Home, Sweet (Icelandic) Home
Friday, July 23, 2004
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The alert reader will notice that there was no description of yesterday’s events.
We will speak no more about it.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with Stefan, teaching him how to talk like a pirate and swapping tall tales. He’s a really funny guy, and is becoming one of my pals in this production. We even dress alike, as the picture below illustrates.
Today’s a big day. I’m getting relocated from my temporary residence into my new “crib” (or “ágætur íbúd í the midja af the borg” as the kids in Iceland call it). It’s smack dab in the center of the city, and every time I show my gawking cohorts the address I receive gratifyingly raised eyebrows and “ahs” of envy. When the landlord asks me what my wife’s name is so he can put it on the mailbox “to make her feel that she has a home in Iceland when she visits” I almost weep.
Another important aspect of the day is the arrival of Cole Zaslove, Mark Zaslove’s kid and my little Oddchild. Cole is instantly smitten by Julianna, who he refers to as “the pink-haired girl.” I think she’s the first great love of his life (besides his mom, who’s also here), and it’s pretty damn adorable. I snap a picture of Cole and Julianna, an image that he will doubtlessly treasure forever.
Thorir tells me about a band that’s playing at a local guzzlery, but when I get there at 10pm the bar is practically empty and there’s no band. I spend some time (and WAY too much money) at a nearby strip club, and when I get back to the bar the joint’s jammed and the band is cranking. Thorir is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t stop me from ordering a Viking (the local brew) and listening to the REALLY LOUD music. I finish my beer and split, my ears ringing in Icelandic.
I weave through the streets as midnight approaches. The sun is visible on the horizon, and the sidewalks are crowded with people just getting ready to party. As I’m admiring a group of blond goddesses one of them smiles at me and breaks from the pack. It’s Gudrún, a seamstress from the show. She and I enter a nearby bar and chug suds and swap gossip for an hour. Gudrún, thanks for being my first Icelandic drinking buddy!
I stagger back to my new ágætur íbúð í the miðja af the borg and work on a LazyTown script in bed until I fall asleep with my computer heating my belly like a high-tech hot water bottle. Thank God this new place has blackout curtains. I just wish it had soundproof windows, because there’s a party right outside that ends up lasting until 5am.
Ken Pontac,
Pleasantly buzzed,
Iceland
