Hug me I'm a Finn

Yesterday I got back in Italy after my "winter" holiday in the Motherland. Mostly I spent my time in a horizontal position, as in laying on my ass on the couch watching TV, which is exactly what I was hoping for. I also met up with friends and "business partners" (sounds cooler than saying I met up with the dude who I do the radio spots for), went to the movies to watch the Hobbit (not a "granchè" as we here in Italy would say) and had my hair cut.

And I hugged people.

We Finns aren't natural huggers. We only do it when someone gets married or if someone dies (and in that case you hug the relatives of the deceased, not the dead dude in the coffin). Since I've been living abroad I've discovered that Finns also hug Finns who live in another country. Now, of course it's normal that my friends and family hug me when we see each other, or not, that's ok too, but I also get hugs from people who normally wouldn't hug me. Like my hair dresser. Or my bank lady (yes, I've been with the same bank all my life and yes they know me and my family very well and yes we occasionally hug each other). All because I live abroad.

Now, if I was to move to another city in Finland, and these people saw me twice a year (as they do now), I wouldn't be hugworthy. But since I live abroad and come home twice a year, I'm SO hugworthy. It's like going abroad means going in space and there's the possibility of no return.

I kinda like this new hugging-tradition. In Italy you get your traditional hug and two kisses even if you've been away for two days, so needless to say I've had my fair share of touchy-feely-stuff here, but now I also get the same thing in Finland. During my 3 years abroad I've been hugged more times than during my 30 years in Finland all together. It pays to live abroad eh?

We usually don't hug in my family. Still, when my parents came to see me off as I was leaving for Italy, they mustered up a nice 8 second hug each. That's something that some Finns don't get to experience in a whole life time. Of course since then the hugging has been toned down to 3 seconds and without the consoling back stroke, but still, the hugging goes on. Sometimes you need to go far to get close to someone.

My Italian friends are used to the fact that I'm the cold Finnish person who doesn't touch anyone. My favorite movie quote is from Dirty Dancing: "this is my dancing space, that is your dancing space". When a female friend of mine once accidentally touched my boob we made a huge deal out of it and I still sometimes ask her if she would like to cop a feel now that we've broken the ice. Still, I've come a long way from that Nordic girl who greeted people with rubber gloves and felt violated every time an Italian person landed that smooch on my cheek.

I'm a natural born hugger now.

Living abroad may not always be as miraculous as you'd wish, but by god it teaches you things that you can't learn otherwise. Not only does it open your eyes, but also the eyes of people near you. So go abroad people, travel, live, watch, learn, touch, taste, dare yourself, and see how it changes you. And you just might learn to hug.

Winter wonder land...

... MY ASS.

So I arrive to the motherland, this year in time (thanks AirBerlin for not leaving me in Central Europe this time). Happy to be here, the only problem is this:

let it snow let it snow let it snow goddamned

Now, I wouldn't exactly call this the typical scenery from my childhood Christmases. Nor would I call it a Finnish winter scene in general. What I would call it is a scary vision of the climate change and the fact that every year Santa will have more and more trouble getting around. Pulling the sleigh must be a real drag in this watery landscape from reindeer hell.

Gots to be positive though. Thanks to the warm weather they didn't have ice in the Berlin airport ( we all know how a little ice can be dangerous to a 50 ton aeroplane). Thanks to the warm weather this is the only picture I'll take of the motherland to show back in Italy, and I'll save electricity and time. Thanks to the warm weather I only had to put on a light woolly hat today when I went out, and I only had small scratch marks on my forehead (the wool feels really nice on bare skin folks).

Mom just came in and invited me to come and drink some "glögi" with the rest of the family, and then I'm off to the sauna. Again, despite of the weather conditions:
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, MAY IT BE PEACEFUL AND WARM.
Just like a Finnish winter.

The difference between empathy and sympathy

What's the difference between sympathy and empathy? This is a question for which everybody thinks they know the answer, then start to explain it only to find out that it's not that clear after all. It's like the offside rule in soccer, you think you know it, but then again you don't.

I found this little film online which explains it perfectly. Here's the link.
Klick to see the film "Abbracciami" (it's in English)

So the fox is the one who's feeling bad. The bear is "empathy" and the deer is "sympathy". The fist thing that came to mind was "ain't sympathy a bitch". I had never thought that being sympathetic is actually not such a nice thing. Being sympathetic means that you really don't care much about my problems, even though you're trying to make me feel better by saying something that you THINK that will make me feel better, when actually you're not making me feel better at all, or you're maybe even belittling my problem and therefore making me feel worse.

The bear, who feels empathy for the fox, is trying to put himself in the foxes shoes. He's genuinely trying to imagine what the fox is feeling. The problem is that if you haven't been in the same situation, how the hell are you going to be able to do that. How can you imagine what it's like when e.g. someone's family member dies, if you've never lost anyone so close to you? You can't. I think that this is the moment when empathy turns into sympathy for most people. People want to be empathetic, but when they realize that they can't do it, but still they find themselves in this situation where they should try to make the other person feel better, they go for the easy way out, which would be sympathy. It's the lack of experience in the matter that fucks you up. In the end you end up saying something that really doesn't help at all, like "well, at least you still have your other parent who's alive" (like explained in the film, "at least" is the mother of all fuckups when it comes to consoling someone). And with this sentence you just turned from someone empathetic to someone sympathetic.

The worst people are those who use the "at least" to indicate that the person suffering has still something that YOU don't. As in "my dog is sick" "Well, at least you HAVE a dog, my parents never let me have one". So, not only does the person suffer from the fact that his/her dog is sick, but now they have to feel bad also for the person who's totally dogless. Now what the hell is that about? Is your misery supposed to make me feel better about my misery? If I've lost a finger and you've lost a whole hand, does it mean that my fingerless hand doesn't hurt? It bloody well does. It hurts no matter what limbs anyone else has lost, it's my pain and I'm entitled to it.

It's hard to be empathetic, it really is. Most of us are burdened with our own worries, so putting ourselves in a position where we need to take on the pain of others, even if it is only for a while, seems too much to handle. You just don't want to bother, when you can use the sympathy card instead. It's almost the same thing, right?

I usually don't make promises for the New Year. I think you should be able to change the things that you don't like about yourself any day of the year, not just one. If you can't do it on the 28th of March, you can't do it on the first of January either. However, seeing that it's almost new year, this time I'd like to give it a go.

I'd like to be a bit more empathetic. When I find myself in a situation where the other person is suffering for something, I'd try to be there for him/her. If it's a situation that I know nothing about, instead of saying "well at least..." I could say exactly what they instruct you to say in the film. "Wow, I really can't imagine what that's like, but I'm here to listen if you want to talk about it". How much does it cost me, a little bit of my time?

Sadly though giving someone our time seems to be the hardest thing these days. If it were possible most of us would rather give money then our time. Especially me, as I'm extremely jealous of my time, I reserve most of it for me these days. So next year, I'll try to be empathetic, and listen, without hurry.

Also, since we're talking about giving time, next year I'd like to donate some of it also to some worthy cause, like volunteering at the animal shelter. This year I donated money, but next year it's time to step up and get my hands dirty. Literally, as those abandoned little rascals are often not so tidy when they come in. I may not be mom-material for a human baby, but by god I would love those little homeless animals like there was no tomorrow. 

Seeing that in the next few days I'll be super busy preparing for my trip to the motherland, I'll use the opportunity now to wish you all happy holidays, and an empathetic new year 2014! 

On vacation with "my kind"

So I'm taking German lessons. Private, but also with a group since it's good fun, especially with the group I'm in. We're 7 people and apart from me they're all around 50+ years old. One of them is a retired orthopedic surgeon who doesn't hear very well, so every time we do listening exercises he just sort of sits there and guesses. Still, he's still super smart and can speak and write German pretty well. The others can hear just fine, and they're all really enthusiastic about learn German. So all and all, a nice group of people.

feeling small in Dublin

Yesterday we got to talking about meeting your fellow countrymen when you're abroad for a vacation. A rather interesting conversation in the end, because it seems that no matter where you're from, you always feel ashamed for your countrymen while abroad. Does this mean that everybody in the world is behaving badly while on a vacation? Does this mean that I'm also a source of embarrassment for the other Finns? Got me thinking.

When I was living in Finland I didn't travel too much. But I do remember that when I did go somewhere, I tried to stay away from the other Finns, not only because "when in Rome, stay with the Romans" but also because they usually drink too much and then take their clothes off. Not to mention that they also want to eat Finnish food, drink Finnish drinks, and sing Finnish karaoke while on vacation. Their idea of a cool vacation is for everything to remain just like in the Motherland, only to have it cost more and to get a sunburn while you're at it. So yes, I was (and am) a little embarrassed by my fellow countrymen. I'm not saying that I never drank too much on a vacation, but at least I kept my clothes on.

When I moved to Italy, I started to travel alone. Not so much  in Italy, but in general. I still tried to stay away from the Finns, but strangely I also started to see the Italians abroad as annoying, loud and disrespectful. And their hankering for Italian food is overwhelming, not to mention that they can't wait to finish their food and then say "it wasn't as good as at home". Well of course it isn't dumb ass, this isn't Italy and the cook isn't your mom. If you want to eat the same stuff you eat at home, then stay at home. As if it was a punishment to have to eat this non-Italian food.

feeling weird in Gambia

There are also a few other nationalities that I like to avoid. Not necessarily for any particular reason, I just do.

I stay away from the Chinese, probably because they're always taking photos and they move in big flocks so if you by any chance get caught in between, you're forced to go where ever they're going until you manage to find your way out.

I avoid staying alone with the Turkish, because they usually start to hit on me.

I also avoid the Brazilians in the evening, because they want to party until the morning and I'm too old for that.

I might want to hang with the French, only they talk too fast, or have an accent that's just impossible to understand.

feeling embarrassed in London

Strangely enough there are also nationalities that I tend to stalk a little. Like if I hear someone speak Norwegian, I usually stick around and try to figure out what they're saying and whether they'd be good company, for let's say, a dinner. The same thing tends to happen with the Swedes, the Danish and the Icelanders. Also, I find people from the Netherlands to be interesting and well behaved. If I encounter Americans, I'm a little torn. Sometimes I go strike up a conversation just to hear some good ol' American English. If I stay or go depends on what they choose to say to me in return.

I wonder what would happen if I went to live in Norway, for example. Would these people start to look as revolting in my eyes as the Finns and the Italians, or would they keep their wonderous stalkability-status? Is it just unavoidable to hate your countrymen, or does it simply depend on the country? Are there people somewhere who go abroad, see their peers and say "look darling, aren't they wonderful, let's go join them" ?

I remember when I was 15 and took a trip with my friends on one of the cruise ships to Stockholm. I had a little too much to drink the night before, so when we arrived to Stockholm the following morning, I didn't feel too good. Let's just say that when my friends were running around the city, I was hanging in the shadowy streets hurling out my bowels. I remember the distinct sense of shame, and the feeling of being the "uneducated Finn who can't control her drinking habits"."Dear, look at that girl, what a disgrace, I bet she's Finnish". Ever since then I've tried to be on my best behavior abroad, and to bring honor to my country instead of being the Finn who the other Finns avoid.

feeling at home at the Frankfurt airport

Going abroad serves not only to see interesting new places, to eat new foods and to meet new people, but also to see ourselves through the eyes of the "others". And to make sure that when the "others" look at us, they think we're stalkable as hell.

It's that time of the year again....

.... when everything is so damn jolly. Ever since I stopped being a kid with greasy hair and pimples, Christmas just hasn't been the same. Here's what it used to be like.

In Finland, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th. The 25th you just lay back and look at the huge pile of presents you opened the day before and try to figure out how to deal with the weird bulge on your mid torso that somehow just showed up sometime between meal time yesterday and this morning.

So on the 24th, I would get up nice and early (6.30 am), wake up daddy-o as well so he would take me to the stables. Why? Because for about 10 years I used to go to the stables every single day to take care of the horsies. It was almost like a job, only I didn't get paid. Unless you count the fact that you gained a great sense of responsibility and respect for animals. Do you count that? Yes you do.

So anyway, daddy-o would take me and my friends to the stables, where we would prepare the horses and take off to a magical Christmas ride. The tradition was to ride to town and wish everybody happy holidays as we went along. A tradition loved not only by us, but also by the villagers who gathered around to greet us. The only thing that sometimes annoyed me was that I always rode a pony, and people thought it was a foal. "Look mommy, it's a child-horse".  Amateurs...

So after we had made our merry wishes and galloped back to the stables, we decorated the stables with straw and other stuff and fed the horsies lots of goodies. A quick call to daddy-o who flew over to take us home, not just me but all of my ten friends who packed inside our little car.

Once home it was time for the porridge with the almond. Mom would prepare this rice porridge while I was off riding small child-horses, and she would hide an almond in it. Who ever got the almond would make a Christmas wish. Just to be safe, mom hid like a dozen almonds into the porridge and made everybody wait until I had discovered one and this way made sure I was the one making the wish. I always wished that mom would get the almond next year.

Once the porridge was eaten, it was time to bring in the Christmas tree. A real one, from the forest that once belonged to my grandparents. It always had a crooked top, and mom would complain about it. Dad would help me set up the lights (which were the same ones my parents had bought 30 years ago) and after I got to decorate the whole thing. The outcome was always more personal than pretty, but always appreciated by all.

Next thing on the program was to visit the dead. A.k.a my grandparents, at the graveyard. Ok, cemetery. My sister didn't want to go because "it's the graveyard, it's full of dead people", but I always kinda enjoyed the slightly dim winter day and all the hundreds of candles twinkling on the gloomy graves. There was always something very scary and at the same time comforting about the trip to see grandpa and grandma.

After arriving back home, it was sauna and then Christmas dinner with ham and salmon. I always ate too much ham before we started the actual dinner, and in the end I didn't really feel like eating it anymore. And yet I did. Because it was Christmas.

After letting the tummy relax a little it was time to open the presents. No silly Santa Claus-games, when suddenly dad disappears and then, what do you know, here's Santa with the presents I just saw in the closet 5 minutes ago. No no, mom just laid the big sack full of presents under the tree while I was in the sauna, and said that Santa paid a visit while I was bathing. Since there was no Santa, I dealt out the presents to everyone. Those days I had actually made wishes and usually some of them came true. I wasn't showered with gifts like many other kids, but never felt like I was left without either. I got just enough to feel special. Of course I had bought something useless for my parents, which they had to keep for the next couple of months until passing it on to someone else.

On Christmas day, like explained before, you just sat there, eating chocolates and watching cartoons. No need to go anywhere or see anyone other than your family, and especially no need to put on real clothes. Better stay in your jammies anyway, it took a couple of days to fit that tummy in those jeans again.

This was Christmas back in the day. Somehow it just kept on getting sadder and sadder every year. Now it's all about not getting presents since we're all grown up, the horsies are left without their decorations, usually it rains when we go to the cemetery, I only eat a little bit of ham because otherwise I might get fat, and the biggest excitement for me seems to be finding out if AirBerlin takes me home in time or if they leave me somewhere in Central Europe like last year.

Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm getting boring and old. Maybe it's time to take out the red elf's hat again and dance around the Christmas tree (although you can't because it's too close to the wall). Maybe it's time to eat ham until you barf. Maybe it's just time to realize that the most important thing is to be together, as a family. To see everybody there, and know that they're all doing well, and for one night nothing's troubling us.

Maybe. Go on, give it a go. I know I will.

Santa's little helper

My independence day

It's the independence day of Finland today. Here in Italy they always ask me "independence from what?", meaning from which country. I never remember these things exactly (in school I was interested in history but was horrible at it) so I just say "from Russia". I'm confused about these things also because we've been governed by the Swedes as well, so it's hard to remember which one of these nations humiliated us first and which second. Seeing that it's the appropriate day for checking these things out, I did, and yes it's from the Russia. On the 6th of December in 1917 Finland gained her independence from the bully Bolsheviks.

Info on the Finnish independence for those of you who are interested

I often get asked if I have some angst towards the Swedes seeing that we're neighboring countries and that one time we were under their rule. I've never had any resentment towards the Swedes, actually I've always thought that they're like Finns but a little better. A little more European, a little more talented and a little more pretty. And they get better tans. And I'm not saying these things in an envious way, but in a "way to go Swedes" kinda way.

For some reason I don't feel the same kind of sympathy for the Russians. In fact, when someone mistakes me for a Russian I often get a little offended and hurry to clear up the matter, but when I'm mistaken for a Swede I don't always even set the record straight (depending on the situation of course). I'm not sure where this attitude comes from, lord knows I wasn't there fighting in the Talvisota (or Winter War) against our eastern buddies, and no Russian has ever harmed me in any way. They don't bother me, apart from the fact that they flock in great big herds into the Finnish supermarkets, department stores and bath resorts in the holiday months leaving no room for the poor Finns. If you go to any big supermarket right now in Finland you will find a few busloads of Russians doing their shopping for the Christmas season. But it's not like it annoys me that much, there's always been enough food left for me as well.

I think it has to do with my national identity now that I'm abroad. Apart from the fact that I'm very proud to be a Finn, I'm maybe a little afraid to be seen as the "girl from the east" rather than the "girl from the north". With our independence Finland wanted not only to be in charge of her own business, but also make a clear statement to NOT be a part of the east and TO BE part of Scandinavia and Europe. 

Snow = Nordic

When I say that I'm in Italy because of work, the usual response is "really? I thought surely you were here because of a guy". Many many many times I've had offers from elderly gentlemen to take care of me in case I was looking for a rich boyfriend, which always made my skin crawl and made me want to beat up a senior citizen. It has always been very important for me to be able to take care of myself, financially and otherwise, so it's also very important for me that people don't mistake me for someone who mom sent abroad to marry an old millionaire. I guess I'm afraid to be seen as something I'm not. That seems fairly natural I guess.

What this has to do with Russia?  I don't know. It's not like there are millions of young Russians here all married to some old dudes with big houses. Some of them are. Just like there are old Russian women married to old Italian men with a small house. Just like there are Finnish women here married to Italian dudes with no job and who only moved out from their parent's house because the Finnish girlfriend wouldn't stop nagging about it.

I guess it's all a part of my prejudice against the eastern countries in general, for which there is no real cause.
How cool is it to find out that you're a racist on the very day of your country's independence.

Still, like I said before, I have absolutely nothing against the Russians as individuals. My beautician in Finland was a girl from Russia, a lovely person who I was sad to leave behind when I moved to Italy. I currently work with Russians, all wonderful people and always ready to help even though they're often slowed down by the bureaucracy and other difficulties. I've never been to Russia, probably because it's right there over the border and so it really doesn't feel like you're on a vacation, but I have nothing against going one day.

Maybe this prejudice is a built in feature in all Finns because of the hard struggles we had to endure against our once gigantic enemy. "Be aware of the east" is inserted in some microchip inside our brain when we're born. Who knows. It's probably some great big government scheme. Like Area51,

All and all, I just think that being abroad has really strengthened my sense of national pride, and therefore it's really important for me to be seen as a Finn, as a person from the north, from Scandinavia, from the Nordic Countries. As it was (and is still) important for Finland to be seen as an independent country governed by Finns, it's equally important for me to be seen as an independent lady, governed by no one.

Happy independence day. To me, to Finland, and to all the people out there who are independent or longing to be independent.

summer cottage by the lake, an everyman's right

Bucket list

First of all I'd like to point out that if you want random people to read your blog, just insert the words "porn", "John Holmes", "gonorrhea" or "bollocks" in it, and your success is guaranteed. In fact, FYI, I will be using at least one of these words from now on every time I scribble a new posting. 

And now, let's get to the actual point. Who knows what a bucket list is? Everybody? Good. For those of you who forgot I'll just say that it's a list of things to do. Sometime. Anytime. Not necessarily  before you're 30, or 40, or 80. But sometime between now and the day you die.

I got a few things there, some realistic, others not so much. Here are some of them.

1.      I want to see what it's like to be pregnant
This has nothing to do with wanting a family of my own, or a baby in general, I would just really like to know what it's like to be pregnant. To go around with that huge tummy and feeling someone beat you up from the inside. Seeing that it's very difficult to be 8 months pregnant and then just have the fetus disappear, I doubt I'll ever experience this without actually giving birth as well. We'll just put this into the "not realistic" category shall we?

2.     I want to be a man for a day
I already talked about this in my previous post. I would like to be a man for a day, just to see how the "male-parts" work and to have facial hair. Also, I would like to see if it's really that hard to pee with that thing. I would like to see for myself if it really itches that often that you just have to scratch it every 5 min. Also, I want to see if thinking and rationalizing is indeed easier as a man. Would I be as carefree as most men, and would I be able to have casual sex without any after thoughts. Also this one goes to the category "not realistic", because even if I managed to turn into a full grown male, I doubt I could turn back to a woman the next day.

did Luce scratch his balls while
fighting to save the glaxy?
I don't think so...

3.     I want to go to New York
I almost went already. I had a trip booked with a good friend of mine for 10 days in the end of November 2010. The plain tickets cost almost nothing, 390€ I think, so it was a good deal, only we had to book the tickets already in March and they weren't refundable. My friend informed me in August that she couldn't go after all. Ok, no problem, I'll just go by myself right? Wrong. In October 2010 I landed this job in Italy, and they advised me that it was crucial that I be there starting from December. So in the end I end up cancelling the trip as well, no money back. But damned, I will get there. One day.


4.     I will jump into water head first
I have a slight fear of water. As in water that goes above my head. I love to take baths, and even rivers and the sea in general, as long as the water stays below my chin. I never go swimming when there are lots of people in the pool, because they always splash water in my eyes and this causes a major problem for me. See, if I have water in my eyes, I can't see. In order to see again, I need to rub my eyes. But if I'm rubbing my eyes, who's doing the swimming for me? If no one's swimming for me, I will drown. So other people in the pool equals drowning, as far as I'm concerned. Jumping into the water head first is just madness, but I will do it. One day.

come on, I dare you...

5.    I will skydive or fly or do some other weird crap in the sky
I wouldn't bungee jump because for some reason I think that's super dangerous. Where as jumping from an airplane is not. Nor is flying in general. I would also take flying lessons if somebody paid for them. One day.

6.     I will own my own apartment again
And it will be my own owned apartment. Owning one's own apartment is important. Otherwise you might wake up at 60 and realize that you've never owned your own apartment. Ownownownownownownownow :) No but seriously, I already had my own apartment once, with a bank loan and everything, and it was a really nice thing to have. An investment if you may. Something that tells you where you belong. When I'm renting it means that I'm not quite settled down. If I'm buying it means I'm there to stay, at least for a while.
By the time I'm 40 I will have my own apartment again. And that's a fact. That's not even a bucket list-wishy-washy-kindofathing. It's just the way things are gonna be.

The only thing missing is the wicked witch. A.k.a. me.

I only have one thing to add.
The bollocks with John Holmes.

Movember schmovember...

Now that this Movember-hublaa is over and done with I can declare that I don't like mustaches. On anyone other than Tom Selleck. And he looks good in mustache only because without mustache he looks ridiculous.

So there, I've said it. I hate mustaches. I think the Movember-cause is important per sè, but couldn't we raise awareness of dude-cancer in some other way? They're constantly playing with their bollocks anyway, so they might as well test them for lumps while they're at it. Am I right?

Anyway, Movember as a cause = good. Movember as having to look at pathetic excuses for a mustache for a month = bad.

I don't know where this hatred for mustache comes from. Maybe it's the fact that in Finland guys usually don't have mustaches or beards, and therefore I'm not used to them (they have little hair in general, so it's not like they don't want to have facial hair, they're not ABLE to have facial hair). The weird thing is that I don't hate beards. Beards are cool, as long as they're cared for and not too long. That's probably because Santa has one, and it's nice and white and soft and Mrs. Clause takes extra good care of it with some honey-based conditioner she made herself during the boring summer months.

Maybe mustache to me spells out "porn actor", as in John Holmes for example. A guy with a mustache is kinky, not to be trusted and he's hiding gonorrhea and herpes under that hair. Obviously these are just impressions of mine, god knows where they come from. It's not like I watch porn day and night, or that I think that porn actors automatically have gonorrhea.

I don't hate hair in general on guys either. You got chest hair? Fine. You got back hair, I can deal with that. You got hair long enough on your back to make a pair of wings and fly? Ok, that's a bit gross but still better than a mustache. Got leg hair? Not a problem. Got ass hair? Well, obviously you do, so that's ok too. Just don't have a mustache and I'm ok.

The thing is that if I had the chance to be a guy for a day, there would be two things that I'd look forward to. Seeing how the "male member" works (e.g. peeing and all that stuff well you know) and having facial hair. I'll probably never be able to have a nice beard (unless I get some weird menopausal disorders and all my hair suddenly grows only in one place: under my nose) so I'd really be interested in finding out what it's like. How uncomfortable it is (or not?), does the food get stuck in it and how, do you comb it or brush it, what's it like to kiss someone with that thing in the middle etc. Fascinating stuff indeed.

Here in Italy lots of guys have facial hair. And a lot of them choose to have a mustache. And they are convinced they look awesome in it. That's probably because for some in-explainable reason people here think having a mustache is da bomb. I would bet that in general people's feelings towards mustaches are different here than in Finland. If you're a university student and looking for a subject for your thesis, here's one: what causes a population to prefer facial hair, or hate it. You're welcome little university student, this one was a freebee. Next time I'll charge for my precious ideas.

The thing is, I could kinda get the idea behind a mustache if it was a "real" mustache, as in lots of hair, all of them in order. But the thing is that when people who usually don't have a mustache start to grow one, the result is 5 two inch long hairs on your upper lip, 3 of them crossed and 2 of them a little father away doing their own thing. That's not a mustache, that's 5 hairs in a row. And not even in a row seeing that 2 of them have gone awol. If you can't grow a nice mustache, let it go, even if it's Movember. You can check your balls without facial hair as well.

Happy hair-free December to everyone!

To the moon and back

So I heard in the radio (still the same Finnish one) that there's a possibility that for the first time in the history of mankind a Finnish person might get to go to space. As in put on a space suit, get into a bigass rocket ship and get launched into the altitude of 103 km. Yes indeed, why 103 km? Because apparently that's the altitude where you skip from "normal atmosphere" to"space". If you've been in the altitude of 103 km, you can say that you've been in space. Not the outer kind, but just normal space.

up up up...

Apparently NASA has chosen about 100+ people to attend  a 5 day boot camp at the Kennedy Space Center, after which 20+ of them will be chosen for the actual "spacing". This Finn, whose name I can't recall but it starts with an H (I tried to find an article covering this story in the biggest newspaper in Finland, but didn't find it??!!) is one of the people asked to join the boot camp. So naturally I thought that this dude must be some miracle child, the bionic man, brain of steel and just enough muscle to handle the hardships but not too much to not fit into the space suit. In the radio show they asked him what kind of people his opponents are, and he said that one of them has climbed the Himalayas and there's also a dude who's like the world champion in Taekwondoo. And our Finn? What has he done? He's been in the Finnish air force. And that's it.

My mom worked for the Finnish army for years as a nurse. She was placed in the parachute-unit, so you can imagine that there were quite a lot of injuries. Although she told me that only once had some guy come down without the parachute having opened, but luckily it was just a "small" jump so he survived. Still, from all the stories my mom has told me about the Finnish army, it seems to me that it's not exactly full of the brightest people. That's probably because in Finland it's still mandatory to go to the army, so even the dimwits have to attend, and obviously they're also the ones who have most of the accidents.

"Can you hold this hand grenade please?" "Yeah sure. Hey what's this little thing here? Maybe it's broken, I'll just pull this off..." "That's the pin you idiotttttttttttttttttnooooooooooooooobowcrashbuumbanggggggggggggg".

Attending the army is mandatory only for the guys, but some girls attend as well. Seeing that you have to work together with these people with a polyp for a brain, I can't think of any reason to go to the army if it's not absolutely necessary. But then again what do I know.

feeling so little....

So when this Finn said that he's attended the Finnish air force, I thought "oh great, well that's it then, why even bother going to the boot camp". But apparently that's like a really big deal actually, from a foreigner's point of view. They have a Facebook group for all the people attending the boot camp, and when they saw that this dude had been in the air force, they all got intimidated. Even the Taekwondoo-champ. Indeed, the reputation of the Finnish army is quite good abroad. Well, live and learn people, live and learn.

So now I'm getting all excited for this dude. How cool would it be to go in space? Me among millions of other people watched when that Redbull-guy went to the outskirts of the atmosphere, and it was wild. It was almost not credible. It was incredible.

I've been wondering that going into space would be a healthy thing for all of us to do. Recently I've been harvesting all kinds of stress and anxiety inside of me, thinking about my future and the life that I've lived so far (which is the main reason for my anxiety, because I look back and see that I've done exactly squat). Going to space, in a tiny capsule, all alone, looking down to Earth and seeing all the vastness of nothing and everything that surrounds us, knowing that we're just a tiny piece in a puzzle with hundreds of millions of pieces makes your daily struggles seem a little mundane. Earth isn't probably even the coolest piece of the puzzle with nice colors or clear outlines, no no, surely we're part of the sky or the sea. You know, those difficult pieces that you never know how to put together. Looking at a sandstorm in the Sahara desert or the disappearing rain forest would make my daily worries of forgetting my phone at home or running out of gas seem rather ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, thinking about one's future and changing the things that you don't like about your life is hugely important, and by no means insignificant, but I'm saying that sometimes you need to go far in order to see close. It's important sometimes to put things in a new perspective, and try to think about the big picture for a while before concentrating on the details.

I really hope Mr. H gets to go to space. I hope he looks at Earth and thinks about how little we are. I hope that above all he gets to experience himself from a totally different view point. Because not all of us get to go to space and rethink things. Some of us can only go as far as the local pub.

Godspeed Mr. H. To the moon and back. Or as far as the Kennedy Space Center anyway.

is there somebody out there....??

The old man with the monkey took some pictures

Yesterday I left my phone at home for the whole day, which was both liberating and an agony. Liberating as in not having to respond to any messages or other "blings" that you hear from the cell phone from time to time. Agony in a sense that I was worried to get home and find my phone with zero messages or calls, which means that no one missed me during the day. Oh, and also for the fact that I couldn't download the photos from Vienna.

Here's the whole lot, or better yet, the top 20. I was so busy going around and looking at things that I forgot to take photos. Vienna is the nicest big-small city you'll ever visit. Go there. Now.

Better yet, see my photos and then go there.

At the airport, nothing but blue skies... and they even cancelled the strike!

The church at St.Stephen's square was huge and pretty.
Huge and pretty I say.

There were about 20 horse drawn carriages near the church.
They made me feel really traditional, but also a little sad for the horsies.
Walking on the streets with your bare feet all day hurts you know.

I was looking for a place to eat...

Friday afternoon at Michaler platz

tickitytock

I don't know about you but I like them bulky buildings

Michaeler Platz. They tried to force some opera tickets on me
at the square. 

See the man in red, watch out, they WILL sell opera tickets to you.
And ask you out for a date as well. Your treat (they're students)

The lonely rider...

Nough said

The Christmas markets were great and full of.... balls for the Christmas tree!

My hotel was at Schwedenplatz, so I felt right at home...mmmm.... Schweden...

The underground, or U-bahn, was super tidy, always on time
and ran 24h during the weekends. Plus it had nice lighting.

Yeeees I went to see the Spanish riding school show (I chose
that over the opera). They were really strict about not
photographing during the show so.... 

The people of Vienna are loving folk

Went to the museum of modern art and the Leopold museum... a real treat.
In the courtyard I hang out with these guys.

And may the Christmas spirit fill your heart!

Town hall in all it's Christmas splendor!

Merry Christmas peeps!

Vienna, like an old man with a party hat and a monkey for a pet

So I went to Vienna for the weekend, by myself as usual. I'm still pretty knackered from the trip so for now I'll just say this.

Vienna is a very cool place, a mixture of old and new, a vibrant young city with an old frame. It's like a grandpa who looks a little rusty, but still puts on a 3-piece suit every day and takes his pet monkey out for a stroll. 

It's full of students from everywhere in the world, in fact every time I went to a Starbucks there was someone tutoring someone else in the next table. It's full of art and design, and I spent most of my time in the museum quarter with all the art shows and design stores. I ate the best goulash ever at the Christmas Market, and bought a real Viennese snow globe. I was mistaken for a "working girl" while I was standing at this street corner on a Friday night, trying to figure out where the restaurant was (ok I was wearing a "short-ish" dress but by no means was I dressed for "work") and hit on by a student trying to sell me opera tickets. I ate my wienerschnitzel with 3 Austrians who didn't talk to me and one lady from Greece who wouldn't shut up. I was stunned how well the city was organized, the underground was operative 24h during the weekend and I could do my check-in for the return flight already at the CAT-station downtown Vienna.

A memorable trip, and I do hope to return one day. Soon.

The cat's gone bonkers

Since lately I've been home a lot due to the nasty cold, I've spent lots of time with my cat. Now I always knew that cats have their own personalities, but I never knew that the mind of a cat is a never ending treasure chest of things that will tickle your funny bone and make your skin crawl. So here it is, the top 5 of weird things my kittycat does.

1. Chewing of the plastic bag at 7.35 am
We have a morning routine at my house, which starts with me peeing. A pretty normal thing for any person to do, right? I have a plastic bag full of toilet paper sitting in the corner of the bathroom, hidden away so that you can't really see it. Still, while I'm doing my thing, the cat comes in, and starts to chew on the plastic bag. She doesn't chew on it any other time, not before I start to pee, and not after, but during. Nor does she do it if I go to the bathroom in the afternoon or evening or night. But in the morning, for about 15 seconds, she enjoys this little task of destroying my plastic bag full of toilet paper.

2. Getting down and dirty, and then clean again
Cats like to play, right? Whether she's playing alone with a rubber ball or what ever kind of a toy she's managed to find somewhere, or with me, there's always one thing in common with her playtime. In the middle of a giant leap or a super fast spring to the other room she gets the feeling that the hairs on her left leg aren't perfectly in order, and so she makes a full stop and starts to lick that spot. And then off she goes again, until the same feeling creeps up again and she sits down on her arse and licks it better. I don't know if it's a lack of concentration or just being freakishly tidy, but it sure makes me laugh.

3. It's food rationing time!
Usually cat's are smart eaters, they never eat everything at once, but they eat a little bit at a time so that they always have a little something stowed away in case they get peckish. Still, I find it fairly amusing to find one little piece of cat food (you know the crunchy little nibbles they eat) in the bowl as I wake up in the morning. Just one, no more, no less. I guess it was left there in case I didn't wake up in the usual hour. Or that I died in my sleep. Or I'm out of cat food and need to go buy more when I wake up. I don't know how one single crumb can help the cat at that point, but I'm sure she has her reasons.

4. The evil eye of Sauronnnnmieowwwww
When I get home from work, we got another routine. As in I get my coat off and rush over to feed the cat. After she has eaten, she cleans herself obviously from head to toe to tail, and after that she positions herself about 2 meters from me, sits down very tightly occupying about 10cm x 10cm patch on the floor, and starts to stare at me. Now obviously she wants something. Since she has just eaten, I suppose she wants to play. So I get up and find her favorite toy, a ball, and throw it (we often play catch, go figure). She looks at the fleeing ball, but doesn't make a move. I get back to my seat, and she keeps on staring at me. Now, if she was in my face pointing with her paw at her broken leg, or making other kinds of charades, then it would be clear what she wanted. Instead she just sits there with a peculiar look, as if she was saying "you don't know it yet, but I've just eaten a pair of your favorite earrings while you were gone". That reminds me, better check the jewelry box tonight.

5. Me Tarzan you Jane
This usually happens when I'm in the bathroom doing my make-up or fixing my hair. As I'm standing there, all relaxed, doing my thing, all of a sudden the cat runs in like she was possessed by the devil and jumps on my leg with a bewildered look in her eyes. Having 20 claws stuck to your thigh is very painful, especially if you're not wearing any pants. She just hangs there, like Tarzan hanging on to a tree trunk. And just as she came in all of a sudden, she takes off just as fast, running. If I go after her to see what the hell she's up to, she's already planted her arse on the sofa, acting like she just woke up and has no idea what I was fussing over. 

Seeing that she's an indoor cat and therefore spends her days inside the house, she must get a little bored sometimes. So I try to play along with her little weirdnesses, because she seems to be so much happier after having played her little pranks on me. Love you kittycat.

"Whatcha lookin' at? I done nothing."

PS. I'm off to Vienna for a long weekend, so I'll see you when I get back. That's if the good people of the Venice airport are willing to let me into the airplane, seeing that they're having a strike. Again. I'm the unluckiest flyer in the world. Let's hope that atleast the 4 star hotel lives up to my expectations :) Fotos will follow!!

I'm a bad waiter

Waiting is not my thing. Waiting as in expecting for something to happen, but you don't know exactly when. Or you know when, but then all of a sudden nothing happens, and you're left there wondering what the hell just happened (or didn't happen is more like it) and then you have to wait some more. I don't know which I hate more, the waiting or the not knowing. I think it's the combination of the two that drives me crazy.

So yesterday was supposed to be the end of a 5 day wait for me. I don't really want to discuss the reason of my waiting, so let's say that I was waiting for Santa Claus. And no this doesn't mean that I was waiting for a guy, or a person for that matter, it's just a metaphor. Anyways, he had said to me Wednesday last week "listen, Erika, on Monday I'm gonna stop by at 6.30 pm, be ready". "Oh boy oh boy oh boy" I responded  to Santa Claus and just couldn't believe he'd visit me personally. I didn't really care what presents he would bring, even though I was curious to find out, but the important thing was that he was coming.

The weekend passed by super slow even though I had million things to do (including curing a head ache caused by grappa that I drank Saturday in order to sing a 2 hour gig with a sore throat) and I didn't get much sleep Sunday night. Come Monday and I was shitting my pants, but still super excited about the meeting. I had thought about all the things I would say to Santa, which is actually useless because you can't decide beforehand how the conversation is going to go, but still, at least you feel prepared. I had thought about my opening line, and my closing line, and a few things to say in between. I changed my clothes after I came home from work in order to be nice and fresh, and I even put on some more make up to be super pretty. At 6.15 pm I had a knot in my stomach the size of a watermelon. It's Santa for god's sake, it's a big deal. I had even put the cat in the closet so she wouldn't disturb (well not really, but I told her to be veryvery good or she wouldn't get any food the next day).

Precisely at 6.30 pm I was waiting at the door, but couldn't see anyone. Well, it's ok, he's just running a little late. At 6.45 pm I started to get a bit cold so I took a blanket and sat down again to wait. At 7.00 pm I started to think that I'm a bit silly waiting here by the door, I could just as easily be in the living room. At 7.10 pm I let the cat out of the closet. At 7.20 pm I start to get a bit worried, and so I try to call Santa. No response. At 7.30 pm I send him a message "Heyyyyy Santa, I'm over here waiting for you, wonder where you are... we did say Monday at 6.30 pm right? Hope all is ok and nothing bad has happened...". At 8.00 pm I realize that he hasn't responded. At 8.30 pm I think to myself that if Santa was my boyfriend this would be the time I'd let him have a piece of my mind, but since Santa's currently not my boyfriend, there's really nothing I can do. At 8.45 pm I call my mom to say that I don't think Santa's coming.

Now, if it was someone else I was waiting for, like an Italian dude who by nature is always late, or someone generally unreliable, I would understand: But Santa not showing up is just weird. It'S hard to understand why Santa didn't come even he said he would. Santa, who's just about the most reliable dude in the world. I was prepared for anything, any outcome, any gift, a partial gift, a bad gift, even no gifts, but I wasn't prepared to him not showing up at all.

So now I'm left here, wondering and waiting. Waiting and not knowing. The two things I hate the most in this world. Not knowing if Santa will ever show up, and when. Not knowing if I should wait for his gifts or go buy my own. After all, even if he came, there might not be any gifts for me, just a big ol' empty bag. I can't really go calling Santa over and over, that's just harassment. If Santa has decided not to come, and he never wants to see me again, then I'll just have to deal with that. I might try and figure out why this has happened, whether I did something to scare Santa off, or whether Santa's just a big freakin lier, but that would get me nowhere. Only Santa knows the truth, and he ain't telling.

Come back Santa, I promise I'll be good.

"moooom, can I come out of the closet now???"

Missed the Victoria's Secret show!!!

Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, can't believe I missed the Victoria's Secret show, somehow I thought it was in the beginning of next year instead of now!! Oh well, just in case you were wondering what they were wearing, here's what:

Iltasanomat photos of VS Show

Gots to get me that first outfit, the one with the soldier costume. Now that's HOT. And did you notice, there was also the girl who's last name is Lima and who surely also this time ran around back stage asking everybody "does mi bum look big in this?". Oo, bless her heart.

"Lihapiirakka kahelnakil" and food talk in general

This morning, like every other morning, I was listening to the morning show from a Finnish radio station called Radio Aalto. It's called "Dynastia" for the ones interested of checking it out. Like already explained before, they often give me something to think about, and that happened also this morning.

Since I've been living in Italy I've become more and more sensitive and proud of my roots, and being Scandinavian in general. Which is really hard sometimes among Italians who are superduper proud of what they have and rarely want to consider that there are pretty things all around the world (also in Finland), not just here. Obviously this doesn't apply to all Italians, this is just my general opinion. 

For example, I once dated VERY BRIEFLY an Italian guy, who was very surprised to find out that we in Finland have our own Monopoly with Finnish street names, places and monuments. "But how? Why? What could you possibly have that's worth putting in the Monopoly? Here in Italy we have nice pretty buildings and lots of history, you have nothing. I don't think Finland should have it's own Monopoly. There should be a European Monopoly with different monuments and important places from all over Europe for countries like Finland that have nothing". Needless to say that we didn't stay together for much longer after that.

mom's (Finnish) pizza or....

One thing that pisses me off is trying to discuss food with Italians. To them Italian food is the only kind of food there is, and what ever people eat in other countries is just some second hand shit. And these are comments from people who have never tried any other kind of food than their momma's, so you can imagine how much value their comments have in my eyes.Especially Finnish food is terrible, looks horrible and is made of bad ingredients (again comments from people who have never tried a Finnish dish in their life). In the beginning I tried to explain that maybe you should try out other foods before you go all expert on what's the best food in the world, but obviously I wasn't listened to and so I just gave up. If you taste Finnish foods and don't like them, that's more than fine. But you gots to eat them first, otherwise you're just being ignorant.

BTW, I'm not even convinced that the food here is THAT excellent, to me it often lacks taste and spices. But that's just my opinion. I've also had some really tasty dishes here so if you're asking me, I'd give it a solid 9-. 

So, getting back to this morning's debate in the radio. They were talking about the Finnish tradition of eating "out" on a grill, which is like this little hut in the middle of the town where they will sell you all kinds of unhealthy things to eat, such as french fries, sausages, and something called "lihapiirakka" (here are some links to help you better understand what it's all about Lihapiirakka , various other goodies) Now I admit that these make me gag as well, and they're extremely unhealthy, but when you're going home from the bar at 4am on a Saturday night, you suddenly get the urge to stop at a grill on your way home and eat one of these bad boys.

Now in this little Finnish city called Hamina, there was this little grill that sold a little dish with lihapiirakka and two sausages (called "lihapiirakka kahelnakil" = "lihapiirakka and two sausages"). It was very popular not because of it's taste, but because instead of two sausages they gave you three sausages! So you got a sort of a bonus sausage as a surprise. Now how nice and fair is that?? Very.

...the italian breakfast (the cappucino hadn't arrived yet)

Recently the owner of the grill had changed, and the new owner had decided to stop this nonsense, and started selling "lihapiirakka and two sausages" with just two sausages, like the name itself indicates. No more bonus sausages peeps! And of course this made the people of Hamina very angry. So much so that they've created a page in facebook to promote their cause (here's the link FB Kahelnakil ). Mind you the same people support a FB group that wants to bring the Guggenhaim Museum to Kouvola, another small city in Finland, so I'm not so sure if they're looking to be taken seriously or not.

So now there's this big fight in Hamina as to whether the grill owner is obligated to put 3 or 2 sausages in the lihapiirakka. If you ask the Finnish Patentti- ja Rekisterihallitus, which would be the Finnish officials for patents and company registrations (and yes, they have been dragged into this mess), they say that "kahelnakil" is just a bit of Finnish dialect and indeed means "kahdella nakilla" = "with two sausages". So this would mean that the grill owner can go ahead with her plan of sausage-reduction.

Instead the good people of Hamina are saying that "kahelnakil" has already become a legend, and everybody knows that if you order something, ANYTHING, with "kahelnakil", you get three sausages instead of two. If you want to have something with just two sausages, you can't call it "kahelnakil".

The grill owner has been interviewed by the evening news, and she's explaining that the reduction of the sausages is based on the fact that otherwise she has problems with storage and has to make too many trips to the wholesalers. Also, the previous owner had seriously encouraged her to reduce the amount of sausages in this dish. Valid reasons I'd say, especially the one with the storage problem. Maybe putting too many sausages in the dish caused the previous owner to bankrupt in the first place, who knows?

At Radio Aalto they came up with some good ideas how to solve this very important dispute. The grill owner might just raise the price of the dish a little and this way cover the problems she has with storage and extra trips to the wholesalers. Or, and this one's my favorite, she should call the dish "yhelnakil" = "with one sausage", and this way the customer would still get the bonus sausage and walk away happy.

So I guess we Finns are as uptight about food as the Italians.
Or worse.

The orange moose has a first kiss

Under the lamp post, like a true romantic

I'veb gob a libble flueb

Sorry for the "all silent at the blog front", I've been battling a nasty flue. And still am actually. The weird thing is that my body seems to know when certain things are going on and slips into the sick-mode in the most inconvenient moments. Here's how.

So I have this acoustic duo. Lately we've been playing a little less, probably due to the fact that we're both too busy to go out and search for gigs, so we're just booking them when we're specifically being asked to play somewhere. I used to be worried for not having enough gigs, and would play any place any time and with almost no pay. Afterwards I realized that all my worrying was taking the fun out of playing, so I stopped worrying and started enjoying the music. I've come a long way baby.

Anyways, for the past year every time we've played somewhere, I've gotten this nasty flue about a week before the date. Now, we've never ever cancelled a gig because of my sickness, because somehow, miraculously, you can sing even though you can't talk or your voice sounds like it comes from a long plastic tube. I don't know this works, I'll get back to you on that.

I already hear someone saying "yes it's the nerves, you're anxious and so your body reacts by inducing a flue". Ok, that would have been a valid excuse 2 years ago when we started, but these days I only get excited about 5 minutes before we start to play. I'm not worried even when the last band rehearsal is a total bust, I forget the words and my guitar player isn't playing even the same song that I'm singing, because someway somehow the gig always goes well. So no, it's not because I'm nervous.

I might understand if it was something that I hated doing. You know like when you have a big tests coming up at school and suddenly you fall ill. But it's not the case, in fact seeing that we don't get to play that often I'm really looking forward to all the gigs. So, what the hell??

Another thing is that I never have actual fever. Never. The last time was when I was like 2 years old. It's a real bummer because I feel like someone had dipped me into a bucket of cold water, stuffed my nose with sticky gooey stuff that won't come out, scratched the bottom of my nose with some sandpaper and put a cheese grinder inside my throat. Still, no fever, so I have to go to work. The funny thing is that if I measure my temperature when I'm feeling like this, usually I get like a 35,8 C, which is about 1 degree less than what you're used to have when you're healthy. I swear I'm the daughter of some outer space species or whatnot.

But I'll get through this this time like I have every other time in the past. And I'll go and sing my heart out on Saturday, even if it means that usually afterwards I can't talk for two days. The important thing is to not let your devoted fans down. Ever. And I will sing Teardrop by Massive Attack even if it's the last thing I do.

From snottyland, over and out.

I made a little castle out of the used tissues full of snot.
How cute is that?
Not very.