sounds of silence

Harðir pakkar

2009-12-21T18:15:13Z

Jólagjafalistinn minn var ávalt (og er enn) fullur af bókatitlum. Listinn var vofinn úr nýjustu Bókatíðindum ásamt þeim bókum sem ég fékk oftast að láni á hinum ýmsu bókasöfnum, þá helst Amtbókasafninu á Akureyri og Borgarbókasafninu, þegar það hafði aðsetur í hvíta glæsisetrinu í Þingholtunum þar sem nú býr skrýtinn norskur listamaður sem gengur um í kufli.

Þetta las ég helst, á meðan ég bruddi töggur og þambaði mix:

-Smjattpattar
-Rasmus Klumpur
-Moli fluga
-Rummungur ræningi
-Dísa ljósálfur
-Einar Áskell
-Dimmalimm
-Selurinn Snorri
-Millý Mollý Mandý
-Snúður og Snælda
-Anna í Grænuhlíð
-En hvað það var skrítið
-Álagadalurinn eftir Heiði Baldursdóttur (sem lést langt fyrir aldur fram skömmu eftir að sú bók kom út)
-Elías bækurnar eftir Auði Haralds
-Bækur eftir Iðunni Steinsdóttur (Olla og Pési, Gegnum þyrnigerðið, Skuggarnir í fjallinu)
-Bækur eftir Kristínu Steinsdóttur (Franskbrauð með sultu, Fallin spíta, Stjörnur og strákapör)
-Bækur eftir Guðrúnu Helgadóttur (Sitji guðs englar, Saman í hring, Sænginni yfir minni)
-Bækur eftir Astrid Lindgren (Madditt, Ronja ræningjadóttir, Emil í Kattholti, Lína Langsokkur, Elsku Míó minn, Bróðir minn Ljónshjarta, Lotta, Ég vil líka fara í skóla.. )
-Ráðgátubækurnar (Rökkurhólar, Rofabær, Klukknahvoll) eftir Enid Blyton
-“Allt í lagi” bækurnar (þessar um músadrenginn Anga í sögum á borð við "Heillagleraugun" og "Ævintýri í myrkrinu")
-Bækur myndskreyttar af Brian Pilkington (Hundrað ára afmælið, Örkin hans Nonna)

og margar fleiri sem ég man ekki hvað heita þó ég muni eftir myndunum í smáatriðum.

Og hver man ekki eftir unglingabókmenntum með frábæru titlum á borð við:

Enga stæla, Með stjörnur í augum, Vil, vil ekki, Ef þú bara vissir, Ein af strákunum, Upp á æru og trú, Spor í rétta átt, Og hvað með það, Leðurjakkar og spariskór, Er þetta ást?, Ég þoli ekki mánudaga, Einn úr klíkunni, Ég veit hvað ég vil, Meiriháttar stefnumót, Jói og unglingaveikin, Frjáls eða fjötruð, Skotin, Dagbók í hreinskilni sagt, Með fiðring í tánum, Ég get séð um mig sjálf, Ófrísk af hans völdum, Haltu mér, slepptu mér, Dagbók í fullum trúnaði, Rugl í ríminu, Tár, bros og takkaskór, Nótt í borginni, Mitt er þitt, Bak við bláu augun, Sundur og saman, Spor í myrkri, Aldrei aftur, Bara vinir, Haltu mér fast, Brosað gegnum tárin, Ég elska þig – held ég, Á lausu, Ég get svarið það, Sundur og saman, Hjarta í molum..

..og svo mætti lengi telja.

Hins vegar færist angurværð yfir mig þegar ég skoða nýrri titla eins og:

Svalasta 7an, Crazy, Undir 4 augu, og Jói do & Begga beib

Ég tala bara eins og afi minn heitinn þegar hann sat við eldhúsborðið og lagði kapla og kvartaði yfir okkur unglingunum þegar við sögðum að eitthvað væri “geðveikt” eða “ógeðslega” hitt og þetta. Sjor, við áttum okkar Ýkt stöff og Algjört möst, en það var alla vega skrifað á íslenskan máta og ekki á einhverju spjallrása-skammstöfunarmáli. Mitt helsta gremjuefni eru einmitt skammstafanir, sem mér finnst vera svartur blettur á hvaða tungumáli sem er; þær minna mig á “newspeak”, tungumálið sem fólk var þvingað til að tala í 1984. Alltaf verið að þjappa málinu saman meira og meira og á endanum skilur maður ekki neitt. Fuss og svei.

Gleðileg bókajól!

Pabbi las ævinlega Rummung fyrir mig.

Millý Mollý Mandý var sæt og góð.

Pelíkaninn var svona MacGyver barnabókanna, ávalt með allt til taks í goggnum.

Mér fannst myndirnar í þessari bók alltaf svo óhugnalegar.

Þessa var Nonni frændi duglegur að lesa fyrir mig.

Einar Áskell var sköllóttur og kallalegur lítill strákur, eiginlega bara mini-útgáfa af pabba sínum. (Hvað er líka málið með þessa bók, bleikt kover og Einari skipað að binda slaufur?!! Hmmmm...)

Ég les Elías enn þann daginn í dag, með skemmtilegri bókmenntum.

"Beljaði eins og brunalúður" varð hluti af mínum orðaforða eftir lestur þessarar bókar.

Algjör klassík, sjáiði líka hvað kisurnar eru hipp og kúl á þessari vespu!

Minnir mig alltaf á Tótu frænku, var uppáhalds bókin hennar.

Ábyggilega besta íslenska barnabókin, ef þá ekki aðeins fyrir teikningarnar.

Ég hafði hrikalega gaman að þessum þríleik þegar ég var að vaxa úr grasi.

Astrid Lindgren er best, leikur enginn vafi á því.

Stargazing 101

2009-12-02T16:33:35Z

One of the cheapest and oldest entertainments to be found around us is surely the act of pointing one’s head towards the night sky and observe the billions of little specs of heavenly objects we typically call stars. Few, if any, things on this earth are as fascinating as this boundless cosmos we have the pleasure and privilege of viewing every night as our own sun sets (granted that there aren’t any clouds blocking the scenery). They might be blue and red giants, brown or yellow dwarfs, neutron, pulsar, binary, or double stars, nebulas, supernovas, or even entire galaxies, and for centuries and millennias we have been watching them, for so long in fact that we have started to connect the dots and see patterns and pictures in this assortment of celestial phenomena. Out of this we have eighty-eight constellations, and the stories spun around these images are usually to be found in Greek and Roman mythologies, and serve as an interesting and amusing addition to stargazing itself. Now, bundle up, brew some coffee, and be on your way out of town to witness this great wonder of our world.

The Stargazer's Checklist

- Wait for a night that is clear and dark. You can see more stars when the Moon is not shining brightly.
- Get away from streetlights. The farther you are from lights, the more stars you can see.
- Give your eyes about twenty minutes to adjust to the dark.
- Keep warm. Bring a jacket and a blanket.
- Binoculars and telescopes, as well as star charts and planispheres, are always a plus. You will also need a flashlight to read the star chart. Cover the lighted end of the flashlight with red paper because red light does not disrupt your night vision as much as white light.
- For true enthusiasts, an observing log to keep track of the objects you see in the night sky is useful. Keeping a record will help you see how the night sky changes over time.

Natural Living

2009-12-02T00:30:08Z

In our present time, where food has become so unhealthy that it’s a trial every time one steps into the supermarket, it’s not a bad idea to pick up a skill or two in the field of self-sufficient living. Our grandparents possessed a variety of talents in the art of surviving, expertise that we can’t even identify by name nowadays. Vintage virtuosities have been disappearing rapidly in the past decades, but fortunately a revival in the area of basic knowledge is growing quicker than your vegetable garden, and there are plenty of resources to be found on the subject. Go to your local library or bookstore for the following books, or simply sit down with your grandparents and start interrogating them on days passed.

Back to Basics

This book should become the bible of all aspiring self-sustaining believers out there. It covers everything you’ll need to know in order to establish an accomplished lifestyle, from building a house and everything in it, to using solar energy, growing a garden, preserving your crop, creating basic food staples, fabricating your own clothes, soaps, candles, and several other ordinary, and once considered simple, crafts that will render you independent of the costly burdens of modern society we’ve been raised to believe we need. Besides, homemade things tend to last longer and taste better, and providing your own necessities will give you a sense of pride you can’t buy in a store.

Lost Crafts

Allow yourself to rediscover the pleasures of previous time periods and get to know the several professions and artesian abilities that have been wiped out by today’s technology. This book is perhaps more a history lesson than a skill-building tool, and therefore supplements Back to Basics well, covering every corner of the craftsmanship scale. It’s incredible to think how many knowledgeable people were needed in order to keep the simplest society going, and the occupations they held were absolutely fascinating. On these pages you will find descriptions of beekeeping, sheep-shearing, milking, tree felling, bow and arrow making, fishnet and rope constructing, rabbit skinning, fowl plucking, beer brewing, clog manufacturing, basket weaving, knot tying, and glass blowing. Furthermore, you’ll meet fence builders, millers, hunters, chandlers, chimney sweeps, masons, maze creators, blacksmiths, wheel makers, woodworkers, whittlers, and of course several farmers and fishermen. Highly recommended for the nostalgic soul.

Skates of Glory - Part 2

2009-11-30T16:39:49Z

Even though roller-skates were first used in 18th century England, most people associate the sport with the disco-laden seventies when roller-craze prevailed in the country, and perhaps a less memorable mania which swept the nation in the beginning of the 20th century. However, signs are in the air that point towards a new wave of roller-fans. Every major city boasts a roller-derby team, which has caught the attention of Hollywood where Drew Barrymore recently directed her first motion picture, Whip It, on the phenomenon, and furthermore a film on the 1970s roller-trend, Roll-Bounce, was released a couple of years ago. The good old roller rinks still thrive even in the smallest towns, bringing the unlikeliest of people together in this classic leisure pursuit.

I’ve recently been attending “senior nights” at my local rink, Happy Wheels, where you have to be over eighteen to participate in the fun. My first visit showed me that in actuality it was more like over forty. I was amazed to follow these veterans of wheels as they dashed past me and I was afraid to even enter the crowded rink. These people had doubtlessly been skating since the golden era of the seventies, and were to be found dancing in pairs, or showing off astounding skills solo. The music represented the glory days well, and the staff would break things up by announcing “couples only” (where, to my amusement, the lights were dimmed) or “men only” sessions, where you would see a row of middle-aged friends skating in rhythm. Exhilarated after an enjoyable evening, I pledged to visit the rink weekly until I became every bit as good as this skillful drove of devotees.

Gypsy Soup for Your Bowl.

2009-11-30T03:40:26Z

When the chilly temperature and oatmeal colored sky in the post-fall foliage landscape start getting overbearing, we should all take matters into our own hands and bring some much needed colors and warmth into this overcast situation. Hand-knitted hats and mittens in motley shades is one way, a harlequin dinner table another. The following recipe for gypsy soup serves the triple purpose of warming your body and spirit, bringing back those autumn hues before your eyes, and of course being a wholesome and tasty meal. So up yours, winter, I’m fighting you with my ladle!

Cooking Up a Pot of Gypsy Soup 

Serving Size: 4
Preparation Time: 1:30

Ingredients:
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 cups chopped onion
2 cloves chopped garlic
2 cups sweet potatoes (or winter squash) - chopped & peeled
1/2 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped fresh tomatoes
3/4 cup chopped sweet peppers
1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas
3 cups stock or water
2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon basil
1 teaspoon salt
dash cinnamon
dash cayenne
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon soy sauce

1) In a soup kettle or large saucepan, sauté onions, garlic, celery and sweet potatoes in olive oil for about five minutes.
2) Add seasonings, except the soy sauce, and the stock.
3) Simmer, covered, for fifteen minutes.
4) Add remaining vegetables, seasoning, and chickpeas.
5) Simmer another ten minutes or so - until all vegetables are as tender as you like them.

NOTES: The vegetables used in this soup are flexible.  Any orange vegetable can be combined with green, for example, peas or green beans could replace the peppers.  Carrots can be used instead of, or in addition to, the squash or sweet potatoes, etc.

This week's boy to hold hands with.

2009-10-25T22:33:06Z

Gary Oldman

TV spree.

2009-10-01T03:53:54Z

After drawn-out days on the relentless road this summer, between spending our nights at complete strangers' houses (through couchsurfing) or passing our evenings setting up our tent somewhere in the woods, cooking food in the dark, and worrying that the smell would attract some savage beast, it was always gratifying to treat ourselves to a motel room. I preferred the retro looking ones (read: run-down) over the sterile chains that all looked the same (and all sounded the same too: Super 8, Motel 6, Holiday Inn, Quality Inn, Econolodge, Travelodge). They would usually be run by an Indian man, typically smelled like tobacco (the smoke almost lingering as being left behind by a newly stumped out cigarette belonging to a criminal on the run), and there was always something missing, whether a lightbulb, a roll of toilet paper, or the TV remote.

Which brings me to my favorite aspect of the whole motel experience: Crappy TV.

Having given up TV watching when I moved to the US (can't stand all those commercials, and well, because 98% of the programming sucks), it was with a renewed guilty pleasure that I stretched out my freshly showered limbs on the (seemingly) clean bed, reached for the remote (assuming it was there, and that it worked) and tuned in.

Somehow the Food Network became an instant favorite and Aaron and I got hooked on The Iron Chef, cheering those cuisine creators on as others would their beloved sports teams. From the "Allez cuisine!" command, to the last bite of the food tasting finale, we hung on, our mouths watering at the sight of the gourmet galore growing in the heat of Kitchen Stadium. The biggest excitement was when the secret ingredient was revealed (most memorably when it was some type of fish, and at the "go!" everyone scrambled to the fish tank, trying to grab a hold of the slippery menu-items and struggling to carry them over to the prep table). Those meal magicians made fish in desert dishes look tasty, as well as artichoke ice-cream, corn on pancakes - basically anything that could be chewed and digested was turned into a banquet fit for a league of emperors. If I ever wanted to enroll in culinary school, it was then.

Finally, watching censored TV is a riot. For example, Die Hard:

"How can the same stuff happen to the same guy twice" (originally, of course, "How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice")

and my favorite, "Yippee-ki-yay, Mr. Falcon" (as opposed to the unforgettable "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker"), which both sounds hilarious as the "Mr. Falcon" bit is overdubbed by some guy with a spanish accent that doesn't sound anything like Bruce Willis, and because it doesn't make any sense as the guy he's referring to, the Bad Guy, isn't even called Mr. Falcon.

So, I did a little bit of research and turns out that "Mr. Falcon" is the king of censoring himself that had sense of humor enough to give his work a nod in this classic catch-phrase. Actually, there's a mass of memorable moments in Mr. Rupert "Stretch" Armstrong Falcon III's (yes, that's really his name) repertoire, and a list can be found here:

http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Mr._Falcon

I never could've guessed censoring was this funny. These are absolute winners (and try figuring out what the original line is before sneaking a peak!):

"Let's do this monkey feather."

"You slug in a ditch."

"You racist melon farmer."

"This is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps."

"I have had it with these monkey-fighting snakes on this Monday-to-Friday plane!"

Norman Rockwell

2009-09-25T17:54:28Z

At the very end of our trip this summer, Aaron and I drove through the quintessential New England town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, to discover that this was the village painter/illustrator Norman Rockwell lived and worked. One of those New England wannabes from the big city (such as E.B. White who moved from successful NYC career to middle-of-nowhere coastal Maine and started writing nature essays and children's books), Rockwell depicted everyday small-town scenarios, and that's exactly what makes his art so inviting. He's the counterpart of Mike Leigh's cinematic art, and Jarvis Cocker's music, capturing the regular characters of the commonplace. And while he has just the one frame to work with, he manages to tell an entire tale, to flesh out complete personalities with full range of facial expressions, and every time I scrutinize his pictures I'm on the verge of yelling out "Hey, I know that guy!" Rockwell's people have an existence of their own, in a world that comes alive while leafing through these images.

This week's boy to hold hands with.

2009-09-23T23:48:15Z

Wes Anderson

The land of opportunity, fried chicken, and Sunday mass.

2009-09-21T19:36:49Z

So, I've returned from traveling across USA, back and forth. It was interesting being able to drive for that long and still being in the same country the whole time. I felt a bit too protected by the safety of the car though, felt it was excess baggage, I prefer the lightness and freedom of just the one backpack and nothing more. I also missed hearing multitude of languages, and handling different types of currency. America is too uniform for me. Sure, the nature is diverse and that's exactly what turned this trip into an adventure, the rugged terrain, red rock deserts and huge cactuses of the South-West, the dense fog and giant redwoods of Northern California, the hillbilly mountains of Appalachia, the heavy humidity and spanish moss of the Deep South, the sea of grass on the Great Plains. All of that was amazing. We also sought to stay off the highways, preferring the billboard & junk-food free back roads, but all roads led into the many cities we visited and those were always dreadful commercial sprawls that make entering every city exactly the same: slow, hideous, and identical. An example that nearly brought me to tears due to frustration: I desperately wanted to sample some traditional Kentucky food & drinks, you know, Mint Juleps and the like, but everywhere we asked we were told that they probably served them at Applebees. That's all those small towns have left now: Applebees.

I'm glad I did my great American roadtrip though. Now I can cross that off the list.

A brief summary of my favorite sights and experiences: Amish people riding their buggies; covered bridges; fireflies; church converted into brewery; Al Capone's favorite speakeasy; rolling hills dotted with trees; the classic lemonade stand; 1880 town (old Wild West town which gave the impression of stepping back in time); giant thunderstorm; Wyoming mountains; a bottle of Sarsaparilla in every Wild West town; wild animals grazing on the side of the road; the view from Mulholland Drive; 1950s diners and soda fountains and 1850s cowboy saloons; Rt. 66: the old mother road; Taos Pueblo (the only UNESCO World Heritage site that is inhabited); Sunday morning cartoons in run-down motel rooms; steamboats; the adobe houses of New Mexico; tumbleweeds; Boone Hall Plantation (one of few plantations in the world with preserved slave quarters); grits & gravy at Waffle House after midnight; rustic water mill, barns, homesteads and old country stores on the Blue Ridge Parkway; blue tail lizards; antebellum mansions of Savannah & Charleston and all the lace balconies in New Orleans; the horse kingdom of Kentucky; cotton fields; butterflies the size of birds; diners in the middle of nowhere decorated with deer heads and filled with old, baseball cap wearing guys talking about hunting and various tools; farm stay in Pennsylvania were we participated in the chores and were taken on a hayride; and the locations of my two favorite TV shows: Twin Peaks and Northern Exposure, in the towns of North Bend/Snoqualmie and Roslyn, located just 30 min. from each other in my favorite state, Washington. Another amazing town in Washington was Port Townsend, an ideal little coastal town with the culture of a big city.

Tracing America's music history was another favorite. Motown, Stax, and Sun Studio were all fantastic. Mississippi Delta and New Orleans oozed ancient blues and jazz history, and we also got to sample the alternative music scene of legendary Athens, Georgia.
And notable museums were the Civil Rights Museum housed in the motel Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, and the Museum of Natural History in NYC.

Coming to San Francisco was like coming home. It is by far my favorite city in the US (other good ones are Seattle and Portland, Oregon, but the only one I could live in is San Fran). It's the perfect mix of beatniks, hippies, hipsters, homosexuals, hills and more hills, hispanics, chinese (it's got the biggest Chinatown outside of China), fog, filmmakers and writers, gorgeous & colorful Victorian houses, biggest public park in the country, most restaurants per capita in any city in the country (Portland, Maine is number two!) It's the most European city in the US, and, as Kerouac remarked, it's the "last great American city."

In fact, I wish Washington, Oregon, and Northern California would secede from the rest of the US and form it's own country. I'd call it Ortonfornia.

Religion was noticeably prevailing on this trip of course. You can't really go 5 minutes without passing a church (I wonder whether there are more churches or McDonaldses in this country). Some observations:
-"Church's Chicken", a fast-food fried chicken place, is everywhere in the south and Detroit. The victims seemed to be poor, black, religious folks, and next door were usually liquor/lottery stores. Sad sight indeed.
-A billboard outside a random church: "A free trip to heaven-details inside."
-Nothing is open on Sundays in the south. Furthermore, you can't even buy booze on the holy day! And some counties don't carry hard liquor at all.
-My favorite name for a church: "The Church of God in Christ." And they were everywhere, a chain just like Church's Chicken. If I ever go into the church business I'm naming mine "The Church of God in Christ for Jesus to Joseph from Mary." That should draw a crowd.

And the meat sector was pretty frightening as well:
-Ads everywhere for one pound burgers.
-Several states claiming to be the "meat state" (and in those one would perpetually see men carrying guns in their belt. No joke.)
-Gigantic feedlots right after entering Texas, absolutely horrifying, the shit-cloud and stink of the manure lagoon followed us for ages. Right after that we passed by Hereford, self-claimed "Beef capital of the world" and spotted a huge billboard shouting "I'm a meatetarian!" Even Aaron said he was never eating meat again.

The following is a sample of pictures from the great journey, but the pictures in entirety can be found on my flickr photo page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/gulla/collections/72157622286053407/

Woodstock, NY

Abandoned factory in Buffalo, NY

Pittsburg

Tribute to Michael Jackson at the Motown Museum

South Dakota

1880 town (South Dakota)

1880 town

1880 town

1880 town

1880 town

Badlands

Wyoming's Bighorn mountains

Wyoming

Yellowstone

Washington state's wine country

Soda fountain in Port Townsend

Hoh Rain Forest in Olympic National Park

Lincoln at Portland, Oregon farmer's market

Redwoods

California's lost coast

Big Sur vegetation

San Francisco

Monterey, California

Venice Beach, LA

Sunset Blvd, LA

Arizona

Grand Canyon

Monument Valley

Utah

Arches

Las Vegas, New Mexico

Taos Pueblo

Albuquerque

Wild West town of Lincoln, New Mexico

Lincoln

Roswell, New Mexico

Sun studio, Memphis

The motel Martin Luther King was killed, Memphis

New Orleans

Spanish moss covered oaks at Boone Hall Plantation

Slave cabins at the plantation

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia

In a small North Carolina town

West-Virginia

West-Virginia

Baltimore

Amish shop in Lancaster County

Farm we stayed at in Lancaster

Doing the morning chores at the farm

Elfreth's Alley, Philadelphia: The oldest street in the country

Of comic books.

2009-06-25T23:53:15Z

Like every kid in Iceland, I got my Wild West education from the Lucky Luke comic books. To this day they're still my favorite comic books and every time I visit my dad I barely leave my bed, which is placed next to a shelf full of Lucky Luke and other favorites of the Franco-Belgian comic book genre such as Les 4as (Hin Fjögur Fræknu), Tin Tin, Astérix the Gaul, Gaston Lagaff (Viggó Viðurtan), Quick & Flupke (Palli og Toggi), Spirou & Fantasio (Svalur og Valur), The Smurfs, and Yoko Tsuno. Superman might fly and Spiderman can jump from building to building, but Lucky Luke can draw his gun faster than his own shadow.

Les 4as were created by Georges Chaulet and illustrated by François Craenhals. A kind of a European version of the Fantastic Four, but more earnest than their American counterparts as their superpowers consist in being themselves, whether it’s having a sweet tooth, an extensive library, a comb constantly in use, or a complete knowledge of cars and engines. Les 4as were the older siblings I never had.

Astérix and Obelix were created by René Goscinny and illustrated by Albert Uderzo.

Goscinny also created Lucky Luke, who was illustrated by Morris.

Hergé created both Tin Tin and Quick & Flupke, and he illustrated them as well.

Gaston Lagaff is the sole creation of André Franquin, while several people have worked on Spirou & Fantasio.

The Smurfs by Peyo.

Japanese heroine and technology wizard Yoko Tsuno by Roger Leloup.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franco-Belgian_comics

Vexillology.

2009-06-22T22:21:31Z

If there’s something I enjoy more than leafing through my Atlas, it’s sitting down with my Flag encyclopedia. Call me a flaggot if you like, in fact, my in-the-closet dream profession is designing flags. But until that happens, and while I practice, I will keep on admiring and take heed of these here:

Antigua and Barbuda - Where the sun always shines and the sky is always black.

Aruba - How the Swedish flag could've looked like if Scandinavian flag designers had any imagination.

Bonaire - A sea captain-ish flag, with a touch of Judaism.

Chuvashia - This flag was designed by the regional president's 10 year old daughter.

Comoros - "What can we add to make it more decorative?" "How about a few stars in the gape of the moon?"
"Oh hey, now it looks like a very hungry Pacman is eating them!" "Cool, I like it!"

Dagestan - The happiest flag in the world.

Djibouti - Tasteful and elegant is all I have to say.

Guyana - Looks like this one was lifted off an optical elusion quiz.

Isle of Man - Brilliant. It kills me every time I see it. I believe it was designed around the same time LSD was invented.

Macao - Hong Kong's little brother's flag might as well been designed by the good people of Adidas.

Marshall Islands - My personal favorite. Something very nostalgic yet futuristic about this one - a sort of sixties space-race era (which was the best period for design in my opinion).

Mozambique's old and new flags - I guess the government's two main emphasis, literacy and shooting, haven't changed between flags. The old design is way better though. But what is that tool underneath the gun??

Nagorno-Karabakh - A devoted Tetris fan designed this one. And it was originally meant for the Mooninites.

Namibia - Another colorful and appealing flag that contains no jokes.

Papua New Guinea - You can't go wrong with a bird on the flag. Or the hint of outer space. Bravo.

Rwanda - Can't really go wrong with the sun either. Especially when it's this fine.

Sardinia - An island state founded by escaped slaves on their way to capture England. Their dream lives on in this flag.

Seychelles - Originally the flag of Rainbow Brite's realms.

Tocantins - Yet another stylish use of sun and simple lines.

Tokyo - One of the very few purple flags out there. But the emblem looks unsettling like some ancient torture apparatus.

Uganda - Designed by a German punk who'd had a little too much to drink of the local moonshine.

From this flag-off one can judge that Africa has clearly the best designers, with the total of seven flags on the list, but the global pattern of this sample reveals however that island states make the best flags, as half of the flags on the list belong to islands, whether they are located in the Caribbean, the Pacific, off Africa, or even in Europe (which I have learned is the worst continent for flag design). Another excellent flag location seems to lie in former Soviet regions, which claim three flags combined on this list. Other honorable mentions go to Asian cities and South American regions. As I said, not much going on for Europe, which will obviously be my niche. Time for some flag make-overs..

This week's BOYS to hold hands with.

2009-06-12T13:40:15Z

Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora

I mean, who could resist those cheekbones, right?

Or the hair???

Everywhere!!

Radio, transmission.

2009-06-05T13:21:04Z

Check out this gem of a radio I just invested in, it runs on solar power, and when the sun's off you hand-crank it!

PS. I also got a purple sleeping bag.. It'll be like like going camping with Prince!

Missed Connections.

2009-06-04T18:14:54Z

One of my most beloved time-consuming-useless-entertainment on the internet is the "missed connections" feature on craigslist. Do people earnestly use this to hook up, or is it merely for the amusement of those who like to laugh of the patheticness of desperate people's last straw in the whirlpool of dating? My favorites are the supermarket glances, such as "I saw you by the meat shelf, you were holding a 2 pound pack of ground pork", or the parking lot/red light spottings, like "you were leaving the Burger King parking lot, I was sitting inside with my family, our eyes met as I was stuffing my face with french fries". Recently I've been venturing outside of my residential state, namely down south where one can find the greatest pearls of the white trash poetry "missed connections" is. My all time favorite goes like this:

"LOOKING FOR MICHAEL LYNN McCURDY,HAS 2 SISTERS BETTY AND SUSIE IN DOTHAN.HE MARRIED A GIRL NAMED DEBBIE.HIS SON WANTS TO MEET HIM."

I rest my case.

Try a little Tenderness.

2009-05-31T19:02:30Z

Lately I've been listening to more of Otis Redding than usual and I started thinking how little I know about these old musicians I enjoy daily, so I became curious to find out the story behind this brilliant singer. To my surprise I learned that Otis was killed in a plane crash when he was just 26 years old (what was up with plane crashes and musicians in those days?), but despise the young age he had already earned the tag "King of Soul". More astonishingly, his biggest hit, "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay", wasn't released until a month after he passed and was only recorded three days before his death! Apparently the song wasn't even completely finished yet and the whistling verse was never meant to be a part of the song, it was just a spontaneous fill-in which Otis meant to improve with lyrics later on.
"These Arms of Mine" will always remain my favorite though.

Outdoor amusements.

2009-05-29T03:08:37Z

I live for leisure and my favorite recreational game is croquet, which, like mini-golf, is a pastime introduced to me as a child by my father. It was always either a Sunday ice-cream drive to Vín with a stop at the mini-golf field outside of (my hometown) Akureyri, or a weekend camping trip to the northern woods of Vaglaskógur with the coal grill and croquet set. Any other time the croquet track was laid out in my grandparents' backyard, usually associated with a barbecue on an Icelandic summer evening, which means midnight sun and no particular bedtime for kids. These are some of my best childhood memories that have been seriously rekindled of late since Aaron and I just invested in a croquet set which we inaugurated with a barbecue in the park on this past warm and sunny Memorial day. Very nostalgic event by all means.

Cousins Binni, Tinna, and I having a round on one of many camping trips..

.. and still hitting about 15 years later.

Aaron and Emily await their turn.

PS. I also shared a sandwich with this nice little guy down in the park the other day:

Clocks.

2009-05-22T01:43:55Z

I recently put together a photo essay on the subject of time and here are some of the photographs I took to use for the project:

Motel Bird

2009-05-21T11:45:27Z

One of the projects I have planned for this summer is building a log cabin type birdhouse, something in this vain:

Besides providing an excellent kitty-TV for Thelma and Louise, it'll be a good practice for the tree house we're going to build once we have our own backyard tree.

Only if I had abundance of time on my hands..

The Birth of Jazz.

2009-05-12T02:34:18Z

At the dawn of the 20th century, a young, black cornetist - a native of New Orleans - generated music from his instrument which would later become known as “jazz” – a new musical genre that would go on to influence all music that would succeed it. About a decade later, or in 1917, jazz was recorded for the first time and the record sold more copies than any record ever released. Jazz was introduced to the world for the first time, and became an instant hit. It created a cultural gap between the old and young, and it was a way for people to break from old traditions brought to this country from Europe. In short, jazz defined America, it looked to the future of the nation, and became its first original form of music. But Buddy Bolden didn’t anticipate all this when he invented the “big four” amongst the bordellos of Storyville. Nicknamed “King Bolden” and known as the best black musician of New Orleans at the time, Bolden’s path had already been forged by his processors.

During the 19th century, New Orleans was known as the most cosmopolitan city, as well as the musical capital, of the United States. It was a French city by birth, so it was sophisticated and cultural, but it was also a major port city of the South which drew a lot of business, including the one of slave trade. It was America at its best and its worst in the same instant. It was a city of multiple nationalities and cultures which invented itself as it went along, improvising its history, just like jazz.

Slaves had to learn how to improvise more than any newcomers in the new country, having been deprived of their freedom and torn away from a culture very different from the Western way of life. A century before jazz was first recorded, slaves were gathering in New Orleans’ Congo Square, singing and dancing in front of the Sunday strollers. Many of them had just arrived from the West-Indies and their rhythms were influenced by Caribbean currents; others came from the interior South, bringing with them work and spiritual songs from the black Baptist church.

Amongst the audience were Creoles, descendants of African-Americans and French settlers of Louisiana. Creoles identified with Europeans and were elegant upper-class people with classical music training. Along with other aristocratic citizens of New Orleans they enjoyed the arts of the many flourishing opera houses and symphonies of the city. But being an extremely heterogeneous town, New Orleans offered its citizens a large variety of music, including military style brass bands (marching bands) which entertained the flora of inhabitants during parades of all sorts, Mardi Gras being the best known. The town was simply billowing with music - even the street vendors sold their goods through song - and this living jukebox sifted through its people.

Minstrel shows were a tremendously popular form of entertainment in the 19th century. They were based on plantation songs and blended music, comedy and elegance. They also marked the beginning of a creative relationship between black and white musicians as the songs were written by people of both races, and the shows were performed by white actors in blackface, and later by black actors posing as white minstrel performers! A big hit of the Minstrel era was “Jim Crow,” a title which would later be used to define laws that segregated African-Americans from white society.

When slavery was finally terminated, a wave of creative energy swept the nation. Many former slaves migrated to New Orleans, bringing a new form of music in their luggage. In the 1890s, two original styles reached the musical melting pot – ragtime and blues. Ragtime was invented by black piano players of the Midwest and drew on African-American spiritual songs, minstrel music, European folk melodies, and military marches. It became immensely popular with young people who loved it because their parents did not, and it remained the most popular music genre in the country for a couple of decades.

Blues on the other hand came from the impoverished Mississippi delta region. It traveled to New Orleans with former slaves on the flight from Jim Crow laws, in search for work at the docks. Blues is about finding meaning in a situation that seems to defy being able to find meaning in and blues musicians were searching for means to separate themselves from the minstrel stereotype that had prevailed in the country for so long. Blues was closely related to the call-response music of the black Baptist church, “one was praying to god, the other to what was human (Ken Burns’ Jazz vol. 1).” Blues was a personal form of music, the songs told a story and freed the musicians from their troubles.

When Jim Crow laws eventually hit New Orleans it made no distinction between black people and Creoles. Suddenly Creoles found themselves in the quarters of African-Americans, living side by side in their realms, their musical cultures intertwining and complimenting each other. The music genres that preceded jazz already existed, but at this point in history they came together to form a novel breed. Musicians started using left over military instruments from the Civil War to imitate church singing, and the spiritual sounds of the church and the secular sound of the blues meshed together. “The musicians who could understand both and put both in their horns, side by side, so they could represent that angel and that devil, that were the ones who could play (Ken Burns’ Jazz vol. 1).”

Jazz was a spontaneous art form which would mature for years without being captured - no one thought of recording it at first because you had to be there to appreciate its beauty. Under extreme circumstances - slavery and segregation – jazz was born, representing the perseverance, hopefulness, and liberation of its creators.

Mod: clean living under difficult circumstances

2009-05-10T17:46:43Z

The summer has made its annual appearance on our side of the hemisphere and I can hear my neighbor roar down the street on his ruby red scooter, underneath freshly blossoming trees of various varieties. A few states away, art-rock band Franz Ferdinand is promoting their new album, attired in smart, slim-fit suits --inspired by French fashion icon Hedi Slimane— as they perform dance infested indie tunes for an equally stylish audience. Next week, the rock opera Quadrophenia, based on the legendary Who album and the film bearing the same name, will open up in Plymouth, England, subsequently touring the UK for several months. And tonight, just as any night, dozens of floor-filled clubs around the world will focus on Northern Soul, Motown and any Mod affiliated music genre for the nostalgic appreciators who seek to recreate the heydays of Britain-based clubs such as The Flamingo, The Marquee, and The Twisted Wheel, which passed away over four decades ago.

The origins of the Mods can be traced back to a few different sources. As the postwar Fifties were running their course, young people started growing restless in pre-Beatles Britain. Teen trends were only just developing, and British teenagers would put their mark on the course of youth culture forever as they forged a movement started by sole lads scattered around London, which ended up with the British Invasion. Music would never be the same again, and neither would adolescence apparel.

The path that led to the Mod movement was perhaps paved by the Teddy Boys, a British, Fifties subculture inspired by the Edwardian period, from which the name of the movement was derived. The Teds were in fact the first teenage subculture in Britain. They identified with American Rock ‘n’ Roll and, unlike the Mods, all dressed alike, in long drape jackets, high-waisted trousers, and suede shoes. The Ted culture would go on to develop into the next wave of teen movements: The Mods and Rockers, who were the anti-Mods.

The original Mods sought inspiration from two things: American jazz music and beat culture, and Italian and French leisure culture. Tired of the bleakness of their British working-class heritage, the Mods wished themselves elsewhere. They turned their back to whatever they considered dull and dated and looked towards the future (yet living for the present), praising everything that had a futuristic appeal, identifying with anything new, exciting, and modern. The group therefore became known as Modernists, which was then cut short to Mods.

The keyword of the Mods was Individuality. The Mods weren’t a “tribe” or a “gang” but like-minded people who shared the same attitudes towards clothes and music. Their rebellion manifested itself in the way they dressed, which was better then their authoritative elders. It was a male-led movement consisting of blue-collar boys who spent their every penny on the sophisticated clothing style they created (most of the Mod boys could iron their shirts better than their mothers). The Mods drew from each other’s modes during basement allnighters in Soho --the Mod Mecca of the Swinging Sixties— as well as seeking examples from male leads of the French Nouvelle Vague cinema. Detail was everything; it was what got you noticed. The Mods, who were often St. Martin’s art school students, would actually sit in the dark theaters with a sketchpad and pencil, jotting down what they would see on the screen (they would also spend entire days at school designing the “right look”) and then bringing the outcome to a “qualified” tailor. True Mods namely didn’t buy their clothes in stores, they would have them tailored to fit their individuality, and every Mod brought something new to the movement. The Mods’ biggest concern would in fact often be where to get their clothes, not whether or not they could afford them.

Mods also followed Tour de France religiously --instead of the national favorites football and cricket— and the cyclists would rank alongside their cinema heroes, sparking new and more casual waves of clothing trends, which hardcore Mods resented because it brought the movement closer to the mainstream. Many Mods would even get their haircuts from an Italian hairdresser tucked away in Soho who had pictures of cyclists on the walls of his barbershop (others preferred getting their hair cut at ladies’ salons, as the Mods were considered to be feminine types, which is why there was such a riff between them and the more masculine and greasy Rockers). American GIs would also leave their impression on the Mod style, as they would show up at the clubs with a handful of Levis jeans for sale, and the military parka would later become an essential Mod item.

Another crucial element to the Mod image was the scooter, which became the ultimate accessory (the usage of the parka actually came to be due to scooting since it came in handy for protecting the tailor-made suits while riding). The scooter fitted the Mod lifestyle in two ways: it was futuristic and it was foreign, being manufactured in Italy. The Mods, individualistic as they were, started modifying their scooters with an assortment of additions such as mirrors, lights, and horns. All the extras would slow the scooter down considerably but this didn’t bother the Mods one bit since they preferred driving slowly anyways in order to be noticed. They would even spell out their names on the flyscreen to leave no doubt who was coming through. What kind of scooter you drove meant everything (Mods preferred Lambrettas over Vespas) and sexual encounters were based on which model you drove (even though overall Mods weren’t that interested in girls, they were too preoccupied with such things as clothes, scooters, and music). Scooter rallies became popular, where thousands of Mods would ride out of the city together (this, as I will explain further down, started to become a problem for the movement as these rallies would sometimes result in violence).

Essentially, the Mod scene was established at the music venues attended by the movement’s followers. Mods would come together wherever their favored music was playing, from jazz-crazed and crowded coffee bars to blues spots such as The Barrel House --where visiting African-American performers were shocked to be playing for an almost entirely white audience who worshipped them like gods— and R’n’B, Northern Soul, and Motown basement allnighters (often tucked beneath Soho jazz clubs) where Mods danced to the sounds of the latest African-American soul hits. But even though Mods honored black musicians from the other side of the Atlantic, homegrown music was about to hit big. The Rolling Stones, The Who, The Small Faces, David Bowie, The Spencer Davis Group, The Yardbirds, The Kinks, Manfred Mann, and The Faces all got their start in Mod clubs. (The Beatles were considered an un-cool pop band for girls and the Mods only respected them for wearing collarless jackets). In order to make the most of the short weekend, which consisted of shopping for clothes and records as well as attending as many clubs as possible, Mods became known for taking amphetamines. Those were very easy to obtain in the form of diet pills from their mother’s medicine cabinets and “Purple Hearts” were the most used.

In the end, Mods started getting bad press after a series of Mod vs. Rockers riots at seaside resorts frequented in scooter rallies. Early Mods claim that these fights were sensationalized by the media, and that originally this was nothing but bored Mods quarreling with the police and had nothing to do with Rockers. Nevertheless, the riots brought Mod culture to the attention of other youngsters who followed their footsteps and in turn made the movement more mainstream, more of a tribe, which the original Mods weren’t about at all. They were about setting themselves apart, moving a step ahead. The die-hard Mods didn’t recognize this new breed of Mods that was born out of the riot-frenzy, as the original Mods would’ve never sacrificed their glorified clothes to roll in the dirt while fighting other gangs. All of a sudden, Mod culture had been handed down to high-street retailers who sold a mass-marketed and pre-packaged version of the original movement to teenagers who didn’t know better. As a result, the Mod movement started dying out in London and moved up North where it gained new life.

At the end of the Seventies, a Mod revival saw the London light. It was born in the same way as the original movement, out of boredom of a few individuals unbeknownst to one other. In the midst of punk and prog-rock, these novel Mods had even harder time locating the right outfit to suit their movement. As Carnaby Street had become a tacky tourist trap, these boys had to look away from the West End, namely to the (still) hip Brick Lane in the East End. A figurehead for the movement this time around was The Jam’s lead singer, Paul Weller. Several other bands were big amongst the club goers but never made it beyond that because before the movement came to that point, the Who-inspired film Quadrophenia hit the theaters and the movement yet again became nothing more than a mainstream hype too easily available to anyone who cared to join.

Since then, the Mod phenomenon has gone through several revival stages. It shone through in the Britpop mania of the Nineties, where members of Blur bore the classic labels of Ben Sherman and Fred Perry, and the Gallagher brothers of Oasis fame dressed in parkas like it was 1964 all over again (Blur’s single “Parklife” even featured vocals of Quadrophenia leading man Phil Daniels). Scooter rallies are still frequent all over the world and the Mini Cooper (the official Mod car) is considered a “hip” mode of transport. And websites, such as http://www.modculture.co.uk and http://www.uppers.org, help newcomers navigate through the long history of the movement, whether it’s pointing out movies and books linked to Mod culture, or to assist Mod fans find clubs and shops of their liking worldwide.

Mod elements seem to go through phases of rediscoveries, or rather than being rediscovered, they might never have left the teenage subconscious altogether. The Mod vision, to stand out as an individual, to be an identifiable face in the crowd (Mods would in fact call themselves Faces, and at the top of the Faces were the Ace Faces, which were somewhat leaders in an otherwise leaderless movement) is still seen as important. Mod represents the underground, the search for the unconventional. These values can for example be seen in today’s hipsters, which are, like Mods, fashion conscious and sharply dressed, and discard anything that hits the mainstream market.

The Mod way of life has been able to trickle into any era succeeding the original movement and has shown over and again its resilience to time, being able to find a place within dissimilar generations who embrace the lifestyle as their own after renewing and adapting it to fit their milieu. Mods have therefore proven to be both the most durable of all subcultures as well as being the only subculture readily adopted by diverse groups of individuals.

Still-image montages are the best.

2009-04-26T21:36:53Z

One of my favorite film scenes ever.

Shut your friggin' window!

2009-04-03T02:36:22Z

Why is it that the people who insist on blaring music from their open car windows are always the people with the worst taste in music? Incidentally, their music is generally the loudest type of music there is, such as black death metal and euro trash techno. For once I'd like to hear an attention seeking driver blast some Bach or Basie, or anything that doesn't sound like the apocalypse.

The mobile DJ - god help us all.

Farmarama.

2009-04-01T13:42:41Z

Here's where I'm going to be working a good part of this coming season:

http://www.laughingstockfarm.com

I'm very excited.

From the “Cuddles Avenue Post” classifieds..

2009-03-28T21:51:45Z

Two happy-go-lucky brothers of the banana race looking for fun times. Prefer wearing pyjamas, enjoy stomping down stairs, and are often thinking what the other is thinking. Excellent dancers. Soft fondness for female bears, the more the merrier. If you’re into yellow-skinned brothers, contact us for some fruity lovin’.