Categories

leaving reykjavik?

current issue:

-a recent saturday night in siggimus history
-the drunk (prophet?!)
-backpage: the mighty siggimus advice column

a recent saturday night in siggimus history

siggimus met two mates whom siggimus hadn’t met for a bit. one has been in denmark for ages, drinking stuff & pretending to be getting an education while the other one has been all over the world, drinking even more stuff, telling everyone he was getting an education

siggimus & mates decided to meet at approx. 7.30, for dinner & a beer or 2

ended up drinking 4 shots of gammel dansk & several beers each
then siggimus & mates ate a most delicious meal with a bottle of red wine. finished off with a cup of coffee & most of a whisky bottle & a few more beers before midnight

haze

siggimus wakes up at around 13 following day, not feeling at siggimus’ best

erm, how in gods’ names did siggimus get home? hmm? recalls staggering about on the junction of snorrabraut & bústaðavegur (not very close to venue of dinner, & about 15 min walk from downtown) for some 15 mins, scaring a few drivers into running red lights & speeding away in a panicky fashion

the wee investigative journalist within siggimus rears its lonely head:
-according to receipt, journey in taxi lasted from 05.11 to 05.21, leaving approx. 5 hours unaccounted for
-no visible evidence sofar of alien abduction

this calls for drastic measures, so siggimus goes & marinates in an hourlong hot bath. suddenly! siggimus remembers a face: kolla has new spectacles!! hmm? she was smiling, so she must have been saying something funny. at pub/disco 22 as usual?

siggimus dons the ole ij pants again:
-siggimus at one time or another attended pub sirkus briefly
-siggimus paid admission to get into some hitherto unidentified joint
-siggimus either didn’t manage or want to finish as much as one coherent sentence during conversation with kolla, little to her chagrin

any & all imaginative suggestions concerning the siggimus whereabouts during the night in question would be greatly appreciated. please send your educated guess to siggimus@gmail.com in a sealed envelope very inconspicuously marked “my niece’s brand new & shiny binocular”

the drunk

2 days later, shopping for bread one devious monday morning, siggimus finds himself in a short but ugly queue, waiting for the privilege of paying for his groceries
siggimus is brought out of his absent-minded professory slumber when the man in front of him turns around & says siggimus, “svona er að vera róni!” (“see what it’s like to be a drunk?”), indicating the 8 tiny bottles of cardamum (??!?) drops/essence he caringly hugs to his raggedly clothed chest
siggimus chuckles heartily at the bum’s light-hearted honesty & lack of delusion
“svo getur maður ekki einusinni stolið þessum fjanda! þjófavörnin fer alltaf í gang” (“& it’s not like you can even steal the bloody stuff! the alarm always goes off”)
siggimus takes the opportunity to chuckle a bit further as the bum drops the wee bottles on the counter, explaining “ég er að baka” (“i’m baking”) to appease the slightly awkward girl, who is not wholly in the dark as to what is taking place

what siggimus can’t help but ponder to his siggimus self is whether this was just yet another twilight-zoney joke played on siggimus by the gods, or whether some entity is trying to get a subtle message across to siggimus

backpage: the mighty siggimus advice column

siggimus recently received a message from a friend in distress. siggimus of course came to his marvellous rescue. on a horsey in shiny armour, if you will
won’t do to leave a mate sitting in it, will it?
here cometh the mail

So here’s the story:

Monday evening: Come home. Can’t open lock on door. Neighbor opposite, young, potentially pretty but for a black eye and smell of alchohol tells me to come into her flat. Six people living there + dog, in a one-room flat (plus kitchen). A scene of utter, Dostoyevskian poverty. Husband offers to assist. Offers to break lock. Fetches a meat-cleaver-like knife. Starts damaging door . I stop him. Go to Steve’s for night.
Wednesday daytime: Saw off lock. Happy. Landlord transfers one of the inner locks to its place.
Wednesday evening: Neighbours opposite asking me for money. I give them a little. But the doorbell rings in the night. I ignore it.
Saturday: I go shopping at nearby market. Return heavily-laden, accidentally leave keys in the lock, outside. 15 minutes later the doorbell rings. I go to open it. Can’t. I realize I’m locked in from the outside. After some time I hear a noise from the lock and go and find I can open the door but the keys are gone. I despair. I’m looking around the corridor, asking neighboring kids if they know anything, of course they don’t. Then another neighbor, young woman asks me what’s happening and I explain. She temporarily takes a lock from her door, fits it on my door. Then takes me down to a nearby market where we can buy one of the types of lock I need.We’re running, apparently because of the possibility of people trying to break in, even though the flat has one lock. On the way back I fall over a piece of barbed wire suspended between two posts about 1 1/2 feet above the ground, which I don’t see. I cut my legs. We get back to the flat. This girl, Vita, who speaks no English but Russian and Lithuanian bandages me up. Then she fits the lock we’ve just bought. Then she takes me to another market for the other locks. We come back to the flat and she fits the other two locks. Unbelievable. I’m a little overwhelmed. I have big cuts on my legs.
Got to go.
Hope this entertains you.

so, siggimus lowered the old bucket down in the deep well of siggimus wisdom, to come up with the following reply:

first off: yes, it sure as hell did entertain siggimus

wow!

surely an epic tale of dostoyevskian proportions
but instead of falling in to despair as most would inevitably do, you should make the most of this

write of this

make it into an even epicer tale of even dostoyevskianer proportions!
juice it up a bit

here’s a few suggestions:
poverty: the neighbours sit around at night picking lice of each other, ’cause lice are rich in protein, & they don’t even have ketchup to go with it
madness: the dude with the meat-cleaver has a mad twitch in his left eye & suffers from spasmodic fits of hacking things up with the cleaver
blood & bones: you lose at least 1 leg (sorry); there is at least one vicious fight to the death with a violent gang (you bite off someone’s elbow & then spit it out in disgust, roaring ‘oh, lord! what have i done!!’ ?). but not to worry, you get an artificial leg in the end, like the hand that luke skywalker got, you know, just like the real thing, noone can tell the difference
romance: you have a wild & passionate affair with this vita chick (should compensate for the lost leg), who turns out to be darn sexy & beautiful when you’ve sheared her rags off & hosed her down a bit. see, since neither one of you has running water you borrow money from a cruel scarred jew loanshark that has 5 mean little helpers (one for each finger), to take her to a russian bath & the scanty, summer dress you stole from the sexy yet unbearable rich bitch that spat on you when you were begging in the first scene sure comes in really handy right now & you give it to her & she is breathtaking in it, now that she’s clean. & of course she falls head over heels for you ’cause you risked having all 5 fingers broken by the jew’s mean little quintet for all of this. & twice at that, ’cause on top of everything else, the spitting sexy yet unbearable rich bitch is married to the cruel scarred jew loanshark & his 5 mean little helpers
–  : you have to have some sort of cause. you were a rocket scientist, but quit in protest when they wanted you to make a deadly, dangerous rocket with nasty spikes on it. this should excuse your begging
honesty: you only rob sexy yet unbearable rich bitches that spit on you, never the poor, à la robin hood

if you play your cards right you could get millions off this from hollywood… where vita will of course end up a moviestar in the film version ’cause she’s so beautiful that noone cares she can’t act to save her life (slip in a story about her abysmal career in russian porn earlier, where she failed for mainly two reasons: deplorable personal hygiene, & awful acting). stir in some nudity & a few raunchy sex scenes & you have a major blockbuster on your hands. titanic watch out!

now the only real question left is whether kevin spacey will be available to play you

ps: siggimus will not be expecting more than 35% of your millions, should everything go as planned
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

consider yourself honored
you have just received a siggimus advice column, a subsidiary of the global web siggimus conglomerate

for information on how to receive advice about your problems & current rates, please contact http://vu2057.freddie.1984.is/siggimustest

[10 february 2001]

Leave a Reply