The Handshake from Hell

Barack Obama had the unmittigating nerve last week to actually extend his hand to shake the hand of Hugo Chavez while in Latin America to discuss relationships/politics/money/oil/Salma Hayeks breasts. I'm not sure about the first four items, but I guarantee there was some discussion about the natural wonder of the fifth item. It's caused an uproar in the conservative sissy community, who, lately have become even more sissified. They're besides themselves, really, apoplectic in paranoid visions that the next thing that's going to befall this great land is that a woman might become president, and she might actually have 2 black parents. Obama bowed to a Saudi, Michelle touched the Queen, and now Barack shook hands with the democratically elected president of Venezula. Next, he's gonna bump fists with Hu Jintao, high five Putin, low five Medvedev, French kiss Carla Bruni and fondle the hell out of Salma Hayek. And I promise you, at the end of that week, we'll be able to do anything we want throughout the rest of the civilized world. And the oil will be for free.

Ice shlan

I have never before seen in my life- and I am not a sheltered individual - as much suicidal, blind, bleery-eyed, stumlbing and mumbling and vomiting in the streets drinking as I saw last night - well - this morning - in Reyjavik. First, most places were closed for Good Friday, so they opened at midnight. These are night people, make no mistake. If vampires come from anywhere, it's here. Then, with the tax on alcohol - which judging by the amount consumed, should be 3 times higher - it's too expensive, so they drink at home first, get fairly well oiled, then go out. The streets become like a college town, but with older people, who don't have the atheletism of a 20 year old, so there you'd think you were in the middle of a 7.0 earthquake with the amount of stumbling going on. Everybody is mostly from someplace else, but that doesn't matter, as by 5 in the morning, they really don't remember where they're from.

 This is Moordor, Middle Earth, the last angry place. It's windswept, volcanic, got its own brand of mold. The social and work schedule of an Icelander is: WORK, Monday thru Friday. They generally go home at 5pm, then on Friday night, they get together, drink a fair amount of booze until about midnight, when they go out, already fairly soused, and get freaky till dawn. In the summer, they emerge from bars to the bright sunlight at all hours of the day and night. In the winter, they start when it's dark and they finish when it's dark. After a night on the town, two competing camps of Icelanders (this is a small place, remember) go to two competing sandwhich places and chow down on the greasiest most alcohol absorbing food in the world. With fries. They're home by 7. The cleaning corps come out during the day, wash down the streets of vomit before the late sleeping not quite so heavy drinking tourists wake up. Then, on Saturday, it begins anew. Is this a great country or what?

No Trees for Iceland

 
One of the things you notice right off the plane in Iceland is that there are no trees. Occassionally you see a cluster, but for a place a primordial as this, pretty sparse. They have what they like to call trees, but that you and I know are more like bushes. Seems that when a disgruntled band of VIkings decided to expand past Norway, they came to Iceland in the hopes of having their own land. They cut the trees down for both heat and to build their boats, which they would need to fish and to ski behind. And they kept cutting. Until there were no more trees. And that was that. Norway took over not long after that. Be careful the natural resources you squander.