The talk in Iceland these days, at least among my friends, is nausea, vomit and snot. Ah, you are truly punk rock, you say.
Unfortunately, we’re not talking nausea, vomit and snot in a cool way, or with enough snarl.
For example, today, on coming in to work:
“I could hear you coming from a mile away. You’re going to lose a lung,” my coworker says.
“Yes, something disgusting just made it’s way from my lungs to my mouth,” I respond.
“That reminds me of CSI-Miami. That’s how they caught the killer...”
Definitely not very punk rock.
I should also mention that my colleague aspires to wear corduroy and talks about this often.
The intern is out sick with projectile vomiting. That’s punk rock. Except the intern’s only real indulgence is in large sugary baked goods with pink frosting, and he seems to have caught the flu, so that’s not very punk.
There was a punk occasion in Iceland one week ago. Hrafn Gunnlaugsson, one of our more successful directors and also close friend to active Foreign Minister and most influential man in Icelandic politics Davíd Oddsson, presented prime time viewers with Iceland’s take on the Superbowl Halftime show.
Gunnlaugsson presented his four part series on the life of Jón Magnusson, a religious nut from the West Fjörds who burned various men and women for sorcery. The sporting event of the mini-series, and what made Gunnlaugsson and Iceland truly punk, was a prime time castration of Jón. Prime time castration! Cool, eh. But even better, it was followed by prime time dog consumption of said testicles. (All of this was staged, mind you, but it looked EXTREMELY real.)
I think it has been hard to live up to such a punk rock event. I used to think I was punk rock because I ate the occasional sheep face, or got electrocuted. I thought my friends were punk rock because they played in loud bands and threw up in public, seemingly as a way of punctuating a sentence.
But Mr. Gunnlaugsson, whose buddy is an extremely conservative politician, has outdone us. And I’ve found that my friends who play rock music ain’t half as punk as my acoustic self. As today’s news report explains, another bar I play regularly with guitar and bucket has a rough reputation. They are now putting metal detectors in to prevent knives and the occasional axe that they found on people over the summer. BC [email protected]