Year-End Gallery 2024

Minnesota Museum of American Art, Saint Paul, Minnesota

Not the best year.

Still, FITK perseveres or, perhaps more accurately, abides. The ill-logic of running an endeavor such as this has always been apparent, but in the doing of it there are just enough rewards to keep me continuing. The biggest question mark in online publishing these days is AI, in all of its various guises. AI-generated content is overwhelming search engines, making finding this blog a needle in a hay field, not a haystack. When my stats indicate over 10k views a month (over 1 million total!), I have a sneaking suspicion that most of these ‘visits’ are bots or other scrapers. Apple, Amazon, Microsoft and Facebook all stop by fairly often and there are also regular visits from various LLCs. Not many commenters anymore, though—it seems that it just isn’t done as much as it used to be.

My Icelandic obsession coverage here is ending but I’ll keep the index in the sidebar for the book and music reviews and for anyone interested in perusing these old posts. Many thanks to all those who have stoked my Iceland fires over the last 20 years—the embers of which will always remain warm. This past month’s ‘Little Miss Loopy’ posts were a fond farewell to Auður who had shown me the way in nearly everything on the internet (her early 2004 Icelandic blog was very similar to Twitter!) All the other Icelandic bloggers from 20 years ago have moved on as well, mostly to bigger and better things.

While still using FITK as a base, my photography has been expanding to other outlets in the past couple of years: regular posts to the Steve Hoffman site and my involvement with the Homewood Photo Collective have broadened my horizons. Conversely, my travel plans have been scaled back, with grandchildren and a general ‘malaise of the flying experience’ rising, the quantity of my trips has been curtailed. Places I’ve traveled post-covid have all had difficulties (but not Iceland which, from my travel perspective, is about as seamless trip in logistics as could be imagined.) Alas, my desire is spent. The U.S. Southwest still has some appeal (I’ll be there in February) but flights there are always more difficult than they need to be. Seattle is always an option (and a great destination if you don’t have to drive.)

So, what will the upcoming year bring to FITK?

Having 20+ years of posts to revisit once a week is a nice way to establish an over-all perspective of the blog. Getting in touch with some of my old blog-pals (Maria, Kristín, Reshma, DJ Cousin Mary, Darien, and Karen/Sharon) over the last 12 months was especially nice. The rise of AI Suno program allowed me to set some of the more poetic FITK posts to music (which may not be a completely good thing.) The idea of a FITK podcast keeps bubbling up from my subconscious. Is there a DJ Batty in the offing? More long fiction is not on the roadmap, but there will be some shorter pieces showing up from time to time in addition to the usual mess olio of thought-pieces and images.

I will offer you this, my closing comment, in Icelandic:

Þetta reddast.

Jólabókaflóðið

Death at the Sanatorium

A Mystery by Ragnar Jónasson
Translated by Victoria Cribb
Minotaur Books 2024

When last I visited the work of this prolific author he was joined in his writing endeavors by the President of Iceland! No such stunts this time however; this book was actually written in 2018 and only translated into English in 2024.

The main character, Helgi Reykdal, a young policeman who had taken a sabbatical to study forensics in London, has returned to Reykjavík to finish his dissertation and ultimately re-join the police in the CID unit. It is 2012 and Helgi is studying a murder case that took place in Akureyri in 1983  that had never been properly closed. He is getting nowhere in interviewing the surviving people of interest in the old case (for his dissertation) when a startling development forces him to become an investigator for both cases..

There are flashbacks and changing of focus on different characters but is handled well and never becomes confusing. Ragnar is an avowed disciple of Agatha Christie and it shows. The plot-twist at the end is clever. Victoria Cribb is the best translator of Ragnar, the language is direct and never fussy. Recommended as a light read, it would be a perfect Jólabókaflóðið gift.

The one thing that I found most interesting was actually in the acknowledgements: the book  had mostly been written in Kaffihús Vesturbæjar, located near my favorite swimming pool in Reykjavík. The Weaver and I might have actually been in there when he was writing it in 2018!

Touch

A film by Baltasar Kormákur

A late Christmas present, as it were.

This charming and heartfelt movie spans generations and cultures in a flowing yet restrained style. Kristófer is a newly-retired Icelandic restaurant owner who, during the start of the Covid epidemic, seeks out a lost love from his youthful days in London where he worked in a Japanese restaurant and fell in love with the owner’s daughter, Miko. This film could have been a treacly disaster, but Kormakúr’s steady hand and measured pace elevate it into something really special. This is a true cross-cultural affair; all of the Japanese actors are excellent, especially Kôki as the young Miko, and Masahiro Motoki as her father. Egill Ólafsson as the old Kristófer and Pálmi Kormákur as the younger Kristofer inhabit their roles with a natural ease. The story is from the novel of the same name by Ólafur Jóhann Ólafsson who co-wrote the screenplay with Baltasar. The subtle score was by Högni Egilsson, who is no stranger to FITK.

This film is a can’t-miss for fans of the romance genre: timeless and engaging. It is available to rent or buy from Amazon, as is the book, both are highly recommended.

Christmas Love

An invitation… to a private make-out party… for two.

It was my senior year in high school, during the Christmas break. ‘Ann’ and I weren’t exactly an item, in fact Ann was more akin to an indefinite article. But love is grand when love is new and, it being Christmas time and all, it made our date only the more special. I was hardly chaste in high school, but a sordid incident in my junior year caused me to rethink my behavior while with the other sex. Since that shameful incident I had been, for all practical purposes, celibate.

It has been said that, subconsciously, a man wants to marry his mother. Ann was nothing like  Ma. Vivacious, petite and irreverent, and definitely not celibate. I was a skinny, nervous 17-year-old with an excess of hormones. Duly arriving at the trysting place (her living room, parents not home) with a copy of Cream’s recently released Disraeli Gears record album. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice for make-out music, but it did set a mood, Ann was not shy and she began to bathe me in the sunshine of her love.

(A discreet pause ensues. Use your imagination!)

While that evening was arousing a rousing success, I was not yet ready to be a proper boyfriend. Or, for that matter, an improper one. We never repeated our tête-à-tête, but we have stayed in touch over the last 50+ years, and are still friends. I’m no longer a skinny, nervous kid and Ann, while not quite as petite, is still vivacious and irreverent. Our love never came to full fruition but it did bloom, once, on a snowy night in December of 1967—our own Christmas in Eden:



Re-posted  from Pulp Flippist III with video added. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Christmas is the Time for Sharon

In the spirit of the month, here is an Icelandic-themed Holiday card from the fertile imagination of Karen Heathwood, AKA SHARON SPOTBOTTOM!

I 💗 Sharon!

Apple Loves Me

Last fall the sitemeter for Flippism is the Key started recording visits from Apple, Inc. every day.

And not just once a day, but multiple times, each from a different Url.

I have written about Apple in the past but I am hardly a techie. I’d like to think that Tim Cook is staying up late and reading my deathless prose, or enjoying the fine photography or grooving out to my music videos. Or perhaps there is an internal Apple usenet that swaps links to interesting sites (in the middle of the night?) and has found FITK.

My fear is that Apple is systematically scraping my entire site for its own nefarious AI purposes.

But I really don’t know.

Godless Sinner

Living a life without god is a conscious choice.

You learn about the religions of the world and if nothing appeals to you, decision is made to do without it. You don't judge those who do believe and you can only ask of them to do the same for you. As you get older and you experience more you start questioning your decisions. Did you get it all wrong? Maybe there is a god and he is punishing you for abandoning him. Do your skeptic thoughts mean that maybe you do believe in more than you want to acknowledge?

You look at those who have faith with envious eyes and you wish you could find it within you to believe as strongly as they do. Their faith gives them answers you so desperately seek and for a brief moment you consider converting.

You then realize you can't make up faith not matter how strongly you want it. It's wrong to disown something when things are going well and come crawling back when things are bad. Either you believe or you don't. Something else needs to fill the emptiness inside and that becomes your quest. Who provides you the answers?

This concludes my ‘December with Auður’ series of reposts from the early years of FITK.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image

Happy Hour

Yeah. Uhu. Is that right? Aha. Ummm. Yeah. Ok. Oh really? Ummm. Right. Aha.

I look at her as she over-eagerly nods her head and takes notes from all that I’m saying. Then she stops and looks at me with her penetrative stare. I feel as if I should have something to say but I know I can’t say the things she wants to hear. Avoiding her eyes I stare out the window and play with my headphones like there is no tomorrow.

Tell me something about you. Aha. Umm. Ok. Uhu. Right. Yeah. And how does that make you feel?

I carefully dodge her questions even though I know she needs to know the answers to be able to help me. I don't know how any of it makes me feel. I don't know what to tell her. I sink lower and lower on her couch and while she waits for me to open my mouth I wander off on to the other side. To the other side where everything is good and you don't have to tell middle-aged head-bangers how various situations make you feel. To my kingdom, my own little haven, where I decide who I let in and who not. I sometimes wish I could spend all my time there but at the same time I know the day that happens is the day they have to lock me up at some mental institution. Because as much as I like the other side, life is happening on this side. Right here, right now. So I better start coughing up the answers.

Aha. Uhhh. Ok. Right. Aha. Wait. Why? When in doubt, buy a sweater? Uhu. Road Trip? What?. Foreign Mafia? Yeah, we need another session. Next week? Good.

Image: Bókun

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image

A Day in My Life

I was taken upstairs as it was finally time for my operation.

An hour before I had been given two Parkodin Forte to prevent me from feeling pain and a tranquilizer to prepare me for the anesthesia. The nurse drove me to the surgery ward and left me there next to the supply cabinets as it was a hectic day and the room was not ready yet. I was pushed back and forward as the nurses had to get to their supplies and my bed caused a traffic jam when a young doctor was trying to get some poor woman back to recovery. I can’t say it was a pleasant experience. Finally a smiling young man came to me and introduced himself. I’m Dr Skurgiburg and I will be in charge of your anesthesia today. Moments later another smiling young man who looked like the identical twin of Dr. Skurgiburg in his green overalls introduced himself as a nurse. Lucky me, I thought, being half-naked and exposed in front of these charming twins.

Being petrified of needles I tried not to faint when the male nurse put in my needle. The room was filled with green overalls attending to their pre-op things and I stared at the ceiling trying to imagine that I was somewhere else. Soon I found myself at an exotic location and I could feel the warm breeze from the ocean on my face. This was my first clue that the heavy medication was working. All of a sudden the face of one of the twins popped into my vision and he told me that they were now giving me pain medication through my needle so I wouldn't feel a thing. Then came the anesthesia itself and Dr. Skurgiburg put on my oxygen mask and told me to breath as normal. I felt panic and thought I was suffocating and falling through the table. One deep breath for me now, honey was the last thing I heard and I was out.

I first came around on my way to recovery. The smiling twins were there with me and I asked them if it was over. Yes sweetheart, it's over. Wow, I said, that was quick. I was dreaming in Spanish you know I told them and then mumbled something probably highly inappropriate in Spanish. Then everything went black again.

I woke up in tears and tried to sit up but I couldn’t. I was in a room filled with sleeping beauties and on my finger I had some thing attached to a monitor. Twice did my monitor make a noise and after carefully studying the other monitors around me I decided it was because my heart rate was way too slow. The noise didn’t seem to bother the nurses though and they hardly looked my way. Lying dizzy in recovery after watching one too many ER shows I really would have loved for someone to tell me not to worry but the nurses seemed to have mentally clocked out already and were talking about deserts and confirmation parties. At least I was paying attention to details, that must be a good sign that I was not dying. They finally noticed that I had woken up and one of them brought over a tiny glass of water. Drink this she said and I did as I was ordered. By this time the room was spinning and the nurse who had brought me up there was back and getting ready to take me down again. I wondered about whether I should mention to her that maybe moving me in this state was not a good idea but judging by her face I thought my suggestions would not be welcome. Once back in my room, like a cow to its stall, a much friendlier nurse gave me medication through the damn needle that was still there to help with the nausea. It worked and I was knocked out again.

Header Image: Auður Ösp Ólafsdóttir

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

Absurdity

Some people would maybe find it strange to find a shopping cart in their backyard. The same people would probably remove it and try to find out what the hell it is doing there.

I took a photo:



Somebody told me I use and abuse men. I toy with their emotions and make them cry. I resent that. Someone also told me that I’m amazingly beautiful and that I’m the only one that doesn'’t see it. He told me in order to gain the self-confidence that I lack I just have to believe it. Walk with your head up high he said and then he tried to kiss me. I almost believed him.

You have to enjoy the irony of it all.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

The Bigger Picture

She sat on the bench and thought about what to do.

It was not exactly what she would have called a nice garden. Traffic sounds from a busy street nearby surpassed the tiny birds’ melodies. She wondered if they were aware of the fact that they were not all singing the same song and thought about whether she should tell them. She noticed a plastic bag that looked oddly out of place full of clothes and personal belongings. How odd, she thought and looked around watching out for a likely owner. She was alone in this peculiar place and it was like time stood still on the inside while life passed by on high speed on the outside. She was very curious about the bag and slowly moved towards it, making sure no one was around to see her snooping. The bag smelled of sweat and tobacco and the clothes looked old and used. She was so wrapped up in her finding that she almost forgot her problems which had brought her there. The tears on her cheeks had dried but the nauseating feeling inside of her was still there. She deliberated taking the bag and give it to the local authorities in case someone had lost it. Still, it didn’t look like the sort of things one would miss and in the end she decided to leave it. Against her curious nature she accepted the fact she would never know who's it was and what it was doing there. She sat back at her place and concentrated on the off key birds.

She had been sitting there only for a couple of minutes when an old lady came and sat on the bench next to the bag. She smelled of sweat and tobacco. The old lady had a sandwich in her hand which she ate like a hungry animal. She finished everything but a little piece which she cut down to even smaller pieces and threw at the birds. She smiled at the girl and took the bag into her arms. At that moment the girl realized she was sat in the middle of the old lady's home. The old rags were all her earthly possessions, the birds her friends and the bench her bed. It put things into perspective. She departed the garden free. Free and thankful for how unimportant her problems were.

Image: Statue of Tómas Guðmundsson overlooking Tjórnín in downtown Reykjavik

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image

(N)iceland

It’s -11°C out there and everything is white. The low winter sun shines bright and gives the mountains surrounding the city a magical golden glow. Mittens, hats, scarfs and other woolen accessories are no longer optional. It’s now a question of survival.

The snow is powdery which makes it impossible to make snowmen and other winter creatures out of it. Instead the young at hearts run to every insignificant little hill with snow sledges and black garbage bags and get ready for an awesome ride. When the snow comes even the most mature of men turn into five year-olds again and throw snowballs at passing colleagues and friends. Girls all ages make snow angels and then run to the nearest café for a hot chocolate.

On days like these my little city really shows why it is loved by so many. We may only have daylight for a few hours but oh my does the sun use those few hours. Before long the bright blue skies will turn pink and then the pitch dark takes over. The nature’s beautiful display of color is not over though because it’s almost certain after a day like this that the dancing green northern lights will make an appearance.

Finally my island is living up to its name.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image

The Grandmama Who Sees Everything

Now then Loopy, draw three cards and place them upside down on the table. Clear your mind. Don't think at all. Concentrate.

Grandma, you know I don’t believe in this nonsense...

Nevermind believe, just do it. And I never want to see you wearing make-up, you don’t need it, you hear. Now, oh my, you fancy a boy.

Really now? I fancy a boy huh?

Yes, you like him a lot but you don’t want us to know about it. You are very secretive when it comes to the matters of the heart.

Right.

Hmm... I see a lot of fun and adventure coming soon.

What are you talking about? You know we are going to London for New Years, of course we will have fun and adventures.

Yes but it’s going to be a lot of fun but a little bit difficult. The two of you are going to be a little bit sick. Maybe the flu, maybe stomach problems but sick you will be.

Fantastic.

And you are going to brawl.

Well it’s going to be me and mother alone together for a week, of course we are going to fight. Are you not my grandma and her mother? Don’t you know us at all?

Hmm... interesting. You are going to fight over a man. Either you don’t want her to talk to someone or she doesn't want you to talk to someone. There is going to be some kind of brawl between you, mark my words, but luckily it will all work out in the end.

Uhu, any more great news you want to tell me about? Maybe I’ll brake my arm while I'm at it, since I'm already sick and fighting with my mother?

Nono, I don’t want to tell you more... no.. don’t want to tell you more about this trip. Except watch your money, I have a feeling you will spend way too much money. Both of you.

Well it doesn’t take a crystal ball to figure that one out.

Loopy, I see two men here. One of them lives abroad. He is a good friend of yours. He is a very nice man. The other one is dark and I think he's foreign. Who's that man?

Uhhh, beats me.

Yes, foreign man.

Anything else?

There is the spending card again. Watch your money, you hear. And your mother is going to meet someone with a lot of money. Or maybe it’s you but I think it’s your mother.

Oil tycoon from the Middle-East?

Don’t be silly. No, I don’t want to tell you anything more.

Well thank you grandma, this has been very informative. I’ll mind my money and make sure mum doesn’t take off to Iran with some dark and handsome stranger. We’ll send you a postcard.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

Lesbians Taking Over the World?

I was sitting at work last night, enjoying a slice of pizza, with a co-worker who can easily be labeled as very odd.

He was reading an article in the trashiest of the Icelandic newspapers about this girl who hooked up with a boy with a very small penis. Evidently the girl felt as she had suffered from this experience and decided to write about every little detail in her encounter with the ill-equipped man. My weird co-worker found it hilarious and wanted to share his joy with me and read some of it out loud to me. I didn't find it quite as funny and told him: I will deny it to my death that I ever said this as I am the official spokeswoman of the inner pig-ness of men but I swear to god that sometimes I think women are worse.

He looked at me in disbelief as if he was wondering if those words had really come from my mouth. Then he said he had actually learned about these things in psychology and asked me if I wanted to hear the theory he had studied. I was all up for it since I am sincerely interested in everything regarding the interaction between the two sexes. In so many words, this was his theory:

Well, uhhh, when girls hit puberty they don't realize that they have to start to behave differently with their male friends than they used to. So they still behave the same around them and confide in them with the same issues as before. Except the boys don't just want to be friends with them anymore and use every opportunity to score. The girls then become very bitter when they find out about the situation and start focusing on their relationships with their girlfriends. And that is why the number of women turning to other women is increasing incredibly fast. In a few years all women will become lesbians.

The first thing that came into mind was what bullshit school did he go to? The second thing was hmmm... actually, I do that. I don’t realize that my male friends are male and in the end they can’t have friends that are girls without at least thinking about sleeping with them There may be some truth to this weird theory of his but I refuse to believe that the next stage for me, after the Men are Pigs one, will be lesbianity. As I said before, it’s not just men that act like idiots, people in general act like idiots.

In conclusion I have to say that sitting down to eat that slice of pizza sure did bring up a lot of interesting questions. Why are men the way they are? Why are women the way they are? Why do I have emotional maturity of a adolescent girl when it comes to men? And maybe the most important question of all, where the hell can I sign up for that psychology class? Looks like a pretty wacky place.

Note: This was the most consistently searched for post in the history of FITK. It got numerous ‘hits’ per week, every week, for nearly nine years, then somehow faded in the Google search algorithms… perhaps it was because lesbians didn’t actually take over the world?

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

Metaphorically Speaking

There is a thin line, it seems, from being painfully single to not quite as single.

It sort of sneaks up on you and you don't have enough time to fully respond to the situation. You are not exactly un-single, or in a relationship as you would call it, but still you are totally wrapped up in getting to know someone you didn't even know existed a short while ago.

For a control freak like me, not knowing where something is headed is the worst thing that can happen. Going with the flow, taking it easy and seeing where things will take me is just not something I do. Except when I’m traveling, which really is the only time I truly should know where the hell I’m going but that's a different story. I need to know where I’m going, how I'm going to get there and preferably whether or not there are going to be any stops along the way. I need to know how, when, why and what for. Everything less than that is unacceptable, which when I think about it is probably a contributing factor to the painfully single state I had gotten myself into.

I’m in the process of going down a deep and mysterious river and I don’t know my destination yet. I don’t have a life jacket or anything and hardly even have a raft to hang on to. All I know is that something is pushing me away from the banks and that force is stronger than the fear I have inside of me. All I can hope for is a smooth journey and that I will somehow manage to cope with the stress that comes with not knowing.

This is not fair, I should at least get a helmet or a life vest.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image

Mama Maria

In Croatia, old ladies make a living by offering tourists a room in their home for a reasonable price.

For many of them that is the only income they get all year so they try to cram as many people as they possibly can in as little space as they possible can and they try to get them to stay for as long as they possibly can. Most of their guests are backpackers who they pick up at the bus and rail stations. Getting out of a bus in a place like Dubrovnik can be a nightmare because these old ladies jump at you before you even get out and try their best to sell you the idea of spending the night in their home. The facilities they offer are as different as the ladies are many and in this as in other business deals, jumping at the first offer is not always the best thing.

When arriving in Dubrovnik, on my way through Croatia, I had planned to stay at a youth hostel. When I got there it was filled with very loud English people so I decided to give it a miss. Instead I ended up at Mama Maria’s. Mama Maria was a lady of about 80 years. Her house was next to the pathway leading up to the youth hostel and she lured people into her garden by whispering to them as they were walking by. Her English consisted only of the simplest words but somehow she managed to bargain about the price and convince people her house was the best anyway.

Mama Maria had a son who was about fifty or sixty. I suspect that she saw a wife in me for him because she was from the first moment extremely nice to me. I later found out that I was the only one of her guests who got a formal introduction to the son. She even gave me dinner one night and let me sit in her kitchen and watch American television with hvratski, Croatian, subtitles. Sitting in her kitchen, eating the oily sausages and sauerkraut, is one of my favorite memories I have from traveling.

Mama Maria had a big temper and she was not everyone's favorite. There was another woman who had rooms to rent living on the bottom floor of the house and at least once I heard them screaming at each other in Croatian. I guess they had both been living there forever and this was probably not the start of the argument. They accused each other of stealing customers from the other and that is exactly what they did. When Mama Maria first got me into her garden and I told her I had to think about whether I should take the room or not the other old lady tried to steal me on the way out. “Maria no good” she said with a stealthy voice and shook her head.

She was good though. Her guests who came from places as far from each other as Iceland and South-Africa loved her and her strange behaviour. She was growing turtles in her backyard, she had a bunch of cats and a couple of hamsters in the bathroom. She wore the same blue dress the whole time I was there and she used the hands of her male guests to wipe the sweat of her forehead when demonstrating how hot she was. She washed the clothes from those she liked and it was Christmas for her when all her rooms were filled with young people who spent the evenings at her terrace getting to know each other over a glass of wine. What is there not to love? She has probably had about a million people sleeping in her home, favoring those who stay for long and giving those suitable as her daughter-in-law the royal treatment. Sure her furniture was odd, the beds not all very comfortable and taking a shower with the hamsters was not that pleasant but it was all a part of the experience (not to mention all the cool people I met at her terrace.)

All that and so much more for lousy 100 kunas a night.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

Monday

It’s Monday.

The weekend with it's cocktail umbrellas is over and I find myself back in my old weekday routine. A lot happened this weekend, nothing that matters in the long run though because the weekends come and go and leave little behind. During the week I am a sane responsible individual with a vision and plans to conquer the world. The weekends on the other hand are all like a big bad acid trip where I float on a bright coloured cloud, sprinkling purple fairy dust and giving people the finger. Time and space don’t exist during the weekends. Neither does the act of thinking. I open my mouth and the words run from it like a colossal waterfall and the brain never catches up with them. Not until Sunday that is, when the moral hangovers make themselves a cozy little home in my mind. Like an ostrich the only thing I can do to escape them is to stick my head in the sand and hope they go away. Which they do, most of the time.

It’s Monday.

I sit in my dead end job and watch life pass me by. One hundred million questions run through the thought highway in my head and I have answers to none of them. I pinch myself to see whether this is really it or if I’m stuck in a recurring nightmare. There is a scratch in my life's vinyl and I'm in a loop.

It’s Monday.

Again.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted with image and video

Friday

It is amazing, considering I never really do anything, how incredibly little time I have these days. It runs from me like a hunted animal and there is no way I can keep up. I think so much about all the things that I have do that I never actually have the time to do them. I don't know what to call that but I do know it's a very typical “Little Miss Loopy” kind of a problem.

The bass playing toilet paper thief, my next door neighbor, has decided with my alcoholic landlady upstairs that it’s a good idea to drill through my wall. He doesn't have a socket to plug in his TV and I do and apparently the best solution is to drill through my wall. I’m not whining about this because I don’t want to do the poor guy a favor but I already hear everything that goes on in his room and I don’t think a hole through my wall will do either of us any favors in the privacy department.

I lay in bed last night trying to sleep but like usual my over-productive brain kept me awake. I started thinking about this guy that I was sort of seeing a couple of months ago and whether or not I had made a mistake chucking him. Well I didn’t really do a good job getting rid of him because he kept calling me and sending me text messages for about a month after I said good bye, but the idea anyway was to not see him again. Then one day he just stopped. I am pretty sure that I did the right thing but at the same time I miss him. Actually I think I miss the thought of someone fancying me more than I miss him. It’s just hard knowing someone as beautiful as him and overall a good person is out there waiting for me to come to my senses when I know in my soul that getting involved with him would be a huge mistake. I fell asleep thinking about him. When I woke up this morning I saw that I had got a message early this morning. Hey, how are you? It was from him.

I’ve been smiling all day.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

A Toilet War

Last night I was watching Pretty in Pink, a classic 80s cult movie, with a lot of pink clothes in it. The story line is really not that complicated. Poor girl meets rich boy. Rich boy asks poor girl out. Poor girl accepts and falls in love. Rich boy asks poor girl to the prom which poor girl accepts. Rich boy backs out because poor girl is not rich enough. Poor girl shows up in a hideous pink dress to prom and rich boy realizes he loves her. And they live happily ever after. Honestly, what was wrong with people in the 80s?

Pretty in Pink really has nothing to do with anything. I just wanted to point out how utterly pointless and bubble-gum pink it is. What happened after I watched the movie is what matters here.

I had to pee.

So I go into my toilet and when I’m about to loosen the belt I realize my toilet roll is gone. I was totally amazed and equally furious at the person who stole the roll. I recommend that right about now you run off and get some coffee because this story is about to get a bit complicated. To make it a little less complicated I have to tell you three very short and completely unconnected stories…

Story 1: I was very poor last month, about as poor as I have ever been in my life. We are not talking about pot noodle poor, we are talking about not eating unless someone gives me something kind of poor. But I’m over it now, and I’m fine. Except I ran out of toilet paper in the middle of this poor season and had to steal a roll from work. I’ve never stolen anything from work before and when I finally did it was a massive toilet roll I had to hide in my bag while my unsuspecting boss drove me home.

Story 2: I wanted to curl my hair the other day as I was thinking about going as a gypsy to a Halloween party and felt I needed to have curly hair for that occasion. Since the office toilet rolls are not good for using to make curls, a friend of mine gave me one of his rolls. It was Andrex, you know the one with the puppy on them and are supposed to be extra tough as well as soft. I never got round to curling my hair so it has been sitting rather oddly on top of my stereo now for quite some time.

Story 3: I now live in a basement room, down town Reykjavik, which I rent from a suspected alcoholic landlord and her very peculiar husband. It’s been lovely. I have my own bathroom, with a shower and a massage bathtub, and have had no trouble at all with the people in my house. Unlike my previous home where I tried to light the place on fire amongst other things. Well, there was a incident where the alcoholic landlord broke into the basement by smashing a window because she forgot her keys but other than that, nothing. Until last weekend when I was on my way to the shower that is. I met on my way two youngish looking men surrounded with furniture. One of them, I don’t know who yet, is my new next door neighbor. The new next door neighbor from whose room I hear even the smallest farts and I know exactly when he's having a cigarette because the smoke finds it's way into my room. He has a different bathroom than me. Which is highly odd since there is nothing in this basement except the two bedrooms and the two bathrooms. He doesn't have a name yet, nor a face since I don’t know who of the two is the smoking farter.

So there I was, peeing my pants, and the roll gone. I was too involved with the whole having to pee thing that I didn't think about who had stolen the roll. I suddenly remembered my other one though and ran back to my room to get it. I took it back, put it on the bathtub next to the toilet, turned around and my belt slammed right in to it so the roll went from the tip of the bathtub straight into the toilet. THE WHOLE ROLL. Then I was faced with the awful task of getting the roll out of there because obviously you can't flush a whole roll at a time. Especially not when it's the extra fluffy puppy type.

In my toilet paper rage I suddenly remembered the damn smoker. I ran to his toilet and what do you know, there was my stolen roll of toilet paper stashed on his sink. I can’t even describe my frustration and in a state I ran to my room and wrote him a harsh letter. I’ve now decided not to deliver it. I’m going to keep it though, in case he tries to steal anything again. Maybe I should put the wet and disgusting roll where I found mine as revenge.

The nerve of some people.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

Sneezing Dramaqueen

It is 1 am and I am sitting in my kid sister’s bed in the dark.

All I can hear is a passing car every now and again from outside and my sister’s snores coming from the next room. I think about how lovely she was as a baby and hope that she will grow up to be the strong individual I know she can be. The reason I am here in her bed, up to my ears in stuffed animals, and not my own is the flu. I’ve not gone to work for three days because of it and I was bored out of my mind alone at home. I sent my mother an emergency call and asked her to come pick me up. Being sick at my mother’s home is always better and especially now when the teachers are on a strike and I have my two little sisters to entertain me all day.

Although I enjoy my own company, solitude for too long can be a nuisance. Your mind is free to wander and sometimes it stumbles up on dangerous territories. Like the fact how it sucks to be sick and single. If it had not been for my own efforts I would not have heard from a single person those three days that I've been sick. Like Princess Fiona, kept from the world, I’ve been spending my days in my basement hole watching videos and sneezing. I'm not mad at my friends or family being too busy with their lives for little ol’ me because I've been there myself. What on the other hand makes me sad is that all of them have people who call and check up on them which I don’t have. I love my mother dearly and I know she cares for me but there is a distance between us and sometimes I don't see her for weeks. The same goes for my father but with him the time is closer to months than weeks. Without wanting to sound too dramatic I could have been dead for three days without anyone noticing except maybe the folks at work but they would probably just think I had fled the country or something. Actually I think I can pretty safely say that if I had in fact died three days ago nobody would have known about it until my toiletpaperthief of a neighbor would have smelled my rotten flesh and notified the landlady. When this is the case you sort of know that you are on your own in this world.

Now, I'm a relatively healthy individual despite my flu so people in my life probably don't automatically think sudden death when they have not seen me around for a while. Still this loneliness and need to belong haunts me and the thought of being a crippled old lady alone somewhere in my basement hole when it's my time to go scares me. I'm not saying it will be like that, I’ve not given up on finding the place where I belong yet, but I’m realistic at the same time and know it is a possibility. What if I become the girl the world forgot about? The friend you always meant to call but you never did? I can't make them remember. I can't make them care.

Like I said, dangerous territories. I also thought about the trip my mum and I are taking over the new years. Like two queens we are staying at a classy hotel and before I knew it we had met devilishly handsome and filthy rich businessmen and they were flying us over to Brazil in their private jet. Just because we are so marvelous. I wish sometimes that my brain had an off button.

That I could sometimes just be.

Posted 20 Years Ago on FITK by Little Miss Loopy, re-posted

A Month of Auður

One of the prime inspirations for the FITK blog was a young Icelandic woman, Auður Ösp Ólafsdóttir.

In early 2004, while researching a trip to Iceland, I discovered her English-language blog A Woman Without A Man. It was written journal-style and full of the various minutiæ of her daily life in Reykjavík. What set it apart from the thousands of other newly-minted blogs of the day was her engaging and revelatory writing, the frankness of which got her into a bit of trouble with some of her Icelandic readers, so she killed her blog in September 2004. By that time we had already been in contact so I offered to let her use FITK as an outlet. She used that access to write a baker’s dozen of posts under the nom de plume of Little Miss Loopy. These will be featured here throughout December as part of my “20 Years Ago on FITK” series.

Auður’s internet adventures didn’t end there.

She went on to write several more blogs and in 2011 she started I Heart Reykjavík, a tourist site which was also a portal to her walking tours. Heart was a rousing success but it ended when Covid restrictions were put into place in March of 2020. Her videos are still up, however.

Auður is currently self-employed and has a web site, posting primarily in Icelandic.

This month also marks my phasing out of Icelandic posts, there may be one here and there in following months/years, but that well is just about dry.

As always, you can access over 200 ‘best of’ Icelandic posts in the sidebar under ‘Iceland.’