Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The yellow thing
There is a great disturbance in the force. A round yellow thing has invaded the otherwise grey sky of St Andrews. A vast blue colour follows the yellow thing and these combined have really messed up the balance of the force way up in the St Andrews sky. Another thing that accompanies this phenomenon is a terrible increase in temperature; it's actually reached two digits now. This is extremely frightening for the inhabitants of this quaint town. I am expecting mass hysteria and rumours about the end of the world. Soon people will be kneeling in the streets, praying for mercy to Jehova, Allah, Buddha, Appollo and all the other ruling deities. Hopefully there are no Aztecs residing in town. They might feel compelled to turn to human sacrifices in honour of Toniatiuh in order to sustain this freakish phenomenon. I, myself will most likely pray to Freyr, the Norse god of peace and fertility to put an end to this nonsense. He'll know what to do--this invasion of the yellow round thing must stop! The pale-nosed people of St Andrews might actually develop a tan, erm or at least a "pink" and that is just weird!
Pace!
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Constantly thinking
They say that home is where the heart is. My body is in St Andrews but I don't feel that Scotland is home. That means that my body is in Fife but my heart is someplace else. This certainly explains why my fingers and toes are constantly freezing in this place. There is no heart to pump the blood all the way into my poor frozen bodyparts. That is the logical explanation for a lot of things...
Thinking is good--it helps people make sense of things.
Arrivederci
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Glamourous Glamis
The first step in my Royal Tour has been completed (not counting that September day when I lay in the grass in front of Buckingham Palace too lazy to knock on the door). Last saturday I embarked on a pilgrimage to the fabulous Glamis castle, which is about 12 miles from chav-ville de Dundee. Glamis is a Scottish castle that hasn't collapsed yet, so it gets automatic 10 rock-points for hanging in there. Glamis is also, as all true royalists know, the birth place of the queen momma herself and of the queen sister Margaret. I must admit that my wee royalist heart bounced when I saw the two wee chairs that Liz II and her sis Meg used to sit on when they were kids...sigh. Glamis is also known for its ghosts and as people may well be aware of, I am an even bigger ghost enthusiast than a royalist. I was thus always on the lookout for the Earl of Bleh... or some weird looking dude wearing a wig and flashy clothes (no, Elton John doesn't count fool!). A real medieval ghost sighting would have been uber kool but this time around I had no such luck. I did on the other hand get a cold chill down my spine on several occasions during my visit--it was no draft disbelievers--it was no doubt the Earl of Bleh... trying to let me know that he sure was happy that I am doing the Royal Tour. I also visited the pet cemetary at Glamis, where Happy the guinea pig rests in peace under a big rock. My final destination on the Glamis tour was the souvenir shop which, unlike other things on this tour, was very disappointing. I was determined to buy a queen momma-royal-memorabilia-mug to go wit
h my silver-jubileum-1977-mug, but alas--they didn't have any! There wasn't even a Gin and Tonic glass with a queen momma picture anywhere in sight--and that was her favourite drink! I felt terribly betrayed, so shocked in deed that I didn't even invest in a Hairy Haggis comic book. Nevertheless, Glamis gets a bunch of rock points for being Glamis and Joe the tour guide was the sweetest Scotsman ever!
Peace and pudding
h my silver-jubileum-1977-mug, but alas--they didn't have any! There wasn't even a Gin and Tonic glass with a queen momma picture anywhere in sight--and that was her favourite drink! I felt terribly betrayed, so shocked in deed that I didn't even invest in a Hairy Haggis comic book. Nevertheless, Glamis gets a bunch of rock points for being Glamis and Joe the tour guide was the sweetest Scotsman ever! Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Peer pressure yet again
I should stop looking at Anthropologist's blog. He has a nose for little quizzes that he forces one to repeat. I am a sheep that follows the leader so here goes:Put your name in the Comments section:
1. I will tell you a random thing about you.
2. I will tell you which song/film reminds me of you.
3. I will tell you which flavour reminds me of you.
4. I will tell you my first memory of you.
5. I will tell you which animal you remind me of.
6. I will ask you about something that I've wondered about regarding yourself.
7. If you read this, you have to put it on your blog. (Peer pressure)
Can't believe I'm doing this again. I always cave in under peer pressure..sigh.
On the imminent takeover
What are the odds that in a tiny town like Letsgetoutofhereville, in a cafe that seats about 10 people, that 3 Icelanders would meet randomly? The odds are slim to none I tell you. Yet this happened today. The thing that gave the whole thing a mysterious look was that the Icelandic supergroup (no not Nylon, although they will achieve world domination in the future..) Sigurrós was playing on repeat in that tiny cafe. It is further evidence that we Icelanders are on the brink of taking over the small islands of the world, first it will be the UK, then the Faroe islands and after that we will embark on a military coup in Vanuatu...It was bound to happen at some point. Soon the only things sold in Tesco will be dried fish, Black Death and Bacon creamcheese. Any resistance is futile y'all. The music of Björk, Bubbi the Rock-king of Iceland and the strange moaning of the beanie-boys in Sigurrós will be played everywhere.
Still I am sensing some Nordic vibes in this whole takeover scheme. Since the news in Iceland say that Danes talk about us..a lot...one wonders if the new vikings aka Ice-preneurs are actually a part of an even greater plot. I am afraid that the notorious Swedish Mafia may be playing the role of a shadow ministry within the Icelandic business groups. And I w
as tought to fear the Swedes when I was a kid. The Icelanders that went to Sweden and came back home..well different, brainwashed if you will. They were possibly agents for the SSSP (Sveriges stora social problemer) and at least one of them started his own cultural revolution through 80s viking flicks. I dunno--I hope it's really a solely Icelandic takeover because the Swedes are just too tall and too blonde and they kill their politicians...erm too much. Who wants to eat only Swedish meatballs and listen to Ace of Base? Me me me!
as tought to fear the Swedes when I was a kid. The Icelanders that went to Sweden and came back home..well different, brainwashed if you will. They were possibly agents for the SSSP (Sveriges stora social problemer) and at least one of them started his own cultural revolution through 80s viking flicks. I dunno--I hope it's really a solely Icelandic takeover because the Swedes are just too tall and too blonde and they kill their politicians...erm too much. Who wants to eat only Swedish meatballs and listen to Ace of Base? Me me me!Enough said for now.
Heja--I mean Bless bless
Sunday, March 12, 2006
A new temporary role for the Cliff Clavin Corner
Cliffie will be giving domestic advice for a while. He is turning into Taipei's "Confucius Say" or a domestic Yoda if you will. The first example: Cliffie says: When the bin is full, empty it! Even though you continue stacking your garbage in there until it overflows, it will not magically empty itself, unless your tired flatmates actually empty it for you--just like magic. Also, when you put your old pastasauce on top of the stack in the overflowing bin and then close it, the sauce will stick to the inside walls and lid. Red is a pretty colour on white but very soon the crushed tomatoes and herbs will start to decompose and then a green colour will be added to the equation. Green is my favourite colour but bleeding hell it's not appealing when it's "organic" green, formerly known as red pastasauce.Lesson complete
Saturday, March 11, 2006
The productive days
I went to the office this morning. It was a rough day in the world of academia. I started by going to the lovely North Point at 10, where I had planned on indulging myself in the only thing I ever buy there, the turkey, brie and cranberry griddle melt and a cup of chai tea. much to my surprise the lady there told me that they don't serve them before 11, the melts that is- chai is available all day. I felt both bewildered and betrayed. How can the folks at the North Point do this to me? Is this some kind of conspiracy aimed at punishing workaholics who leave the house at an ungodly hour on a saturday? Has the lazy bones group that I used to belong to gone to such drastic measures to gain revenge that they want to ruin my breakfast? All these questions and more went through my head these few moments before the lady told me that this is the way it's been since the dawn of time, or at least since the North Point was founded back in erm '96 or something. I had to have a bagel instead and that made my belly hurt. Not happy.
After this traumatic experience I headed for the Scores where I was planning on doing loads of work. Again much to my dismay, there was a power source problem at the office and hence, no internet. Oops, this gives my real intentions away--more internet surfing than work today... Anyway, I was so astonished and utterly heart-broken by this that I was forced to postpone my work and read Neil Gaiman's 1602. After that I played spider solitaire for a bit and minesweeper thereafter. I finished this hectic day by looking at old pictures--see sample up on your lefthandside. Bloody hell it's difficult working in academia!
In my defense for having such a productive day I will say this: I have a rule against working during the weekend but went to the office because I didn't want to stay at home.
At least my minesweeper skills have improved today.
Hasta la victoria siempre!
Friday, March 10, 2006
Ég hata meðleigjandann minn og kærustuna hans
Note to my English readers: Sorry guys- On this particular issue I will blog in Icelandic. When the issue has been resolved I will blog about it in English. I will still write all other posts in English. By the way-this picture will tell you something about my problems...Jæja, nú er mín búin að fá upp í kok. Þetta eru gjörsamlega óviðunandi aðstæður. Skoffín og Skuggabaldur hafa gjörsamlega farið yfir strikið. Skoffín stakk hausnum inn um dyragáttina hjá hinum gríska eðalmeðleigjanda rétt áður en ég kom heim og var með netta tilkynningu: Í nótt ÆTLA 3-4 vinir okkar að gista í eldhúsinu/stofunni. Svo trítlaði pían út og fór á djammið eftir að hafa ruslað svolítið til í íbúðinni. Ég er svo illa pirruð að það hálfa væri nóg.
Og fréttaskot: Þau voru akkúrat að koma inn og skoffín var að tilkynna mér að vinirnir ætluðu að gista í eldhúsinu/stofunni. Ég sagði að það væri í lagi ef vinirnir gistu í herberginu þeirra. Skoffín dæsti og ég sagði bara að það sama hefði verið uppi á teningnum um síðustu helgi þegar vinur þeirra gisti án þess að ég væri spurð. Hún var alveg bit greyið og sagði að hann hefði gist í herberginu þeirra. Ég sagði að það væri rétt en enginn hefði spurt mig og gríska meðleigjandann hvort það væri í lagi. Hún labbaði út úr stofunni og allir vinirnir voru frammi á gangi. þau pískruðu eitthvað um málið. Ég geri ráð fyrir að það hafi verið að þessi íslenska kerling væri með stæla og svo var pískrað meira. Svo heyrði ég einn vinanna segja að fólkið gæti gist hjá sér.
Annað fréttaskot: Skuggabaldur var að koma inn og svona hálfafsaka sig. Ég sagði við hann þegar hann var að afsaka sig að það færi bara rosalega í taugarnar á mér að vera ekki einu sinni spurð. Hann sagði að þau hefðu nú bara frétt af þessu í dag. Það breytir því ekki að Skoffín leigir á kampus og gæti bara sent fólkið þangað. Svo reyndi hann að fá mig til að fá samviskubit með því að segja að þetta myndi VONANDI bjargast og að þau myndu REYNA að finna samastað fyrir fólkið. Ha ha, hann hefur ekki kveikt á því að ég heyrði einhverja vinkonu bjóða liðinu gistingu hjá sér.
Jæja, íslenska truntan verður úthrópuð ömurleg leiðindakúla hjá þessum ágæta vinahópi í kvöld. Bara vonandi að þau fái smá kikk út úr því þessar elskur.
Að lokum þetta: Þau læstu herberginu hjá sér. Eins gott að læsa öllu þegar maður býr með klikkaðri íslenskri kerlingu, aldrei að vita nema hún prófi rúmið, smakki á grautnum og brjóti andskotans stólinn.
Já það er aldrei of varlega farið í samskiptum við íslenskar grýlur.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Enn af sóðapésum
Það kann ekki góðri lukku að stýra þegar ég skipti yfir í íslenskuna ástkæru og ylhýru. Það þýðir einfaldlega að næstu línur verði kvart og kvein. Ég mæli því með því að þeir sem ekki hafa áhuga á að lesa um daglegt amstur og pirring fari að lesa DV frá í gær á netinu, elska svona ókeypis stöff. Ég byrjaði daginn sumsé vel, fór í svaka göngutúr frá hálf átta til níu, algjör hetja. Svo bara daglegt amstur. En í hádeginu ætlaði ég að fá mér hádegismat í eldhúsinu heima. Var þá ekki bara þröngt á þingi og ekkert pláss, hvorki fyrir mig né samlokuna mína. Innflutta leiðinlega kærasta skoska leiðinlega meðleigjandans var bara með nördafund...í eldhúsinu MÍNU! Hún var búin að bjóða öllu ræðuliðinu heim. Ég á bara ekki til orð. Ég viðurkenni það fúslega að þetta myndi ekki fara í taugarnar á mér ef þessi skötuhjú færu ekki svona hrikalega í pirrurnar á mér. Ég meina kommon, þessi pía hefur ekki sofið heima hjá sér í hálfa nótt síðan í janúar. Skoffínið borgar enga leigu, ruslar til, er jafn tillitslaus og kærastinn sem ég nefni skuggabaldur og geymir meira að segja illalyktandi hestadrasl í eldhúsin/stofunni! Lesendur góðir, hvernig á ég að fara að því að hætta að láta þetta lið fara í taugarnar á mér? Mig dreymdi þau meira að segja í nótt--og þau voru líka pirrandi í draumnum! Garggggggg! Ég er farin að íhuga ýmis plott til að losna við þau, engin ólögleg plott í gangi en öll eru þau á hæsta máta ósiðleg. Jemundur minn hvað það er gott að fá útrás í Bandaríkjum bloggsins. Heyrumst síðar-buxur
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
The splendour of Scottish weather
Being a weatherman on the moon is an easy and perhaps a bit boring job. The reason is naturally that there is no weather on the moon. I imagine being a weatherman, or to be politically correct, weather person or even weather correspondent, in Scotland is similarly tedious. That’s because the weather here is always bad! Since last January I remember one day where it could be said with certainty that the weather was actually nice, and that was yesterday! My memory may be failing, but if I can recall correctly, the infamous weather in Iceland is a hell of a lot more interesting than the Scottish weather in 2006. If it’s cold in Reykjavík, at least one can see blue skies and that yellow thing in the middle of the Solar System whereas in Scotland if it’s cold, like it has been for the past 3 months, the sky remains grey. Actually, the interesting thing about Scottish weather is that there are really only two seasons here, 6 months of autumn and then 6 months of spring. 6 months of autumn would be nice if it wasn’t for the humidity, which means that if the temperature drops below 10 degrees Celsius it becomes friggin’ cold. Yeah, it’s the kind of cold that goes right through the skin and cools ones bones. It basically cools the core of the human body! If I was a Scottish weatherman I would go on TV in the autumn and say: Folks, it’s cold outside and it’s going to be cold and shitty for the next months. Therefore, there is no valid reason for me to tell you the same thing every night. Ciao”. Then I would book a flight to Bermuda for the next 6 months and drink litres of Mojitos on the warm and friendly beach under a huge umbrella thingy. I urge the Scottish weather team to do the same.Brrrrrrrr from the lovely Caledonia
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Klukk
A new craze has taken the United States of Blog by storm. It's called klukk ( put your hand on someone's shoulder and say "klukk" therefore encouraging them to spill the beans on their inner selves) and I feel that according to the unwritten rules of peer pressure I simply must contribute towards this phenomenon, so here goes:4 tv programs I love:
1. "The Weakest Link". Ann Robinson is simply fabulous as a mean Maggie Thatcher wannabe insulting masochistic Brits.
2. "Gettu Betur". The Icelandic equivalent of University Challenge, only louder, with the audience forming a wave, screaming and singing everytime their school stumbles up on a correct answer. Yes, the two first favourites are quiz shows--it's the nerd in me.
3. "Inspector Morse". He's just adorable and sophisticated and smart and fab.
4. Every damn gardening program that Alan Titschmarsh is in. I especially get a craving for his sweet smile and green fingers in the dead of winter when summer seems so far away.
4 movies that I can watch over and over again:
1. "Raiders". The reason why I started studying history--silly me. But even though Indy is a grave-robbing mass murderer, I love him and one day I want to become Dr. Indiana Björk.
2. "The Goonies". A treasure map in the attic and real pirates- count me in.
3. "French Kiss". Oh, basically all the Meg Ryan chick flicks. Meg rocks!
4. "LOTR trilogy". You shall not pass! Swords, beards, elves and orcs. Tolkien knew his Icelandic mythology.
4 websites I look at every day:
1. All my friends' blogs.
2. The weather in Reykjavík. Just because I find it difficult not to.
3. The weather in St Andrews. Just because it's pracical to do so.
4. Sunrise and sunset in various places in the country of my birth. Obsessed with Iceland and the weather...erm YES. SO?!?
4 favourite meals:
1. Italian meatballs a la Óli.
2. Hangikjöt, ORA beans and uppstúf.
3. A good calzone.
4. Bæjarins beztu hot dogs with everything.
4 cd's I can listen to over and over again:
1. Bubbi's Sögur 1980-1990. The Icelandic Rock-King never fails.
2. Paul Simon's Graceland. I love the African beat, it's a happy happy cd. Also--I like all Simon and Garfunkel stuff.
3. Emiliana Torrini's Fisherman's Woman. Classic cd, perfect.
4. Magnús Þór Sigmundsson's Hljóð er nóttin. It's candy for the ears.
Now I have done my duty and I klukk all of my readers that have their own blogs.
Doooo Eeeeeet!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
That's not a burger!
I decided to live the ultimate dream of a poor student and go out for a fancy brunch, just because it's saturday. My fancy brunch was a concoction of no fewer than two courses for £ 4.95; now that's something that I haven't had in a long, long time. I felt like I was climbing an invisible corporate ladder in a company called "Dreaming of a life as a rich scholar in the Humanities". Wow, that's a contradiction in itself, the words rich and humanities somehow don't go together these days. Anyway, the idea of getting two courses for no particular reason just filled me with an incredible feeling of well-being. So, my first course at the prestigious joint The Grill House was, in the Scottish tradition, some deep fried mushrooms. Deep frying food seems to be the ultimate cuisine solution in this country. If the Caledonians don't have anything to deep fry, they'll just deep fry the batter and voila and bon appetit! The mushrooms were deep fried and there's not much more to say about that. My next and final course on this food spending spree was Le Burger. The menu said it was a grilled gourmet hamburger, but the truth was something quite different. It was a blob of some unidentifiable meat served with really really fried onions drowned in oil and a red sauce which likewise was unidentifiable. I and my fellow Icelander in this town had problems with this course, since our tastebuds simply refused to acknowledge that this concoction was in fact Le Burger. We nevertheless ate the whole thing while the words of a certain Mr. Paul Hogan from the land downunder sounded in my head: "That's not a knife--THAT'S a knife". Only in my version the word knife was replaced by burger...and there was no "real" burger present so the last part doesn't apply. Hmmm, so in my strange thoughts Mr. Hogan just constantly repeated "that's not a burger, that's not a burger etc.
There is no moral to this story other than that when in Caledonia with a real Le Burger craving, for the love of god, go to Mickey D's or Burger King.
Peace from the Burgermeister
