will celebrate our three year anniversary. For various reasons known only to Icelandic bureaucrats and their Holiday schedules, we ended up getting a Protestant Minister for our wedding ceremony.
She was amazing. She made our wedding a truly individual declaration of love. At the risk of being schmaltzy I am going to leave this post with my favorite (as in: pretty-much-the-only-one-I-even-like) biblical quote, as it happens to be one of the few that were actually used at our wedding.

I Corinthians 13:1-13

1: If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.
2: And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
3: If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing.
4: Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful;
5: it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;
6: it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right.
7: Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
8: Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.
9: For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect;
10: but when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.
11: When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I gave up childish ways.
12: For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall understand fully, even as I have been fully understood.
13: So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

Cookie Coma

2004-12-25T16:04:00.000Z

I am barely functional today.
But to anyone out there who might be celebrating something: Happy Holidays!
The Husband and I think this Holiday looks intriguing, but the lack of Ginger bread and gifts makes it runner up to that whole Christian hoopla.
Is it physically possible to stay awake after tons of food and, more importantly, cookies?

Oops! Someone did it Again

2004-12-23T23:11:00.000Z

Yes fabulous and grand!
Someone related to me felt inclined to ask me if I was pregnant. What the...?
Good grief.
Because I was apparently glowing.
Must stop glowing.
Gives people the wrong idea.
I am not now - nor have I ever been - pregnant.
Happy Holidays, tagnabbit...

While Eating my Words

2004-12-18T23:39:00.000Z

Glad to report that I was being paranoid about my yoga teacher.
The next day I went back and she was very nice to me.
So there you have it. I was being overly sensitive and self centered.
Look, savor this moment, I do not admit to being wrong very often.

And so it is Chrismakkah and Hanukkamas

2004-12-12T18:02:00.000Z

The Christmas Spirit overwhelmed me this afternoon and I have been listening to my favorite Christmas music for hours.
The absolute favorite is I seek No Power, Glory a Finnish traditional Christmas Song , tightly followed by Star of Bethlehem, or Gläns Över Sjö och Strand (scroll down until you find an Elin Kolm playing piano click on the mp3 link, this is an extremely charming recording from a school concert, complete with crying baby in the background) a Swedish traditional.
And of course Carol of the Bells - Leontovich/Wilhousky.
And of course Happy Xmas (war is over) with John Lennon.
And Jul Jul Strålande Jul.
And Ave Maria.
And O Holy Night.
And Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
And The Little Drummerboy.
And Santa Baby.
And Do They Know it's Christmas.
And Feliz Navidad.
And Joy to the World.
As a general rule I prefer choir song. In the past couple of years we have actually gone to church on Christmas, and we are not church going folk. But the music. Ah.
You can't go wrong with a Church Choir singing in your Christmas.
But other than that, I'm not really into Christmas.
I mean apart from the lights.
And wrapping gifts.
And eating.
But really I don't like religious holidays.
Oh! You know what else is fun? Dean Martin singing Let it Snow. You can just imagine the great Las Vegas style sixties fake snow falling all around him.
And I really like giving presents. Except to the people I never know what to get, like The Husband (who gets something he has picked out himself), The Grouch and one of my sisters who is SO difficult that we reached a truce that we would not give each other pressies.
As for me, we have in the past couple of years asked people to donate to charity instead of giving us anything since we have way more than we need. Yes, it is a little empty without the mountain of pressies, but it is so much more satisfying.

Pay Day

2004-12-09T20:21:00.000Z

Taxation is perhaps the most necessary of all evil. Or the most evil necessity?
Well, that and my friend ALG's homemade chocolate cake which is absolutely necessary and absolutely evil. Oh, and I guess child birth which is supposedly not always fun.
But other than that, paying taxes is something I do gladly and resentfully. Due to our somewhat convoluted situation, The Husband and I require the help of a good accountant. We have had remarkably bad luck with some of our previous accountants and even our search for accountants has been less than fun.
Like yesterday morning when we awoke "early" to meet with someone we were hoping could help us, dressed up nicely (meaning showered and did not wear sweat pants as usual) and -braving sideways flying sleet- got into a cab. Only to find out that the accountant had left to pick up his sick daughter at school. Which is totally fine.
But he did not remember that he was supposed to meet with us.
At all.
There was no message, no nothing. Made us feel sort of like we did not want to put our entire economy in his hands.
Then, this morning, I read a little article in the news paper about the"sugar tax", a tax which would be put upon sweets and soda etc. This tax follows rapidly a hike in taxation on alcohol and tobacco. According to the writer this sort of taxation is highly patronizing as the taxes are supposedly meant to defer people from buying those items, as if we are incapable of making decision concerning our health.
But I usually think about it the other way around, those items do create health problems. Health problems, which in a country with public health care, are paid for by the tax payers any way.
So whether the taxes are patronizing or not, they do help pay for the treatment of the problems the products create.
The interesting question is perhaps could we implement this sort of taxation more?
Lower the taxes for low income wage earners and hike taxes on things that are clearly luxury items? Like gas guzzling cars that destroy our environment.
I am sure any economist on auto pilot would tell me that encouraging spending is ABC in a healthy economy, but the fact is that the low income earners wouldn't buy luxury items anyway. They cannot afford to. The high income earners don't care.

Effing Cable Company

2004-12-07T18:09:00.000Z

I HATE THE CABLE COMPANY NOW MORE THAN EVER.
Is there an evil school out there where they train their personnel?
You know when you are on hold, for like half an hour? They aren't really busy, no it is all part of their tactics to wear you down.
You know how they transfer you between equally inept people?
Also part of their over all scheme.
And then the kicker: Six weeks ago they totally messed with us, but in order to make good they promised us some extra channels. Well guess what? Of course they went back on their word.
So I call to complain and because I cannot remember THE NAME of the person who promised me this, we now will not get what she said we would. INSTEAD the stupid disgusting person stared giving me some sermon: "This is the problem with society today, everybody wants something for free..."
Are you kidding me with this sh*t? I waited on hold for close to an hour for THIS?! I f*cking pay my f*cking bills and this is what you feel like saying?!
OK Just venting...phew...ok much better. I hope they go belly up.
Which they will fairly soon if the papers are right.
I will laugh.

Baby, it's Dark Outside

2004-12-06T10:05:00.000Z

You guys, it is 10 am and it is still dark outside. Must get helmet with a lamp attached on it.

Busted

2004-12-02T14:34:00.000Z

Titties, boobs, chest, bosom, breasts, big bags of wheateena, the twins, melons.
The obsession with breasts is peculiar. To me it makes just about as much sense as being consumed with hands or belly buttons, yet the chest fixation is socially acceptable and even lauded in media.
Sure, most babies start out being sustained by this very part of the female body but, if you think about it, the same goes for the belly button.
I can also understand the erotic appeal of the breast, it is soft- like a neat pillow- and often reacts favorably to stimuli, which granted, the belly button does not. But other than that, what is the big deal?
Breast Augmentation was in the top five surgical cosmetic plastic surgery procedures in 2003, with just over a quarter million reported.
82% of people who have cosmetic surgery are women. That is a HUGE gender discrepancy, folks.
Before I continue, I should admit to having had my teeth done. I have an overbite and my parents refused to let me to have braces. They thought I should wait until my head had caught up with the size of my overbite. But nothing could ever catch up with the size of my overbite
and I ended up having fairly large gaps between my teeth and the gaps really annoyed me.
Some years ago I was able to have the gaps "sculpted" which took less than two hours, caused no pain and no suffering and had no side effects except I now get foods stuck in my teeth. I often forget to floss. I therefore am fully capable of walking around for a whole day with something stuck in my teeth.
Yeah, real fancy and glam.
The other thing I should admit is that I was a 34D by the time I was 14, and it was hell. Being groped by teenage boys is hell. Having people stare at your breasts when you are too young to tell them to go to hell, is hell.
But not being to accept one's own body is even worse.
I think most people find charisma and self confidence far more attractive than the size of breasts or any other body part. So why are we obsessed?
Part of it is "image bombardment". We are continually bombarded with images of perfection. Even now, when we know how easy it is to photoshop Keira Knightley's chest, we don't get it. There are very few women who actually look like the photo shopped picture of Keira Knightly, probably less than 1%. The rest of us have this that an the other thing that keep us out of that league, just like we can't all be members of Mensa or paint like Odd Nerdrum. But how often do we hear people say "Tag nabbit! I wish I was way smarter so I could make better investments and make more money!" One of the main reasons for this is the skewed flow of information. The "1% body-fabs" are disproportionately featured in media. We see their pictures so often that we actually think there are more of them and eventually start thinking that we should look like them.
Meanwhile, the beauty industry is making $160 billions-a-year, globally.
I should probably start investing in it, I'd rather make money off of them than have them make money off of my insecurities.

PS. Ask for any advice you need!

Free Advice

2004-12-01T14:35:00.000Z

Last time I was in New York, we took a walk through Central Park. There were the usual suspects: roller-bladers, kids, dogs, tourists and various stands offering roasted nuts, pretzels and free advice. I really wanted to stop by the free advice stand and ask them what to do with my life. But as I was with a group of people, I felt too embarrassed.
Half an hour ago I glanced through the latest issue of Psychology Today and saw a little snippet on these people offering free advice in NYC.
Here is my problem: I have always been good at giving advice, yet I have never thought of using this skill for anything else than annoying my friends.
I am not a licensed therapist nor a member of the clergy, but my mom and step dad often used me as their designated referee. Yeah, they did end up divorcing, but that is what I told them when I was nine, they just didn't listen.
From now on you can ask me anything you want and I will give you advice.
Ask away.

Family Values

2004-11-30T15:54:00.001Z

Growing up, I was one of two pupils in my year at school whose parents were divorced. We lived in a small town and in those days it simply wasn't done. Later, in my teens, we had not only moved to a bigger city where it was much more common, but also there seemed to be a veritable divorce wind sweeping through my friends' homes.
But for a couple of years in elementary school I was certainly an anomaly. As for my own remembrance of the divorce it really wasn't at all bad, I don't think I really thought about it. Until other people would talk to me about it. Other people being well meaning grown ups who thought it was horrible that I was from a broken home. Perhaps they were scared that I would bring some unsavory element to their well organized lives?
While I certainly did not have a fairy tale childhood, I am convinced that there were much more sinister things going on in those "un-divorced" households than in my mess of a home. Yet I was often made to feel like I should be ashamed of my family simply because my parents had gotten a divorce.
I cannot help but think of this when I hear people talk about family values and morals. We have such a stagnant idea of what a family is that we reject those who break that pattern. A child who is made to feel ashamed about their background and family will be hurt and probably will be troubled at some point, but not for the reasons that the morally correct would believe. Children are often remarkably perceptive, if we pass judgment on the choices of others so will they. A child who is constantly told how bad their family is, will certainly start to think so.
How dare we pass judgment on single parents/gay parents/divorced parents etc? How dare we claim that a family cannot be good and loving and nurturing simply because it fails to fit into a ridiculous mold that is not only outdated, but probably never existed to begin with?
I am indeed concerned for the moral fabric of people who are unable to see the damage they inflict on young lives with their judgmental behavior.

Signs that Iceland is Still a Small Nation

2004-11-27T20:15:00.000Z

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

2004-11-26T19:01:00.000Z

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

2004-11-23T16:05:00.000Z

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?

2004-11-21T01:01:00.000Z

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.

Thanks a Bunch Mr Edison

2004-11-18T14:50:00.000Z

Apparently people used to sleep nine hours a night before the electric light bulb came along and kept us artificially awake until the wee hours. Words cannot describe how relieved I was when I read this, since I have been ashamed of my sleeping habits for years.
However, if I were to follow the natural day light schedule in Iceland, I would soon be sleeping not so much nine hours a night, as twenty. In the summer of course, I would not sleep at all from June 1st till July 20th. Not super practical. Would make helmet use mandatory.
When we relocated to Reykjavik we made an uncharacteristic attempt to get fit - an attempt we quickly abandoned for much needed couch sitting/lounging/sleeping- and decided to go swimming. On the way to the local pool we met a child walking by itself in the absolute darkness. Both of us instinctively worried why a young child was walking all alone in the dark, until we remembered that it was 9. 30 in the morning and the kid was probably on the way to school.
Even though I spent most of my childhood on the 64th parallel, I never quite got used to the wild light swings. I get very uppity in the light times, very tired in the darkness.
In an effort to control the light I use one of those ridiculous eye masks in the summer. Yes, yes I look like a drunk movie star when I sleep.
For our winter blues The Husband made us a daylight lamp which we soon realized has to be used with the utmost care. Leave it on too long and The Husband turns into a spastic puppy and I into jell-o that sees pink spots in her peripheral vision.
Soon enough I will mention the C word. The C-word is needed in the dark that engulfs this island in midwinter. But I won't bring it up until I absolutely have to. The fact that the C-word is being pushed and pandered as early as October makes me irate, it ruins it for me.
Of course the city of Reykjavik disagrees and the C-word ornamental lights already adorn some of the main streets.
Remember to thank Mr. Edison when your neighbor puts up the entire electric C-word gang, reindeer and all, in the front yard.

Damned if You Do and Damned if You Don't

2004-11-15T11:16:00.000Z

Elementary school teachers in Iceland were on strike for a total of eight (8) weeks. On saturday the Althingi passed a law effectually making the strike illegal, thereby forcing the teachers back to work. Without a new deal.
A teacher who has taught for thirty years makes less than a meter maid.
Yet the media has been quite negative in their portrayal of the teachers' ordeal, leaving them to defend themselves constantly. Many seem to think that what we have here is some sort of club of overpriviledged ladies arguing over the size of crumpets who should stop whining and focus on the value of their jobs. Children are the future and their education is of the utmost importance. Again, the inconsistency of this argument seems to bother no-one.

I'd venture to say that at the core of this problem is the fact that about 80% of teachers are women. Angry women, be it feminists, teachers or wives, seem to provoke people quite a bit. Although I rarely buy into freudian theories, perhaps there is some sort of mother complex going on here? A need to punish the authoritarian mother figure? A need to put her in her place?

When trying to figure out what is at the bottom of the gender based pay gap some have pointed out that women are less skilled at negotiating higher salaries for themselves. What if we turn it around? What if we say that people in charge react less favorably when women ask for what is rightfully theirs? And this in turn creates an environment where women are less likely to stick to their demands.
Unless, of course, parliament steps in and makes their salary and benefit negotiations illegal.

I say, lets get rid of the pesky teachers altogether and send in the meter maids. They have to know the basic math, spelling and reading. In stead of vasting valuable money teaching the little critters Phys.Ed. we can use the kids to hand out parking violations. I'm sure fewer people would argue with a cute eight year old than a meter maid and eventually we could run schools with profit.

Octopussy

2004-11-13T11:16:00.000Z

Once upon a time Iceland was a colony, a mere slab of land that increased the geographical size of the Kingdom of Denmark. The Danish rulers imposed strict isolation on the island to keep the islanders from getting any ideas. Literally, getting ideas from abroad and becoming aware of any notion that they could change the balance of power.
Luckily, ever so often Algerian, Portuguese and other European fishermen/sailors/pirates managed to mix up the gene pool to prevent the islanders from developing three eyes and extra limbs.
Eventually, as with so many other colonies, the island gained independence. The year was 1944 and some might suggest that the fact that Denmark was occupied by Germany at the time somehow made it easier to secede the union of some 600 years.
As with so many other former colonies, one of the political parties was, and still is, named the Independence Party.
This conservative party has pretty much been in charge ever since. Their politicians read like a family tree and a who's who of Icelandic business. This clique of rulers was aptly nicknamed The Octopus by the public. The name evoking the many arms of society that was governed by a slippery body sitting smack dab in the middle of things.
Cartels, monopolies and nepotism was the preferred way of doing business. Violence was not necessary as it was so simple to ruin a person's reputation and finances in such a small society. It happened to quite a few people. But like anybody in a violent relationship will tell you, you don't see it when it is happening to you.
In 1994 a small window opened up. The island joined the EEA, an economic agreement for the countries that didn't want the full EU membership but kind of wanted to sort of to be part without really being part of it.
And suddenly The Octopus couldn't do whatever they wanted any more. They had to follow international laws and obligations.
The shock. The horror. The newly found principle of competitive pricing.
What? Let the consumers shop where they feel like they are getting the best price?
What? Transparency?
The Icelandic oil companies scoffed and scorned, oil cartels are a well known fact of business and surely this silly little EEA thingy didn't apply to them. And even so, they were good old Octopussy boys, one of them was married to the then minister of Justice (and Ecclesiastical Affairs... "Thou shalt not steal" from the public by keeping petroleum prices unusually high?), surely nothing bad would happen to them? Just to be safe they kept their internal pricing agreements secret and made sure that their friends kept Iceland's Commission on Competitiveness starved for funding and staff.
It was all for naught. Last week the Commission found that the three major oil companies had conspired to keep oil prices high.
All is well that ends well. Or?
The major players in this game have not been sentenced to anything. I doubt they will.
The only one who has taken a real beating over this issue, used to be a Marketing Director at one of the companies before he became the Mayor of Reykjavik. He resigned last Tuesday.
He wasn't the president of a company, nor VP, nor CFO, but Marketing Director. Even though he would have sat in on a few meetings, he would hardly have been considered a major player.
His biggest crime is that he was never in the Independence Party.

Wuthering Heights

2004-11-11T11:15:00.000Z

It had to happen eventually.
I have been hinting at it, perhaps sowing the seeds subliminally?
There were steps that led to this final decision. The husband and I had already taken certain security measures, promising each other not to use the ladder on our own, to make sure that other people were always present.
But then, the final - inevitable?- step.
Yesterday I wore my helmet indoors all day.

Explanation: I was perched on top of a 2 meter (6.5 feet) ladder painting our 4 meter (13 feet) ceiling.
It is a life long dream come true. Not so much the painting or ladder part, but the crazy high ceiling.
LOVE IT.
I'd paint it with a mascara brush if I'd have to. Considering I hardly use my mascara at all these days, it might be money well spent. How does nearly black sound?
No? Ok. I'll stick with white.

Like seeks Like

2004-11-10T10:47:00.000Z

Changing our own ways is way way harder than critizing other people's ways. Way.
Just as the US seems to have a grand democratic plan for the rest of the world - to be forced upon people by means of war if necessary (the mother of oxymorons if ever there was one) - democracy seems to be taking a beating in its own back yard.
The Christian Right fails to see the obvious resemblance between them and other fundamentalists. There should be a club, FU (Fundamentalists United - what were you thinking, you dirtyminded you?). FU are the same everywhere, wanting to impose their article of faith onto the articles of law.
It may be difficult for people in the US to see just how seriously threatened their civil liberties are, but it is similarly difficult for us in Iceland to accept that things we consider normal are actually undermining the democracy process.
We are in a continual blind spot when it comes to democracy at home. It is much easier for us to spot the the stains on the US political shirt, to be outraged by human suffering in the Middle East, or shake our heads in disdain for racism on the rise in Europe.
We do not see that we re-elected the very politicians that affixed us to the Coalition of the Willing, making us as culpatory as the people who voted for Bush. We are entirely comfortable with the human suffering inside Icelandic homes. We are totally fine with a law that makes it almost impossible for foreigners to move to Iceland on their own accord, yet easy for Corporations to import low wage workers to do the dirty work, only to be spit out when the job is done.
We are, like, just as bad. Like totally.

Wrapped in Plastic

2004-11-08T15:38:00.008Z

In Iceland, all magazines are wrapped in plastic to prevent them from being thumbed through by exasperated shoppers waiting while the person in front of them argues with the cashier over the price of sheep heads. But the magazines are nonetheless on display at the register.
Amongst them the latest codswallop of Icelandic male chauvinism. This magazine is probably what most people would consider akin to Playboy on the porn-o-meter. Basically a sad display of women conjuring up the most uncomfortable positions imaginable, interjected with "articles".
A while ago, some FI (Feminists of Iceland) members took to the stores and put stickers on the plastic wrap in protest to have to look at women being degraded every time they shop for food.
This has caused a whirlwind of protests.
To be clear one point, I should say that I don't actually agree with this particular action, simply because as far as publicity goes this one is tricky to defend.
But once again, the reaction is absolutely ridiculous and filled with superlatives. Extremist being a favorite word used to describe FI members.
Extremist?
I find it disturbing that this rather peaceful - perhaps even amusing- action of civil courage against the almighty Krona is perceived as extreme, whilst the human slave trade that feeds the porn industry merely gets a minute lift of an eyebrow.
Extremist?
My point of view, expressed in what is supposed to be a free society, is considered extreme, whilst a whole magazine dedicated to male chauvinism is utterly normal.
Pathetic.

Morally Sound

2004-11-05T17:11:00.000Z

Alright, time to wipe the dirt off my knees and rinse my mouth and kiss away those last tears with a good giggle.
Apparently voters voiced concerns about morals, well how about NOT VOTING for the guy with very dubious business connections then? Hi! Remember a little company called Enron? No? The man who inexplicably wears a square box mounted on his back and makes most 5-year olds seem like word wizards, has a record history of off morals.
But then of course I am a freak who thinks that all children (at least) should have free health care.
The one thing that has really peaked during this presidency is the oddity of Talk Radio. For those readers not familiar with this American phenomenon it is basically your typical rantings of a right-wing-middle-aged-hysterical-male-who-fears-for-his-position-in-society and therefore dismisses any change as LIBERAL.*
You can pretty much count on them opposing anything from research funding (esp. If it has anything to do with sexual behavior or women), gay rights, women's rights, animal rights, foreigner's rights, foreigner's rights even when the foreigner is minding his own dog gone foreign business in his own foreign country and of course - the one that always makes people listen extra carefully- taxes.
In a country where people spend tremendous amounts of time going to and from places in their cars, talk radio is nothing short of a wickedly efficient propaganda machine. These radio hosts are capable of drawing parallels between murdering bogey men and liberals with more ease than most of us breathe.
Usually goes something like this: "Liberal Politicians today okeyed using tax payers' money to research the behavior of violent rapists. What is there to research? Lock them up for life and throw away the key."
They manage to use the words "liberal", "taxpayers money" and "violent rapists" in one sentence, usually omitting the fact that the part funded by tax money is only a small % of the total cost or perhaps even just the cost of conducting the research in a jail, which is publicly funded anyway. Or omitting that by doing this research one might find a way to define behavioral patterns that eventually might lead to fewer rapes.
One of their most efficient tools is accusing the media of being liberally biased or slanted thereby effectively null and voiding any other media coverage of the same issues.
This is why being liberal is a BAD thing. It is not morally right.

PS. Anyone who can explain the origins of the phrase "to hell in a handbasket" will get honorable mention. Perhaps even be named Helmet Head of the Week. Perhaps.

*Liberal here is not to be confused with liberitarians, as in the individualist/socio-economic movement.

November 3rd 1987

2004-11-04T19:00:00.000Z

The paper.
The paper had to have a margin and numbered pages. It had to be researched, we were allowed to bring the data with us, but like later, when we were all grown up and at university, we would have to provide a list of sources.
It was absolutely thrilling. So grown up. So much responsibility. The ruler and pencils, the eraser for words that didn't look right.
The exhilarating responsibility of unlimited time. We could stay in school all day, hours and hours, into the evening.
We wrote.
I wrote from 11.45 on until about 3 PM when most people started leaving. I continued, occasionally erasing long passages only to rewrite them with nothing but minor changes. At 4 PM the teacher left, the remaining ambitious clique feeling like genius writers.
I stared for a good hour or so. And wrote some more.
The few who were left, my friend, myself and a couple of the boys started relaxing, some even reading each other's papers. However, competitive as we were, there was no cheating. Only appreciating nods and false praise.
I was very old that day, much older I than I have ever been since. I was a star that day. I was the queen of the classroom, I was dating the richest boy in town and had been for all of three weeks. My shoulders had shoulder pads and my hair, ah the hair, bigger than most pets allowed in apartment buildings.
And I loved every second of it. I loved that my friend and I were the last ones to leave. I loved that it was dark out when we left. I loved that the bus was nearly empty because it was past rush hour. I loved that the family had long eaten dinner when I got home. I loved any and every excuse not to be at home and this was what I thought my life would always be. A great excuse not to be at home, doing something very important.
I loved that my boyfriend, the richest boy in town called me.
I did not love that he, like so many after him, dumped my ass.
Then I called my friend that I had just left at the school. I was not in love half as much as I was enraged that he had dumped me and that I would have to face ridicule the next day.

Yesterday.
November 3rd 2004.
I could not write yesterday. There was nothing to say. Nothing fit for print at least.
I was beat, exhausted. Luckily Agent Language Genius (hereafter ALG for short) had brought a fantastic chocolate cake to the communal watching of what can only be described as highly disturbing election coverage. The cake, and the thought of the cake, carried me through the day and into the evening.
And I felt a strong urge to nest, to build my lair in defense of a world that makes very little sense to me.
Luckily, I now love my home. I do just about everything I can to stay at home.
And my husband, a man I love for himself and not for his status or standing in society, has not dumped me.
Perhaps because I have stopped the use of shoulder pads and hairspray?

No title as Writer is Incredibly Angry and Disappointed

2004-11-03T13:45:00.000Z

Too pissed off to comment.
Plus the frigging the light inside microwave oven broke.

Status Report, Halloween

2004-10-31T13:09:00.000Z

Agent: Freezer Burn
Location: The Northernmost Capital in the World
Date: Halloween 2004, or locally known as Sunday-October-31st-nothing-special.
Time: Uncertain, perhaps GMT? Very confusing as rugged island does not make daylight savings changes either way.
Updated Items:

Microwave/Grill/Convection Oven
Flooring
Bathtub
Cable Box
Yoga Mat
Mood
Halloween

1. Microwave/Grill/Convection Oven. Phone call made to store Saturday ensured the swift exchange of item. Frantic Instant Message to only person with car, namely Agent Language Genius, for pick-up of myself and item, drive to store and back. Propose Agent Language Genius be awarded a Medal for courage when faced with Whiny Store Clerk and Register Failure, not to mention impeccable Car Service and Friendship.

2. Flooring. Agent Husband hard at work, having almost finished the last room. Deserves Medal, was awarded with delicious food from new oven and Agent Freezer Burn's Vocal Admiration.

3. Bath Tub. In working order after a second round of potion being poured down the drain. Resulted in Agent Freezer Burn scrubbing entire bathroom. Bathroom finally more hospitable although not recommended for future use without serious reconstruction.

4. Cable Box. Still not up to par although now, at least, the reason is known. BBC should be tuned in any day now and S1 will never be tuned in as they refuse to be part of the package. The effect of this will be unforeseeable problems with VCR and plugging and unplugging of cables.

5. Yoga Mat. Used for the first time in New Location. Works perfectly.

6. Mood. Much much better. May be thwarted by Elections.

7. Halloween. Non-existent. Although, Agent Husband and Agent Freezer Burn were kindly invited to Halloween Party last night. Being very very lazy, both Agents declined the invitation and stayed at home watching movies on cable.

Over and Out.

Episode 46

2004-10-29T21:37:00.000Z

In yesterday's episode of "Locked in the Fridge" our Dashing Princess was was cursed by the Wicked Wizard of Cable and in order to lift the curse she was told to make a special trip to Faraway Land to pick up a Magic Box.

Earlier that day a friendly witch had flown into town and requested an audience in the new palace.

Our Fearless Heroine went to sleep after pouring a magical potion into the bathtub to loosen up the horrific block that had ruined her morning showers.

Today's Episode of LOCKED IN THE FRIDGE brought to you by Jacob's, the Makers of Jacob's Fig Rolls and Jacob's Cream Crackers.

The Princess awoke to a dreary morning, knowing that she would have to catch one of the Yellow Pumpkin Wagons to go to Faraway Land. She washed herself in the bathtub noticing - as the grimy water reached her knees - that the magical potion had not worked at all. She decided that such a slip of bad luck would not ruin her day. Braving the icky muggly weather curse, she walked briskly to the Pumpkin stop, only to realize that she had just missed one.
So she waited.
The next Pumpkin was not only late, but dreadfully slow and made her trip to Faraway Land even longer. Picking up the Magic box was easy, it seemed that the goblins of The wicked Wizard of Cable had been told to smile and hand the Magic Box over without making trouble. She happily turned to make the trip back, hardly noticing the pissing rain finding its way down the small gap between her collar and her neck. She was even blissfully arrogant about the fact that a Pumpkin whizzed right by her as she approached the stop. Instead, she turned around and went to pick up delicious treats from the nearby village market.
Once seated, although not very securely, on the Pumpkin, a Carrier Pigeon came flying towards her with an important message from the Friendly Witch. However, just as the Heroic Princess was unraveling the message, the Carrier Pigeon ran out of Juice and fell dead to the ground.
Not knowing what the message from the Friendly Witch was, the Princess rushed home with the Magic Box and all her packages from the market. Once home, she was greeted by a letter in her electronic mail informing her that the Friendly Witch had to cancel the audience.
Perturbed by the fact that she had rushed out of bed in order to be able to pick up the Magic Box before the arrival of the Friendly Witch, our Heroine sulked around the palace for a while.
Then she decided that playing with the Magic Box might pick her up. The Handsome Prince climbed down from his Ivory Tower to help her open the Box. Alas the Magic Box turned out to be less than Magic. It did not bring her images from her two favorite places such as BBC or S1.
She sent Carrier Pigeon after Carrier Pigeon to Faraway Land but to no avail, until finally one came back and told her to simply connect two cables. This did not help.
Finally she decided that it would have to suffice and gave up.
Now, in a frightful mood, she went to the kitchen. Perhaps some lovely focaccia with fresh mozzarella would lift her spirits.
That was how she found out that the newly purchased Swift Oven was entirely broken.
Luckily, shortly thereafter her Sister, the Princess of Handball, contacted her and they had a lovely chat.

Otherwise the Princess might have unleashed her terrible powers and nobody would have been safe from her wrath.

Will her Magic Box work or will the Princess have to make another trip to Faraway Land?
Will her Swift Oven be easily exchangeable or will our Heroine have to use her powers on the sales minion?
Will the Prince survive on a diet of Cinnamon Buns?

STAY TUNED for the next episode of:
LOCKED IN THE FRIDGE

Thwack Thwack

2004-10-28T17:16:00.000Z

Thwack.
a. It seems impossible for me to link others. Have made several attempts and apparently There were errors. Or so it says. Am convinced this is revenge for my making fun of "the internets"- Bulgy! Listen, I'm sorry I made fun of your lack of technical knowledge.

b. Due to move we decided to finally cave in and get cable. New place is far away from any half decent video rental place. We sorely miss our old one which was not only around the corner, but had incredibly good prices and a decent updated selection. The following discussion took place an hour ago between myself (E) and cable person (CP), over the phone (it was preceded by radio instead of Muzak)
---
E: Hi, I was wondering, we seem unable to find a couple of the stations, we set the descrambler and we had them at one point but now they seem to have vanished, I was wondering...
CP: Yes, do you know which ones?
E: National Geographic, well...some of the music stations... as well as Fox Kids, not that we really care but...
CP: Yes, National Geographic is off the air.
E: But what, why?
CP: Have you heard of Digital Iceland?
E: Yes...
CP: Because we are changing over to Digital Iceland all stations bar six will be off the air by tomorrow.
E: But I only signed on with you 20 days ago, I called you like a million times because we had an old descrambler and then we had to make a special trip to pick up a new descrambler and NOBODY even mentioned this.
CP: You can come and pick up a new digital descrambler tomorrow here in Lynghals, if you want.
E: How much is it?
CP: Since you don't have a 12 month deal...
E: I DO HAVE a 12 month deal.
CP: Really? According to the computer you don't.
E: I do.
CP: Oh. Let me change that. Ok, then the new digital box is free of charge.
E: But I have to come all the way out there to pick it up? I don't have a car.
CP: You can wait, if you want. Between the 5th and the 10th we will have operators going around installing new digital boxes and picking up the old ones free of charge.
E: But we especially need the cable news stations next week.
CP: For the elections, you mean.
E: Yes.
CP: We will be showing CNBC free of charge during election night.
E: But not CNN?
CP: No.
E: BBC?
CP: No.
E: But that was part of the reason we signed on to begin with.
CP: Then you should come and pick up a cable box.
E: You realize, it is quite far, I don't have a car and I only just picked up the other box.
CP: I'm sorry but the company can't keep track of whether or not people have a car.
E: That is hardly the point. The point is I only got this 20 days ago and nobody even mentioned that I might have to exchange it or that stations were going to be shut off. I mean...
CP: To make up for that we are offering the new digital channels for the same price as the old ones. You get 32 instead of 12. For three months.
E: But I don't need that many, I just want the ones I signed up for...Never mind.
---
I am being punished for my previous blogs, I swear.
BTW, explosive stuff- play the video.

27

2004-10-27T19:55:00.000Z

Days have passed since I promised to look into the whole blog rolling thingy. I'm a dumbass. I don't get it. The search for a better equipped brain continues.

New York City

2004-10-26T17:26:00.002Z

Is still the best city in the world. At the risk of sounding like a speaker at the GOP convention, I have to say, NYC rocks.
No matter how blah I felt about going there, it is always refreshing and revitalizing to be there (the months after 9.11 excluded).
I can happily announce that the aviophobia seems to have disappeared, so there was no need for handsome pilots slapping me across the face. Besides, the captain was female, so it would have just turned into a cat fight.
I had a couple of true NYC moments, most of them involving pizza in some form or another.

There was the full out screaming-fest between a customer and a waitress at the pizza place we had dinner at Friday night after being all cultural and having drinks at the Met.
There was the guy who scared the sh*t out of me only to hand me the glove I dropped (happened right after two slices of white pie, so it counts).
There was the older, like much older, guy hitting on my friend The Grouch while The Grouch and I were trying to have pizza. He was complaining about the Yankees losing AND telling us how he likes to sit in the window seats to watch the girls . Since The Grouch is not only married but hates baseball intensely and we like to eat without gross comments about male ogling techniques, the guy had three strikes and was out the second he opened his mouth.
There were tons and tons of Kerry buttons, stickers and flags and only two Bush supporters as far as I noticed, one sitting next to me having pizza (argh and no, not gross baseball guy). The other was walking in the East Village, and only a suicidal maniac would endorse the GOP in the East Village, so perhaps he doesn't count.
A lot of time was spent rummaging through stores for stuff for the new home, and my anal retentive streak got some serious quality time at The Container Store, & Bed, Bath and Beyond. Other than that I tried not to be too material. To no avail, we had an extra suitcase on the way home. But honestly, I only bought things we really needed, like a fancy new salad spinner.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? I may be all like "Share the wealth!" but I am just a greedy little bugger at heart.
The Grouch and I got in some hours of staring into space and eating, which is the best measure of true friendship for me. The more relaxed silent staring the better.
By the weekend The In Laws arrived and we had a good time, walking around, catching a movie, and having really good food and, yes, pizza.
All in all a true NYC experience: a smidgen of rudeness, a pinch of sirens, a little culture, some shopping, a whole lot of love and tons of pizza.

Whether the Weather is Normal

2004-10-18T13:54:00.000Z

- Compliments and Complaints, good morning. How may I direct your call?
- Um, I don't know, uh, the weather is just really weird.
- One moment, please hold.
Muzak.
- Curses and Miracles. This is Vanessa speaking, how may I help you?
- Oh I don't know if this is the right department.
- What seems to be the problem, Miss?
- I prefer Ms.
- Of course you do, all single women over a certain age do. Now what can I do for you today, Miss?
- I'm not single. I simply refuse to be define by my marital status.
- Very good, that is a complaint for the Lamenting Feminist Department, please hold while I redirect your call.
- No! Wait!
Muzak.
- Lamenting Feminists and Other Whiny Liberal Leftist Commie Pinkos. This Sandy speaking, how may I help you?
- I was just going to file a complaint about the weather but I might toss in a line or two about the backlash while I am at it.
- Will that be regarding women's rights, worker's rights or the environment?
- Uh, ok, the Icelandic Minister of Finance appointed four men and no woman to the committee for financial development, just weeks after he appointed yet another man to the Supreme Court even though there were equally qualified women to choose from. There are 7 men and two women serving. That sucks!
- Yes it does. Anything else I can help you with today, miss?
- Well don't you think that is wrong?
- Yes, is there anything else I can do for you, miss?
- Stop calling me miss, prefer Ms.
- Of course you do, all single women over a certain age do.
- No that is not it, I am married, oh for heaven's sake, never mind. The weather is being really weird.
- One moment, please hold while I re-direct your call.
Muzak.
- Curses and Miracles. This is Vanessa speaking. How may I help you?
- Hi Vanessa, we spoke just a minute ago. (pause) Hello?
- Hello. How may I help you today, miss?
- It is snowing. And really cold. Like minus 1 degrees Celsius. Isn't...
- Pardon me for interrupting miss, we use Fahrenheit only on the Heaven Hotline, could you convert that please?
- Oh I think it is like uh, 29 degrees?
- Ahem. And what is your problem with that miss?
- Well it is only October 18th. Isn't that like a month early?
- Where are you calling from?
- Iceland.
- One moment please.
Muzak.
- Hello Miss?
- Yes I am still here.
- Now first let me say that this isn't really the right department for your complaint. Next time ask for "Weather related avenges of biblical proportions" department. But I decided to pull the file on Iceland for you as a favor. According to the computer that weather is correct.
- Really?
- Yes. 60% of first born children in your country are born out of wedlock. You have state run health care and free abortion. We have decided to start the "Smack'em over the head with freaky weather process" early to get folks on the straight and narrow.
- Oh.
- Now will there be anything else, miss?
- Ah. No. No thank you.
- Thank you for calling The Heaven Hotline and have a heavenly day!

Sweden has No Army

2004-10-17T20:20:00.000Z

LOL.
Those of you willing to sign into the NY times online edition must read this side splitting story by Ron Suskind about how Dubya insisted that Sweden has no army.
Reminds me of my Swedish friend who claimed he was too artistic for the Swedish Army and got the army psychologist to agree, thus avoiding entering mandatory service.
That's right, not only does Sweden have an army, but they have mandatory service for all males over 18 (age 16 if the country is at war, which they have avoided for 200 years).
Iceland has no army. Our Minister of Justice and Ecclesiastical Affairs really-really-really wants one to play with - somewhat forgetting the Ecclesiastical part of his job. Suppose Iceland would indeed have an army according to the same percentage most countries have, I think we are looking at somewhere between 150 to 300 soldiers.
I may be wrong, as I do not remember the numbers exactly, but I think most people would expect Iceland to have a fairly small army due to the minute size of the population. So would it then be fiscally responsible to have an army, that by size alone would be rendered impotent, on the off chance that some the twisted country with serious ego issues really-really-really wants to go to war with us?
Or worse, being in The Coalition of the Willing, would it be ethically responsible to send our young men and women half way across the world to die for oil?

Come Fly with Me

2004-10-17T01:22:00.000Z

Last night we watched one of the funniest movies I have ever seen; Come Fly with Me.
Actually, I watched this romp in technicolor extravaganza while The Husband was obsessing further about bushy bulges - right next to me on the couch thanks to our wireless Internet(s).
Wireless Internet rocks. Rocks the boat too, as only the laptop is hooked to it and we sometimes squabble over whose turn it is. He tends to forget that it is supposedly MY LAPTOP.
Come Fly with Me is one of those movies that must have been barely credible when it was made in 1963 - or so I assume, since 1963 is before my time - but in this day and age it is utterly bizarre. It tells the tale of three stewardesses, their well cut suits and freakish romances. There is diamond smuggling, German accents and slapping of hysterical women (a custom that surely must reappear soon as it seems so practical). Furthermore the story has plenty of innuendo and chastity concerns. Obviously the only one who gets in real trouble is the slutty blonde who spends the night in a hotel room with an Austrian. And the skanky ho smokes cigarettes in the airplane to boot! Remember those days when the smoking section of any airplane was total party central? Ah, the smell.
We're about to do some flying ourselves. Going off to the big ol' US of A. And right now I can think of about a gazillion other places I'd rather be in. The new apartment topping that list.
The election hype. The the election campaign. The commercials. The terror alert that surely will be elevated to purple magenta in order to instill maximum fear.
But there is family business to attend to and there is no changing it.
I just wish Icelandair had snazzy turquoise uniforms or at least a dashing pilot that will come out and slap me if/when I get hysterical.
Yessireebob, I am prone to aviophobia, I just thank the Good Whomever for small favors - she/he/it didn't bestow me with the gift of ablutophobia.

Facts by the Pound

2004-10-14T10:21:00.000Z

Being in Iceland means presidential debates are shown at 1 AM. Then add my thinking about presidential debate for a couple of hours and the result is; Not enough sleep. Enter previously mentioned sneezing and hollow feeling.
Kerry did well, there were a few nails he could have hammered in better, such as giving the date for Bush's saying that he wasn't all that worried about Bin Laden.
“I just don’t think I ever said I’m not worried about Osama bin Laden,” Bush said. “It’s kind of one of those exaggerations.”
Is this a wise reply?
I remember that quote very well, mostly because it was such an obvious segue to Saddam, but also because it was such a cop out. They couldn't catch the culprit and they were peeved, and W. Did what I do when I am peeved at people, I diminish their importance. Which is petty enough if you are dealing with the phone company or the infuriatingly slow cashier at the super market, but someone who just masterminded a horrifyingly simple and deadly attack on your country? Not petty - but perilous.
Also has me a wee bit worried that W. Couldn't remember that he said that, was there serious loss of oxygen during the pretzel incident?
There was an interesting trend in W.'s answers, every single time the economy, the loss of jobs and the economic reality of middle class America was brought up, he scuttled off and started talking about education and no child left behind. I mean every single time, it was kind of strange to see it.
W. Did a lot of pulpit pounding. Slam-slam-slam went his hand. Kind of like he was on Jeopardy. Didn't anyone tell him that it was a debate with predetermined speaking regulations?
I'm thinking his hand must be hurting today.
So is mine, but not from slamming pulpits, but from priming impossible to paint walls. Ugh.

Battle of the Bulge

2004-10-12T01:20:00.000Z

Interesting how nobody at the White House nor at the Bush/Cheney re-election headquarters has actually denied that G.W was wired. All responses so far have been counter-questions and bad jokes. Seriously, all they have to do is issue a statement to the fact that he receives no radio transmissions during the debates and that will be the end of that .
Ah, but then wasn't the issue with President Clinton not that he had had a little fun on company time but that he lied about it?
My own personal bulge is currently located on the upper left corner of my forehead. It emerged after unpleasant encounter with a clothes hook in the wall of the laundry room. Am considering starting to wear my trusty helmet indoors. However, cannot fit helmet over bump on the head at the moment.
Other honorable bulges can be found in our our dirty laundry after about a week of no washer.
Mt. Esja, Reykjavik's local bulge depicted on various postcards, plates and water colors of questionable quality , got its first sprinkling of snow last night. The best part of that story is that our new apartment has a fab view of it.

Non-bulgy locations are:

Bank account, thanks to our sponsoring of IKEA, rental car and food delivery places.
Bathroom cabinets, as there are none.
Walk-in closet - laundry room hook-smooch put a dent in my plans to swiftly organize wardrobe... All clothes in boxes or dirty. Am beginning to smell interestingly, that arresting mix of card board and dust is simply irresistible.

I can account for all of my bulges or non-bulges. Can you?

Internets?

2004-10-09T10:41:00.000Z

Where are the other ones? Anyone? Is there a club I don't know about? What does it take to join?
G. W. "Bulges" Bush had some choice moments in last night's debate, like when he attacked moderator Charles Gibson of all people, demanding that he be given speaking time when it was clearly not his turn.
The rumors on the "Internets" is that he is being fed his lines by Karl Rove which considering his behavior and somewhat off timing, is plausible. I don't know that I want to buy every conspiracy theory invented by loners in log cabins, but this one wouldn't surprise me one bit.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, The Husband single handedly built us a floor this week. Yesterday we painted it and it is so very beautiful.
I am a very lucky gal.

We ache. A lot.

2004-10-07T22:58:00.000Z

When moving in Iceland, first make sure there is no construction crane placed in the drive way leading to your house. Obviously this is something every semi functional person knows. We, being dimwits, did not.
This week we have; painted two rooms, ripped out four carpets, "acid washed" (not quite, but it sounds cool) a wall, had various people come in, look around and shake their heads, had dust come out of our ears, managed to buy a fab stainless steel fridge whilst having a cold with a side dish of fever, yelled at various people at the phone company for not setting up our phone line and adsl, yelled at the pizza people for giving us cold limp pizza, tried to disconnect our old internet service at the old apartment without any luck - and absolutely smashingly fallen in love with our new apartment.

Off we go

2004-10-01T15:22:00.000Z

Almost. Movers scheduled for tomorrow at 1300 GMT (+1).
And all is well.
Especially after the Presidential Debate last night. The Husband stayed up to watch it, I read the transcript this morning. Kerry did better than I expected him to, managing to keep composed and gracious, whilst Dubya went on and on about hatred, evil and folks.
Sadly, I don't think it will have the desired effect. It all goes back to the Yabba-dabba-doo mentality - even though Kerry came up with all the right answers and a game plan, Dubya sounds like he is talking with the guys at the ranch. He is clever that way, he totally masks the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and several million silver spoons in the bank.
Moving obviously means blog silence. When I come back I will try to wrap my mind around the whole blog rolling thingy. There are quite a few I want to list.

Note to Self

2004-09-29T17:01:00.000Z

When packing; leaning down to bite off tape because scissors have mysteriously disappeared requires hair to be tied, braided or short.
Hair vs. Jumbo Gaffa Tape is a war without winners.

Sleepy Hollow

2004-09-28T08:53:00.000Z

Am sleepy & hollow inside.
Because of moving. Am a fabulous packer, some might say anal retentive, I say blessed with a divine organizational skill. Problem is the skill does not sleep. It keeps thinking of new and revolutionary ways of sorting things, even when I am so tired I cannot but schlump into bed.
This is day three of less than adequate sleep.
In my teens and twenties I completely ran my sleeping account into the ground. I owe something like a quadrillion hours. Now when I don't get the full 8 hours I turn into grumpy space cadet, bar the afore mentioned organizational skill which takes on an ever so slight fascist undertone ("Why are there off-whites mixed with the whites?"). Also, when I don't get enough sleep, or if I get too much sleep, I sneeze like crazy. Yeah, go figure.
Before you start feeling sorry for my better half, know this; he loves my packing and has come to rely on it. Or so he says. The sneezing he could do without.
Yesterday I found out we get our new apartment two days earlier than originally planned. Of course this threw me into flux capacitor over drive.

Striking Teachers

2004-09-26T10:23:00.000Z

Week nr. 1 of the nationwide teacher's strike is over and there is no end in sight. Icelandic media coverage has portrayed the teachers as being mean and greedy buggers who are destroying a whole generation of Icelandic youth.
A starting salary for a new teacher in Iceland is somewhere around $30 000 (currency today, with USD so ridiculously low) a year. For somebody with a college degree- and no doubt hefty student loans to repay- who has to deal with a roomful of children ALL day. I'd strike just to get some peace and quiet. Knowing me, I'd probably strike the kids.
Sure we all had at least one teacher who made our lives miserable. Mine drove me nuts all through out third grade. I vaguely remember screaming fights and sulking during detention. Odd thing though, last year I was doing a project where interviewing elementary school kids was a vital part, and lo and behold, there she was. There were chills running down my spine. And she recognized me. And she HUGGED me (actually if there is a licensed therapist reading this, please advice on how to deal with that particular trauma).
Turns out, teachers are human, even the ones that seemed like monsters at the time. They eat, ergo they need money like the rest of us. However, they are in a profession where the career ladder is short and the chances of making big bucks are slim to none.
Some years ago I attended my ten year high school reunion. Out of a graduating class of 52, about 17 had gone on to become teachers of some sort.
I know, you are still thinking about the dwarfed size of my graduating class aren't you? Long story short: Language minority school in a country other than Iceland, NOT private. If you'd met my parents you'd know there was no chance of me having gone to private school.
Anyhow, these former classmates were teachers and they were almost all doing various workshops and attending classes to further themselves in order to be better teachers, not to make more money. Not only do they have to remember all that stuff that at least I have forgotten, like GRAMMAR, or biology, but these days they supposed to make sure each child is doing all right, they are supposed to look for signs of abuse, they have to make sure that the internal relationships between the kids is bullying-free and healthy.
In some parts of the world they even have to worry about getting physically hurt in their work place.
They are doing a lot of the work that parents who are out there forging careers and making money tend to forget. It used to be that they had great long vacations, but nowadays they are expected to not only work with planning and such, but also re-educating themselves, taking classes on new policies and methods.
I say giv'em all the money they want. Make sure it becomes a profession of well educated people who really want to be the best teachers they can be.
Which would you rather? That the teacher in front of your kid is thinking about the best way to make your offshoot connect the dots or how to meet next months bills?

There, but for the Grace of -Insert Divinity of Choice- Go I

2004-09-25T17:31:00.000Z

What does one do when faced with ungrateful people?
I don't mean ungrateful in the sense that they didn't thank me for dinner or for the fabulous gift I gave them.
I mean ungrateful in general. Healthy people who have been given every opportunity to succeed, love, create, exist peacefully and yet they feel that life dealt them sucky cards.
It does not help to stomp in with the "Oh-aren't-you-lucky-boots" strapped on.
It does not help to relate to them the horrific trials of other people you know.
It does not help to help at all.
Call too often and you are being disruptive, call seldom and you are being thoughtless.
Can we start a program, I wonder?
A program called "The Big Switch-A-Roo", meaning, these incredibly lucky people who always find something to complain about, can we send them to, say, the Darfur area of Sudan? Or Chechnya? Or Haiti, can we send them there? And instead get somebody who has walked for days in search of food, somebody who has buried most of their family, somebody who has never known what it is to sleep securely.
Mind you, gratefulness is not the same as complacency. Trying to better ones life is not being ungrateful, but can we at least appreciate that anyone capable of reading this on a computer is:

literate
computer literate
connected to the internet
quite possibly rich enough to own a computer

These are things many of us take for granted, when in fact they are sources of great joy.

The richest 25% of the world's population receives 75% of the world's income. The poorest 75% of the population share just 25%. If you live in a household with a computer you definitely belong to the richest 25%.

Stunning facts. Insane, maddening facts that I cannot change, except just do a little Switch-A-Roo that is: "Yeah, you're feeling like being among the 25% of the richest isn't really doing it for you? Well how about a game of The Big Switch-A-Roo? You'll love it."

The Friday Night Cry

2004-09-25T01:03:00.000Z

Getting a good slap across the face is tremendously healthy every now and then. I just watched Beyond Borders with Angelina Jolie and Clive Owen.
The story was kinda, well, borderline balanced & beyond believable. Unfortunately.
And whoever did the styling, did Angelina a disservice by making her look stunning in every picture - I know, not exactly a problem I face every day, but there are situations that call for looking-like-shite in order to be taken seriously. Like, when I wade through hip high snow, I tend to look a little disheveled.
The essence of the movie, is the enormity of the work and sacrifice performed every day by relief workers. This particular film did not make it beautiful, or even all that hopeful. It made me want to go out there and scoop up every child in need and never let anything bad happen to it. It made me cry, not because of starcrossed lovers, but because I do didley squat to ease suffering in the world. Oh, sure I pay off my bad conscience with donations and such, but that is easy.
Truth is, I'm not very good at doing heroic stuff, I'm a coward.
A very lucky one at that. I figure, the least I can do is stop moaning about meaningless stuff.
Um. Yeah. Blogging doesn't count.

Under the Weather

2004-09-21T17:20:00.000Z

Annoying throat itchiness going on day 12. Darned. It never fully blooms into a fabulous cold and never fully goes away. Am also allergic to almost all cures, such as eccinachea etc. The only thing I can really do is inhale ridiculous amounts of garlic.
You bet the husband loves it.
Iceland is the weather. The weather rules everything. Something I kind of miss in other places. Despite its name, Iceland really never gets too cold. And never hot. It just sort of hovers around 10°c (about 50°f) in the summer and around -2°c (29°f) in the winter.
What will make or break your day though, is the wind.
The wind can make any day seem like heaven or hell. Depending on its direction it'll chill your bones or just give a refreshing caress. The wind will turn the smallest amount of rain into horizontal showers that easily make their way into undergarments. The wind can make the nicest looking winter days seem like your ears, eyes and jaw will be found, frozen, somewhere in northern Scotland.
The Grouch claims that Iceland has the coldest weather she has ever encountered. She has lived in Minnesota where temperatures tumble down to -30°c (-26°f). I agree with her. After many winters in Finland where similar temperatures are normal, I know what difference the wind makes. Those über-cold places are rarely windy. The forty six layers of clothing that one is wearing for protection actually do their job. Ok, so maybe your eyelashes freeze. And the snot in your nose, but that is sort of fun.
Today, I left the house feeling slightly under the weather. When I returned, the wind had pretty much beaten me to a pulp.
Must...have...more...garlic...

Divorcing Danes

2004-09-17T18:53:00.000Z

I am 1/8th Danish. It stands to reason then that 1/8th of me - my left leg below the knee, or so - was shocked by the news that prince Joachim and princess Alexandra are getting a divorce. Zzzz...
Wait, what was I saying? Oh right, so they are getting a divorce and guess who gets custody of the kids? That's right, the Queen of course, or, as Alex might say the Queen in-law. How weird would that be?
You get a divorce and your in-laws get the kids. Don't get me wrong, I love my in-laws, but can you imagine being in an emotionally intense state with your ex-spouse and the one calling the shots is his/her mother? Oh the horror.
The kids will apparently continue to live with their mother, so it isn't totally absurd.
All I can say is that in our family this situation would never arise. Nope, we take the much healthier stance of simply never talking to/about whomever was divorced out of the family.
There are members of my family who haven't seen each other for nearly three decades.
Now that is what I call a divorce.

Democracy at Work (in the Workplace)

2004-09-16T13:46:00.000Z

Funny story.
And this is just pathetic. Democracy? What? Who? Where?
I often, believe it or not, defend the US. As far as the globe's third largest nation goes, I guess the US does a better job of ensuring democracy for its citizens than than number one and two, and probably most of the countries in the top ten ranking. No question about that.
But the war in Iraq was way way shady.
Then again Iceland belongs to the Coalition of the Willing thanks to two men, Prime Minister Halldor Asgrimsson and Minister of Foregin Affairs David Oddson (in what can only be described as a weird political hodge podge, the two actually switched Ministries yesterday). More than 90% of the Icelandic population was against the war. But we are also remarkably willing to indulge our politicians and pretty much hop along with anything they tell us.
I would go as far as to say we are indeed a Banana Republic - I suppose a Herring Republic would be more fitting. In a country where you are grateful if you end up marrying somebody you are not related to, nepotism is almost inevitable.
And for that reason alone I really cannot be all high and mighty when it comes to democracy - we ain't doing much better over here.

There is a Smurf on my Turf

2004-09-15T18:03:00.000Z

The fridge is making odd sounds.
Not the virtual one you are reading this very second, but the physical, actual one in our soon to be ex-kitchen.
It started a couple of nights ago when I kept hearing a noise that sounded like somebody was playing on a metal grid.
At first I thought it was the dish rack, and emptied it.
Then, I thought it was one of the kitchen cabinets that has a metal grid shelf, and for a horrifying split second I thought there was a tap dancing rat in it. I've had my fair share of tap dancing rats and can well do without for the rest of my life.
Then I realized it was coming from the fridge. But, like in a bad comedy sketch routine, every time I opened the fridge the sound would stop.
Last night it graduated from a merely audible tapping sound to a full out gargle. Basically it sounded like there was a smurf slurping Jell-o every time I closed the door.
Perhaps the fridge is saying good bye?
Or, rather, considering all we ever kept in there was olive spread and milk, it was saying good riddance?

The sound of, well, not music

2004-09-13T11:32:00.000Z

As far as I can tell there is only one good thing about my husband being away. It does not in any way compensate for the fact that he isn't here, but it provides me with a little joy nonetheless. It isn't that I don't have to fight to sleep under the covers, nor is it the amount of chick flicks I can watch uncensored.
It is the fact that I can sing, because I really cannot sing. I would never inflict such pain and suffering onto anyone as to make them listen to my crooning. But when I am alone, I pull out the old song book and belt away.
Mostly, I destroy old standards such as Pennies from Heaven, Night and Day, pretty much anything from The Sound of Music. There is a repertoire of Swedish songs, psalms and folksongs.
And then there are the National Anthems. Sometimes, I am overwhelmed by this terrible urge to sing National Anthems, my favorites being the Swedish and Finnish ones. Please understand, I am probably the least nationalistic person you will ever meet, but there is something grand about anthems. Even hearing the American one for the umpteenth time at the Olympics has a certain je ne sais quoi. The only one I absolutely cannot sing is the Icelandic one. It is simply impossible to sing for anyone without extensive training.
And it is really depressing.
The last verse is about a small flower with quivering tears. Beautiful, sure, but not the stuff of grand designs.
Then again Icelandic law states that the National Anthem cannot be communicated in any other way except singing. For me to even attempt to do anything with it would probably be a criminal offence.

Obsession

2004-09-09T13:23:00.000Z

Alright, alright, I've been really preachy the last week or so. Sorry about that. Well, not really sorry, more like, I'll take a little break from it, ok?
There is something about September that is very calming. Unless you are me, in which case total obsession about new apartment has worked its way into every living, friggin breathing moment of the day.
Having plenty of wonderful friends is a blessing and many of them have gotten in touch in the past few days, bringing tales of good fortune such as new babies and new jobs. My response?
I HAVE A NEW APARTMENT WE ARE MOVING IT IS SO GREAT I AM SO EXCITED IT HAS A HUGE LIVING ROOM. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? WE OWN AN APARTMENT! WE HAVE TO REDO THE BATHROOM I THINK I MEAN IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY LOOK BAD BUT THERE ARE TILES THAT...THEN IN THE NEW APARTMENT YOU'LL COME STAY RIGHT? IT IS SO WONDERF... Hello? Hello? Are you there? Hello?
Oddly enough they don't seem any happier when I switch into my second and third favorite topics; feminism and politics. Hm.
I hereby promise to bite my tounge when it comes to apartments and if anybody needs a soap box I have one for sale.

Manly Girl

2004-09-08T10:36:00.000Z

It turns out there are plenty of young gentlemen who are angry at obstinate feminists. So it is not just a matter of age. Perhaps I was WRONG? Nah, just kidding.
Last night I went to the first FI (Feminists of Iceland) meeting of the season. The meeting was packed and the speakers were members of parliament, one representative per political party. Most of it was the regular yada yada "we are all working towards a more egalitarian, integrated society" blah blah. Some of it was really interesting, one party does not have a problem with putting down a 50% rule, meaning that all parties must have a 50% female election list. I don't even agree with that but hey, fine by me. One party has no problem with the lack of women holding public offices and that there is no reason why more than 2 of the 9 supreme court judges should be women. Fine, I won't be voting for them any time soon. One party wants to make domestic violence an offence where the police are entitled to remove the offender form the home, not just depending on whether the victim presses charges.
There quite a few men in the audience, which made me really happy.
This morning, one of them posted message on the feminist message board. He stated a number of things:

that the woman who greeted him at the meeting was as skinny as a model (and that is important because...?)
that the idea for ending domestic violence was horrible, because what he does in his home is his business. Which I will kindly remember if he ever enters my home.
that feminists are not for meritocracy - which is really funny considering that one of the topics of discussion was the woman judge who was not appointed to the supreme court even though her CV far surpassed the judge's who was appointed (and oddly enough happened to be the prime minister's cousin)
that he was really mad.

Yes, I agree, he is mad. I can totally understand that my feminist ideas are not for everyone. But to get your undies in a bundle because desperate measures are needed to end domestic violence? Oh, buddy.
Makes me wanna cry like the manly girl that I am.

You Say That Like it's a Bad Thing.

2004-09-07T13:39:00.000Z

It has been brought to my attention that I am opinionated and full of myself. Really?
Also I have been told that I am an obstinate feminist. Really?
And once, someone told me I avoid arguments. Really?

The three statements have two things in common:
A) They were made by men of a certain age.
B) They were made to sound as if they were bad things.

What these gentlemen fail to understand is that these are things I like about myself. I have no interest in changing them.
I am opinionated, I have opinions and I express them.
I am full of myself, who else should I be full of?
I am most decidedly an obstinate feminist and I will wear that on a T-shirt if needed.
I do avoid arguments because I often fail to see the point of them - but I think that statement is made all the more funny in light of the other two.

Sometimes, men of a certain age have grown so accustomed to having things their way, that when somebody (read: younger woman) comes along who doesn't give them the proper amount of adoration, they simply don't know what to do. Except feel the need to express their displeasure.
However, I don't see them saying the same thing to men my age. Men my age, who have the same problems with authority as I have, are generally described as assertive and passionate.
An exercise I often entertain, when I feel that a particular approach seems patronizing, is that I simply consider what the effect would be if this were said to a man. And true enough, most of the time the result is that those words would not be used.
More importantly, I usually know I am doing something right once the old geezers start belly aching.

We have a Winner

2004-09-06T11:05:00.000Z

It had to happen, after all the panic, anxiety and cardboard box purchasing; we bought an apartment.
I am petrified. I have never been more nervous in my life, nor have I ever owned anything more valuable than a computer - and that was a gift. Even my bike was bought at the annual police auction from the lost and found.
I keep trying to calm myself down with the thought that the bank actually owns 80% of it.

It is not helping.

I have gonged the gong bowl.

I switched to 70% decaf.

Watched funny movies.

I have stretched, practiced yoga, applied acupressure, eaten healthy.

I have read every newspaper I know online to make myself grateful for how blessed we are.
I have looked into all the self help books I have lying around (and that is a lot of books), I've gone to the library.
I have knitted.
I have organized the bills, the tool box, the sowing kit.
I have made a couple of different iron-on decals.
I have ironed on the iron-on decals.
It is not helping.
There is no help for how to deal with horror that overwhelms you when you actually fulfill a life long dream.
I felt a similar tingle when we got married, but I thought that was just the whole big hoopla that always surrounds weddings. Also, there was a slight hint of this when I got my degree. But this is now three days of tummy-ache-hand-wringing-jaw-clenching-craziness.
There is no question that the apartment isn't the right one, I knew it was, just like I never doubted that I wanted to spend my life with my husband and that I wanted to get a degree even though it definitely shook up our lives.
This is the one.

In Fact this does resemble the early days of courtship far more than any materialistic satisfaction I was expecting.
Could it be I'm falling in love with an apartment?

I am Always Right

2004-09-03T09:20:00.000Z

I am fabulous, beautiful, smart and most of all, always right.
Just ask my husband. He can verify that no matter what, I am always right.
It is really a great skill and I don't use it sparingly. Why should I? God, or whomever bestows us with the skills that we are given at birth, gave me this one.
Yeah, so what if you have spotted bad grammar and typos? I am still right.
Until, of course, I decide that someone else is right, then we are both right and I happen to agree with the other person's version. It doesn't mean I was wrong, it simply means that I, in my all knowing rightness, am still right.
I guess some people, who are less right than I am, are envious of my skill, some even go so far as to argue with me! Ah the poor unwitting fools. In the end - you know it - I'm right. Being right all the time can be difficult, sometimes, it's lonely at the top .
However, I know my limits, because even with regards to limit, I am, well, right. So there isn't much harm I can do with my being right. I don't know chemistry, so I can't blow anything up by being right. I stay away from piloting and international politics. Things that can go horribly wrong if you don't listen to other people. Can you imagine me having a conversation with air traffic controllers?

- I don't care what you say, I KNOW there is NO mountain straight ahead.

The same goes for international politics. Making a statement such as the one the Governor of California did during the GOP convention, stating that only one country in the world can lead in the quest for global peace, is pretty much the same as flying straight into a mountain. We would never accept any such statement from say China or India, and there are a lot more of them than there are Americans.
That is why the UN has to be powerful. There has to be a global forum where all countries despite size and military strength are represented, where the common goal is peace, where democracy means equal say for every point of view - not 'being right'.
You know I'm right about this.

Schwarzenegger, scherzen Sie?

2004-09-01T19:38:00.000Z

"If you believe this country, not the United Nations, is the best hope of democracy in the world, then you are a Republican!"
Das ist traurig und sehr krank.

Super Size Me part 3

2004-09-01T10:17:00.000Z

The Icelandic comments on Morgan Spurlock's blog make me proud to have been reared elsewhere and that I have a smidgen of Danish in me. Of course being able to read them out loud with an Icelandic accent makes them even funnier.
I'll be the first to admit that Super Size Me is not the greatest documentary ever made, however, it is indeed important. I think - this is of course my own philosophy and I have no degree in such things - anyway, I think the gargantuan corporations are slowly becoming the kingdoms of the future. And just as we need to be critical of our national and international politics, we must be critical of the companies. They must withstand scrutiny and close examination.
My favorite comment posted on aforementioned blog is this one:
hm, so this is what 1000 years of inbreeding does to people.
that along with a heavily americanized culture can't be good. thank god they're too insignificant to start an apocalypse.
So true.

Cute Kids

2004-08-31T23:26:00.000Z

Not.
As we are about to move, we needed to get some moving boxes. Provided of course that we get an apartment. If we don't, we'll use the boxes as shelters and be the only homeless people actually living in cardboard boxes in Reykjavik. Sure, an accomplishment in itself, but it does get a little nippy in the winter.
Anyway, we decided to make Sunday both health beneficial and practical. Despite being entirely unprovoked by the new IKEA catalogue that arrived last week, we oddly enough ended up walking there. Which took a lot longer than anticipated, it seems we have the stamina of people twice our age. The first thing we had to do upon arrival was to sit down and get something to drink .
That is when the ingenuity of our plan really hit home. Apparently, other people go to IKEA on Sundays as well. And their kids are not in school/day care, nope, their kids are in the IKEA child care center showing off their endless supply of energy.
Except this one little girl. Either she was fascinated by our complete exhaustion or the fabulousness of our wind swept hair, admittedly we were quite stunning. Or perhaps her eyes were stuck in horror because of the piercing screams emanating from her colleagues. Whatever the reason, she stared at us through the glass partition while we were trying to enjoy our beverages. She was multi talented this girl, for as she was watching us, she was pushing her chewing gum up her nose, followed by a slow extraction process, a little chewing and sculpting and then up her nose it went again.
Did I mention I don't want kids? I mean, can you return them if they start doing that? Of course, since we will be living in boxes in sub zero temperatures, chances are kids might not wanna live with us either, so that works out just fine.

Thank Goodness the Olympics are Over

2004-08-29T23:16:00.000Z

But what the...was the closing ceremony?
Crop circles? Zombies harvesting the faux wheat? Young men being shuffled around on tables with wheels? Other young men playing with sheets between their legs? A Salman Rushdie Look alike contest?
The Wedding! What was that all about? Are the Greek more nuptially blessed than others?
There was a five minute pause from the ridiculousness when they handed the flag over to the trusty party flag aficionado from China and there were some Chinese dancers who actually performed something in unison. Then, just as I was about to relax, out came the mini skirt clad Chinese women pretending to play Chinese instruments.
That's when I switched over to Leslie Stahl talking about eating disorders. Less disturbing.

Helmet Head of the Week

2004-08-29T00:19:00.000Z

Is of course pole vaulter Toby Stevenson, Olympic Silver medalist. Seriously, tumbling down 5.8 meters (something like 19-41/4 feet) without a helmet just doesn't seem worth it.