Professional development

Oskar needed the flight hours and I needed a good view of Skagafjordur

All ready

I have never been on a private plane in the United States, but once, 5 years ago, I went up in a small private plane around Skagafjörður as part of the archaeological project I was participating in that summer.

Today I am going up in another private plane, again to fly over archaeological sites in Skagafjörður. That landscape surprised me the first time I encountered it, and has held my attention ever since. I look forward to getting to see it again.

And I am all ready, maps printed out, camera loaded, and nerves calmed.

So glad

I came into the city today, and although I certainly enjoyed the drive in in this lovely weather, I was even happier to discover that the library was open. With the big holiday weekend coming up, I really was not sure.

Writing

My Verslunamannahelgi weekend plans call for researching and writing, because you know I need to finish my "great contribution" to Old Norse scholarship. 

I do believe something similar happened to me when I worked at the Smithsonian. I spent Labor Day weekend 1999 working on the exhibition catalogue, which really was (and is) a sizeable contribution to Viking scholarship.*

* And now available at Vikingaheimar! 

Surrounded by nice friends

A few months ago, Laurie left Iceland and moved back home to the States. We all miss her, especially her best friend here in Iceland, Verity. I was just noticing on Laurie's facebook page that she has a picture of her and Verity in Iceland as her profile picture. I thought that was so sweet.

I know a lot of Americans who have a sizeable collection of Icelandic friends, and one of the reasons they come back year after year is to get that great feeling of being surrounded by nice friends and quality people. There is not much more we could want from life, really, than that.

Thanks Verity, and thanks Laurie, for posting such nice pics. An American-British friendship made in Iceland!

Paternity leave

The political advisor to the Cultural Minister sent an unfortunate email yesterday out to an American journalist. The email was in Icelandic, so it seems the journalist forwarded it on to the Grapevine, which is an English language newspaper here in Iceland. I suppose they just wanted a translation. Grapevine however recognized that this was no ordinary press-release cleaned-up email. No, this was an email meant for an Icelandic colleague, someone in his own political party presumably, not the foreign press. Grapevine published it with delight, since it included both a funny vulgarity and a bit of political spin in action. Anyhow, the guy who wrote it then revealed that he had been working at home and that he thinks his son must have started playing on his computer, which is how that email got sent to the wrong recipient.

When I first started dating my ex-husband, who was and is in the Coast Guard, I was really surprised how easy it was for him to leave his office for a few hours to take care of things like going to the gym, getting his car washed, going to the doctor's, just anything. In the military, your personal life and your work life are all under the purview of the military. You enlist. You go where they want you to go. They pay your rent. Sometimes they give you food. In this sense the military is not a job, it is a lifestyle.

By contrast, in corporate America, there is a very strict line between your personal life and your professional duties. When I worked in a big 5 accounting company, if I needed to go to the dentist or get my car washed, I either tried to do it on the weekends, during my lunch break, or afterhours. Many people applied to take a day of leave periodically (one of 20 or 30 allocated all year long) during which they took care of many such personal matters all on the same day. Personal phone calls were not allowed except during lunch (and believe me, if you are working in a cubicle, you definitely do not want to engage in long personal phone calls anyhow). If I went on vacation one of my coworkers was assigned to cover my duties. If I went on extended leave, a "temp" would be hired to fill the job. My job was a slot I was filling, and although I did it well, I was not irreplaceable.

In Iceland things are closer to the US Military model, and yet the reasoning and idea behind it is not the same. In the military, you become 100% professional, you are always on the job. Here in Iceland, it seems rather that your job is seen as an extension of your personal life. It evolves out of where you live or who you know, maybe what your father did. In the blue collar sector there is some sense of a work day, a separation, but I have really been amazed by the lack of it in the white collar sector. Business meetings at 9pm and lunch with the grandkids on a work-week day both seem perfectly normal. In a way it is very liberating, to have two parts of your life flow easily one into the other, and to feel trusted that you will take care of the work that needs to get done whenever you have the time for it.

But it also has its disadvantages. Myself and many foreigners, or indeed any Icelander who has lived abroad for an extended period, express astonishment at a very common exchange that takes place here in Iceland. You call somewhere, perhaps a bank or a government office, even a car company, and you are told that the person who is able to help you with your issue is on leave. Gone for 6 weeks maybe, or 2 weeks, whatever. You will need to call back when that person is off leave. No one is temporarily assigned to take over those duties,* because a job is identified with a single person. It is "their job," not a job they are doing.

And of course yesterday pointed out another disadvantage. In a society that makes little or no distinction between your job and your personal life, one has to try to balance the two on one's own, and that can be very difficult. Things like this happen.

It is not very professional, but it is very Icelandic.

* Teaching is in fact the only exception I have heard of, the only profession where if you are on leave, a replacement is brought in to temporarily teach the courses. 

10pm

I am watching the long shadows and pink hews of sunset creep across the landscape of Reykjanes from my office window after a good day with some Icelandic sagas.

Love

Over the last few days, several bloggers here in Iceland have been involved in a debate about whether or not atheism is a religion. Now of course that sounds preposterous in a way, since atheists do not believe in a god. But if one looks closely at the details, it is apparent that there is an "atheist movement" in Iceland led by a group of people who: meet regularly in private to discuss their ideas; actively lobby the government to change its spending practices; and hold public events wherein they try to gather more supporters. It was on this basis, the tendency to proselytize, that at least some of the argument turned.

One blogger in fact found this tendency especially annoying, and compared it to the religious person who did not make a big deal out of going to church, who was fine with the idea of the Bible being written by man but inspired by God, and believed in evolution with the caveat that God started it, etc.

I woke up this morning thinking about this, about this type of religious person. And I realized that actually I  had formed the opinion quite some time ago that this type of religious person and some types of atheists are exactly alike, believe in fact the same thing.

I consider myself a Christian who has decided that the Bible is not literal and I do not feel the need to go to church regularly, so I will make the supposition that Christians like this are Christians who have taken the words of the Apostle Paul rather seriously. And by this I mean specifically Paul's ideas about love. Paul believed that the greatest emotion was love, and that simply God is Love.

In the clarity of thought that comes first thing in the morning, I came up with the idea that for other religions, other emotions are paramount. Buddhist focus on harmony and peace, for instance. Anthropologists seem to think many primitive religions focused on sexuality and fertility. Certainly many politicians believe other religions focus on hate and punishment.

The Christian-light movement of the United States focuses a lot on love. Love carries with it a certain proselytizing element, because love is a proactive emotion. Jesus acted out of love when he stormed into the temple and threw out all the merchants. Love is not a passive wishing and hoping and daydreaming type of emotion. Love is the thing that makes a parent run into a burning building to save their child. Love binds us to those around us in such a way that all we want to do is improve the world for those we love.

I read some articles by some atheists that actually said the same thing, that they believed in and admired the human capacity for love and that they were trying to expand the role of love in their own lives. When I read that, I lost a lot of my suspicion or fear over atheists. Before then, I had rather thought the emotion they subscribed to most of all was cynicism.

But that was very cynical of me.

Things that matter and things that don't matter

The female first cousins had lunch together today, which was really nice, we have not done that in a long time. Though the conversation lightly touched on issues of fashion and a bit of family gossip, we stuck more to amusing anecdotes out of our recent trips, etc.

One slightly disturbing story however involved two of my cousins having to keep on driving past another friends house, when they saw the "criminals" standing outside having a beer and cigarette. Fanney dropped the word in there very casually, so I had to stop the conversation and ask "glæpamenn, ha?".  She said it was a man who had kidnapped a man in Sandgerði, put him in the trunk of his car, and then forced him to withdraw large sums of money from his ATM. This same guy then later beat up an elderly couple whose grandson owed them money, harming I think also their greatgrandson in the process. I said "Wow, why hasn't the guy been arrested?" My cousin then informed me he had been arrested, and charged, and found guilty for both crimes, but because there was no prison space he was just living at home. He is on a WAITING LIST to get into prison, and in the mean time of course cannot get a job or anything.

Now in California there is a shortage of prison space and some people with very minor offenses do have monitored home arrest. California has also reduced the length of certain punishments (and increased others) in an attempt to save money. But still. Someone like this would be safely behind bars in the US, at least for a while.

Later the conversation came around to Magma and the sale of HS to them. We actually were of the opinion that the more well-run, professional, foreign companies operating things in Iceland, the better. Or that at any rate these are two private companies making an agreement between themselves.

It just seemed to us less important to worry about how your natural resources are being tapped and more important to make sure the criminal element is being securely held.

Digging deep

I was just reading an article by Torfi Tulinius from 1992 using an archaeology/literature metaphor, which made me happy. I would rather like to believe I am not so much out on an intellectual limb as I feel like I am.

Archaeology metaphors really a great, not only in terms of digging deep, but also very carefully. Looking at each detail, discerning variations in the soil, documenting it all.

But right now I feel more like the metaphor of Lucy walking through the closet*, pushing aside the fur coats to get to the snow covered trees of Narnia. To find my way past the insignificant stuff to the significant stuff.

*of course the metaphor there was reaching deep within yourself to find kindness, responsibility, bravery, and honesty. It has in that sense perhaps not much at all to do with scholarship. 

My PhD

It was very un-Icelandic of me to decide at midnight last night to drive home from Reykjavík. Indeed as I was walking to my car, downtown was filling up fast. The weather was good, there was no wind, and everyone was dressed up and ready to hit the town. Except me. I was ready to go home and get a good night's sleep.

One reason for this is that I had spent Saturday working on my PhD, and it was the first really productive day I had had in a while. I think today will be the same, because I feel myself focused and interested and motivated. It is, actually, impossible to write otherwise.

Plus I have started to get excited by the idea that this is "my" PhD. So many other accomplishments in life are collaborative, say for instance having a child, but I feel very much on my own in regard to my PhD. And if I can get it done quickly, then that will be even better.

Two different conversations at once

Last night me and some friends from the Away from Home Living in Iceland facebook group met for dinner, etc. Many of us had not seen each other in a long time, some had never met, but all of us had one or two people we knew well at the table. I was very glad to meet Ösp, a textile expert, so we of course spent some part of the evening talking about Viking Age sewing techniques.

But it is always that way, in a group that big (there were 10 of us) that there are multiple conversations going on at once, and small parts of it here or there were even in Icelandic.

Sunset

And I am on my way home.

Neighborhood kids

Last night Dave was telling me a story about a "discussion" he had with his neighbors. Seems Palmer was riding a scooter, and ran into their two and a half year old son. The neighbors claimed Palmer did it on purpose, and had done it several times this week. Dave did not take kindly to this suggestion.

Dave lives in an apartment complex with a central courtyard, built in the 70s when I think architects were trying to create spaces of community within their plans. Like the town I grew up in, Mission Viejo, which was a Master Planned Community meant to encourage walking and socializing and neighborhood.

Unfortunately, despite the best efforts of the architects and urban planners, California and the United States are too populous, too dictated by capitalistic ideas of "choice", too accustomed to the nuclear family, and too organized around their workplace culture to really put all that much effort into getting along with or getting to know their neighbors. It is not, by any means, necessary to do so. If you have a conflict with a neighbor, you can very, very easily just ignore them and find someone else to socialize with who fits in better with your own ideas.

So I was telling Dave about a book I had read to Palmer when he was here in Iceland. It was actually a school text book meant to teach the sounds of the alphabet, but told as a story of Atli and Anna's first year in school. Palmer really loved it. And I was telling Dave that one part of the story really surprised me. It was the part where the book said that Atli and Anna had lots of friends, who they played with and fought with and cried with and got mad at and then made up with.

That was how Dave thought it should be, that Palmer and this little boy should be given a chance to work things out without the parents immediately rushing in. That was how it was for him in Georgia growing up. And I told him that is how it is here in Iceland.

But I have to say one of the benefits of the American system is the sort of optimistic idealism it carries with it about human nature. If you have a neighbor who is unpleasant, that person is depicted as the rarity. By exercising "consumer choice" you can find a better product. Thus the idea is that there is a huge supply of really decent people who fit perfectly into your world-view, and you just have to be a diligent shopper to find them.

When I moved here to Iceland, I carried this idea with me. I was pretty sure people would recognize me as one of those really decent people products that they would be glad to put on their shelf.

Instead I think, in fact I know, that Icelanders have rather a different idea of human nature. They do not kid themselves that anyone is perfect. They do not kid themselves that defect is rare. The sagas attest to this, to the keen eye Icelanders have had for generations of the vagrancies that make human beings human. They expect, right from the get-go, that I have flaws, and they are careful around me until they figure out what my exact set of flaws (and strengths) are.

If they had grown up with me on the playground, like Anna and Atli and their friends did, they would already know this about me. But they did not. So I have learned not to take it so personally, if so and so colleague or interesting woman whom I'd like to be friends with does not reciprocate.

I figure in time, they'll get a feel for exactly how I play on the jungle gym.

Body language

I remember so well my 5th grade teacher talking about body language. She used the example of when she had parent/teacher meetings--which she admitted could sometimes be really stressful--what a difference the positioning of her arms made in terms of how well the conversation went. If she crossed her arms and sat across from the parents at her desk, things went badly. But if she left her arm to lie across the table, her hands open, or if she scooter her chair around, things went entirely differently. She could say the exact same thing, and get a very different response just by changing her body language.

Anthropologists say that body language is not universal, and of course I believe them that there are some tribes in the Amazon that express joy by punching things. But I have been rather relieved to find that,  unlike the Icelandic spoken language, getting fluent in Icelandic body language was pretty darn easy. In fact I think I have not even noticed much of a difference in body language, like for instance in personal space, between Icelanders and Californians. We keep about the same distance from one another. So that was good. And gestures, I think there is a shared language of Germanic gestures such that I have not found myself making any wildly inappropriate gestures since I have moved here. Icelanders seem also to use the same body language when they want to be open, friendly, and approachable. And that has helped a lot.

It is in fact, for someone like me, those silent signs of acceptance that mean more than anything. I do not need someone to say, "Vertu hjartanlega velkomin" (because frankly I am not sure if I am then supposed to say "takk fyrir" or "sömuleiðis" or "mikið var þetta heiður", etc.) The less formal performative linguistic situations I have to deal with in Icelandic, the happier I am.

Air conditioning

When I was in Florida, I was freezing inside all of the buildings, which were chilled to 70 degrees, and dying outside, which was a very steamy 90 degrees.  With just one step, there was a huge and sudden change in temperature and humidity, bam! I was not sure which change I liked less, honestly, going from the heat to the cold or cold to the heat. But usually I found myself more anxious to get out of the air-conditioning than out of the heat.

Iceland does not have air-conditioning. Of course there might be some computer room somewhere with some sort of cooling system, but no homes, no public buildings, not even the grocery stores (outside of the refrigerated rooms) have air-conditioning.

So today I went up to the airport to fill out some paperwork (and try to get Icelandair to update my frequent flyer account), and was, for the first time in my life here probably, rather appalled at the conditions in the arrival hall. It was jam packed with people, there was no air circulating, and it was hot! The glass ceiling that looks so cool from the road had turned the airport into some sort of greenhouse, and it was suffocating.

I am assuming, however, that things will be much more civilized the next time I head up to Leifstöð. Weather like this only lasts so long here in Iceland.

Don't look at me

I may have to delete this post shortly after putting it up, because I probably should not say anything at all. But I just think it is so hilarious, that I have landed right in the middle of some big complicated political power struggle over everything from world peace to natural resources just by helping get a museum started in Reykjanesbær. I thought my biggest problem was going to be the kind of white power nationalistic rhetoric that swirls around the Vikings. But little did I know that sleepy old Keflavík is also a hotbed of controversy on an international scale.

Which is good, really good. Makes life a lot more interesting not to just be doing academic navel gazing. And someday I might even have enough appropriate experience to handle it well.

Thai food in Keflavík

I owe a friend of mine dinner, since he helped me out a few weeks ago with the Viking class we had at the museum. I suggested that if he was willing to come back here to Keflavík, we could go to the great Thai food place on Hafnagata. This was completely out of the question as far as he was concerned, based on the simple assumption that Thai food in Keflavík could not be good (even though I assured him I had eaten there many times and found it to be one of the best Thai places I have ever eaten at)l Instead he suggested we go to an Indian place in Reykjavík. 

I have lived in a lot of big cities in the U.S., and all of them have had minority ethnic groups whose restaurants round out the culinary scene. Usually there is a critical mass of one group or another, such that one can completely trust that Chinese food in San Francisco and Ethopian food in Washington D.C. will be really good. So I have to say, in all honesty, that "Indian food in Reykjavík" sounds just as silly to me as "Thai food in Keflavík" sounds to most Icelanders. 

Mexican food continued

Today I am enjoying the left over Mexican rice and spiced refried beans I made Saturday night for dinner, wrapped up in a whole wheat flour tortilla.

It occurred to me that some Icelanders may not be as used to making burritos as I am, so I hereby pass on a very useful trick I learned in Southern California.

Place a tortilla directly, ie: without any sort of pan, on top of a hot stovetop range, either gas (low flame) or electric (high heat), for a few seconds. The tortilla will puff up, at which point it should be turned over and remain for a few additional seconds. Remove quickly.

What some people fail to realize is that the tortillas sold in the stores are only partially baked, and the last bit of browning is supposed to be done at home.

An electric range will need to be immediately wiped down, otherwise the gluten in the flour hardens onto the surface. Also, on occasion, especially on a gas range, I have ended up burning the edges, but even a burnt tortilla tastes better than a half-baked tortilla!

Tequila

I am not a big drinker, but I made the decision, in honor of the fact that my coworker Óskar is heading off to school in Florida in the fall, to prepare a few Borderstate specialities for his farewell dinner last night, among which would of course be margaritas. (I also happen to have a set of real margarita glasses that usually just sit up on my top shelf). But there is no way to make margaritas without tequila.

So yesterday I drove over to the state liquor store, in search of tequila. I really was not sure if it was even available here in Iceland, and had a heck of a time finding it in the store, but finally down on the bottom self in one corner, I spotted the silver and gold types of one brand, Jose Cuervo (which has a sombrero-shaped lid). I would have of course saved some money had I purchased tequila either in Florida or in the duty free store at the airport, but I did not think the price was too bad. And so I tromped home triumphantly.

None of my guests had ever had a margarita before, so I was feeling good that I had done my part to increase inter-cultural knowledge. However, it turns out that some of them had indeed had shots of tequila, and knew the trick with the lime and salt.

But of course none of them have had a real tequila popper in Tijuana.

9:15 California time

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. For the first time, and the only time, he will be in California for his birthday, and I am here in Iceland. He has spent every birthday here in Iceland, and the plan is for him to spend his summers in Iceland henceforth. Of course, we have usually celebrated his birthday a week earlier or later over at his grandmother's house in Georgia also. This year though he'll be home at his own house for his birthday, having already had celebrations in Iceland and Georgia. 

I will however make a special point of Skyping him at 9:15 California time, since that is when he was born. And as the astrologers say, it is not just the day of the birth, but also the hour that makes a difference in how one's future unfolds. 

10am!

In Berkeley and in Washington D.C., downtown street parking is tricky business. Anyone parking their car in these places has to be sure that they read carefully the sign stating the parking rules, and also that they are careful to read the right sign. On one stretch of road, it may be OK to park without putting money in the meters from 6pm until 9am, but further down the same street, it may only be Ok from 4pm to 7am. Or no parking allowed at all every third Wednesday of the month. Or only 30 minutes of parking on one side of the street, but 2 hours on the other side of the street. A dizzying array of permutations and exceptions that vary not only by section of town or street but also section of street. Though these rules generally have some rational explanation (flow of traffic, presence of school, etc.), they are clearly also intended to trip up the careless driver, who ends up with an unexpectantly high and unpleasant parking ticket.

This is my excuse for awaking in a cold sweat this morning at 7:30am, convinced I had left my car overnight in some part of Reykjavík which would ban parking from 8am until 10am, or who knows what. I had not taken the time to carefully read the sign closest to my car, and without a clear memory of what it said, my mind began to imagine bad things. So I walked all the way across town, only to find out my car would have been just fine there, without paying, all the way until 10am. The same as everywhere in downtown, as far as I can tell.    

Crisp and clean

The air in Iceland is so nice, and the temperature just right, with a light breeze and a few puffy clouds. This weather will beat the hot, humid Florida weather any day, at least in my book.

Travel companion

Well, I had Palmer with me on the flight from Iceland to Boston, and Icelandair has this great policy of giving kids on board a free meal. He of course did not eat all of his hamburger, so I got a meal too! Now today I am flying back without him, and miss everything about having him with me. Someone to talk to, someone to sit next to, someone to share food with, someone to walk beside. Amazing what a difference a travel companion can make.

The Gulf

It is rather surreal, staying at a beachfront hotel on the Gulf of Mexico while the BP oil well gushes forth. There is the temptation to just put it out of your mind, just ignore it, pretend it is far away or does not matter. Afterall, the sand is still warm and soft, the sun is still shining, and the waves lap gently against the shore. So on the surface, things seem nice. And I think a lot of the people have made the decision to just go with that surface appearance, forget the news, forget history, forget all that is brewing and dying just off shore. Certainly it occurs to me to just slip into that lull, because of course, I myself am fine.

But I do not really want to forget. I am in fact looking for reminders of what is going on off shore, asking the waiters where their fish comes from, talking to people at the bar about the oil leak, taking photos not of the beautiful scenery but of signs of the catastrophe. Because I sense it is meaningful, and I want to do something about it, even if it is just to say, "Yes, I notice." Seems something of this magnitude deserves at least that. 

Putt putt golf

My brother and I did 18 holes of golf here in Pensacola last night. Mini golf that is, with a jungle island motif.
I think Iceland needs a putt putt golf course.

Hotter than you know

I sat at a beachside bar this afternoon, watching the Blue Angels Airshow (photos did not turn out so well). And I got to talking to other people there at the bar. One guy was just amazed that I live in Iceland. He had question after question about it. Interestingly enough, it seemed he had neither heard of the banking collapse nor of the volcanic eruption, so I could do like Iceland Inspired and just talk about all the great things there are to do and see in Iceland. And I made a point of the fact that it is hotter there than one would think. He was suitably impressed with the little factoid that snowfalls melt in Iceland a day or two later. No hard frozen, icy depth of winter for us.

On the plus side

Sure, we almost got eaten by an alligator, and the jetski dented my brother's car when the trailer broke, but on the plus side, we now have a good story. Always good to let people imagine I have an interesting life.

Watching HM

At the crab trap, Perdido Key.

One world order

Down here in the deep south, people believe in the bible, and they believe in Armageddon. My brother and I had a really interesting conversation about it, and he brought up a really good point.  The bible basically says that as soon as there is a single world government, God will reign down wrath on mankind. Which does not give people a lot of incentive to cooperate, to come together, to be one.

So that is one thing to be said for state-sponsored, institutionalized religion. 

Experiencing darkness

Tonight walking out of the restaurant in Pensacola Florida, I noticed an odd phenomena. The sky had turned grey, and the lights were all aglow. It was after sunset, and dusk was settling in. My friend Kim of course did not think anything of it, but I commented that now in Iceland, it never gets dark.

Obnoxious tropical drinks

Half price! And I have Kim the Designated Driver.

Deep South

Day 1:

It is raining so thick I cannot even drive, but I did manage to get to the neighborhood McDonalds, where they have free internet. And I have been chatting with a man in his 60s whose Southern accent is so thick I can hardly understand him. But I did decipher that he just bought himself a bike at the flea market for a really good deal. I wanted to take a picture of him on his bike, but I forgot my camera this morning. Instead he gave me a drawing that says "God loves me". 

Last night my brother and I talked about BP. They have a live camera shot they show on the local channel now 24 hours a day. It is a heartbreaking sight, to watch the oil gushing up like a blossoming flower set on fast forward. In all likelihood, this area of the United States is dying, and I feel the need to experience as much as I can. 

American fashion

I have been doing some people watching today, at the airport and in downtown Boston. And I had to smile when I noticed that I still dress like an American. Almost every woman I saw has been wearing a shirt of one solid color, and a skirt or shorts or pants of another solid color. And then the shoes usually match the shirt. Sometimes either the top or the bottom has a simple pattern to it, and then the other item of clothing is solid color, picking up on one of the colors in the pattern.

This is how Americans dress. I myself today am wearing a chocolate brown cotton top, a short black skirt, and chocolate brown sandals. Two solid colors an outfit makes, American style. 

Happy 4th!

From the birthplace of America.

Last moments in Iceland

Spent watching Latibaer. At least it is in Icelandic!

Game time

I just heard the Icelandic commentators for the world cup discussing American football, comparing it to "fútbol". The main point was how terribly long American football games take, that even though the official playing time is an hour, a game actually takes 3 hours. One of the commentators blamed this on how long it takes the referees to decide on plays, and the review rule. Then another disputed that in fact with television cameras all over the field and wireless communication, that actually it just takes them a few seconds to decide on ruling.

It seems none of them realized the main reason American football games take so long is that they are televised. Because of that, the television station actually tells the couches and the players to stop playing, so that they can air commercials. It is not the other way around, that commercials are snuck in during natural breaks in the game (though they are also put in there). In other words, everything is done and has been done to maximize the profit that the television stations get from televising the game.

Ironically, of course, less people watch the game, or the entirety of it, because of how long they take. 3 hours is an exaggeration though, usually it is more like 2 and a quarter.

Officially decided

One says "æ, shít" in Iceland, but "oh no" in America. Not "oh shit".

Thankfully, Palmer agrees.