So whenever I hear Tragedy of the Commons mentioned - (which is at least once a day in each of my classes as an environmental science major) - I think immediately one thing....fisheries. In every single environmental class I have ever taken, tragedy of the commons has at some point been discussed, and always in the context of fisheries. For some reason professors love asking students to name cases where tragedy of the commons has occurred. And the first answer I always hear is.....you guessed it, fisheries. You'd think that the other environmental majors in the class would start thinking of different examples after 3 years, but no its always fisheries. It's always the lobster industry in Maine, or the collapsed cod industry in New England.
Frankly, I am tired of hearing about fish. Now I'm not saying that the health of our fisheries is unimportant, because it is very important. It's just that fish have no direct significance in my daily life. I rarely eat them, and I haven't been deep sea fishing in almost 2 years.
So today I say enough with the fish. Let's move onto something more prevalent in our daily college lives. Lets instead make women's public restrooms our new poster children for the tragedy of the commons.
So I came up with this tragedy of the commons example while I was sitting on the wooden seat of our communal toilet. I was looking down at the floor when suddenly I became cognizant of all the dirt and gunk surrounding me. The bathroom floor was covered with hair, dust, dirt, and some unknown sticky substances. And it didn't stop there... The sink was crusted over with toothpaste and what looked like leftover chunks of food, the mirror had water stains all over it, and the bathtub had its very own happy trail leading down to the drain. Basically, the whole bathroom was really GROSSSSS and the mere sight of it made me throw up a little.
As I rushed out of the bathroom, two questions weighed heavy on my mind: A. Why hadn't I noticed how dirty it was before? and B. Why hasn't anyone cleaned the bathroom? Are we waiting for mold to start growing on the walls?
After deep contemplation, I realized that our hallway communal bathroom had suffered the same fate as the fish....It had become a tragedy of the commons. I should have seen it coming, but unfortunately I noticed when it had become too late. We hadn't cleaned the bathroom once since we had arrived. Now everyone in our hallway is pretty good at cleaning their rooms, but the bathroom, that was a whole different story. And how could such a terrible thing happen you might ask? Well I would say in retrospect that it all boils down to property rights; no individual in our hall held private property rights of the bathroom. Trust me, if I did I can tell you certain people would not be allowed to use it. The point is, is that because no one owns the bathroom, no one is quick to volunteer to clean it. After all, it wasn't me that blew chunks in the sink; and it sure as heck doesn't sound appealing to clean someone elses masticated leftovers.
Luckily my frightening experience prompted me to take immediate action. I started vacuuming and sweeping and soon most everyone in the hall followed suit. Thanks to the efforts of four individuals we cleaned the entire bathroom in about 10 minutes.
2 morals of this story: 1. Take the lead in acting to preserve a commons. You might be surprised to find that once you take action, others may be willing to help. 2. Communal toilets are better examples of tragedy of the commons cases than fisheries. After all fish are slimy, smelly, and stupid. I think ex-boyfriends already fill that role well enough!
Friday, October 9, 2009
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Icelandic Musical
So tonight I went to see an amature Icelandic musical. It was quite interesting considering I had no idea as to what they were saying. Luckily the acting was pretty animated, so I could tell that part of the story plot involved a love story between ex-lovers. But other than that I was pretty lost the whole time. Things really got weird when one of the male characters came on stage dressed in drag. Right as I thought I was piecing together some story of a love triangle, this dude dressed up as a girl character comes in - it threw my whole thought process off. The singing didn't help me either. Overall I'd say it was a good cultural experience. Got back at 10:30 PM, can't wait to hit the sack. I got to be awake in the morning because tomorrow I'm facilitating discussion on the topic of Living More with Less. Tomorrow I am also planning to finish Mr. Gnomey!
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Riding An Icelandic Horse: The How-To-Guide for Idiots
So I rode an Icelandic horse pony today! I can now cross it off on my 101 things I should do but probably wont in Iceland. And because I am feeling so fortunate to have had such a wonderful opportunity today, I want to write a how-to-ride-an- Icelandic-pony post.
1. Before you even get on a horse. Make sure to carefully evaluate all your available horse options. Now, your gut feelings may lead you to the horse that looks the strongest and fittest; a horse that looks like what you might picture a stallion look like. Well don't listen to your gut feeling, it has not the faintest idea of what a real stallion is. Instead choose the fattest sausage shaped horse in the coral. The ideal horse would be like the one I rode today: obese and midget sized. It's name was Black, because it was black...in color. As one can tell, the horse owners were really creative with the names.
2. After jumping up on your sausage horse, the next thing you will want to do is follow directly behind a horse that was fed at least 15 bean and cheese burritos the night before. By doing this you will surround yourself with the sweet smell of success, and by success I mean poo, and by poo I mean of the best smelling kind of poo. And if you happen to develop a cold while riding near the Artic Circle, don't worry. Not even your stuffy nose could dodge these potent fragrances.
3. Once you get going make sure to give your horse some freedom. Imagine that the reigns are like shackles; if you were to pull tightly on the reigns you would be worse than the guards from Abu Griab. So be like an American, and set your horse free. Have one hand loosely holding the reigns, and if you want you can close your eyes momentarily. In today's experience I only needed to blink once for my horse to take me off the beaten path. We definitely took the road less traveled and I was all the more thankful, until Black decided that he/she wanted to run through low standing trees, and their branches too.
4. After letting your horse be the person that they want to be, there comes a time when some discipline is needed. Discipline is only needed when your riding group is so far ahead of you that you can no longer even see the instructor that is supposed to be at the back of the line. So most times you will probably have to discipline your horse. I disciplined Black by kicking his sides with my feet. Horses generally respond only to factors of ten. So don't expect to get a response from your horse after just 70 kicks. If after 200 kicks your horse still doesn't respond then you might have a real problem, and if that is the case I can't help you. Luckily for me by the 70th kick, Black finally responded, and picked up the pace so that in no time we were back in line with the rest of our group.
* Side note: If you notice that your horce is motor boating with its lips, what your horse is trying to tell you is that it hates you, and hopes that your numb feet never regain feeling. Don't take this insult personally; after all it does have to carry your big butt in 10 F weather for at least an hour.
5. Lastly, once your ride comes to an end, jump off the horse and quickly run away. Most likely your horse hates you, and hopes to kick you in the groin if you dare loiter near her/him.
For those of you who have never ridden an Icelandic horse, I highly recommend you following my guide. It will save you a lot of time and frustration.
Your not-a- horse-expert-at-all,
Natalie
1. Before you even get on a horse. Make sure to carefully evaluate all your available horse options. Now, your gut feelings may lead you to the horse that looks the strongest and fittest; a horse that looks like what you might picture a stallion look like. Well don't listen to your gut feeling, it has not the faintest idea of what a real stallion is. Instead choose the fattest sausage shaped horse in the coral. The ideal horse would be like the one I rode today: obese and midget sized. It's name was Black, because it was black...in color. As one can tell, the horse owners were really creative with the names.
2. After jumping up on your sausage horse, the next thing you will want to do is follow directly behind a horse that was fed at least 15 bean and cheese burritos the night before. By doing this you will surround yourself with the sweet smell of success, and by success I mean poo, and by poo I mean of the best smelling kind of poo. And if you happen to develop a cold while riding near the Artic Circle, don't worry. Not even your stuffy nose could dodge these potent fragrances.
3. Once you get going make sure to give your horse some freedom. Imagine that the reigns are like shackles; if you were to pull tightly on the reigns you would be worse than the guards from Abu Griab. So be like an American, and set your horse free. Have one hand loosely holding the reigns, and if you want you can close your eyes momentarily. In today's experience I only needed to blink once for my horse to take me off the beaten path. We definitely took the road less traveled and I was all the more thankful, until Black decided that he/she wanted to run through low standing trees, and their branches too.
4. After letting your horse be the person that they want to be, there comes a time when some discipline is needed. Discipline is only needed when your riding group is so far ahead of you that you can no longer even see the instructor that is supposed to be at the back of the line. So most times you will probably have to discipline your horse. I disciplined Black by kicking his sides with my feet. Horses generally respond only to factors of ten. So don't expect to get a response from your horse after just 70 kicks. If after 200 kicks your horse still doesn't respond then you might have a real problem, and if that is the case I can't help you. Luckily for me by the 70th kick, Black finally responded, and picked up the pace so that in no time we were back in line with the rest of our group.
* Side note: If you notice that your horce is motor boating with its lips, what your horse is trying to tell you is that it hates you, and hopes that your numb feet never regain feeling. Don't take this insult personally; after all it does have to carry your big butt in 10 F weather for at least an hour.
5. Lastly, once your ride comes to an end, jump off the horse and quickly run away. Most likely your horse hates you, and hopes to kick you in the groin if you dare loiter near her/him.
For those of you who have never ridden an Icelandic horse, I highly recommend you following my guide. It will save you a lot of time and frustration.
Your not-a- horse-expert-at-all,
Natalie
My Newfound Homey - Mr. Gnomey
So on Tuesday I finally got to go to the wood working workshop. And guess what I made... a little gnome I've named Mr. Gnomey. While his name may be up for reconsideration at a later date, Mr. Gnomey is super cute so far. I first used a scroll saw to first cut his body out of wood. Then I used many sanding types of devices to smooth out his lumps. After curing him of cancerous tumors, I used a special tool to carve out the outlines of his mustache, nose, hat, suspenders, and pants. Lastly I drilled two holes as his eyes with a power drill. Mr. Gnomey is on his way to becoming the Brad Pitt of all gnomes. He's not finished yet though. Only one side of him is just about done. I plan on going to the workshop again Friday to finish him off. Laurus, the nice man running the workshop, said he would bring in some more tools from his home, that would allow me to add more detail to Mr. Gnomey. I cant wait!
Oh Mr. Gnomey, perhaps you are my one and only. Haha lets hope not.
Oh Mr. Gnomey, perhaps you are my one and only. Haha lets hope not.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sheep, Sheep, and wait....more sheep
About 3 weeks ago I had the opportunity to witness how traditional sheep herding is done here in Iceland. Being your typical naive girl from the 'burbs, I was amazed by the whole process. So sheep meat and wool is big business here in Iceland, but unlike in the US where we have plenty of concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs - basically the definition of evil) Icelandic farmers allow their sheep to graze freely. If your skeptical about the increased economic costs involved with free grazing, just take one bite out of some rosemary cured lamb chops. One bite will make you wish that your beef and chicken grazed freely in your own backyard.
The lamb here in Iceland literally melts in your mouth. Topped with just a little garlic sauce, you'll think you died and went to heaven in just one bite. Enough with the food though, that's a whole other blog post.
But anyway Icelandic farmers let their sheep graze freely for the entire summer. The end of summer means herding in all your the sheep. Now this is not an easy task considering the small group of rogue sheep that every farmer owns. The difficult process of herding first involves trained dogs and horses. Once farmers manage to collect all the sheep from remote mountain locations, the sheep are herded into one giant pen. The next day is consumed with sorting sheep amongst farm owners. I was present to watch this laborious process take place. At first dogs and farmers go into the large pen to herd together about half of the large group of sheep. Watching the farmers this first step did not seem like an easy task, and I can tell you watching wasn't very easy either. I could tell that the sheep were frightened. You can't really blame them. I mean after a wonderful summer vacation I sure as hell would be a little confused if ferocious dogs were trying to chase me into a small confined space. Anyway most of the sheep followed the herd and ran in the correct direction, however some did not fare so well. Some got legs trampled on, and one was even trampled to death before my very own eyes. In the stampede I also saw one of the sheep have their horn broken, resulting in a gushing stream of blood.
Eventually though the scene calmed down, once half of the sheep group were herded into another smaller pen. This smaller pen was circular and had smaller rectangular pens jutting from the center circle pen, sort of like the spokes on a bicycle wheel. Once the sheep were secured in the circular pen, the farmers went in. Since each farmer's sheep are branded on their outer ear, the farmers had to locate their sheep one at a time, and then drag them to their allotted rectangular pen on the outside of the circular pen. After watching for half an hour I was convinced that the sheep were reproducing asexually. It didn't matter how many sheep were in the farmer's individual rectangular pens, there were still so many in the center circular pen. It seemed like the farmers efforts weren't even making a dent. After another hour though, all the sheep from the circular pen were in their designated rectangular pens. We left shortly after the first half of the sheep had been sorted. But the farmers still had to sort the other half of the sheep still in the large pen nearby. Apparently the entire process takes about a half a day to complete. Later that night the farmers were supposed to throw a really big party celebrating the end of sheep herding and summer - unfortunately no partying for us.
But overall I must say that the morning of sheep herding was definitely a unique cultural experience. I got to see farm animals for the second time in my life, and I got to witness an event that has been taking place for centuries. Not only do I have a new found appreciation for sheep, and their delicious hindquarters, but I also have come to admire the farmer. I could never be one - but I am sure thankful that someone is cutout for this laborious job because without the Icelandic farmer I would never have had the chance to scarf down two lamb chops in under 10 minutes.
The lamb here in Iceland literally melts in your mouth. Topped with just a little garlic sauce, you'll think you died and went to heaven in just one bite. Enough with the food though, that's a whole other blog post.
But anyway Icelandic farmers let their sheep graze freely for the entire summer. The end of summer means herding in all your the sheep. Now this is not an easy task considering the small group of rogue sheep that every farmer owns. The difficult process of herding first involves trained dogs and horses. Once farmers manage to collect all the sheep from remote mountain locations, the sheep are herded into one giant pen. The next day is consumed with sorting sheep amongst farm owners. I was present to watch this laborious process take place. At first dogs and farmers go into the large pen to herd together about half of the large group of sheep. Watching the farmers this first step did not seem like an easy task, and I can tell you watching wasn't very easy either. I could tell that the sheep were frightened. You can't really blame them. I mean after a wonderful summer vacation I sure as hell would be a little confused if ferocious dogs were trying to chase me into a small confined space. Anyway most of the sheep followed the herd and ran in the correct direction, however some did not fare so well. Some got legs trampled on, and one was even trampled to death before my very own eyes. In the stampede I also saw one of the sheep have their horn broken, resulting in a gushing stream of blood.
Eventually though the scene calmed down, once half of the sheep group were herded into another smaller pen. This smaller pen was circular and had smaller rectangular pens jutting from the center circle pen, sort of like the spokes on a bicycle wheel. Once the sheep were secured in the circular pen, the farmers went in. Since each farmer's sheep are branded on their outer ear, the farmers had to locate their sheep one at a time, and then drag them to their allotted rectangular pen on the outside of the circular pen. After watching for half an hour I was convinced that the sheep were reproducing asexually. It didn't matter how many sheep were in the farmer's individual rectangular pens, there were still so many in the center circular pen. It seemed like the farmers efforts weren't even making a dent. After another hour though, all the sheep from the circular pen were in their designated rectangular pens. We left shortly after the first half of the sheep had been sorted. But the farmers still had to sort the other half of the sheep still in the large pen nearby. Apparently the entire process takes about a half a day to complete. Later that night the farmers were supposed to throw a really big party celebrating the end of sheep herding and summer - unfortunately no partying for us.
But overall I must say that the morning of sheep herding was definitely a unique cultural experience. I got to see farm animals for the second time in my life, and I got to witness an event that has been taking place for centuries. Not only do I have a new found appreciation for sheep, and their delicious hindquarters, but I also have come to admire the farmer. I could never be one - but I am sure thankful that someone is cutout for this laborious job because without the Icelandic farmer I would never have had the chance to scarf down two lamb chops in under 10 minutes.
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