Nýtt blogg bráðum / New blog, entries coming soon ...

www.steinunn.wordpress.com

Nýtt blogg bráðum, á íslensku og ensku, af því að það er auðveldara fyrir mig:)

Coming Soon: New Blog - in Icelandic & English, bc having two is just too much work, and somewhat odd!

S:)

nýtt blogg

sæl

ég er flutt frá durham til edinborgar og opnaði af því tilefni nýtt blogg.

fann álíka "frumlegt" nafn á bloggið mitt nýja. Edinborgar ePistill. tíhí.

síðuna má finna hér.

látið sjá ykkur :)

síðasta durham færsla

Á miðvikudaginn flyt ég til Edinborgar ásamt Nick og ýmsu hafurtaski. Við þurfum að mæta kl 15.00 á skrifstofu leigumiðlunarinnar til að skrifa undir þúsund blaðsíðna samning hér í þessu landi vantrausts og formlegheita og því leggjum við af stað héðan rétt um hádegið. Efa ekki að flestum þyki þetta spennandi upplýsingar:)

Ég hef mælt mér mót við elskulegan Rodney minn á morgun kl 16.00. Hann mun þá gefa mér smá ráð og vonandi hvatningu áður en ég held á braut. Reyndar tekur bara 90 mínútur að ferðast milli Edinborgar og Durham með lest en ég nenni samt ekki að vera að því oft. Ég á ekki mikið eftir að skrifa en það er bara að koma þessu öllu saman, smáatriðin í lokin, þið skiljið.

Þar sem ég á semsagt að heita voða upptekin við að ljúka ritgerðinni minni hef ég ákveðið að skrifa hér og nú mitt síðasta Durham blogg, núna rétt um kl 01.00 að staðartíma, áður en ég held áfram að skrifa heillandi kafla um innflytjendalög á Íslandi. Ég skrifa alltaf ágætlega um nætur en samt - spurning hversu heillandi hægt er að gera sum málefni. Þessi bloggfærsla er jafnframt #200, og þykir mér ekki verra að enda á sætri tölu.

Ég er byrjuð að blogga pínu á sameiginlegt blogg okkar Nicks og Steve, þó sá síðarnefndi skrifi harla lítið og dettur líklega bráðum út af þeirri síðu. Þetta blogg heitir A Tale of Two Cities, af því við erum á leið til Edinborgar og Steve er í London, sko, og hana má finna hér. Þar skrifa ég á ensku.

Ég mun eflaust, af því mér finnst merkilega gamana að blogga, opna aðra síðu, sem mig langar að hafa bara á íslensku því hitt er doldið skrítið, þó ég sé að vísu orðin þessu vön eftir tæpt ár af tvítyngdu bloggi. Sú næsta verður skrifuð í Edinborg og því vil ég ekki blanda Durham Doðrantinum í málið og loka honum því með þessari færslu. Hann hefur þjónað mér vel. Það er góð tilfinning að ljúka kafla í lífi sínu svona bókstaflega, með því að hætta að bæta við köflum í þá tilteknu "bók", þið skiljið.

Þakka þeim sem lásu - læt vita hvert ég flyt mig þegar þar að kemur ... þannig að þetta er í raun næstsíðasta en ekki síðasta bloggfærsla mín hér:)

Knús, S:)


This will be my last, or second to last, blog entry on my Durham blog, as I am moving to Edinburgh. I have another blog with Nick and Steve, A Tale of Two Cities, where I write in English, and hope to start my Icelandic one ... why do I bother writing that in English? You don't care as you can't read it! It may in the future contain nice pictures and graphics, though ... :) Anyhoo, see ya, and thanks for reading:)

:)

íbúðin er okkar.
komið í heimsókn:)

we got the flat.
come visit!

sönn vísindi

hef í örvæntingu minni yfir því að þurfa að vinna og vinna að lokaritgerðinni gert næsta lítið af því síðustu tvo daga en leikið þess í stað lausum hala, ef svo má að orði komast, á netinu, við tilgangslaust sörf og leit að öllu og engu. get hvorki einbeitt mér að bókalestri né sjónvarpsglápi, en ég get vel eytt tíma mínum í ofangreinda iðju.

vísindavefur hí kom mér skemmtilega á óvart í kvöld er ég datt inn á svokölluð föstudagssvör sem þar er að finna. þetta er allt saman bull. bara bull, bull spurningar, flestar fínar, og frábær, gáfuleg bull svör. tékk it át.

when bored / ef yður leiðist ...

try pressing "next blog" on blogger.com blogs and finding stuff to flag:) they must host inappropriate things, which will mean different things to different people, but they wont be censored. it's a great time waster, as there really aren't that many flag-worthy sites. not that i've come across. yet.

ef fólki leiðist felst ágætis skemmtun í því að færa sig á milli blogger.com bloggsíðna með því að nota "next blog" takkann, og finna "óviðeigandi efni" (fer eftir samvisku og áliti hvers og eins hvað það merkir) og merkja þær sem slíkar með því að smella á "flag?".

mér leiðist svoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. á ekki svo mikið eftir að skrifa en eitthvað ætlar það að reynast mér erfitt.

sprint to the end, StPie, hlauptu drengur hlauptu!

hartlepool horror hmovie

watched a horror film in hartle with nick and steve tonight. i remember now why i don't ever watch such things. had to recover and gain my senses by watching comedy central. will never go to the cinema again.

hipp&kúl

nú er þetta orðið að áráttu

methinks i have an insect obsession.

daddy long legs

crane fly

fljúgandi feður langleggjaðir

daddy long legs útleggst víst á íslensku hrossafluga en ég kaus í gær að kalla svoleiðis kvikindi sem gisti hjá mér, milli þess sem það panikkaði og flaug til skiptis í átt að ljósinu og mér, langleggja feður. vonandi lifir fólk þennan rugling af:)

annars er ein tegund köngullóa, nöfnur ofangreindrar fljúgandi kvikindis, víst líka til, svo ég haldi mig við pödduþema síðustu daga, og þær ku vera einhverjar þær eitruðustu í heimi. þykist viss um að hafa séð þær margar hér:/ maður mætti halda að ég væri í ástralíu eða borneó, svo gróskumikil er pödduflóran hér í uk miðað við ísland. í oz hefði ég samt gert fyrirfram ráð fyrir að hitta fyrir öll þessi skordýr. kemur mér verulega, og ekkert endilega skemmtilega, á óvart, en læt mig sosum hafa það ... enda finn ég í þessu málefni (?) mikla blogginspírasjón.

og hér með lýkur bloggfærslu #193 :)

enn í pásu

StPie Highway Paintown 6 Fame City 15 Lake Love 66 Dumpsville 150 Loony-Bin Lane 479 Please Drive Carefully

Username:

Where are you on the highway of life?

From Go-Quiz.com

að afloknum kvöldlestri

Nú er ég búin að lesa & lesa & lesa alls kyns djúsí innflytjendatengt efni og á skilið að taka mér smá pásu. Minnug þess hve margar pásur margt reykingafólk tekur sér á einum vinnudegi á meðan ekki-reykingafólkið gleymir sér í vinnu, eða einhverju öðru, hef ég það sem nokkurskonar mottó að taka mér verðskuldaða, að mér finnst, pásu þegar aðra myndi, að ég held, langa í smók. Nú er komið að því, aðra langar sumsé í smók svona sirka núna.

Eins og ég hef áður skrifað, en ekki margir tekið eftir því ég tel að blogglesendum hafi fækkað, eins og stpie var nú vinsæl :) ... já, eins og ég hef áður minnst á þá skrifa ég sjaldan fleiri bloggfærslur en einmitt þegar ég er að læra sem mest. Við nánari athugun held ég held samt ekki að það sé endilega sökum leti eða frestunaráráttu. Nei, veistu, ég hlustaði nefnilega á lækni í útvarpsfréttum í gær tala um börn sem eiga við offituvandamál að stríða. Bíddu aðeins áður en þú hrapar að niðurstöðu um það sem á eftir kemur; offita orsakar ekki offramleiðslu á bloggfærslum. Silly. Nú, þessi læknir hefur verið að rannsaka mörg hundruð bresk börn síðustu 13 árin, frá því þau voru sirka 13 ára, og niðurstaðan er þessi: börn sem horfa mikið á sjónvarp eiga síðar á ævinni yfirleitt við offituvandamál að stríða. En bíddu, þetta vissu allir! Hver er svo vitlaus að dæla peningum í svona verkefni?

Bíðið nú bara við. Veltið því aðeins fyrir ykkur hversvegna þið haldið að þessi börn þjáist af offitu síðar á ævinni. Ok, geymið nú svarið einhversstaðar á góðum stað í minninu. Lesið nú áfram.

Læknirinn sagði nefnilega að ein ástæðan væri ekki (bara) sú, eins og þið viljið halda fram, að þau sitji allan daginn fyrir framan sjónvarpið og borði, og hreyfi sig af þeim völdum lítið, heldur sú að þau sjái svo margar ruslfæðisauglýsingar og venjist því að langa í svoleiðis mat. Haldi síðan áfram að borða hann eftir því sem þau eldast. Man ekki í svipinn hvað þessi tíð heitir sem ég notaði hér að ofan, ekki viss um að hana megi nota svona mikið, en ég hélt mig þó við hana, þó erfitt væri. Hér er hún aftur! Ég get reyndar, ef ég má gerast pínu framhleypin og lauma persónulegri sögu að, greint frá því að þegar ég var lítil var eitt mesta tilhlökkunarefni mitt varðandi það að verða fullorðin það að vinna mér inn nógan pening svo ég gæti keypt samlokur og nammi þegar mig langaði og ekki þurft að gefa Önju og Lilju með mér. Annars var ég sko vön að skipta ÖLLU á milli okkar þriggja, samviskusamlega - ja nema ef um slétta tölu/magn af einhverju var að ræða. Þá fékk ég smá auka fyrir viðvikið. En það er nú önnur saga. Ég hugsa samt þær hafi skynjað þessa tilhlökkun mína og áttað sig á innra eðli mínu. Sem er að öðru leyti barasta ágætt, nægjusamt og svona þegar vel er að gáð.

Svo ég komi nú aftur að bloggmáli mínu. Blogg ... tja ... kveisan? sem ég hef þjáðst af síðustu daga, eða reyndar notið, sorry, virðist tengjast frestunaráráttu eða einhverju álíka, en eins og með blessuð börnin hér að ofan er þessi ágiskun bara ekki rétt. Rétt ályktun er að þar sem ég dvel lengur fyrir framan tölvuna, við skriftir og lestur, liggur blogger.com hreinlega nær fingrum mér, hug og hjarta. Ergo: fleiri blogg.

Lógískt? Já, tvímælalaust.

Annars er svolítið erfitt að blogga þegar feður langleggjaðir fljúga með skrykkjum í angistarköstum framhjá skjánum og baða út öllum aungum í átt að nefinu mínu og augum. Eyrum stundum líka, þegar færi gefst. Heyrði líka í útvarpinu í gær að þeir lifa (lifi? þessi blessaða -tíð) bara í 24 klst, blessaðir. Verð að vera þeim betri. Ég fann ráð við munnræpu, er að reyna að gefa grey Nick pínu frið. Hlusta á útvarpið. Það svínvirkar. Skil ekkert í mömmu og Sigrúnu að kalla sig vel gefnar konur og hafa samt aldrei komið þetta snilldarbragð í hug, í staðinn fyrir að kefla mig hér i den. Barnaverndarnefnd hefði aldrei þurft að blanda sér í málið ...

edinborg, cont

ok, ég gat ekki still mig:) hér er kort sem ég fann af svæðinu sem íbúðin er á (west port, cordiners land), og hér eru myndir af eins en miklu-fínni-að-innan íbúð (eins og mín vs óla, mín fín, hans æði). einnig er þarna lýsing á svæðinu í kring.



here's a map of edinburgh and if you click here you can see some pics of a similar (but much much nicer) flat to the one nick and i saw yesterday, along with a description of the area in which it lies. i hope we'll get it. if not, it proved a terrific distraction tonight as i surfed for flat pictures instead of integration policies:)

æ ég vona ... en mun samt ekki verða of svekkt ef vonin bregst.

edinborgarleiðangur 2

Jæja, þá er ég komin aftur.

Við skoðuðum íbúðir í allan gærdag og fengum svo óvænt að gista hjá Simon, pabbi hans og mamma eiga stórt hús (5 svefnherb!) og það kom sér voða vel þar sem við gátum því kíkt á leigumiðlun í morgun sem kunni að meta að sjá okkur frekar en að tala bara við okkur í síma. Nú, og ef allt gengur eins vel og mér finnst að það ætti að ganga erum við búin að finna íbúð í miðbæ Edinborgar:) Ekki alveg frágengið, fyrst þarf að fá voða mörg meðmæli og svoleiðis, unnum í því í dag, og svo er doldið geðþótta mál líka hvort eigandinn treysti atvinnulausum mastersútskriftarnemum! Annars nenni ég ekki að skrifa um þetta núna þó mig hafi áðan langað að skrifa um leitina í gær, því við fórum um alla borg í hífandi roki, erfitt að komst um borgina bílandi því hún er ein einstefna, en þar sem ég nenni ekki að skrifa ætla ég bara að sleppa því og fara að læra! Nick fór út með vinum sínum, til Newcastle, og mig langaði auðvitað með því þetta er svona loka-eitthvað, eftir þetta dreifist mannskapurinn um allan heim, en ég er voða dugleg bara heima að ... háma í mig sælgæti eins og er, en ætla svo að fara að skrifa:) Þarf að skila einhverju til Rodneys áður en ég fer til Edinborgar, en ég flyt þangað áður en ég á að skila 30. sept, og verð því að ljúka ritgerðinni þarna uppfrá. Verð væntanlega ekki með nettengingu fyrr en eftir tvær-þrjár vikur eftir að við flytjum ... nú vona ég bara að ég fái þessa íbúð.

Skrifaði smá hérna í gær, í gegnum símann minn með sms-i:) Þetta er sameiginlegt blogg okkar Nicks og Steve, við í Edinborg bráðum, Steve í London (two cities ... ). Þarna er Nick fyrir framan íbúðina sem við erum að vonast til að fá, og já, þetta er útsýnið:/ Betra ofan af þriðju hæð, en samt ekki slæmt að hafa smá kastala við útidyrnar!

edinborgarleiðangur 1

á morgun eldsnemma (kl 7) - eða reyndar í dag eftir nokkra klukktíma - förum við nick til edinborgar. hann er búinn að redda "viewings" á 5 íbúðum, þám hjá leigumiðlun sem simon vinur hans og bissnesspartner vinnur á. núna er víst fátt um fína drætti á leigumarkaðnum þannig að ég bið ykkur að krossa fingur fyrir okkur. annars getið þið hvergi gist, eða amk ekki á kósí máta, þegar þið flykkjist í heimsóknir:)

þetta verður bara dagsferð, við höldum rakleiðis heim eftir að hafa skoðað allt sem við getum skoðað svo ég geti haldið áfram að læra. æ æ æ.

annars keypti nick sér einhverja spes-útgáfu af sigurrósar disknum nýja. fær 8 stjörnur af 10 hjá nme. meira að segja mér finnst hann fínn. fyndið að kynnast breta, með plagat (sem steve átti fyrst) af björk til að hylja göt á veggjum, svona miklum aðdáanda íslenskrar tónlistar, sem reyndar all margir bretar virðast vera, og vera sjálf ekkert ofurspennt, aðallega vegna þess einmitt hvað fólk er spennt, ef þið skiljið. slekkur doldið á mér. en núna hlusta ég voða gáfuð og einbeitt á svip á sigurrós meðan fólk sem kann ekki íslensku starir á mig og bíður í ofvæni eftir að ég snari textum yfir á ensku. eins og völva. nei, bara þýðandi:) eins og það breyti einhverju, haha, þetta snýst allt um sándið ... segi ég því textarnir eru mér enn frekar óskiljanlegir. er það bara ég eða á að vera svona erfitt að skilja þá? eitthvað nýtt mál, hopelandic, er það ekki?, en ég er ekkert að útskýra það frekar fyrir "aðdáendum" mínum. ég fæ mikla athygli út á þetta, og held henni meðan ég þýði fallega:)

en sumsé, poj-poj fyrir morgundaginn ok? verð að búa pent eftir þetta ár á elliheimili meðal úrvalspaddna og allraþjóðakvekinda. samt, hvað er maður að kvarta ... er ekki sama hvar maður býr, ef manni bara líður vel?

jú:)

my 187th post

Will I reach 200 before I leave Durham?

As I am writing about Norway, I found this news article interesting.

A man in Norway has been sentenced to 7 years in prison for twice attempting to murder his wife, and endangering their son. Her narrow escapes were considered by the judge coincidental and lucky, as he'd meticulously (?) plotted how to do her in.

Their marriage wasn't going all that well so they moved, the man's business failed, they had a their baby, then they divorced, got back together ... but things went seriously bad when he told her that he'd received some sort of calling and was in close contact with the spirit world. He told her he had a spiritual guide there who claimed all their trouble would be solved or they'd be happier were they to leave this life and move on to the spirit world. That means: die. She believed him!, and she still believed him when he suggested it might be a good idea to a) take out a life-insurance policy, and b) die together in a car accident. One day a year later they took their little son for a wee scud around the country side, near a lake, which the man steered the car into. A passer-by witnessed the "accident", and saw the man swim from the car with the wee boy in his arms. The woman managed to get out on her own, and all were unharmed.

The next day the man ran a bath for his wife, put some essential oils in the water, as you do, and when she was in it, threw an electrial appliance in there with her. As you do? She managed to grab it and throw it back out of the tub just in time so as not to fry.

What a horrible oddball! The man confessed to his wife that he'd made the spirit-world story up to be able to kill her so he could get the money from their policy so he could pay some threatening criminals whom he owed money.

He is now in prison. The journalist emphasised several times that the poor lady is 14 years older than her psycho husband. Why is that important? Does it justify his actions somehow?

See, Scandinavia isn't all berry wine and blue-eyed innocense.

palestine house

Today I finally saw a letter addressed to someone at Palestine House. I am amazed not more people make this mistake, and glad to have seen that someone other than me thought of it.

In other Paletine House news, the Chinese girls living in my section of the house must have finished their course work. Or else gone insane, but they are pretty level headed so I don't think so, not all at once. Why am I assumming the above? Because they run up and down the corridor, their little feet barely touching the age-old minging (sp?) carpet, - and they sing and whistle some beautiful Chinese and Western tunes. They also stay up late, til 2 and 3, giggling in each others' room, and running and slammin' doors, quietly though, as only dainty girls can. I cannot be sure these are all Chinese girls but I know most of them are. It's refreshing, the new life I see in them, though sadly I haven't finished and must continue working while they frolic in the halls and Nick, theoretically, is on a break. He isn't though, as he is busy having the car fixed, cooking me delicious meals, and finding flats to look at in Edinburgh. We're going up tomorrow to find a place.

I saw Rodney today. He said, and I quote, and should perhaps cite?: "Your work seems ok. You have a lot left to do." The first sentence was nice to hear. The second made my heart sink. Not that I didn't know. He is nice, though, not his fault I am having a tough time disciplining myself, though if anyone can find a reasonable reason for me to blame someone other than myself, please leave your name and number.

Ok then, off to uni for some quality time with the most recent Norwegian integration policy.

I used to be very interested in this royal gentleman,
a former king of Norway and avid athlete,
as we share many of the same qualities,
as well as a very special July birthday.
I had my 8th birthday in Norway,
but we didn't manage it well
so we celebrated each in our own palace.

meira um köngullær

í dag er ég skrifa þetta er voða fínn sunnudagur, hlýtt í veðri svo mjög að ég borðaði hádegisverð áðan úti í "garði" fyrir aftan húsið hans nicks. þetta er eiginlega bara bílastæði. frárennslin frá vöskum og þvottavél, og m.a.s. úr vatnstanki/kassa klósetts, liggja út úr húsi, að utanverðu, þ.e.a.s. sjáanleg, fattiði. frekar ósmekklegt finnst mér, að sjá vatn gusa út úr húsi, jafnvel af annarri hæð, og vita þá að einhver er að þvo sér um hendurnar.
ok, aftur að köngulló gærdagsins. eða nei, föstudagsins. ég er sumsé hætt að drepa þessi kvikindi. ég horfði róleg á lóna labba á rúminu mínu í ca 20 mín meðan ég talaði við steve í símann. hann var á leið til durham til að fara út um kvöldið með okkur til að halda upp á námslok nicks. hann lauk öllu sínu s.l. föstudag, afhenti þá ritgerðina sína. núnú, eftir símtalið tók ég tissjú og tók karlottu mjúklega upp með bréfinu, fór með hana fram og þorði m.a.s. að líta af henni meðan ég læsti hurðinni. hún var alveg róleg sjálf, hafði af-hniprað sig en hún hafði áður hniprað sig saman í litla kúlu, varð væntanlega hrædd þegar ég tók hana upp. ég fór með hana út að dyrum sem snúa út í garð. þar rétti ég tissjúið út um gættina og hristi lauslega. hún hékk smá stund í eigin bandi, föst við tissjúið, þannig að ég hristi aftur ofur varlega og þá skyndilega losnaði hún - og lenti beint í vef annarrar köngullóar sem hafði komið sér fyrir í lítilli rúðu í hurðinni:/

við nick höfðum einmitt í vikunni verið að virða fyrir okkur köngulló heima hjá honum sem á mjög fínan vef með "heimreið", lítinn stíg eða einhverskonar brú, að holu í vegg sem hún felur sig í. þegar eitthvað festist skynjar hún það um leið og kíkir út, horfir til hægri og vinstri og gengur svo rakleiðis eftir brúnni, sem liggur að miðju vefjarins, að bráðinni, sem oftar en ekki er bara drasl, því miður. doldið rok einmitt þar sem hún valdi sér að búa, og gras og fífur og laufblöð doldið gjörn á að festast. nick vildi henda til hennar lifandi maur en ég gat ekki hugsað mér að taka þátt í svoleiðis þannig að hann sættist á að henda til hennar frekar dauðri hrossaflugu. blessuð lóin skynjaði strax að þetta væri ekkert bitastætt og henti henni úr vefnum! gaman að sjá hana in action.

nú, aftur að lónni sem ég drap: við höfðum sumsé verið að velta því fyrir okkur hvort köngullær gætu bara fótað sig á vef sem þær hefðu sjálfar spunnið. mér finnst erfitt að trúa því, en gæti samt verið satt því ég sá hvað aumingja köngullóin sem ég henti óvart í ginið á annarri átti bágt með sig á þessum framandi vef. hún lyfti löppum ósköp hægt, þurfti að hafa fyrir því að tosa þær af vefnum, og svo var allt um seinan þegar hin köngullóin sá hana, sem bráð, þó mér finnist að hún hefði átt að líta á hana sem gest þar sem þær eru jú af sömu gerð. þær slógust heiftarlega, gesturinn tók vel á móti og lét eiganda vefjarins hafa fyrir því að drepa sig. þetta voru ljót slagsmál, verð ég samt að segja. þær virtust faðmast en ég hef séð nógu margar náttúrulífsmyndir til að vita að þetta voru engin faðmlög heldur var önnur væntanlega að deyfa hina eða drepa með eitri. en svo gerðist hið undarlega. ég þurfti að bregða mér frá, hafði setið þarna á gólfinu fyrir framan dyrnar og horft á þessi ósköp, agndofa og með hræðilega samvisku, og áttaði mig allt í einu á því hve asnalega þetta hlyti að líta út. eða kannski var ég meira að hugsa hvernig ég gæti mögulega útskýrt af hverju ég sæti þarna og hefði setið þarna lengi, þannig að ég ákvað að láta mig hverfa í nokkrar mínútur og koma svo aftur og athuga með lærnar. en viti menn, þegar ég kom aftur var hvorki tangur né tetur sjáanlegt af hvorki lóm né vef! ég skil ekki alveg hvað hefur gerst. etv hafa þær slegist svo harkalega að vefurinn hrapaði til jarðar, en það þykir mér að vísu ólíklegt. ég hef þurft að losa mig við vefi fyrir utan gluggana á hringbraut og það er hægara sagt en gert, m.a.s. með (há)þrýstivatnsslöngu. svo sá ég líka hvernig karlotta í myndinni góðu af-krækti vefnum/vefinn, muniði? tók bara í hornin og kræk-kræk, farinn! etv hefur sú sem vefinn átti étið hina og síðan flutt sig vegna ótta um eigið líf sökum fordóma þar sem hún er nú orðin cannibali. fyrst fannst mér reyndar sem þær hlytu að hafa vingast hvor við aðra og ákveðið að hefna sín á mér. paranojan, maður lifandi, lætur ekki að sér hæða.

en hvað sem öllum getgátum líður um afdrif köngullónna og vefjarins þá leið mér mjög illa yfir þessu. það var ömurlegra en ég get eiginlega lýst að vera valdur að því að lítið skorkvikindi festist í vef köngullóar, einmitt þegar ég var að hafa fyrir því að drepa ekki kvikindið.

... vefurinn dúaði, hún var föst, hún tosaði og tosaði en komst ekki úr honum ... í næstu anddrá var svo hin köngullóin komin og búin að ráðast á hana ...

þetta er frásögn dagsins. tinna segir að maður gleypi 14 köngulær í svefni á ári, en ég skil ekki alveg hvernig það fer fram nema ef um er að ræða mjög litlar lær. sérdeilis litlar. því ég er næsta viss um að ég myndi finna fyrir því ef almennileg könguló klifraði oní kokið á mér, jafnvel í svefni. reyndar finnst mér ég bara eiga það skilið eftir það sem ég gerði ...

:(

when trying to rescue a spider today, well not rescue it, rather removing it from off my bed withouth killing it, i ended up, in fact, killing it. i am sorry. i've wasted too much time killing insects. i always have to chase and squish a few daddy longlegs and some little insects of various kinds before i go to bed, bc i can't stand the thought of them crawling or fluttering around at night. on me. just as i decide not to do it anymore, but rather help them find their way out, what happens? oyvei. it's actually a cool story, will write about later:) but i do feel bad for the little thing. he was so close to freedom.

oh well. if guinea pigs must die such horriblea deaths, and dishonourable ones too, this spider has me to thank that he went down fighting, and not shamefully. being squished is shameful, don't you think?

can you ...

... spot the difference?

Jasmín is a little guinea pig living in Iceland. I think she's pretty happy. She has a nice home, a cool owner who takes care of her in her own way, (not the one in picture, that's just an aunt). I think it's safe to say she has a pretty nice life for a guinea pig in captivity. But not all guinea pigs are as lucky as Jasmín ...


Jasmín og Steinunn hafa brallað ýmislegt saman um dagana.

En ekki eru allir naggrísir jafn heppnir ...


The fate of Peruvian guinea pigs is gruelling.

house swap, the latest on guineapigs & name-contemplations

I don't really have much, if anything, to report. I will write something anyway; such is my need to express myself.

Tonight I am blogging from Nick's room bc he is a-sleeping in mine. He sleeps better over there, you see, what with my room facing a little yet massively overgrown garden, providing peace and quiet. In saying that, though, Steve did tell me today abt a very noisy creepy squirrel perching on the sill outside his window at his London home. He has a London home:) I am thinking maybe it's not a fox, badger or bird but a squirrel I've had to listen to making weird sounds at night all year long. Hmm. Anyway, Nick's room is on a busy street, not quiet at all. It's next to a children's school and something the Brits call Infant School, funny. For infants! Now that the schools have started and the parents are dropping their children off each morning bright and early Nick cannot get his full necessary rest. Poor thing. Normally I am not this nice, as I prefer my room, too. The bed is nice though small (I asked for a new one bc mine was broken when I moved in, plus I was concerned some old person might have slept in it. And died.) But tomorrow Nick has his VIVA, you see, meaning he has to stand infront of these guys who will mark his work and present the work he's done for his masters thesis. Therefore, he must be well rested. Hence the room swap deal.

I am only writing this bc I wanted to write one blog from Nick's room (sucker for novelty and free internet, I am) and bc ... I was going to finish the immigration policy chapter tonight but got bored of it even before I started, so I am procrastinating. I have read the news over and over. Clicking "refresh" doesn't give you new news every time, did you know that? I have read my friend Flynn's several emails - he is currently travelling through Italy and meeting loads of fun characters. I have also looked at friends' blogs, nothing new there, they haven't written in ages. I forwarded a pic of Nick's friend Jo eating a guinea pig in Peru to my sister Sigrún whose daugther Ísafold has a guinea pig named Jasmín*. Ísafold's little brother Kolbjörn also had one, it was called Katrín. Cute, eh? He wanted the guinea pigs to have similar sounding names. He is very related to me. But alas, Katrín died a premature death. Was buried, not eaten, though. I am not sure Sigrún will show Ísafold the picture ... :) If you are good you may be granted a view of the Peruvian guinea pig and the Icelandic one. I shall call the blog installment: "Spot the Difference".

Oh, and I have changed the settings on my blog so as not to get more spam-comments. If you hadn't noticed, it's bc you never comment anyway, so no worries:)

*Nick, Jo, Peru, Sigrún, Ísafold, Jasmín! I've never crammed so many names into one sentence before:)

ps: do you think people in general know how their countries got their names, and what they mean? do you know that about yours? peru ... what does it mean? england? china? azerbaidjan? monrovia? is that even a country? tonga - island in the sun. no, islands to the south. something like that. south of what, though? and if that's what it means, did they even know where they were located on the the globe when they named the islands? who thought of giving directions names? some names are easy, like nova scotia and scotland. hmm. they quite liked themselves. picts and scots, northern british isles tribes, as i recall. montenegro. south africa:) (africa, though?) united states of ... america? yeah, that was some guy's name, i think. or iran. aryan connection there. any country with -stan, it means country. so perhaps name of a big tribe and then country. logical. -(a)bad means "built by". islamabad & jalalabad: built by guys called islam and jalal. does -(a)bad possibly mean "built in the name of"? maybe. i've often asked people, as i do, bc i ask a lot of questions, what the name of their country means. some know, but usually people don't. or they just make something up and/or don't agree on the meaning with someone from the same country. like uganda. robert from uganda who lives at palatine tells me the big and main tribe of his country was called luganda. they spoke some language. there are many dialects and languages in uganda, but to keep things simple for themselves the colonisers called the language of the biggest tribe, luganda, luganda. that makes sense. did they also name the country, though? and what does it mean?

what does it all mean?

i will ask robert tomorrow.

hooray hooray!

at a time i needed it the most, their heartfelt applause, glowing smiles & rhythmic, if freakishly frantic, head-bopping, proved encouraging. they truly did like me!

stats & facts & policies

i am writing. i'm in the lab. nick is here, too. it's very dark outside so i won't be sneaking off home without him. that is good. that means i will get some work done.

things are still looking alright, in terms of writing and productivity. interest level has dipped a wee bit, but that is simply bc i am now writing abt the least human side of my thesis - stats & facts & policies. not, to my sensibilities, titillating stuff, shall we say?, for old times' sake?

alright, break's over.

peace out.

Fyrir vinkonur mínar - for my girl friends

Guys – don’t be squeamish. Or go ahead, be squeamish. But tell your sisters, girl friends and girlfriends abt the below links.

Mig langar að vera umhverfisvænari/vænni, hugsa betur um náttúruna og svona, endurvinna allt sem hægt er, kaupa færri plast&draslumbúðir, lífrænan mat og frjálstvappandihænuegg. Finn oft og tíðum til samviskubits vegna framtaksleysis í þessum málum. En svo man ég allt í einu að eitt geri ég þó: ég á og nota Álfabikarinn. Og hann gerir bæði mér og náttúrunni mikið gagn. Tinna vinkona kom mér á bragðið, ef svo má segja. Takk Tinnelil' ;) Ég pantaði vöruna á netinu og einn góðan veðurdag er ég bjó hjá mömmu minni í Engihjalla kom póststúlka með sendingu um eða eftir kvöldmat. Í pakkanum var þessi litli bikar, í litlum (sérvöldum? maður spyr sig) taupoka og með upplýsinga-og leiðbeiningapésa úr endurunnum pappír. Ég var pínu feimin þegar mamma vildi fá að skoða innihaldið, en svo mundi ég hve vel fjölskylda Tinnu hefði tekið þessu undri þar sem þau sátu öll að snæðingi á hennar bæ er bikarinn bar þar að garði ... Nú verður ekki aftur snúið. Mmm. Frelsið, maður lifandi. Ég hef sagt mörgum frá bikarnum en langar að segja þeim frá sem ekki vita af honum – hljóta að vera fáar nú orðið – og með þessarri bloggfærslu tel ég mig hafa lokið Álfabikarstrúboði mínu.

I often think about living a more eco-friendly life, recycling everything that can be recycled, buying organic and free-range stuff, less packaging, etc. I feel guilty about not doing as much as I should. Until I remember that I do do one thing: I own and use The Keeper. Fantastic, really, the freedom it’s brought. No, really. It is good for me, has very positive effects on lifestyle, health and wallet, and good for the environment. I’ve told many of my girl friends about it, though I don´t think any English speaking ones have actually looked seriously into getting one. I want to conclude my Keeper mission by posting this blog and links. Look into it – it’s worth it.

the sweet student life

Today - or tonight - as I write this I have 26 days left as a Durham University student, and only now am I starting to feel like one:) I am writing and enjoying it. Making trips to the library to get books, not just to print letters to friends, though every single time I've been up there it's been closed, but that just adds some extra interesting typical student stress. I might wanna check out their opening hours. I think at the beginning of my year here I may have bought a notebook and maybe a pencil, meaning I started off feeling wee bit student-y. But the feeling soon passed as did my enthusiasm for what I was doing. I have written abt how all my modules were cancelled and I wasn't very thrilled abt it and didn't really want to study blablabla so I'll not mention it again. But that was basically my experience, which I clung to, until recently.

But now I am loving it:) Maybe it's simply that I work well under pressure. Seems to me most people I know do their best work that way. Many people at any rate ... wait, maybe just my older sister? Anyway, she and I work well under pressure.

I am writing loads and enjoying it. That is mainly bc I am writing the fun chapters, the "human side" ones. No stats yet. But I am writing, and I wasn't really before. My lovely supervisor told me I don't have to reach the 40,000 word mark, but I ought not to go over. There was a time, not so very long ago, when I thought I'd never make it to even 20,000. (There also was a time when I thought I'd reached 20,000 words but had in fact just written 3,000 but as it's too embarrassing to mention, I won't) Now I worry I am about to write too much. It's a much nicer thing to worry about, I think, though editing and deleting isn't great if you like what you've written.

Nick suggested that had I read loads on the subject before Christmas, flown home around that time and done my field work, then come here to write it up, and then gone back to Iceland this summer to follow up on my research I might have had a better time here, study-wise. I think he's right. I did have a good time in most every other way, though:) My tuition fees and lack of gumption to pack up and go home when my dept "failed" me brought me an exiting & lovely future, heehee. I needed a lot of time to digest what I was reading and getting into. Social science(s) are new to me. Dunno what to do with them, or didn't know anyway. Theories and stuff that matter?!?! Wazzup with that? Theories that deal with people, not just words on pages, artistic expressions and ideas, like in my Humanities background. Nice:)

So, I would likely have been able to write more earlier on if I'd been able to apply what I was reading to actual people, like the wonderful folk who helped me out back home by allowing me to pick their brains. It all makes sense now. It's coming together. And I am happy about that.

Now, whether the chapters I am currently writing are any good is a whole 'nother kettle of fish, or whatever. That is sorta beside the point for me right now. It's important but ... ok, it's very important and I am very scared that I won't actually pass. I will worry about that enormously in October, but not now. Ok?

I guess the point is that in doing my Masters here at Durham Uni I've actually learned something, and not just what I came here to learn. I've learned loads about the topic I chose, but even more about me, my poor work techniques and how to improve them, the way I register, digest & eventually interpret info and important materials, what gets me started on writing, and what not to do ... next time around!

:)

the end of the world

i wonder, as i sit in my little room which will only be my home for 20 more days - and as i write it i feel a little panicky at the thought of having to hand in my work very very soon - why humans .... why i continue to do stuff, like write my thesis, when these are clearly the last days of the earth's existence.

shouldn't we ... shouldn't i be doing something, well, you know, like, worthwhile?

yesterday in durham: the most humid day i've experienced here ever. hot hot hot and practically wet air. in the evening it poured down, torrential type rainstorm, with accompanying thunder & lighting. hurricanes in the states. wintery scenes in the highlands of iceland. that's just on the weather front. what abt the oddly many plane crashes lately? and the almost countless murders we read and hear abt?

maybe i am being unneccesarily, though perchance not uncharacteristically, pessimistic. i'm actually not too concerned, though my believes kinda warn me i'm not going to a good place were i to be hit by lighting, like say yesterday.

I JUST CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO FINISH MY THESIS! SOMEONE TAKE THIS SELF-INFLICTED TRIAL AWAY FROM ME!!!

laters :)

i've been to nice, and the isle of greece ...

create your own visited country map


sad really. to be almost 40 and not have travelled more :-0

well, atleast i have my health, cough cough.

pictures from west fjord trip

I have posted pics from the trip online. I put them all there, couldn't be bothered to pick and choose. Furthermore, the pics start on the 2nd day, then move on to the 1st. I'm sure it wont make a difference:) Here you go:)

west fjord family trip

Parcimony is a word I learned on my mission. It isn't a standard I feel compelled to impose on my blog entries.

I went on a coach trip with 22 relatives over the weekend. I wrote the following on the 2nd day and upon return so forgive the change of tense here and there. Ease up, Steinunn, it’s just a blog! So, my mamma’s eldest sister, age 85, hired the coach for us to visit the West Fjords to see the village from which our family comes, or rather from which my mother’s mother descends. The place is called Bíldudalur, population ca 200, and is located in a fjord named Arnarfjörður, which is exceptionally beautiful. Ísland best, oh yeah.

I'm used to write blogs and post pictures completely automatic-like, not knowing how things work, so now I can't post the pics my sister took ... but if you go to the following link you can see 4 pics of the West Fjords which my cousin Erik managed to place on Fotki for me:) Here they are

The travellers:

#1 Iffa (Rannveig Ingveldur):
Sigrún Löve
Leó Eiríkur Löve, Anna Lísa, Anna Margrét

Vilborg (a friend of Iffa’s)

#4 Jóna (Jóna Kristjana):
Sigrún Péturs
Elfa Sif

#6 Lára (Lára Brynhildur)

#12 Dúdda (Magnfríður Dís):
Óskar (partner)
Sigrún Benedikta, Erik, Magga Dís

#13 Lilla (Ólöf Svandís):
Didda (Sæunn Elfa)

#15 Björk (Rafnhildur Björk):
Sigrún Björk
Steinunn Björk

Halla (daughter of sister #2):
Unnur Diljá

Six sisters out of fifteen, numbered above in order of birth, a few of their children, grandchildren and two greatgrandchild came along. Four sisters have passed away, (two of them in their early 20s), so 6 out of 11 isn’t all that bad.

To be honest, it started out a nightmare with running commentaries on places and events in the lives of the famed & allegedly perfect grandparents from the minute we left Reykjavík. I never knew my mum´s parents and mean no disrepect ... As the journey takes about 8 hours, you can imagine how the prospect of listening to stories for that long would scare me and the other less-enthusiastic travellers who came along bc it means a lot to our mothers. The stories which were told most of us had heard before, the sisters definately had and they weren’t the ones telling them – the same goes for descriptions of houses, events and characters most people present knew first hand anyway! How they could stand it is beyond me. I sat with my sister and mum in the back, so I could hide my disdain behind the seats and focus on ignoring the story tellers’ voices and sending Nick and Steve texts describing my misery. Oh my gosh, is all I can say. Oh dear.

Family history – skip if you think you might get bored
Fortunately, and to my surprise and delight, the longer we drove the whole event, as it were, turned interesting and fun. Stories became more varied and new, and I was able to nap and ignore the occasional nationalistic tunes the women chose to sing. They like to sing, my mum sings the best:) They are like jukeboxes or human iPod. Tell them the first line of a song or request any song and they all break into different harmonies, just like that. At the same time, without hesitation, without having to consult one with another or look at each other. At the drop of hat they’ve got a little choir going. Quite fun, actually, like an older version of the Von Trap Family Singers, without the matching outfits and cuckoo-game/song. They don’t like games. Only 3 male relatives came along, husbands of a cousin (named Sigrún Benedikta for my grandmother) and an aunt, and one cousin (named (Leó) Eiríkur for my grandfather). My grandmother lived here in Bíldudalur when my grandfather got a job here as an electrician at the beginning of last century. He had just invented electricity and was understandably quite popular:) He hired a room with another Eiríkur who was nicknamed Eiríkur the hot, while my grandfather was called Eiríkur the cold. This was bc the former always felt rather warm and wanted the windows open at night while my grandfather was freezing cold and demanded they be shut. Eiríkur the cold soon found he’d have to move or else die of hypothermia, and found a room for rent in my grandmother’s parents’ house. The youngsters consequently fell in love, married (my grandmother had dreamt her husband-to-be years before and knew he was hers all along from the first time she laid eyes on him in person), and had 15 daughters who produced a further 40 children ... who have in turn produced children some of whom now have children. My grandfolk had no twins, triplets or other variations of multiple childbirth, and they had to think of 29 names to give them, as all have two names, and only two share a name. Og hananú! I bet you were eager to learn all this. Might come in handy when I’m famous.

We left Reykjavík Saturday at 08.30 and arrived in Bíldudalur at 18.30, stopping a bit along the way. It’s an 8 hr drive. Sigrún and I walked around the village, which didn’t take long, we all checked out the house where my grandmother was born and raised and where she met my grandfather, and checked out a low Postman Pat type stone wall our greatgrandfather built, using the rocks which fell from the steep mountain above – to protect his house and people from the rocks which fell from the steep mountain above! Heh. Then we all had dinner together at the guest house which we fully occupied. We had rather lousy piece of lamb with lovely sugary potatoes & rhubarb jam & brown gravy, mmmmm. When we asked for extras the waiters kindly obliged, bringing us back our own plates with the new portions plus whatever pieces of unchewable meat and stuff we’d left on them before asking for more! One waitress had just had a baby and served us with the baby girl strapped and dangling on her front in a bag for that purpose. “The locals” are nice, chatty and smiley, the ones who work in the guesthouse, and the ones at the grill/shop/petrol station/off licence (when no one is watching). Green peas used to be processed here at Bíldudalur and some band sang a song way back when in which they mentioned them peas. The lyrics became known, “ ... Bíldudals grænar baunir ... “, and now the “village leaders” have organised a summer festival called Bíldudals grænar, and some enterprising individuals have started making salt shakers, bells, bowls and cups with a picture of two wee jumping peas and the words Bíldudals grænar, all green in colour. We bought our mum one, and I bought one for me ... it’s not very pretty at all but I just had to have it.

After dinner we went on a boat trip with our cousins, one of whom lives here and his brother who was visiting. His wife looked so familiar to some of us that we decided she must be a politician. Turns out she works in a bank we’ve all been to several times. Weird. I don’t know those cousins of mine, but they’re really nice men. One of them is our guide today:) We sailed for just over half an hour round the fjord and saw many a bird but neither whale nor seal. The sea only moved a little (I have no idea how to write abt the sea and its “movements” in English. Must read Moby Dick sometime) and the breeze and fresh air was great, I fell asleep almost instantly upon return, and slept like a log all night, despite the snoring of some people. They claimed I snored, too, but I know that’s not true bc I just know.

The mountains in Iceland aren’t very tall. The highest point, Hvannadalshnjúkur which is part of Vatna Glacier, is 2110 m – 2109,6 to be precise. I must add this aside: I choose to write the above glacier’s name the way I do, instead of the typical Vatnajökull Glacier, bc that, to me, is silly as Jökull means glacier. By writing Vatnajökull Glacier I’m telling you it’s called Vatna Glacier Glacier. People also write Lake Mývatn (in the north), which, translated, is Lake Mý Lake. Mount Esja, however, to name a positive example, is an acceptable translation of the mountain which we call Esja bc no part of the name/word “Esja” means mountain. It might be of interest to you to know that Jökull and Esja are both valid childrens’ names. Mý, however, isn’t. It means mosquito. But I digress. When do I not? :) Hvannadalshnjúkur was measured a long time ago and then measured again last week for some reason. I guess the first time around technology wasn’t that advanced and now they wanted to make sure abt its height. Lo and behold, it isn’t as tall as people had thought and all children and tourists had been taught!!! It “used” to be 2119 m, but now we find it’s only 2110 m. Our PM announced the new figure outside his office on Friday. This is serious stuff and I am so glad to be able to give you correct information. Would have been devestating to provide you with the wrong figure. But anyway, the mountains in the West Fjords, though nowhere near 2110 m, are gorgeous and very tall and steep, and pretty barren and vegetationless; these are the tallest coast-mountains in Iceland, breathtaking and awesome.

As I write this I am sitting at the back of the coach which is maneuvring precariously on a tiny windy unpaved mountain road. Country-side roads are very narrow in Iceland, especially in the difficult and sparsely populated West Fjords. It’s a hot political issue, as being able to get places for, say shopping needs or medical reasons, may be considered by some a human right. For that we need roads, unless you have a plane or chopper which are actually a better option here where snow and rock slides cover roads during winter time so people cannot get anywhere. Their reps lobby for bridges and tunnels and so it goes election after election. Tunnels for the West – they need to get places. Passing cars on these roads is near enough impossible ... I don’t even wanna think about it! I brought along my laptop incase I felt inspired to do some work:) and am attempting to write (this blog entry) with it wobbling (on a pillow I brought along for napping) on my knees. The road is very bumpy and my aunts are freaking out as there are cliffs on each side of us – on the left it’s straight up a mountain side, on the right straight down into the ocean. And I mean straight. My sister Sigrún’s eyes are fixed on the tall mountain to the left so as to keep her fear abay, but my mum is sitting calmly on the right reading a book about the fjords! Heights and the prospect of hurtling into the ocean on a coach with her beloved family don’t bother her much:) Good on her. We’re driving in the rain this overcast Sunday to a little valley called Selárdalur where artist Samúel Jónsson painted paintings and built childish statues. He was rather isolated out here – the west part of Iceland is rather uninhabitable - and he never saw money until he became an old age pensioner at age 67! He didn’t really start painting until then, though he’d drawn since he was a child. As an old age-pensioner with money, whoohoo!, he used all his money on buying cement and started gathering sand from the beach to make his statues. He mixed the cement and sand with salty sea water, which is why his statues are disintegrating and people are working on getting the government involved in putting money into preserving them. He painted a painting to put in the local church to commemorate its 100th anniversary, and when the church people refused the gift he simply built his own wee church to put it in, and carved the top part with his wee pocket knife. Unique man. It’s rather odd going to such an obscure and difficult to get to place to see art! He is called “the artist with the child’s heart”, bc of his lack of contact with the world and naiive style. He did go to Reykjavík a few times though but preferred it out here. How he managed to live to a ripe old age with such a little heart is a mystery my sister struggles to solve, with her little child’s brain.

Rounded valleys between mountains which don’t seperate them entirely are called troll womens’ seats. Pointy scary tall outcrops on pointy scary moutains are called elves’ churches. Elves attend church. Seats and churches are all over the place, not just here, but all over Iceland. It’s very beautiful, I think. All of us think so. Biased, maybe? The tall harsh looking mountains surround all the little villages here and have been described by poets as humongous guards watching over the towns and fjords. They look more threatening that protective to me, to be honest and fair. It looks very Lord-of-the-Ring-ish here, like New Zealand where my Nick has been so now I must go there without him if I wanna go! Imagine: Sharp volcanic rock mountains partially hidden in the fog, many in a row, like silhouettes, echoes of one another. Though it’s beautiful one wonders why people settled here, in the west, in such a harsh environment. Not many people live here but some scholars lived here long long ago to pursue their studies, maybe bc of the solitude (I understand the dangers of distractions). Oh, and sorcerers lived here, too, and were persecuted and burned by zealous priests and others, whose wives happened to pass away and they sorcerers were blamed, poor guys. Farmers chose to live here, too. I understand fishermen living here – the ocean is 10 steps away from practically anywhere! Ten steps from your house one direction and you’re up a steep mountain, ten steps the other way and your wading in the sea. Settlers here chose places where no one else lived bc no one else lived there, of course, yet it amases me they’d pick this place bc Iceland wasn’t, and isn’t crowded, and it’s sooooooooooo harsh. Steep mountains, rough sea, and tiny space between, barely enough to build homes, grow anything or graze animals – crazy folk, all of them settlers here!

Yeah, it’s pretty desolate here. As we drive we don’t see anyone, no cars usually, we’ve only seen two in this far-away valley we’re slowly getting out of. Sigrún, however, has bumped into two men she knows, she knows many men;) One of them went to school with her when she was 16. He still looks 16, a 16 yr old with grey hair, stubbles and bushy brows. Somewhat creepy, says she. He is married to a cousin of ours who is of the same family we are now remembering and learning about.

We are back from the artist’s valley and my relatives have ascended on the grill/shop/petrol station/off licence (when no one is watching) to buy lunch. I just ate a banana and a Fuji apple. My nose is cold and I wanna get going. Next up: my late grandfather’s power/electric station! The young couple lived in it with the first 3 of their daughters. It was considered pretty roomy. Downstairs: the power stuff, engine or whatever. Upstairs: a kitchen, living room and bedroom. The man built it himself, the first one in Bíldudalur, enough to make him a saint in his day, and after.

All in all it was a good trip. The beautiful nature more than made up for any discomfort whilst driving, whether due to rocky roads or lengthy stories, or disputes which inevitably happen. Come to Iceland, cause it’s a nice land, sings a famed band. You can shake the shepherd’s hand.

And if you come to Iceland you can join the local band. Or a bunch of jukebox sisters.

an long report II

The last few days have been eventful. That is to say, I’ve done stuff which, unfortunately, hasn’t anything to do with my research, but have entertained me and enriched my life. I’ve done some studying though, I’m being good. I shall now proceed to write about some stuff, under headings below, so each and every reader can pick, skip and choose what he or she would like to read. I am nothing if not considerate:)

Nuns & Monks of Iceland
In the morning class I teach there are 4 very overtly religious people, namely three monks and a nun. The nun is a Mother Theresa type nun, she’s a fun loving gal like all of them seem to be, from Polland, which many of them also seem to be, and a joy to have in class, simply delightful. She asked my forgiveness the other day as she’d answered a question wrong bc she didn’t understand, and she felt she’d lied. I told her no prob but she really felt she had to be forgiven so I did. She wears the white and blue sari, you’ve seen them around, to be sure. If not, I’m pretty sure you know what Mother Theresa used to wear. They copy her outfit. The monks are of the Franciscan order, and their clothes are rather more unusual in modern society. They wear midieval hooded brown robes of rough fabric, a white rope tied around their waste and Birkenstocks keep them walking comfortably, though sockslessly. They are here to found the first monastery for monks in a while, in the east of the country, as a blessing to Iceland. I have thanked them, don’t worry. They have huge long beards and rosary beads dangling from their belts and wee crosses around their necks, and are also fun loving and always smiling like the nuns. Great participators in all class activities. They are happy people. They’ve attained an innner peace which is enviable. “My” monks are named Anton, Peter and Vladimir and they all hail from Slovakia. They’ve been here for a month or so and are already somewhat conversant in Icelandic. That’s astounding. They attribute their quick learning to David, the fourth and head monk, whatever they’re called. He is cool, he loves to talk. The other day a radio guy, married to one of the Icelandic teachers, interviewed him infront of the school. The others were sitting in the brand new VW Golf the Bishop had bought for them – a rather odd sight to see midieval manly men sitting in this modern vehicle – and I went to them to ask what was going on with Brother David. He soon came over and started talking to me. I had some questions, I’d asked Vladimir but they were too tough for him to answer in Icelandic, so I asked David. I asked him how one chooses one order above another. He asked me if I were married, and when I said no he said: When you choose a husband you will “horfa horfa horfa” / ”look look look” at many and see that you like one for this reason, another for that, and so on, until you find the one who’s a keeper. It’s the same when choosing an order. Benedictine monks and Jesuites, for instance, are clever students and study theology 24/7, pray loads, adhere to specific dietary rules and are confined to the monastery. All a choice joyfully made, I hasten to add and emphasise. The lifestyle of a Franciscan, followers, as it were, of St Francis of Assisi, are more active, among the people, they can eat what they want, and also pray loads, of course. We all oughta. It’s been proven that in communities / societies where people meditate crime rate goes down and people in general are somehow more content, even if they aren’t the ones meditating. Meditating and prayer go hand in hand. David said: The other monks are smart and study; we do dishes:) So cool. I then asked: Is there mutual respect between monks and nuns? I really wanted him to say yes, and he did. He said that though he didn’t respect a nun more than other women necessarily, and stressing that “the robes don’t make the monk”, and I assume the same applies to nuns, he could by looking at a nun assume more about her religiosity and ideas of life and happiness and such like than he can about a non-nun. He then said, as I pressed him for an answer on how highly he thought of nuns: When I see a nun I not only think (nice woman) but ... and then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled, grinning hugely! How human! :) So cool, how he was speaking “my language” in a way. No shyness about gender or holier than thou attitude. We spoke for ages – everyone who knows me notes that I make friends with males in groups of three (plus one this time) quite easily – and when they drove off, after promising me they’d introduce me to the Carmelite nuns with whom I may go and stay for a few days and experience the life of a real nun, something I’ve always wanted, Brother David whistled at me:) They all laughed heartily, so happy, contagiously so. So cool.

Fun Icelandic Lessons Groups
I teach Icelandic, as I’ve written before, from 09.20-12.00 every day and from 18.00-21.00 Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, until July 28th. I am lucky this time as both groups are made up of people who for the most part are willing to participate in class. Sometimes the dynamics of groups are such that no one talks or shows initiative, but this time around every session is super active and energetic. Maybe it’s me, maybe I am cooler now:) I am a lot of fun, you know that;), and they laugh at me and with me, haha, we have so much fun. There are a couple of grumpy types but I’ve finally become confident enough to actually act the part of teacher and person in authority, telling them off, telling them to participate in speaking excercises or else expect not to learn a single thing. It’s worked wonders, I am glad for that. It’s quite rewarding to witness their progress and give them things to talk about and see them talk for ages, switching partners, talking to as many as they can, and really getting into it, even if the conversations are simple and sometimes silly. What do you do on Saturdays? What is your favourite thing to do at work? What do you eat for breakfast? Do you enjoy swimming and salsa dancing? No yes or no answer are allowed, I am quite strict about that and they get the reason why. I’ve students from, in random order, the Netherlands, Phillippines, Germany, France, Belgium, Polland, Thailand, Denmark, Italy, Slovakia, Peru, England, USA, Uganda, Nigeria, Senegal, Canada, the Ukraine, Serbia, Ireland, an Icelandic girl raised in the States, and Morocco. My work is fun – it’s more fun now after this long break. I also feel I’m doing something, which of course I am, not just sleeping in and doing yoga and wondering what yummy foods to cook:)

Bike & Woodchopping
I’ve been reunited with my Mongoose Switchback. His name is Mokee, for the Mokee Dugway / Switchbacks by Gooseneck canyons, Rivers of San Juan, Southern Utah. It’s lovely, takes me 3 minutes to get to work, heehee. Good bike. I checked to see what it would cost to have it and maybe a couple of boxes with stuff from here shipped to Durham – £950 just to send it, £60, as I recall, for taxes and handling. Insane! I’ll take it on the plane, if at all, but I really want to bc it’s a gorgeous bike, been so good to me. Comfy saddle, too, and that’s important:) On my way from work yesterday I cycled past a grove of tall trees by a roundabout, not a place you’d sit and picnic but nice nonetheless. I heard a suspicious sound eminating from the said grove. I followed the sound and witnessed a bizarre sight. A man in a woodworker's outfit was kneeling in the midst of the tall trees, sawing a piece of ply-wood in parts. I found it bizarre that the man was sawing “processed” wood in a grove of live trees. I truly did find it bizarre. Like eating canned fruit in an orchard. Or changing a peeing doll's nappy whilst working at a nursery. I could find more examples, but maybe I'll leave it up to you. This is the interactive part of my blog - please participate, if you understand what I'm on about in the first place:) I wanted to take a pic but didn’t bc I was cycling behind a man who took larger than normal steps and acted weirdly and somehow that threw me off.

Pilates in Pool
Our personal trainer Carolyn and my sister & I had a wee misunderstanding so we missed a session, so she offered to meet us at a pool and teach us some pool excercises, cardio and Pilates. We swam loads, I was exhausted and would have stopped had she not been there. Navel to the spine whilst swimming is tough, especially if you’re a poor swimmer like I am, but it felt so rewarding. After that we did some jumping up and down and twisting round, kicking our feet while holding on to the ledge of the pool, always focusing on our core/centre and controlled breathing:) and then we ran in the water, very demanding indeed. She told us “real” athletes do it so we felt quite accomplished. A student of mine was there, we waved and he stood in the pool wondering what we were doing jumping up and down and running with “strong arms” while breathing funny. A German tourist stared and then told us this was a swimming pool not a running pool. Oh go home you dirty man, probably didn’t shower before entering the pool. Stretches in the very very hot hot tub, I sang “American Life” by Madonna for Carolyn, bc in it she says: "I do yoga and Pilates, and my room is full of hotties, blablablablablablablabla, do you think I’m satisfied?”, and then we were off to my mamma’s house where Sigrún cooked a delish meal and we ate 300 gr of veggies each, my mum and Sigrún and I. Good for us. Eating healthy, apart from the any chocolates I eat every day. Argh!!

Talking Shiva Cat
Today I took the wee cat, Shiva, to her grandparents, ie the parents of the owner. She used to live there. She pooed and peeed (how on earth does one spell those words in the past tense?) on the floor and meowed constantly and I couldn’t handle it bc of the distraction and interruption to studies, plus I’ve developed an allergy now, her little old lady cat hair flying about everywhere. Been itchy all day after driving her to a town near Rvík, the same town Helga Dís, the cat owner’s sister and my friend, lives in. Mosfellsbær, for those who know my land. On the way, as she sat in her basket in my niece Ísafold’s lap, she was acting a bit funny, mouth open and she looked distressed. And then she spoke! She said, very distinctly: Æ æ æ. That’s pronounced: aye aye aye. She then puked quite a bit of her Whiskas I’d given her that day. And then she spoke again. Æ æ æ. It means, oy vey, or oh dear (Nick, you know you say it, too:) ) We told her new caretakers about this miracle, a 19 yr old talking cat!, but they just told us she does that quite often. Æ æ æ. That’s an actual word, short, but a word! Amazing! I feel guilty for promising to take care of her and then not doing it, but I must focus on my work. It’s now or never, really, for my research and writing. You know that, it’s a sad fact.

Sara & Liv Anna
Went out with Sara and Liv Anna on Thursday. Wasn’t meant to be a proper night out but turned into one quite quickly. Approximate drinks prices: Pint O’Beer: £4.50. Cocktails: £12.50. Insane. Sara and Liv Anna are gorgeous and a lot of fun, we all rode our bikes to our rendez-vous. I left to Sara’s house which is near the pub, Kaffibarinn, we were in, and then I stayed there bc it was late and stuff. Went to work this morning in a different state still, unshowered, and, typically, that’s when a tv crew from the state tv chose to come to film “my” monks and the rest of the class and talk to some students about studying this tough language. I might tape it to show y’all, bc it’ll be funny. The city is shutting down the school I’m teaching at, big big mistake, as classes will cost more elsewhere and less will study, less availability and stuff, blah, boring stuff, but will fit nicely in my thesis as it has to do with integration.

Blönduós & hot tub
I am now in Blönduós in northern Iceland, 3.5 hrs from Rvík, a town Sigrún and fam used to live in, in Inga’s house, her boy Fannar’s room, writing this on my laptop which now has power thanks to Nick sending me my power cord. Customs wanted me to pay for it, they opened the package thinking it was a new item. I didn’t have to in the end, for obvious reasons. Bravissimo sent my new on-line bought bra over here and customs demands near enough half the price of it as tax. Greedy. Sigrún, Inga and I just spent a couple of hours, from 01.30-03.30, in the hot tub outside, bright sky, a little rain, lovely hot spring water. We did so e Pilates and talked loads and laughed loads, had a great time. I slept or rested a bit upon arrival around 21.00, tired from last night, today’s work and workout with Carolyn and Sigrún, so now, at 04:34, I am wide awake. Will post this tomorrow, for your enjoyement ... though I know it’s too long, 4 pages in Word so far!, but I love to talk/write. This weekend Blönduós holds it’s annual Food & Culture Festival, with a cooking competition into which Sigrún’s friend Inga has entered and on the panel of judges is one of Iceland’s hottest singers, Jónsi. He’s simply cool, don’t really like his music but he as energy and charisma like pop stars oughta. Like Jack White Stripes, though not quite as much:) Ísafold went to a pool party for 12-16 yr olds tonight, and tomorrow we will go to a dance thingy where Jónsi will be playing with his band, Í svörtum fötum / Wearing black clothes. Oh yeah;) We’ll go round different events tomorrow, that’s why Sigrún and Ísafold came here, and I am not sure why I came along, but I usually just do what I am asked so Sigrún asked and I came along.

I belive that’s it, for now! Weather still miserable, except at night it seems. Wore a skirt today, for the first time since being here. It’s a brave move, due to excessive wind. One must wear something nice and covering underneath if one doesn’t want to be shamed infront of the natives:) Will go to bed now. See yous soon:)

X

ps: today as I add to this and post it is Saturday. I dreamt that I was at some festival, maybe Glasto, and the White Stripes were there. I was so happy to see them amongst the people, just strolling around, and then they filed up behind me and we walked in single file into centre of Durham where I found a nice wee pub for us all. Meg and Jack weren’t there, though, only the band members, which I know don’t exist, one was called Chris and another was called But or Butt and he pinched my arm and told me he loved me. Luciane was there as was a girl from school and uni, but whom I haven’t seen in years. The band members were all really nice and fun, took my picture and asked if I was an Icelandic protestor, protesting to preserve the rocky cold outcrop I call(ed?) home. They also had a dog, golden retriever. Then my friend had a toe operation and some woman threatened a street peddler she’d turn him in for selling cards that were illegally copied. Also my sisters gave me and Nick a set of 60 dvds, all either James Bond films or Woody Allen films, wasn’t really sure. Sigrún dreamt that the dwarf she owned, in the dream only, taught her to tap dance whilst he was standing on the kitchen table which she’d placed him on. Revelations come at night, I tell ya.

sad sad news

a danish man, in denmark, headbutted a busdriver whom he thought to be an arab. he did this in retalliation for the horrific events in london this weeek. he said "london" and then proceded with the headbutt, not realising that the driver was an indian bloke, with a turban from that region and all.

what do you think he was hoping to accomplish?

there is nothing i can write about the horribleness of the london bombings, nothing which hasn't already been said. my words and even emotions are meaningless compared to those of people who were there, who lost relatives or in any way understand the emotions that go along with the experience of the events better than i. i basically only have room to for anger and impatience and intolerance now towards those who show those precise emotions, in actions, towards innocent people of "suspect" backgrounds. this will never end.

i told a friend over here that if i were a bombcrazy person i'd be laughing at the police when watching the news, thinking they'll never catch me, i am so superior haha. and this makes me angry, the cockiness i perceive them to be full of. he replied: i don't understand how they bombers can watch tv, see the carnage they've caused, and not feel anything. they are no longer human.

to my religious friends: yes, i know, these are the last days. must start preparing, soon.

annaðhvort í ökkla eða eyra

The Blue Lagoon was lovely. Crowded, and no massages to be had as they were all booked up. A Japanese man spat in the milky water. I sent him many a threatening and disapproving glance and I know he understood them, but he also knew that I was chicken and wasn't gonna do anything abt it.

We only sat and got cooked for a couple of hours. I wanted to stay forever bc it cost me 1.400 IKR to get in. Every time I go there, which isn't that often, I am shocked at the prices and the staff always get defensive, telling me they can't do anything abt that. Like I really wanted them to, it's just a natural reaction, really, when it seems them raise the prices by 30% every couple of years.

Jasmín and I bonded some more while children, a cousin and Sigrún and Björgvin, her man, watched Scary Movie 3 without flinching. I get scared too easy. Jasmín kept me calm.

My dentist had to drill holes in the skin beneath one tooth and I never felt it at the time but now that whole area is so sore and I can't really brush my teeth. I miss my electric toothbrush, gentle and efficient.

I am writing abt things of no consequence so it's time to go to bed. Sigrún will drive me home and I will sleep well. Tomorrow I will move to Gulla's house and my life as a serious student will begin. Or so I hope. Sorta depends on the laptop charger thingy which Nick has sent but hasn't arrived ... Interesting fact: it takes parcels longer to travel from Britain to Iceland than from Iceland to Britain. Let's test this a few times as this will prove or disprove my theory - y'all send me stuff, yeah, and I'll tell you how long it takes to reach me:) Haha. Ok, time for bed.

Nightnight.

more minute by minute info, and then some

I forgot to mention how I cherish belonging to a society overly interested in physical appearance. Not having seen family, friends and colleagues for 6 months and returning all happy and glowing I guess and stuff, heehee, cheese but true, they are under the impression that I look great, and keep telling me so! It's been fantastic, really. Different. Need to know the difference, sings Meg. About something completely different.

Also, there's this show on tv, a Scottish show about people in some castle, Monarch of the Glenn it's called, I think. There's a girl in it, Lexie is her name, and folk think I look like her. I think it's the dark (coloured in my case) hair, the style of it, and the stiff slightly-jutting-out jaw. But anyway, I get texts messages and people tell me how Lexie I look ... not random people, mostly family and a few friends, but again, with such great emphasis being placed on physical appearance - and I may be wrong but I think it's more here than in the UK for instance - it's nice being compared to nice looking people, as opposed to hearing about weight gain or loss, mousy hair, oily skin, dodgy make-up ... people really tell one another stuff like that here. One guy even told me he thought I looked different, couldn't quite put his finger on it, but then he got it: My hair is thinning! Whaaaaaaaat!! I stabbed him to death with the Toblerone I'd bought in abundance at the airport. I wasn't gonna eat it anyway.

I am at my sister Sigrún's house again and we are going to the Blue Lagoon. I love it there. Some magazine in the UK voted it Europe's most overrated tourist spot, but I still like it. It costs an arm and a leg to get in, but once there it might be nice today to get a massage and a drink in the pool. Never done that before, and I am not above splurging on myself. I am too kind to me. I really am.

Watched the final episode of Survivor, which my dearest Helga Dís taped for me so diligently and sent to me in Durham. The final competition required the competitors to stand on something, they ended up standing on it for nearly 12 hours. And that's when I realised how good Pilates really is: their back were hurting and legs were numb, but had they known the above technique standing on a thingy in the water, a floating thingy which bobs up and down and I dunno how to spell, it would have been a breeze.

What else? Sun is shining right now, might stay so I am gonna get my sistah going, out into the car where The Nurse is now on repeat, and off we go to the overrated but delightful Blue Lagoon.

For someone whose life philosophy has hitherto been not to use the word "but" (something I learned when a good little Mormon / missionary ... that day might come again), I've used it quite a bit in this blog entry, huh?

My sistah is stirring. She's up. She's just said Jæja, the Icelandic word which precedes all goings. Say it once, people know you're about to move. Second time around, it's more serious, and if you manage to get it in third time, after which you have to leave, your hosts, if you're at someone's house, know that you love their company.

She just said: Förum. So we're off.

X

Glastonbury pics

my nick posted his glasto pics here

start on the last page as for some reason they are in reverse order

glastonbury was great:) positively fabulous.

a long report

Well, je suis ici. In good old Iceland. I am currently at my sister’s house, watching her family watch a US show call Dead Like Me and no one understands, while arguing about bed times. Came here to watch Jerri Blank with my dear older sister but my niece’s dvd won’t play it, so I simply have to blog.

I can’t say I’ve done alot since returning, and I only have four more weeks to go! I’ve taken care of some of the boring stuff I had to do. I went to the bank and talked to my woman there. I went to the dentist, three times, though I specifically asked to see her only once for a longer-than-usual visit, as I knew dentists never do anything on the first visit, just poke around in your mouth and then tell you to return. 22.500 IKR for three visits. That’s a lot of spons (heehee), maybe 290 pounds? I went to see my GP bc of my numb big-toes and B12 deficiency. He agreed with me, though I am not sure how scientifically correct it is, that being the youngest of the youngest of 15 sisters has left me with bad genes and told me I was fortunate to be moving back to the UK where I can get my B12 fixes for free. My toes went numb after walking in flip-flops for a day or two at Glastonbury. Not just that, I’m not that weak, but walking in the mud and having to forcably pull my feet from out of it caused the little thing on (my new Accesorize) flip-flops that goes between the toes to pinch the very sensitive nerves which lie between the big toe and the the one next to it. I assume the other toes have something similar going on, but for now I am just glad that the pins´n´needles sensation will, according to Dr GP, fade in time ... might take weeks, though. It hurts, just so you know and consequently some of my many new shoes don’t sit as comfortably on my feet as they oughta. I’m not complaining, not at all, just giving a reason, other than defective genes, for going to see my GP. He likes me, there’s always something juicy to take care of. He checked out my toes, I had a blotchy tissue-tan and nail polish on that day. Slightly embarrassing.

What else? Oh yeah, went to the gym today with my elder sister, Sigrún. We have a personal trainer, whoohoo. She’s from the States, and she’s into Pilates, and I am sure she knows Madonna and stuff, though my first impression was this: she’s fit, as in thin, yet her arms aren’t like Madonna’s so this can’t work. Very bad of me, as she’s good at what she does, flabby arms or no. Actually, her arms aren’t flabby, they just aren’t Madonna’s. So, we had a body fast test, which we both failed with flying colours, and then learned how to get into the fat burning zone or something like that, on treadmills or other cardio thingies. She was keen on informing us that we are different individuals, we’ve had problems identifying that in the past, and told us repeatedly that our zones differeded as a result. It was fun. Then we did some Pilates, also very fun, and I finally truly understand what “drawing the navel to the spine” means. Been hearing that on my yoga dvd for ages, and I love how that sounds for some reason, but never quite got it. Get it now. We shall meet her thrice next week and then 8 times after that. We won’t have shed all our unwanted pounds by that time but we will have enjoyed our gym time together, our bonding:) Oh yeah.

I’ve started work, too. This week, 3 nights, and I’ve already grown weary. My mum’s tenant is in my class though, and she’s cool. And funny. I have abt 17 students, I have already forgotten my Icelandic and have managed to teach them 3 wrong words. I simply made them up. Embarrassing. I embarrassed one man when I asked if he played online poker, bc I was eager to bond and share a personal experience ... or that of someone dear to me;) He said he likes to play cards, but then he got all snooty and looked like I’d de-closeted him. So, I assumed, he’s a gamblaholic. What’s the real term? I teach my evening class of level 2 (out of 5 or so levels) students some funky Icelandic from 18.00-21.00 three nights a week, Mon, Tues & Thurs. On Monday I will start teaching in the mornings as well, every morning from 09.20-12.00. That’s gonna be a real challenge, getting up and stuff. All classes “commence”, if you get my drift, on the 28th of July. On Sunday I move to my friend Helga Dís’ sister Gulla the Needle (she the best acupuncturist I’ve known) ... her house. She and her daughters are going on holiday until the 29th and they need me to take care of their incontinent cat. The perks, all bc I am loved:) But I get a flat for myself, 5 min from the school I teach at, in the West part of Rvík, 107 area, close to my own wee flat. My mum lives pretty far away (112) and I’d have to catch a bus there and back and bla so this is great. I can ride my bike.

Haven’t done much of my masters work, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Lost my memory stick with all my info for a few days, and forgot the laptop lead in Durham. That’s how into my paper I am:)

I met my old and new tenants. The old ones are the sweetest and left the flat clean and nice, like no one was ever there. They joked abt it, said that they had only rented it, not lived there, and we laughed, they are really sooooo sweet and fun!! :) Hilarious, yeah. Well, you had to be there. The new ones, I met the lady-part of the family as I was moving stuff out of the flat with the help of my young fabulous cousin, Andri Rafn. He’s 13 and I asked him (last, no one else would take time off work and stuff – can you believe it! he happened to be not busy) to help me move all my furniture and fridge and cutlery ... I’ve got loads of stuff!, and he was the best help ever. So independent, just knew what needed to be done. Really impressed, I am, by him. Always have been, actually. He plays football, is really good at it, he smiles and is so friendly, and knows how to make conversation. Cool guy. My cousin:) A real cousin, heehee.

I had B-day dinner – THANK YOUS TO THOSE WHO SENT & THOUGHT SWEET B-DAY WISHES & CARDS:) - with my friend Tinna at her house, and her friends and my upstairs neighbours and friends, Óli and Árni. It was great, fondue (sp?). Good fun, too.

Nick sent me the hugest and most beautifullest bouquet of long stemmed pink roses for my b-day. I’d given him and everyone the wrong flat number so I was lucky to get the flowers bc the flower guy was standing in the foyer pressing the wrong bell when I happened to arrive home last Saturday and thought, Hmm maybe they is for me, and then I saw my name on the card and I was simply ecstatic and told him, They are mine! And he said, cool, and gave them to me:) Teehee

I took care of my sisters’s flat until she came back from Spain yesterday. They gave me The White Stripes’ new cd, so great and absolutely fabulous to have seen their great show at Glasto, I thought it was fantastic and Jack White is so charismatic and she is so dour and it was great, and I can’t get enough of them, especially My Doorbell:) They also gave me the only American baseball type cap that has ever looked good on me ... and it says Pieper. Kolbjörn and Ísafold insisted on it being made for me, they also had caps made for them with their names. They love me. And yet, it may cause some probs for me.

See, I’ve always been conflicted about my name. I was born Steinunn Björk Björnsdóttir. Not born, you know what I mean. I was baptised a Lutheran in the wee town of Selfoss, South Iceland, on December 11th 1973 and given that name. I was very cute then. Got stubble-rashes from all the male relatives who found me so cute and hugged me and kissed. The women did, too, but they don't have beards. I have pics to prove it. The beard part - knowing me, I realised it would be hard to believe my whole family isn't bearded:) Incidentally, the above date was the day of birth of the girl who was later to become my best friend and then my biggest break-up. At age 11 I went downtown to the Statistics Office and had my name changed to Steinunn Björk Pieper, bc I didn’t like to be the Daughter of Björn anymore. Thought Pieper would make me less obviously the daughter of a man I don’t know and stuff, no psychological complications really so don’t worry that I’m writing stuff I oughta just talk about, with a psychologist. Anyhoo, after years of having to spell my last name to everyone in Iceland, and then having to spell all three names whenever abroad ... I decided enough was enough, and so I added my original name:) In the year 2002, I think, I became Steinunn Björk Björnsd. Pieper. No longer “dóttir”, thet "óttir"-part got left out, bc the Stats Office’s computer can only accept names which fit neatly on some line on their screen. That, to me, is funny. Nick, write them a programme with longer lines to fit longer names? Now, I’ve grown seriously weary of carrying 4 names and I have been considering just keeping the first two. Steinunn Björk. In Sweden, Björk is a surname. It could work. Not less complicated when living abroad but less names to spell. And it bothers me when people pronounce the ei and ie Steinunn and Pieper the same way. That is so very ignorant. But now I have a baseball cap with Pieper on it! Do you understand how that complicates things? I can’t change my names. Unless ... I just change it to Pieper. Just that. Hey, my name is Pieper. No, not Pie, Pee. Much nicer. Peepah. Arghhhhhhhhhhh!!

Re: my sister’s flat – I was meant to sleep there, show the flat to interested buyers, as it’s for sale, and feed Jasmín, the guineapig. I couldn’t really sleep there, however, bc I´ve watched too much scary tv and I cannot sleep alone in a basement flat. I still managed to leave a slight mess, as I played with Jasmín and let her out of her cage and gave her yummie stool-inducing carrots bc I felt she needed comfort food, and then forgot to clean up after her. Unbeknownst to me some people came to check out the flat, my bro-in-law’s sister let them in. I hope the piggie poop didn’t scare them off. I did have my sister’s car ...

And if ever I had negative things to say about the way British people walk – bc they really can’t walk in public without annoying the public - let me now, or next time I blog, rant and rave about the way Icelanders drive. Badly. Taking chances left right and centre. Smiling as they cut you off so you wont swear at them and wave and other stuff. Tooting (that’s childspeak for "honking") at each other for no good reason. But I am too tired to really get annoyed. I have to write abt it later.

Long blogs, that’s what I write when in Iceland.

That’s it for now.

Oh, funny thing happened when I bumped into the real estate man ... gotta write about that. And what else? Brought all the wrong clothes, am cold most of the time. Got 2 pair of shoes for my bday, and bought one pair the other day myself. I love shoes.

Now I’ll end, for now.

X

i've arrived

safe and sound. only had to wait 7 hours at heathrow due to thunder and lightning. after that, a lovely flight home, delicious measly little veggie meal and a film i'd seen before, so i slept all the way and stole an icelandair blanket when i left.

that's all i have to say right now, i am sooooooooooooooooo hungry bc i haven't really eatent anything since i arrived at 6 am on wednesday, as i got some bug. maybe something lethal from glasto!! nah.

mamma is cooking some icelandic stuff for me tonight. yei:)

kisses, s.

til glastonbury og svo heim til íslands í mánuð:)

sælsæl.

ég er á leið til glastonbury með nick og tveimur vinum hans, zoe og alan, og þeirra svítharts, brendan og tracey. við leggjum af stað héðan með lest á miðvikudag, á morgun, með útilegudót og allan minn íslandsfarangur, gistum í chessington nálægt london hjá lindu & mark & lucy sem ég heimsótti um páskana, og svo keyrum við á fimmtudaginn með zoe og brendan til glastonbury. það tekur einhverja klukkutíma. hlakka til allra tónleikanna og þessarrar upplifunnar þó ég sé löngu farin að kvíða klósettferðum. portaloo ekki í uppáhaldi:(

nú, svo lýkur glastonbury hátíðinni 26. eða 27., við keyrum til baka og ég flýg frá heathrow 28. júní, beint heim til móður minnar, ykkar og heljarinnar rannsóknarvinnu ... og til jasmínar naggríss sem ég mun passa á heimili hennar sjálfrar meðan sigrún systir og hennar fólk eru á spáni.

þetta er svona planið. þó ég hafi ekki mikið bloggað að undanförnu fannst mér rétt að láta vita. ég vinka ef ég sé sjónvarpsvél, verð í rauðum alltof síðum buxum og nýjum flísjakka eða hlýrabol, allt eftir veðri og vindum:)

knús & sjáumst brátt, s:)

kastljósið 15. júní og gerfibrúnka/gervibrunka

Var að horfa á Elísabetu Jökulsdóttur og Geir Jón. Ágætt, misjöfn sjónarmið og doldið tala í hring eða kross. Honum tókst vel, löggumanninum, að tala niður til Elísabetar, kalla hana elskuna sína og halla sér að henni eins og föðurlegur gúrú meðan hann útskýrði málin eins og sá sem allt veit og skilur að grey konan veit ekki betur, hún heldur hreinlega að hún hafi rétt fyrir sér. Pirrandi að sjá svona fólk í sjónvarpi. Hann er etv ágætur samt. Pirrandi líka hve fólk í "stöðum" lætur sér fátt um finnast ýmislegt það sem öðrum finnst vera spurning um réttlæti, mannréttindi, osfrv. Og er sama þegar það er gagnrýnt, er sama um álit "almúgans", etv sama um almúgann almennt. Mr Oddsson springs to mind. Á ég ekkert að vera láta þetta pirra mig?

Í alls óskildum fréttum - ég var að kveðja stúlkuna skrafhreifnu sem kom til mín með allar græjur til snyrtingar í herbergið mitt sæta. Hún vaxaði augabrúnir og litaði ásamt augnhárum, og spreyjaði svo yfir mig brúnkuspreyji:) Ég stóð í tjaldi og hlýddi fyrirmælum sem hún æpti yfir spreyhávaðann. Sjálf var hún voða appelsínugul, svo mjög að mér brá, hafði séð hana áður þegar hún vann á stofu en núna þegar hún er orðin sjálfstæður & móbíll bjútisjön hefur hún eitthvað látið eftir sér í brúnkuefnum ... annars er ég hrifin af framtaki hennar þar sem hún hafði nóg að gera áður og er súperbusy núna, og líka voða fínt að fá hana bara heim! Sé á morgun hvort ég verð eins appelsínugul og hún - þetta lítur enn sem komið er ágætlega út, og ég er vongóð á brúnan lit. Mig langar að verða pínu sumar-brún, er það ekki bara eðlilegt? Ljós eru út úr myndinni því þau eru skaðleg eins og allir vita. Einu sinni fór ég nokkuð oft í ljós, en þori ekki lengur. Sólin hefur ekki mikið sýnt sig hér í Durham undanfarið. Þetta var ekki svo dýrt, gaman að prófa. Skammast mín samt pínu ... en ekki nóg til að ég skrifi ekki um þessa reynslu:) Liturinn endist ekki lengi, 7-12 daga, þannig að ef þetta er hræðilegt verð ég hvort eð er orðin hvít og sæt aftur innan skamms:)

Á morgun fer ég í klippingu og litun. Ég er pínu sjokkeruð á því hve fake ég er orðin. Er það eðlilegt?

Ég tók þessa mynd af mér fyrir nokkrum mínútum, hvað finnst ykkur? Töluverð breyting en ég er alveg sátt:)

stóri bróðir Jarðarinnar - the Earth's Big Brother

Hún er tvöfalt stærri en Jörðin og 7,5 sinnum þyngri. Pláneta þessi snýst kringum stjörnuna Gliese 876, í 15 ljósára fjarlægð frá Jörðinni í átt að stjörnumerkinu Vatnsberanum. Fjölmiðlar hafa eftir Steven Vogt, prófessor í stjörnufræði og stjarneðlisfræði við Kaliforníuháskóla í Santa Cruz, að þessi nýuppgötvaða pláneta líkist Jörðinni meir en nokkur sem fundist hefur í himingeimnum til þessa.

Double the size of the Earth and 7,5 times its weight, the above planet rotates around the star Gliese 876, which is 15 lightyears away from the Earth in the direction of constellation (? something like that) Aquarius. Steven Vogt, a specialist in (very complicated) star-stuff (which I don't know the terms for, yet) from the Uni of California at Santa Cruz, says that this planet is the most similar to our Earth of any planet found out there in space to date.

(af fréttavef rúv)

alton towers 3. - 5. júní

ég fór fyrir 2 vikum til stafford nálægt tívolíinu alton towers ásamt nick svo hann gæti heimsótt lasna ömmu sína sem þar býr. þar fórum við síðan í áðurnefndan garð í boði föðursystur hans ásamt tveimur ungum frændum því enginn annar nennir eða þorir í tækin og voru því fegnust að koma þessari skemmtiför, sem strákunum hafði verið lofuð, yfir á okkur:) við þurftum því að sanna okkur sem kúl gamalmenni, og tókst það ágætlega, því strákunum 11 (hayden) og 13 ára (sam) finnst í raun bara stigsmunur á okkur og fimmtugum föður þeirra, en við erum bara meira kúl af því við þorðum í tækin.

hér gefur að líta myndir frá alton towers, og af ann föðursystur nicks ásamt gæludýrum, hundinum pepsi og kisunum rocky og nutmeg.

einhver stelpa, nick, ég og sam á hvolfi
þetta var annars voða gaman:) mig langar að lesa rannsóknir á því hversvegna við mannfólkið látum bjóða okkur að borga ágætis upphæðir fyrir aðgöngu í garð þar sem við stöndum sjálfviljug í röðum til að komast í tæki sem hræða úr okkur líftóruna í nokkrar sekúndur eða mínútur. á hvolfi og/eða rennblaut mestallan tímann. jei:)

i like deer

the flame part of the picture above looks like deer antlers, yeah? when i go to the library or the post grad computer room (done that twice now:) ) i see it and it gets me thinking about deer, bc the word "deaf" has 2 of the same letters as the word "deer", and how drivers must be careful when driving so they don't hit one. then i realise there aren't any deer near or in the buildings around here and in fact the sticker isn't abt deer at all, but for deaf people. but you may have realised that before me.

nick is to thank for the following:

what do you call a deer with no eyes?
no idea

what do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?
still no idea

what do you call a deer with no eyes, no legs and on fire?
still no flaming idea

heehee:)

íslandsför

Hæ, þetta er bara til að tilkynna þeim sem ekki vita að ég kem til Íslands 28. júní nk, á afmælisdegi Önju sys, og fer aftur út 3. ágúst. Ég þarf að vinna heilmikið, rannsóknir fyrir mastersritgerðina og svo Nýsk.sjóðsverkefnið, og etv vinna í Náms ... sjáum til hvernig þetta fer allt saman. Hlakka til og vona að þrátt fyrir að sumarið líti út fyrir að ætla að verða eitt það busy-asta sem ég hef upplifað lengi þá hafi ég tíma til að hitta fólk og fá mér Hlölla og snúð og ekta kaffihúsakökur og skreppa í fjallgöngu og útilegu og oft í sund og svona, þetta helsta:)

Hello, English speakers, I am going to Iceland on the 28th of June (my youngest sister's b-day), and I'll be back in Durham on the 4th of August. I am going there bc it's home, obviously, but mainly this time to do research for my masters and also for this very nice grant I received ... hope I'll have time to enjoy myself while over there, take pics and blog from time to time abt what I'm doing. I promise not to blog if I spend all my days at the library, only if I do interesting things. What would you like me to bring you back from Iceland?