A Grapevine service announcement Be patient: That eruption is expected to last until 2015
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Opinion
Where do they go from here?

Where do they go from here?

Published January 14, 2005

Davíð Oddsson
Having spent almost a decade as top dog in the city, and then another decade as top dog in the country, people wondered what he would do when he left office. Before he entered politics he was a promising actor, and his performances in Áramótaskaupið and the annual RÚV news first of April spoof prove that he’s still got it. However, a man of his age and build would probably mostly get Edward G. Robinson or Oliver Hardy parts, which may not be appealing to someone used to being a leading man. He has also released two volumes of short stories, but the one book everyone will be waiting for is his biography, mostly to see whether he will slag off the current President. To everyone’s surprise, he decided to stay on the cabinet as Foreign Minister. And people were even more surprised when his first high profile decision went against the American alliance by offering Bobby Fischer a residence permit. The unpredictable Oddsson may not have strayed too far from his roots in absurdist theatre after all.

Jennifer Aniston
For a decade she was America’s sweetheart. Eclipsing both her co-leading ladies in Friends, she was the most desirable woman in television. Then she married the most desirable man in the world. Aniston was probably the most envied woman on the face of the earth. With films such as Bruce Almighty and Along Came Polly, she has so far been the most successful Friend in cinema but has yet to prove that her charm can make the transition from the small to the big screen. And then came the bombshell, Brad Pitt dumped her. Whom do you sleep with after the most beautiful man in the world? A genius? Who cares. Aniston is still a star post-hubby. But she is no longer the most envied woman in the world. That title will probably go to whomever Pitt dates next.

Bill Clinton
For eight years he was the most powerful man in the world. He was President of the United States in an interregnum between Republican incumbents when the US was generally admired and respected. When he toured Eastern Europe shortly after the collapse of communism, he was hailed as liberator. When his term was up in January 2001, he had a hell of a resume, but hasn’t been able to hold a steady job since. But what do you do after having been the most powerful man in the world? With his autobiography generally considered a bore, and his talked about talk show not seeming likely to materialise, his brightest career prospect might be as the United States first First Husband, Mr. Hillary Clinton.



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 On the occasion of the last day of October, known by some as “Master’s Month,” blogger Charlie Marlowe recounts his mostly futile attempts to become a master.  October 07, 2014: The day before yesterday, in honour of the glorious tradition of Master’s Month*, I decided that I would take the necessary pains to acquire a slew of new and useful habits—habits that would put me on the road to becoming a more successful, a more likeable, and altogether more estimable version of myself. A better me, in effect; a better better me. Having made this decision, I set my alarm clock

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My brother is a fourteen-carat, stone cold wanker. At age twelve he spoke fluent French, at fourteen he was the fastest 100-metre runner in Ireland for his age, at eighteen, he captained our school choir and won a scholarship to university for academic excellence, by nineteen he spoke fluent mandarin. My name’s Tom and I’m his older brother. Yesterday I started putting raisins into my porridge. Raisins contain polyphenolic phytonutrients that can improve your ability to see in the dark, and in Iceland around this time of year I reckon that it’s a shrewd bit of thinking. But society wouldn’t notice.

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Lost In Mucous

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The first time I heard it, I did what all good girls do and politely ignored it. The second time, I shot him a look of disgust. By the third time, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I felt like I was going to be sick. I cast a crazed eye around the room, but to my shock nobody else seemed bothered by the fact that a certain member of the Grapevine team, let’s call him Bill (because we have a Bob), has a penchant for sniffling and snorting large globules of mucous down the back of his throat. HAD HIS MOTHER

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I don’t have the sharpest social skills but I know when someone is making a joke at my expense. My travel agent was clearly making a joke at my expense: “I know you won’t fly through Heathrow or JFK and I know you will ‘never get on another Delta plane as long as you live,’ but of course you want the cheapest fare possible. The cheapest roundtrip ticket from New York to London is Icelandair with a slight layover in Reykjavík.” I had several pertinent questions for my travel agent and she answered with an exaggerated patience that made me

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You’re Wet, And You’re Cold, And You’re Miserable

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You’ve just come in for the day. Your clothes are strewn across the radiator. Your anorak is hanging in the bathroom. It’s creating a giant puddle on the floor. Oh, and you’ve just stepped in it with your last pair of dry socks. It’s cold. It’s wet. It’s gray. It’s late October in Reykjavík. You’re kicking yourself for not choosing to visit during the summer, but as some Pollyanna told you, at least this way you’re getting the authentic Icelandic experience. Well, you should know that it wouldn’t have made much difference if you had come during the summer. It

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