The Blue Lagoon The Blue Lagoon

Sunday, July 18, 2004

I take a (sixty dollar!) cab ride to the Blue Lagoon, Iceland’s largest geothermal spa. If I’d remembered to bring my camera I would share with you the MIND NUMBING WRONGNESS of the fat old man with the tiniest Speedo I’ve ever seen. I swear to Christ, he must have stolen it from a midget child. The horror! The horror!

I return home and discover there is certain music that triggers a deep emotional response relating to my total isolation from my wife and home. Songs to be avoided at this time are: “I Am Yours” by Derek and the Dominoes, “Shore Leave” by Tom Waits, and pretty much anything by Simon & Garfunkel. Yesterday I bought a CD that Oddur suggested, by an Icelandic band called sigur rós. The slow dreamy melodies match the magic of this place, and if their lyrics deal with separation or sadness I can’t understand them. It’s my new lullaby. Oh, and the voices of the invisible women have gone away since my diagnosis. I kind of miss them, the gabby slags.

Nighty night,
Ken Pontac,
All crusty from that stinking lagoon,

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Jerry Beck

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