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An illustrated regular |
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Monday, January 30, 2006
Not snow
Frost. Icy hue on the grass. Thick, white fog.
Is this not what I wanted? Not when it comes without the snow, it isn't. For some reason literally freezing my toes and fingers off* isn't as charming when there's no snow to compensate.
QotD: Parker: "Well excuse me for being a positive person!"
Phoebe: "No, I'm positive. You're like Santa Clause on Prozak. At Disneyland. Getting laid." - Friends
*might be exaggerating a bit. I'm not so used to the cold anymore. |
Sunday, January 29, 2006
ProCRASTINATOR 200.6
Why study when there's so much else to do? I mean, when you can , e.g. browse the internet; watch The O.C. (and oh my god how sick I am of Ryan; yeah, so he's easy on the eyes, but Jesus Christ is he annoying when he's always trying to "save" Marissa - who also goes on my nerves - when she so does not need to be saved. I'm telling you, this show is only going downhill); watch the double bill season 5 finale of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, directed by Quentin Tarantino, in which Nick Stokes is kidnapped and buried alive in a PlexiGlas box, that you taped last night; add more pictures to the song infos on your neat white iPod (although there aren't many left of the 433 songs, which don't have a picture attatched); think about how you are not doing what you're supposed to do and decide that you're going to start it as soon as... Yeah. Whenever that will be. Man, I do not feel the least bit guilty that I have only written the introduction of a History essay that's due in tomorrow morning, and that I still have abou 50 or 60 questions to answer about two poems, for English (40 thereof due for next Friday; the rest due last Friday, which I didn't 
really have to do because I was sitting my personal study NAB then, so I didn't go to class. Oh, it's so annoying when things start to back up).
But still I barely give a damn. I think it's almost a good thing that I can't go straight to uni; I am such an irresponsible student.
Last night I was babysitting - well, not really babysitting; the girl is 12, but her 6-year-old brother whom I usually babysit as well was staying at his friend's house for the night, so it was just us girls. Anyway. We watched a film called Grind, which is not the type of film that I'd usually watch; it's about four guys obsessed with skateboarding who follow their idol, a pro-skater, on his tour; but there was no other film on the FilmFlex list that either of us wanted to watch, and she'd seen this one three times before, so she knew it was good. Or, rather, entertaining. And surprisingly it was entertaining! The skateboarding tricks were quite admirable. Like in a computer game, only real. When I saw the cast list, I noticed a name that should be familiar with all you girls and boys who have watched TV at all the last couple of years; Adam Brody. And I though: "Hm. A film starring Adam Brody. How bad can it be?" Not at all, I tell you, not at all. His character is pretty much the same type as Seth on The O.C., but it didn't bother me. But jeez, did he go on my nerves. Not as funny as he was supposed to be. Not at all. His was a corny character; hot but doesn't know it, too sweet for his own good, slightly obsessive but in a cute way, and actually the only one of the foursome who was clearly not supposed to be funny. And I did not get why he was such a chick-magnet, when he was obviously not - and not supposed to be, I think - nearly as attractive as, say, Adam Brody (I hear you girls) and Mike Vogel. All he had to do was say casually "Wanna make out?" and whatever scantily-clad girl he said it to would say "sure" and go with him. I did not get that. Although I just saw on his imdb.com page that people are fighting over whether he looks more like Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Orlando Bloom or Matthew McConaughey. Personally I don't think he looks like any of the above.
Aaanywayz. Time to stop.
What's that you said? To study? No, the new series of Gene Simmons' Rock School is coming on in a few. Mustn't miss that.
QotD: "How many times have you been knocked out, anyway? I swear, one of these days you're gonna wake up ia a coma." - Cordelia Chase, Buffy the Vampire Slayer |
Friday, January 27, 2006
Damenunterwaeschen
When I was leafing through my English-German/German-English dictionary, when this word caught my attention. It means lingerie. What other language than German can have this long a word for lingerie?It's 6 syllables! And speaking of funny German words, I was also looking through my old glossary notebook, which I used in MR, and I found this: psychisch abwesend. It means spiritual absence, or something like that. I remember when I was in German class in first year (also known as 3rd grade :) ) and there were one or two girls almost sleeping (I'm sure they were girls, because there was only one boy in my class that year, and he is not the type to fall asleep in class), and the teacher was threatening to mark them as absent, because they were "spiritually absent." Naturally, this lead to a discussion/debate about spiritual absence and we asked how to say "spiritual absence" in German. It's kinda funny that I remember stuff like that. Specific things, I mean. Of course I remember when I was in first year MR, after all it was only two and a half years ago, but I don't remember every single day. It's the same with primary school. I vaguely recall what it was like, but I do remember a few things like they happened yesterday. Like when I was in first grade - only 6 years of age; 12 years ago - and our maths books were all called 1A, 1B, 1C, and then in 2nd grade it was 2A, 2B, 2C etc. I remember how excited and awed everybody was when the first kid finished the first book; 1A. I remember that his name was Haraldur, and that he moved away after 1st or 2nd grade. Weird that I remember that, eh? More old memories: When I was 7/8/9 years old, my old friend Eva, who was my best bud at the time, went to Florida over the holidays (whether it was Christmas, Easter or Summer I don't remember) and when she came back, she knew how to say stuff like "Hello, my name is Eva. What is your name?" in English. And I was so jealous that she knew English! And there was another girl, Sif, who had gone to Mallorca or Benidorm (or both) a few times, and she also knew English (when you're eight, knowing how to say "My name is..." was like knowing the whole language). Then they would say this phrase at each other quite a few times, bragging about it to the other kids. Aw, we were so adorable! Of course, circa three years later I came back from France and knew how to say "La toilette, s'il vous plait?" and "Merci boucoup" and "Bonjour/bonsior/ bonne nuit", not to mention "Je m'appelle Katrin" with perfect accent and all. That was also uber-cool.
But enough of memories.
Ms Malcolm, my German teacher, who is also my registration teacher, is quite a comic person. Not that she's really funny or looks funny or anything, but she often makes sarcastic jokes and stuff that she thinks is funny, but most of the pupils are to afraid to laugh out loud. Not that she'd punish anyone. But she can be a bit strict with some kids. Not me, though. Oh no. She is quite lenient with me. Not that I ever do anything punishment-worthy, not at all. I'm the good girl. Anyways. Today she answered the phone in her classroom with "Good morning, the asylum." Some personal joke of hers, I guess.
And more of funny comments from teachers. Mr Sulleyman, one of my two Media Studies teacher who teaches us two periods a week (out of five) once said to me: "Stop smiling, it doesn't suit you." Obviously it was a joke, and it did make me smile some more. The reason he said it is because I rarely smile before noon, and both of the periods he teaches my class are before noon, one is even at 9:40 AM!
Yeah, I know. I'm a sleepyhead, but it comes with the deal. Being 18 and all. Despite my insisting that I am an adult, I do still suffer from some problems common for teenagers, such as being permanently sleepy, and acne. I have had acne since I was twelve. That's more than 6 years now. I don't even remember what it was like to have a clear complexion. Isn't this enough already?!?!?!?! I have tried loads of products, some have worked better than others, but even the best stopped working on me after a while. Like the Australian Tea Tree products. Schrecklich smell, but it worked really well, though it never cleared my skin up entirely. Just a few days ago I bought a new version of Clearasil; you who have the same problem as me have probably heard of it - it's been around for ages upon ages. This new version is called Clearasil Ultra, and according to the TV adverts and the bottle, it gives you "visibly clearer skin in only three days!" Exclamation mark included. Well, I've been using it for two days now, but I don't see any effects. Unless it's not supposed to work gradually as you'd espect, but all at the same time. I mean, the skin is supposed to clear up overnight. Somehow I doubt that. But then I figured it out. It doesn's say which three days. It could just as well be the three days a week or even two after you start using it. And the usage of the comparative adjective "clearer" also hints that the skin might not be completely clear, but clearer than it was before. So the Clearasil company is covered on all bases. You know how it often says on packagings that "if you're not satisfied, please feel free to call ********* and tell us about it!"? I wonder what the company does if somebody calls them to complain. Would the person get a complete refund, or maybe a year's supply of the product? But what's the use of that, if it doesn't work? Hah! Yes, I have you all figured out, you companies!
Well, enough ramblings for now. I must go watch Footloose. When I read about Chris Penn's sudden death, I knew that t'was time for me to watch this classic movie. I have big expectations for the entertainment value of it; I know that it's no Oscar-material, but it should be fun to watch.
QotD: Stella: "What do you do when you can't sleep?"
Mac: "Work?"
Stella: "No, I mean what do normal people do when they can't sleep." - CSI: NY |
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
After the same rainbow
The first meeting of Senior Vocal Group after the Christmas holidays was supposed to be on Monday. An announcement about it was supposed to be read out in registration classes both the first and second weeks of school, but it seems that either quite a few teachers disregarded it, or quite a few pupils have damaged short-term memory, because only three people rememebered it; me and two other girls. We were four who turned up (I reminded another girl of it, who had surprisingly heard nothing about it). Anyway. This meeting was about choosing songs for us to rehearse for the Spring Fling (I don't know when it's gonna be, but I bet it's in the spring). But the meeting was not postponed, despite the huge lack of members, and the four of us, with a little influence from Mrs. O'Brien, got to choose between Bohemian Rhapsody (my vote, but it's too complicated and we don't have much time to rehearse), Moon River, All That Jazz from Chicago (too much work as well) and some Beatles song, like Imagine or Let It Be.
We chose Moon River, because it's relatively easy - easy enough for the Vocal Group to learn it in only a few weeks. Remember Holly Golightly a.k.a. Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's? This song was composed especially for her short vocal range, so it's easy to sing, I think.
Well well, it's bedtime and I have to take a peek at that heap of homework I've got. Oops.
QotD: "Never underestimate the power of a good-looking business card." -Owen, Providence |
Monday, January 23, 2006
Concert pictures!
The pictures from the James Gillespie's High School Christmas Carol Concert (from now on referred to as JGHSCCC) have finally been published on the JGHS website. The pictures show well how many people actually took part in the concert. There are a few which show the whole stage full; very impressive. There are a couple of close-up-ish pictures of the part of the stands where I sat - right in front of the organ, to the left, next to a rather short, dark-haired girl. If you look at the pictures, do try and spot me!
Well, that'll be all for today. Tomorrow or soon I'll write some interesting (in my opinion) about what I did this weekend.
QotD: "It's like watching three monkeys make a particle generator using tinfoil and formaldehyde." -Luke, Joan of Arcadia |
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Puppy says: Let's wiggle!
My lil' sis got this very neat (in her opinion) toy from her parents for Christmas, which she can wheel around, like a pushchair. What is even more neat, is that it talks and makes all kinds of fun sounds! It has one button shaped like a puppy, and if she pushes it, this lady says: "Let's play 'Puppy says!' Puppy says: Let's wiggle/dance to the music (followed by "rock 'n' roll music)... rock and roll!" She can also say "Clap your hands!" which Sigrun Ugla has not yet figured out what means, but when I demonstrate it, she gets it and claps along. It's... amusing, to say the least.
Fun fact: Pamela Anderson is name number 97 on IMDb.com, before Jennifer Aniston, who is name no. 98, and Charlie Chaplin, who's only at number 122! I know Pamela Anderson is practically a sex-bomb legend, but come on! I would think that the silent film legend Charlie Chaplin would rate higher than she! And the original Bond, James Bond is at 125. Shame, I tell you. It's not the number, really; it's just that Pamela freaking Anderson is higher than so many people who are a lot more talented, not to mention famous, than her.
Another Fun Fact: There is actually a woman "in the biz" who's called Bridget Jones - according to My Bible she's a screenwriter and actress.
Yet Another Fun Fact: Shar Jackson, also known as the woman Kevin Federline left for Britney Spears, played Niecy on the show Moesha (starring Brandy Norwood), which I used to watch once upon a time when mom, Matti and I still lived in the basement at Braedraborgarstigur 22, and I always had Wednesdays to myself; mom was working until late, Matti was with his dad, and I was at home, helping myself to frozen pizza (cooked in the oven, of course) and a couple of litres of Coca Cola (when you start so young, it's hard to quit... Not that I plan on quitting in the foreseeable future anyway) and watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Moesha, Ellen and ER.
Those were the days, dear, those were the days.
Later, I swapped ER for Ally McBeal. I miss her. I remember crying when Billy died, Larry left, and during the final episode. I couldn't stand that kid of hers. I also remember crying when Josh Groban's character Malcolm Wyatt Sang Again. His voice is so divine. Like Jean-Baptiste Maunier's, only older. I think those two voices are among the few that can actually bring tears to my eyes.
Speaking of crying during fictional entertainment. Today and yesterday's Neighbours episodes were so sad! I won't spill the beans or anything if there are any other Neighbours-lovers back in Iceland (where they're a year behind), but I can say that two universally beloved characters will... well, be re-located. I will say, though, that they are not Harold and Lou.
Right then, it's time to tear myself away from the computer and watch House. And hopefully, I'll manage to get to bed before midnight! That would be so fulfilling.
QotD: Principal Gary Murray (to vampires invading a school dance): "Hey, I have detention slips here, and I'm not afraid to use them!" -Buffy the Vampire Slayer (film) |
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
What has transpired here?
Last week I had to write a history essay which was due in on Monday. As usual, I didn't start it until Friday. Then I spent most of the weekend on it. What inspired me to be so bold to start only three days before the due date was that the teacher pretty much wrote the whole essay for us; he made an essay plan, with very thorough notes, and we only had to write an introduction and a conclusion, and then just paraphrase the rest. Although it was easy not having to look up the facts on my own, it was actually quite a lot of work paraphrasing an entire essay, finding synonyms for as many words as possible (thank goodness for this website). Which is why I only finished it at 22:45 on Sunday night. By then I was more than a little tired. But I just could not go to sleep before I watched Almost Famoust. I love that movie. I didn't even care that watching it at that hour would result in puffy eyes and nodding off during classes the next day. Oh no. That is trivial stuff, compared to the joy of watching a beloved motion picture.
But back to the essay. Spending so much time on the essay's intro and conclusion paid off, though. I got an A. And not only that: the first History period on Tuesday the Mr Swinburne started by reading intros and conclusions of the essays that had been turned in on Monday (there weren't many who actually handed their essays in, but most had a valid alibi) out loud to the class, with much praise. He started with mine. Now, I do not like to brag or anything, but I do get a little bit off, being complimented on something like that in front of a bunch of people. It's not embarrassing at all. Weird, huh? But of course it wasn't only me, so it wasn't like he chose mine especially to give as an example of a good essay... But still. I enjoyed it. So sue me.
Alrighty then, I won't make this post any longer; I bet you've had enough of long posts from me (if you could even be bothered to read the long ones at all!) for now.
Nighty night!
QotD: Merlin: "What are you doing here, Frik?"
Frik: Betraying my principles, I'm afraid. Indeed I've always believed that it was better to be a coward for a second, than dead for a lifetime. And yet here I am, fighting. Fighting on the side of right, which is worse." -Merlin |
Monday, January 16, 2006
"I dig music!"
Reading Avalon High (by, who else: Meg Cabot) has somewhat fuelled my interest in poetry - old poetry, that is. As you might see from the title of the book, it is based upon the most well-known story about King Arthur. Every chapter begins with a stanza from Alfred Tennyson's poem Lady of Shalott (a.k.a. Elaine of Astolat, ak.a. Lily Maid), because the main character, Ellie, was named after her (Elaine). The poem is about the woman who in some versions is said to have been Sir Lancelot's wife (or simply a woman who bore unrequited love to the knight) who died of grief after she saw Lancelot and Guinevere together through a mirror. In this poem, she never actually met Lancelot, but only saw him through a mirror and weaved what she saw in a magic web (you can read a more thorough explanation of the poem here). If you want to read the whole poem by yourselves, then by all means read on:
The Lady of Shalott
PART I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers ''Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.'
PART II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights,
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
'I am half sick of shadows,' said
The Lady of Shalott.
PART III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
'Tirra lirra,' by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
'The curse is come upon me!' cried
The Lady of Shalott.
PART IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse—
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance—
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, 'She has a lovely face;
God in His mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.'
Good, isn't it? (I don't think I'm breaking any copyright laws; after all, Tennyson has been dead for 114 years.) I like how this poem tells a story; it's not just some jumble of words that don't have any deep meaning, like some modern poems are. No offence to modern poets; I myself have been known to burst out with a meaningless jumble of words.
Since I'm on the subject of poems that tell a story: today in German we were talking about German poetry with the German guy who is tutoring us in groups. He gave us a copy of a poem by Goethe called Der Erlkoenig, with an English translation (not a direct translation, though; this version rhymes). You wanna read it? All right then!
Der Erlkoenig
Who rides by night in the wind so wild?
It is the father, with his child.
The boy is safe in his father's arm,
He holds him tight, he keeps him warm.
My son, what is it, why cover your face?
Father, you see him, there in that place;
The elfin king with his cloak and crown?
It is only the mist rising up, my son.
"Dear little child, will you come with me?
Beautiful games I'll play with thee:
Bright are the flowers we'll find on shore,
My mother has golden robes full score.
Father, oh Father, and did you not hear
What the elfin king breathed in my ear?
Lie quiet, my child, now never you mind:
Dry leaves it was that click in the wind.
"Come along now, you're a fine little lad,
My daughters will serve you, see you are glad;
My daughters dance all night in a ring.
They'll cradle and dance you and lullaby sing.
Father, now look, in the gloom, do you see
The elfin daughters beckon to me?
My son, my son, I see it and say:
Those old willows, they look so grey.
"I love you, beguiled by your beauty I am,
If you are unwilling, I'll force you to come!"
Father, his fingers grip me, O
The elfin king has hurt me so!
Now struck with horror, the father rides fast
His gasping child in his arm to the last,
Home through thick and thin he sped;
Locked in his arm, the child was dead.
Sad story, this is. I think the elfin king ("Erle" actually means alder, which is a tree, but it was translated "elfin king", which does sound appropriate) is supposed to be Death; it's trying to lure the boy from his father. The boy finally dies, and I think he and his father might have been riding by "in the wind so wild" (in German it's more like "Who rides by so late....") because the boy was ill and they were hurrying to get help, but they didn't get there in time; the elfin king/Death took the poor boy by force.
But I like it. The poem, that is. Not that the boy died!
Well, this is way to much for now, so I'll just leave you with quotes from the incredible movie Almost Famous, which I watched late last night with a permanent smile on my face. Just thinking about it makes me smile! Eek!
QotD: Russell Hammond: And you can tell Rolling Stone magazine that my last words were... I'm on drugs!
[crowd cheers]
William Miller: Russell! I think we should work on those last words!
Russell Hammond: I got it, I got it. Last words - I dig music.
[a few claps]
Russell Hammond: [pause] I'm on drugs! [crowd cheers] |
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Love in a Bottle
Last Sunday I watched this movie on Channel 5 called Message in a Bottle. I don't know if you've heard of it, but it was released in 1999 and stars Kevin Costner (why do I think such an... "old" man is handsome? Why?) and Robin Wright (Penn).
This is such a romantic and sometimes funny, yet sad film (if you're going to watch it, do not forget to keep at least two handkerchiefs by your side!). Not to mention long - it's over 2 hours long.
I got so immersedd in the story that I laughed when the characters laughed (even though it was mostly nervous laughter), smiled when they smiled, and above all, cried when they cried. At the end of the movie, I practically bawled my eyes out. Why did he have to die?!? He was going to go to Theresa, but first he wanted to let go of his dead wife - say goodbye to her by sending her another message in a bottle. And he even saved 2/3rds of that family caught in that storm! but why did he himself have to die in the process? He may have been a quiet, introverted man who couldn't but cling to the past, but he was so romantic and loved his wife - and then Theresa - so much. He did not deserve to die! He was a good man, deep down in his tormented heart! (This was a spoiler - highlight if you want to read it anyway.)
Now that I've got that out of my system, I have to go to bed. Darn, I wanted to write more stuff, bur, well, that's how it goes: You go to bed at an un-Godly hour, you don't absorb as much knowledge the next day as you should (even if you have a bowl of Kellogg's Corn Flakes for breakfast - that "9% more alert" ad is so untrue. Either that, or there's no hope for me anyway).
Nightie night, then!
QotD: Queen Mab: "I can't save you. Don't die, Mordred."
Mordred: "Die, dear auntie? That's the last thing I shall do." -Merlin
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Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Only Party on Hogmanay... what?
Hey there readers here and there!
Perhaps you've noticecd that my posts have been less frequent than they used to be - you see, I've been busy spending my Christmas holidays doing what I love to do; nothing. I promised you an account of Hogmanay last week, which is a bit overdue, but hey: it's not like anybody's been asking for it. Maybe my counter is just a little disoriented. It says that this site has had a bunch of hits, but surprisingly enough, there's no other proof of that.
But enough of that.
A couple of weeks before Christmas, I read in the Edinburgh University student newspaper that if you live in London, Christmas Day is the day you love the most, but if you're a habitant of Edinburgh, it's Hogmanay that you wait for all year. Because "there's no place like Edinburgh on Hogmanay." On bus stops all over the city centre there were (and still are in some places) posters that said "The Royal Bank Street Party: The Only Party On Hogmanay." You see, the annual celebration here of the new year is, to say the least, big. There is a huge street party on Princes Street, concerts and ceilidhs in the Princes Street Gardens, Princes Mall and the Edinburgh Castle, and at 12 AM on the dot, huge fireworks shows are set off from all the seven hills of Edinburgh (including, or also, from the castle hill - I don't know if that hill is one of those seven!), which last for four minutes. Only four minutes. They sure are spectacular, but dang are they short. For me, who is used to hearing the explosions and bangs from fireworks being set off practically non-stop from about 9:30 PM to 1:00 AM on New Year's Eve, this is not really something to boast about. It's the shows that the City of Edinbvrgh Council that organizes these Hogmanay fireworks show, and it's not as popular for regular citizens to buy fireworks, as it is in Iceland, even though supermarkets like ASDA ("ASDA mums pocket the difference!") sell them.
Well, the Ingimarsson-Davidsdottir family, wanting to keep traditions as much as possible, bought a box of fireworks. I myself kind of wanted to go to this much celebrated and advertized street party, but since no one I know was going, and I didn't feel like spending 17.50 quid on going alone to a place crowded with people - albeit the place to be if you're in Edinburgh on Hogmanay - and it's not exactly the right place for the average family of two parents and three kids, two of whom are under 12, I decided to simply stay at home on this anticipated night.
Most of the night was like the usual New Year's Eve with mom (though most years I've spent it with my dad's family; complete with aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents - as opposed to just the three to five of us on Hogmanay with mom). We had a delicous dinner (stuffed turkey), after having set the camera on timer to take a picture of the family around the dinner table, like was done every single night from the 24th of December till the 6th of January. After dinner and dessert we went outside to set off a few the heaps of fireworks that we had. It was nice, but the pretty lights and comforting and homely bangs seemed a tad lonely there in the black night, with only the odd bang and lights miles away. I could only think of how at that very moment, the sky over the coastline of Iceland probably looked like it was on fire. It can sometimes be like that when you do new things and/or are in a new place; you just can't help but compare them to the old ones.
After about a half hour we went inside to put Sigrun Ugla to bed and do what I guess is a sort of a motif for an Icelander's New Year's Eve - something that he/she/it does every year without exception; watch Aramotaskaupid. Of course we could only watch it on the computer, but we had it on full-screen and the quality was quite good. Once again I must say: Thank God for the Internet! I don't know what would have become of me if I hadn't been able to listen to the Christmas mass on Christmas Eve nor watch Aramotaskaupid on New Year's Eve.
I thought Skaupid was quite good this year. I particularly laughed at the skits in which "Bjorn brother" dressed up as different Icelandic singers and musicians, all of whom are excellent mocking material, to get on the show (or was it the Icelandic Idol? I'm actually not sure).
After the tension-relieving annual comedy show, we went back outside to set off more fireworks and watch those alleged fantabulous shows that, as said above, the City of Edinbvrgh Council organizes every year. We found a spot on the Bruntsfield links, which are sort of like our front garden, which was relatively free of people - for large crowds with champagne flutes and whisky had started gathering on the streets above the links and were starting to flood onto the grass - and Bjorgvin and Matti managed to set off a firework or five before midnight. Then suddenly, out of the blue, and totally unexpected by me, the sky above Edinburgh Castle and Arthur's Seat was aglow, and I could hear the people ooh and ahh at the sight of the magnificent display of coloured showers of lights and fire. It really was all that it's cracked up to be. But short, too.
I say it was unexpected by me, because usually keep my eyes on my watch from, like, ten to twelve, but that night I was "busy" holding the still-a-bit-sleepy-and-a-bit-frightened-or-shocked Sigrun Ugla, and trying to cheer her up by pointing at the little fireworks that Matti and Bjorgvin were setting off while saying "Wow! Ooh! Aah! Isn't it pretty, Sigrun? Look! See the pretty lights!" So I guess I could say 2006 sort of sneaked up on me. There I was, showing my little 19 months old sister a little dog that was walking by, and saying "Voffi! Wow! See the doggy? Voffi!" with her, and then all of a sudden I hear all of these bangs, and surprised I turned to my mother and asked her: "What, is it 2006 already?" And she just said: "Yes, the fireworks go off at exactly 12 o'clock. Happy new year hon!" And then she hugged me and Sigrun Ugla, who I was still holding.
We didn't go back inside right away; after all, we still had half a box of fireworks left. However, after only I think ten minutes or so, one of the fireworks - the small type that you put on the ground and it shoots up a bunch of small lights; we call it a "cake" in Icelandic, but I'm not sure what the English term is - accidentally went on its side and the sparks flew straigth in the direction of a group of people that was standing on the path a few yards away from us. Of course they quicky spread out, avoiding the sparks, but with a couple of unapproving glances at us, they turned away and went back to chugging the champagne. I was still keeping Sigrun Ugla busy and calm by pointing at random things and telling her what they were etc., so I barely noticed at first when some drunkard came out of the blue (not from the group that almost got showered with fireworks, I think) and started yelling at Bjorgvin, who was silently preparing to set off another piece of firework. The guy shouted something I could hardly make out because of all the f-words he threw in between every other syllable, but I think I caught the basic message: "F*** off, you shouldn't be f***ing doing this here, you almost f***ing put those people on f***ing fire!" This piss-drunk man was obviously looking for a fight, but he sure didn't get one; Bjorgvin, who once worked as a bouncer at some bar in Reykjavik and is used to this kind od bugging, and is the most patient and calm man I have ever met, just stood there, barely cast a glance at the guy, didn't say a word, and waited for him togive up and leave. Which he did. Although what the guy was saying was a bit of a hyperbole, we still packed up and went inside, not wanting to take another chance on another drunkard coming over to complain over us being there.
Anyways. That was pretty much the end of our night we had "as a family" - when we got inside we all went about our own things. I watched a little TV; there was a live broadcast from the ceilidh at the Castle and bits of the concert in the Princes Street Gardens - I saw when thousands of people who had gathered, in the cold, on the lenght of Princes Street and in the Gardens, sing Auld Lang Syne in unison, right after all the cheering and shouting during the fireworks show from the Castle. It appears that everybody here knows that song. It's almost like a national anthem (though it's not). I didn't know it, so I googled the lyrics and a MIDI for it, but when I heard it I recognized it. It's the same melody as the hymn Hin gomlu kynni gleymast ei and it's actually pretty much about the same thing.
Oh gosh - approx. 1606 words so far. You must be quite bored by now.
Well, that's where my tale ends. Hope you didn't think it was a complete waste of time - it took me more than an hour to write it!
QotD: "Not so loud? I always talk loud when I'm mad! You're lucky I don't jump up and down! It's things like this that can make a man a... a... a republican!" -Patrick O'Toole, Once Upon a Honeymoon |
Sunday, January 01, 2006
iPod, therefore I am...
Long time, no write, dearest readers!
I hope you all had a very merry Christmas - I certainly did - and an apple-y happy Hogmanay.
Our Christmas was as traditionally Icelandic as it could possibly be in another country. Mom and Bjorgvin brought home from Iceland hung meat, to have for dinner on Christmas Day, and a six-pack of Egil's malt to mix with orange soda, to make the traditional "Christmas Ale" I think most Icelanders drink with all meals during the Christmas holidays. Unfortunately, we only had enough malt for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Since then we've had to make do with our Diet Pepsi.
On Christmas Eve we could listen to the Christmas mass in the Cathedral of Reykjavik, as traditional in our family, on the radio, through the Internet (thank God for the Internet!). That was great. One of the things that I missed most about Christmas at home, is going to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (even though that particular tradition only started a few years ago), but being able to listen to the mass at 6 o'clock made me forget a little bit about that. However, being as fond of tradition as I am, I asked around about churches that had midnight masses on Christmas Eve, and didn't even mind what particular branch of Christianity the church was of; for me Christmas Eve mass isn't as much about the religion, as it is about just going to church late at night, relaxing and listening to the soothing hymns. Anyway, I did find out about one church not far away, but we didn't end up going, because we were tired, and Sigrun Ugla had to be put to bed. Mom had said she might go with me - just the two of us, on account of lack of enthusiasm from the rest of the family - but she was also tired. Probably couldn't be bothered, either, I suspect; I seem to be the most religious person in this family, and I don't concider myself to be very pious.
Actually, we had barely finished opening all the presents at about 11 PM. It took quite a while, because only one was opened at a time, and little Sigrun Ugla received quite a lot, and it took her quite a good time unwrapping each one. I got a lot too, in fact; it seems that most of my relatives have abandoned the rule that after a relative turnes 18, he/she only receives Christmas presents from his/her closest relations. Not that I'm complaining. For example, I got a very nice-smelling perfume (or, to be specific, "Eau De Toilette") from Frigga, a woman who is Bjorgvin's cousin (or aunt, I'm not sure where the connection is) whom I've known for less than two years, I think.
Among other nice presents I received are the lovely little white iPod (hence the post title) from mom and Bjorgvin, neat and comfy jacket from my dad and Kiddy, bought at my favourite clothing store, Vero Moda (which unfortunately doesn't have an outlet here) and in my favourite colour, green! I also got eight books, a personal record I think. Although, last Christmas I exchanged two books of which I got two copies, for about four or five paperbacks, but I'm not sure if that counts.
Anyway. I'm not going to list all the wonderful gifts I received, as if would take up a bunch of lines; nineteen people/families gave me something.
The week between Christmas was spent by me thus: sleeping in, watching TV, wearing pj's for 24 hours+, taking a peek at January sales (which started on Boxing Day) - not ending up buying anything (so not like the true shopaholic Katrin) except one book I've been waiting for for months, sleeping in, devouring Icelandic Noi Sirius chocolates I received as Christmas presents (yum!).
Well, it's getting so late, and the computer is being extra-slow right now (all that holiday stress, I'm sure :) ), so I'll just write about Hogmanay in Scotland tomorrow. Or, you can read my mom's blog post on it (yes! she finally gave in to the twenty-first century and started blogging yesterday. It took me a while though, last week, teaching her how to work the HTML and all that. But she made it, and behold, my mother the writer, blogeth!).
Good night darlings!
QotD: "We've got company. And they've brought a crusade." -Xander, Buffy the Vampire Slayer |
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