The Zach London Studio Recording Project
Where in the World is Carmen Sigurdbjornsdotter?
Dear Friends,
The misuse of statistics for political purposes is among my greatest vexations. In this month's Hard Taco song, "TI-85s," I try to tackle this issue while paying homage to my favorite model of graphing calculator.
But before you listen to it, try to guess where I am right now.
Here's your first hint. I'm writing from a modest house built into the side of a mountain. There is grass on the roof. A sheep is grazing on that grass, and a nearby volcano is firing pellets of molten pumice through that sheep. A lone puffin alights upon a glacial waterfall and nods knowingly. The air smells of sulfur plumes and fish, ancient fish that predate written language. Here's your second hint. The country is known for long arctic summer days, $35 hamburgers, Elfin runes, and Icelandic death metal.
Here's your final hint. The most honest guidebooks will tell you that no visit to Iceland is complete without leaving Iceland. That makes sense, but the more commercially-oriented ones will tell you that no visit to Iceland is complete without a visit to the Icelandic Phallological Museum in Reykjavik. The storied museum displays a phallus from every mammal that can be found in Iceland and the surrounding waters. They have penises (with or without accoutrements) cut from reindeer, goats, and seventeen different species of whale. They have a whip made from a bull penis, and two lampshades made from ram scrotums.
