And I did not update on Sunday like I said I would. Inexcusable, I know, as those of you who are, for some reason, still reading this blag look forward to these. Many forgivenesses, please.
Anyway, what've I been up to? Not much, really. It's been fairly quiet around Reykjavik, what with the snow suddenly coming around and all. Oh, by the way, we got snow! Like, to the point where Paul and I ran outside into it, made a pagan snow idol - which I dubbed Snowy Snjó-reðr, but Paul calls Snævar Freyr - and then had a snowball fight with Paul and David. Good times.
Also, on Friday, the regular cast of MISanthropes (Andrew, Ásdís, Bond, Liv, Paul, Ryder, Sarah, and I) went to Viðar's place for a few celebratory drinks, what with us being done the year. Good times were had by all; Viðar has fantastic taste in scotch (he had Highland Park, Ardbeg, Talisker, and proper Laphroaig 10 year - not that Quarter-Cask crap - among others), and Bond got his first taste of proper winter. Which involved me pointing out he was walking on a relatively thin layer of ice over some sort of frozen pond. And seeing holiday lighting alongside snow, the first real packing snow he's ever seen (!!!!)
All in all, good times.
Other than the fact that my computer crashed hard last night and I lost six pages of essay that was due today. Fortunately, I managed to mostly get them back and put out what I think was a fair decent paper on the way that the laws of medieval Iceland reflected the prevalent honour culture.
And now, exams! One on Monday, one on the 15th, and then I head back to Canada for two weeks (wherein this blag shall likely be inactive, but who knows?)
Oh, and one more thing. I applied for an MPhil at Cambridge. Yes, that Cambridge. Editing my writing sample for it come the morning.
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29 November 2011
21 November 2011
Warning! Incoming Photo-dump! Warning! Incoming Photo-dump!
So, big photo-dump coming up, ladies and gents. We (Ryder, Paul, David, Myriam, Barbara, Bond, Andrew, Göngu-Jonas,* and I) went to Þórsmörk yesterday. It was absolutely stunning. And, keeping with tradition, I managed to injure myself while helping a fellow Þórsmörk-goer cross a fairly fast-moving glacial stream. The sudden onset of an absurd amount of discomfort whenever I step with my left foot has caused me to ingest Tylenol 3s to the point where getting around anywhere other than my desk, my bed or my chair seems like a ridiculous plan, but my ankle is no longer sore. Thus you get an earlier update than normal!
Before the photo-dump, though, I figure I should let you people know what's new. I'm applying for a second MA at the University of Toronto. And an MPhil. at Cambridge. Yes, that Cambridge. The forms just need to be submitted by 3 December for Cambridge (which entails me writing and submitting a paper for Torfi very shortly and finagling a .pdf copy of my transcripts from Brock) and 15 January for UofT. So that's cool.
I also have a paper due for Viðar on Monday. And I need to finish off editing my writing sample for both applications. And I have an exam on the 5th of December. So things are gonna be a touch hectic.
Anyway, time for what you people came here for! As there are around 50 or so photos, I've put them below a jump. Breaking from tradition, I've decided to only caption a few of these, but you can make up your own commentary, or feel free to ask me in the comments section.
Before the photo-dump, though, I figure I should let you people know what's new. I'm applying for a second MA at the University of Toronto. And an MPhil. at Cambridge. Yes, that Cambridge. The forms just need to be submitted by 3 December for Cambridge (which entails me writing and submitting a paper for Torfi very shortly and finagling a .pdf copy of my transcripts from Brock) and 15 January for UofT. So that's cool.
I also have a paper due for Viðar on Monday. And I need to finish off editing my writing sample for both applications. And I have an exam on the 5th of December. So things are gonna be a touch hectic.
Anyway, time for what you people came here for! As there are around 50 or so photos, I've put them below a jump. Breaking from tradition, I've decided to only caption a few of these, but you can make up your own commentary, or feel free to ask me in the comments section.
17 November 2011
There's no witty title for this one. Sorry.
So, lots of things to show and tell you people since last I updated (I know, I know, it's been far too long since I've last done so).
First, the telling.
I got my first MA paper back last week, and I was pleasantly surprised - an 8.0/10, which puts me tied for sixth in the course, marks-wise. Not that I'm competitive or anything like that.* This is good news for me, as it greatly boosts my academic confidence, especially in this post-Old Iceland midterm environment.
Also, Ásdís and I handled our discussion leadership on Sigurður Nordal's Icelandic Culture fairly well, I think, so things are looking up for my mark in Viðar's Medieval North class. Assuming I don't self-destruct through a combination of hubristic arrogance and overconfidence on this second paper, of course.**
The past week or so has been relatively uneventful, save for the 'David trying to get us killed' incident detailed earlier. Speaking of that, by the way, those kids have been apparently bird-dogging Paul ever since. I saw them on Wednesday evening, while chatting with Ren on the phone, and the whole group of them just moseyed on by; The leader of their ever-increasing gang of ne'er-do-wells was, no doubt, intimidated beyond reason by the majesty of my handlebar moustache.
I also got my hands on some moustache wax and have grown what is possibly the finest handlebar moustache mankind has ever seen. Much to the chagrin of Emily and most of the women in Iceland, apparently. Ah, well, c'est la vie, non?
Last Sunday, Ryder, Paul, Sarah, Bond, Miriam and I went to the Saga Museum, and it was very cool - short, unfortunately, but loaded with wax figures - some of whom were animatronic and were nearly punched when they twitched in my unsuspecting direction!
Today, we went to Njála country, which was beautiful land, if you like that stark, almost barren quality most of Iceland possesses. Fortunately, I do like that quality, and I quite enjoyed it. Even the mountain which defeated Paul, Bettina, and I was beautiful, if cruelly punishing on my old and out-of-shape joints. We also went to the Njála museum, which was pretty cool.
This Sunday, we head to Þórsmörk and get to see Eyjafjallajökull, Ren's old nemesis.*** There will be photos uploaded of that, as well.
Now, I did promise not only telling, but showing as well, so showing there shall be! Below, of course, an appropriately placed jump.
First, the telling.
I got my first MA paper back last week, and I was pleasantly surprised - an 8.0/10, which puts me tied for sixth in the course, marks-wise. Not that I'm competitive or anything like that.* This is good news for me, as it greatly boosts my academic confidence, especially in this post-Old Iceland midterm environment.
Also, Ásdís and I handled our discussion leadership on Sigurður Nordal's Icelandic Culture fairly well, I think, so things are looking up for my mark in Viðar's Medieval North class. Assuming I don't self-destruct through a combination of hubristic arrogance and overconfidence on this second paper, of course.**
The past week or so has been relatively uneventful, save for the 'David trying to get us killed' incident detailed earlier. Speaking of that, by the way, those kids have been apparently bird-dogging Paul ever since. I saw them on Wednesday evening, while chatting with Ren on the phone, and the whole group of them just moseyed on by; The leader of their ever-increasing gang of ne'er-do-wells was, no doubt, intimidated beyond reason by the majesty of my handlebar moustache.
I also got my hands on some moustache wax and have grown what is possibly the finest handlebar moustache mankind has ever seen. Much to the chagrin of Emily and most of the women in Iceland, apparently. Ah, well, c'est la vie, non?
Last Sunday, Ryder, Paul, Sarah, Bond, Miriam and I went to the Saga Museum, and it was very cool - short, unfortunately, but loaded with wax figures - some of whom were animatronic and were nearly punched when they twitched in my unsuspecting direction!
Today, we went to Njála country, which was beautiful land, if you like that stark, almost barren quality most of Iceland possesses. Fortunately, I do like that quality, and I quite enjoyed it. Even the mountain which defeated Paul, Bettina, and I was beautiful, if cruelly punishing on my old and out-of-shape joints. We also went to the Njála museum, which was pretty cool.
This Sunday, we head to Þórsmörk and get to see Eyjafjallajökull, Ren's old nemesis.*** There will be photos uploaded of that, as well.
Now, I did promise not only telling, but showing as well, so showing there shall be! Below, of course, an appropriately placed jump.
05 November 2011
Adventure! Excitement! Jedi might not crave these, but Vikings certainly do...
...and last night delivered!
This is going to be a very brief update, but the events of last night were too awesome to sit on until the next update (which should be, if my once-a-week update schedule is maintained, on Thursday or Friday).
Last night, David, Ryder, Paul, Carline, Carline's boyfriend, Barbara, Sarah, Miriam, and I went to see Skálmöld play at Nasa. We were treated to Steindór Andersen and Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson performing a series of Rímur before the metal began. For those of you who are wondering about the significance of that, for an Ásatrú it was like watching the Pope performing back-up keyboards for a Cistercian monk performing a series of Gregorian chants. It was pretty awesome.
The opening band was a generic, budget, hard rock/thrash metal band; the drummer was decent, but it would have been nice if the bassist and guitarist played something other than the opening chords of Die Toten Hosen, Motörhead, Iron Maiden, Guns N Roses, or Jimi Hendrix songs. Really would have appreciated that.
Skálmöld were awesome, though; they're an Icelandic folk metal band - think Týr, but in Icelandic instead of Faroese - and they rocked hard. The mosh pit was good times - surprisingly gentle, in fact - although a few idiots had their elbows up and a couple even brought bottles and cellphones into the pit. So long as I live, I don't think I will ever understand European metal fans. Most of us got in on the pit - Barbara just kind of threw herself into the middle of it, out of nowhere, and I figured that I might as well join in. Imagine my surprise when Ryder of all people followed me in, too!* I was impressed - for a guy who had resisted going to the show because he wasn't into metal, he handled himself surprisingly well in the pit and, I think, had a good time. Paul and Miriam joined in shortly thereafter and it was a frenetic, sweaty, exhausting, muscle-stiffening, good time of a shoving match.
After the show, we headed on over to Ölsmiðjan for a few pints, then went to Hlölla bátur, which is when the fun began. We were accosted by a couple of teenagers while we were finishing off our bátur and, as they were initially speaking in Icelandic, David assumed his traditional role as our group interpreter. This was, in hindsight, probably the most entertaining choice we could have made. Allow me to explain:
I've already mentioned the dichotomy between David's demeanour (i.e; a charming, civilized, gentleman) and his nature (i.e; a Turkish pimp) and, apparently, when he's drunk, his nature takes over. Hardcore. The kids were asking us for something that David didn't understand, he kept on explaining that he didn't know what they were talking about, and they kept on getting angrier and angrier. Eventually, using my experience from growing up in Hamilton, I realized they were trying to shake us down. We managed to get them to bugger off, but, as they were leaving, David decided to tell them to get stuffed.** This, of course, did not sit well with the kids and I sent David home while the Icelanders came back to talk more crap. I thought I'd dispersed them when they decided to give chase after David, who had decided to stand in an alleyway and watch. At which point I assumed Glorious Battle*** was imminent.
Alas, there was to be no Glorious Battle that night, simply a lot of smack-talk and a lot of me explaining that they really, really, really didn't want to get into any sort of altercation with Paul and I.**** Eventually, Paul retrieved two locals whose presence finally hammered in the fact that the kids were outnumbered and the situation was defused. We still went a roundabout way home, just to make sure there was no ambush, and, perhaps fortunately, there was none.
Still, an excellent evening on the town; metal, beer, and adventure were had by most, and I don't think anyone regretted anything done.
* By joining in with the mosh, Ryder has, perhaps unfortunately for the locals who have come to enjoy the constant sectarian bickering and feuding between he and I, ensured my respect for him and will thus be the recipient of far fewer insults and threats of sexual violence. They'll still happen, of course, but with less frequency. For the time being.
** He actually said much, much worse, but it was in Icelandic and, even then, this is a blag which is read by many folk so I'll censor it thusly.
*** Glorious Battle is the object of any interaction I have with people who I don't know or trust immediately. I've yet to have any in a long while, not since Emily and I were living in a terrible, low-rent apartment near the bus station in St. Catharines.
**** Paul played hockey, he also has brothers. Thus, he is well versed in the 'jersey the SOB and pummel the crap out of his face' school of Battle.
This is going to be a very brief update, but the events of last night were too awesome to sit on until the next update (which should be, if my once-a-week update schedule is maintained, on Thursday or Friday).
Last night, David, Ryder, Paul, Carline, Carline's boyfriend, Barbara, Sarah, Miriam, and I went to see Skálmöld play at Nasa. We were treated to Steindór Andersen and Hilmar Örn Hilmarsson performing a series of Rímur before the metal began. For those of you who are wondering about the significance of that, for an Ásatrú it was like watching the Pope performing back-up keyboards for a Cistercian monk performing a series of Gregorian chants. It was pretty awesome.
The opening band was a generic, budget, hard rock/thrash metal band; the drummer was decent, but it would have been nice if the bassist and guitarist played something other than the opening chords of Die Toten Hosen, Motörhead, Iron Maiden, Guns N Roses, or Jimi Hendrix songs. Really would have appreciated that.
Skálmöld were awesome, though; they're an Icelandic folk metal band - think Týr, but in Icelandic instead of Faroese - and they rocked hard. The mosh pit was good times - surprisingly gentle, in fact - although a few idiots had their elbows up and a couple even brought bottles and cellphones into the pit. So long as I live, I don't think I will ever understand European metal fans. Most of us got in on the pit - Barbara just kind of threw herself into the middle of it, out of nowhere, and I figured that I might as well join in. Imagine my surprise when Ryder of all people followed me in, too!* I was impressed - for a guy who had resisted going to the show because he wasn't into metal, he handled himself surprisingly well in the pit and, I think, had a good time. Paul and Miriam joined in shortly thereafter and it was a frenetic, sweaty, exhausting, muscle-stiffening, good time of a shoving match.
After the show, we headed on over to Ölsmiðjan for a few pints, then went to Hlölla bátur, which is when the fun began. We were accosted by a couple of teenagers while we were finishing off our bátur and, as they were initially speaking in Icelandic, David assumed his traditional role as our group interpreter. This was, in hindsight, probably the most entertaining choice we could have made. Allow me to explain:
I've already mentioned the dichotomy between David's demeanour (i.e; a charming, civilized, gentleman) and his nature (i.e; a Turkish pimp) and, apparently, when he's drunk, his nature takes over. Hardcore. The kids were asking us for something that David didn't understand, he kept on explaining that he didn't know what they were talking about, and they kept on getting angrier and angrier. Eventually, using my experience from growing up in Hamilton, I realized they were trying to shake us down. We managed to get them to bugger off, but, as they were leaving, David decided to tell them to get stuffed.** This, of course, did not sit well with the kids and I sent David home while the Icelanders came back to talk more crap. I thought I'd dispersed them when they decided to give chase after David, who had decided to stand in an alleyway and watch. At which point I assumed Glorious Battle*** was imminent.
Alas, there was to be no Glorious Battle that night, simply a lot of smack-talk and a lot of me explaining that they really, really, really didn't want to get into any sort of altercation with Paul and I.**** Eventually, Paul retrieved two locals whose presence finally hammered in the fact that the kids were outnumbered and the situation was defused. We still went a roundabout way home, just to make sure there was no ambush, and, perhaps fortunately, there was none.
Still, an excellent evening on the town; metal, beer, and adventure were had by most, and I don't think anyone regretted anything done.
* By joining in with the mosh, Ryder has, perhaps unfortunately for the locals who have come to enjoy the constant sectarian bickering and feuding between he and I, ensured my respect for him and will thus be the recipient of far fewer insults and threats of sexual violence. They'll still happen, of course, but with less frequency. For the time being.
** He actually said much, much worse, but it was in Icelandic and, even then, this is a blag which is read by many folk so I'll censor it thusly.
*** Glorious Battle is the object of any interaction I have with people who I don't know or trust immediately. I've yet to have any in a long while, not since Emily and I were living in a terrible, low-rent apartment near the bus station in St. Catharines.
**** Paul played hockey, he also has brothers. Thus, he is well versed in the 'jersey the SOB and pummel the crap out of his face' school of Battle.
02 November 2011
Hey, good lookin'. Long time, no update.
Well, it's been a while. Sorry about that, ladies, gentlemen, and those of you for whom the traditional gender typology does not apply. What's been going on in the life of Jim? Well, allow me to let you in on it!
First off, the Midterm of Doom was...well, doom-ish. I did vaguely better than I was figuring I would, but that's not really very good at all, truth told. I passed, at least, which is something. I think. Well, either way, I passed, albeit just. Next time, Gadget, next time.
Next, Jimmas. Jimmas was good - it was exactly as I figured, a few morituri te salutant drinks with the guys, then, on Boxer Day, drinks with many more people! Hana, Siobhan, Erika, Ásdís, Carline, David, Paul, Bond, and I went to Cafe Zimsen. Now, we went there because, according to David, there were ostensibly going to be a good number of choir* folk. What we got, however, was no choir folk and a bar full of bingo playing Icelanders. Siobhan and David, being English, apparently have several natural ranks in Bingo-Sense, which explained why we stayed so long. Eventually, we took off and went to the old standby of Ölsmiðjan for a few more pints, some viscous, brown, licorice-flavoured liquor and a shot of Brennivín. After that, home!
The 27th and 28th were fairly uneventful. On the 29th, we went out for the first of two Halloweens we celebrated. Not going to lie, it was mostly an excuse to go to the pub. Of course, we also harassed Kristi while she was at work, which was fun. The only downside is that she works at Bakkus, a night club which, in Paul's words, encapsulates everything that will lead to the fall of Western Civilization. I didn't mind it so much, at first. It reminded a bit of the old Red Square back in St Catharines, what with the Funker Vogt and Girls Under Glass. And then they started playing trance music, so we got out. The night ended with us getting bátar and being accosted (and potentially ambushed) by a very nice young woman who was out on parole and wanted to have dinner with us. We obliged, but when she mentioned she wanted us to meet her boyfriend my Ackbar Sense started tingling. It was almost definitely a trap, but it was almost like partying back in Canada, so I was OK with it!
Monday, Halloween proper, we had another party for the MISantrhopes at Gamla Husíð, with Sarah and Rouan as hosts. It was good times. Much brennivín was consumed, as well as a great deal of candy and pasta. We also brought the Mexican Hat tray. This legendary artifact was discovered late one night by David, Paul, Ásdís, and I, deep within the bowels of our kitchen cupboards. It is a small thing, hardly more than 40cm across, shaped like a sombrero. What makes it so worthy of discussion, though, is that there is a small button just off-centre which, when pushed, begins playing the first few bars of El Jarabe Tapatío, the Mexican Hat Dance song. This wondrous device was able to draw and hold the attention of a quartet of grad students for the better part of an hour when first discovered, and this amazing effect seems to have persisted, as we were all dumbstruck by it's magnificence. After that, we went to the pub, then to the cemetery - wherein I was half-expecting a zombie attack, due to the fact that it is literally overgrown with trees and choked with graves - then back to the pub. Because we're classy like that.
After that, well, there's been classes and learnin' and whatnot goin' on. Also, there's the idea for an article that's percolating in my mind about gender interpretations of Hrafnkelsaga Freysgoða which might get written only to torque Paul off. Because our relationship is like that.
More later, folks!
*David is in the University choir. He sings like an angel. And speaks like a Turkish pimp. It's an awesome dichotomy.
First off, the Midterm of Doom was...well, doom-ish. I did vaguely better than I was figuring I would, but that's not really very good at all, truth told. I passed, at least, which is something. I think. Well, either way, I passed, albeit just. Next time, Gadget, next time.
Next, Jimmas. Jimmas was good - it was exactly as I figured, a few morituri te salutant drinks with the guys, then, on Boxer Day, drinks with many more people! Hana, Siobhan, Erika, Ásdís, Carline, David, Paul, Bond, and I went to Cafe Zimsen. Now, we went there because, according to David, there were ostensibly going to be a good number of choir* folk. What we got, however, was no choir folk and a bar full of bingo playing Icelanders. Siobhan and David, being English, apparently have several natural ranks in Bingo-Sense, which explained why we stayed so long. Eventually, we took off and went to the old standby of Ölsmiðjan for a few more pints, some viscous, brown, licorice-flavoured liquor and a shot of Brennivín. After that, home!
The 27th and 28th were fairly uneventful. On the 29th, we went out for the first of two Halloweens we celebrated. Not going to lie, it was mostly an excuse to go to the pub. Of course, we also harassed Kristi while she was at work, which was fun. The only downside is that she works at Bakkus, a night club which, in Paul's words, encapsulates everything that will lead to the fall of Western Civilization. I didn't mind it so much, at first. It reminded a bit of the old Red Square back in St Catharines, what with the Funker Vogt and Girls Under Glass. And then they started playing trance music, so we got out. The night ended with us getting bátar and being accosted (and potentially ambushed) by a very nice young woman who was out on parole and wanted to have dinner with us. We obliged, but when she mentioned she wanted us to meet her boyfriend my Ackbar Sense started tingling. It was almost definitely a trap, but it was almost like partying back in Canada, so I was OK with it!
Monday, Halloween proper, we had another party for the MISantrhopes at Gamla Husíð, with Sarah and Rouan as hosts. It was good times. Much brennivín was consumed, as well as a great deal of candy and pasta. We also brought the Mexican Hat tray. This legendary artifact was discovered late one night by David, Paul, Ásdís, and I, deep within the bowels of our kitchen cupboards. It is a small thing, hardly more than 40cm across, shaped like a sombrero. What makes it so worthy of discussion, though, is that there is a small button just off-centre which, when pushed, begins playing the first few bars of El Jarabe Tapatío, the Mexican Hat Dance song. This wondrous device was able to draw and hold the attention of a quartet of grad students for the better part of an hour when first discovered, and this amazing effect seems to have persisted, as we were all dumbstruck by it's magnificence. After that, we went to the pub, then to the cemetery - wherein I was half-expecting a zombie attack, due to the fact that it is literally overgrown with trees and choked with graves - then back to the pub. Because we're classy like that.
After that, well, there's been classes and learnin' and whatnot goin' on. Also, there's the idea for an article that's percolating in my mind about gender interpretations of Hrafnkelsaga Freysgoða which might get written only to torque Paul off. Because our relationship is like that.
More later, folks!
*David is in the University choir. He sings like an angel. And speaks like a Turkish pimp. It's an awesome dichotomy.
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