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.

Miss nice, nicer, nicest

So the new Miss Universe comes from Venezuela. Again. A very pretty girl. Too bad she looks just like the last five winners. It seems to me that the world's concept of what's pretty is stuck in the Venezuela-sector. No blonds allowed.

The winner this year is from Venezuela. Last year's winner is from USA. In 2011 the winner came from Angola. Then Mexico, then Venezuela again, and again (that's two times in a row). In 2007 the winner came from Japan, a nice surprise I'd say. Then Puerto Rico, Canada, Australia, Dominican Republic. In 2002 there were two winners, Russia and Puerto Rico. The Russian won, but then she was de-crowned and the title was given to the runner up, which was Puerto Rico. You know how it is, the winner has to only sneeze towards the wrong person and they take the crown back. 

They had the first competition in 1952. Do you know who won? Me neither, I had to look it up. It was a pretty Finnish blond called Armi Kuusela. In the following years the winners came from France, USA and Sweden. Sweden won again in 1966, Finland in 1975 and Sweden again in 1984. Norway won in 1990. These are the only times the winner came from a Nordic country. 

1974 was the first time that Venezuela won. All together they have won 7 times. USA has won 8 times and Puerto Rico 5 times. So, if you're looking to win the title, go be born in one of these countries.  

I'm not a big fan of beauty pegents. Not like my ex colleague ( a guy) who could tell you the name of each Miss Finland by the year. I wasn't sure if that was cool or sad. Still, I've always wondered about these pageants, and how they can measure the beauty of someone. 

How come the Finnish girls were pretty at first, and now they can't even qualify in the top 10? About 10 years back there was a Finnish girl who came in third, but her dad came from some exotic country so she didn't exactly look like a standard Finn. Have the Finns gotten ugly? Or have the Venezuelans gotten prettier? Or what's the deal here? 

Who the hell decides anyway what's pretty? A panel of a dozen people, which means that not every country is represented in the selection process. In order to decide who's the prettiest in the world there should be some world wide vote, where everyone and their uncle can vote (even the dudes in Africa that have no electricity) so that the prettiest girl in the world is chosen by her peers, and not some sweaty dude from Illinois who just happens to have landed in the beauty business 40 years ago.

Still, choosing the prettiest is a little silly now isn't it? It's like grown ups playing with Barbies. Young girls trying to live up to some linoleum image of outer beauty, waiting for Ken to pick them up in his convertible, and hoping  for daddy to say that they're the prettiest thing there is. Sounds a bit harsh, but that's more or less the idea. Getting attention.

Why isn't there a pageant for inner beauty? Who's the prettiest inside? Who's the nicest, most generous, most honest girl? If I'm not mistaken, every year the Miss Universe competitors choose a "nice girl" among themselves, but it's kind of like winning the consolation price now isn't it? The prettiest and the nicest are never the same girl. Being the nicest is like winning the side show of the circus. Nobody remembers the side show after the circus is over.

Maybe there's already a pageant for the nicest girl. Maybe it's called winning the Noble Peace Price. Maybe it's called being Mother Theresa. Or maybe it's just called being a nice person, doing your best to be good and honest, helping others when possible, and knowing in your heart that you're the pageant winner even if there's no fancy awards or crowns.

Ain't no one going to take that title from you, no matter which way you sneeze.

My cat, the dog

Sorry, I just couldn't resist it this time.
I just have to post this video that I made today at lunch.... it's been a long time since I've gone home for lunch (I usually eat at the office), and I never know what the hell my cat s up to while I'm gone all day.
Today, I figured it out. She's turning into a dog.

She has a million toys at home, yet the one she prefers is her own tail.
"I hate you tail....I love you tail... I hate you tail..... I'm gonna get you tail.... here tailtailtail...."

This little kitty is a huge joy for me and makes me laugh even when I'm down. I love you kitty :)
Have a good weekend everybody!

PS. Never mind the background noises, I was watching Jersey shore... (there's nothing else on at noon )

The orange moose walks on the wild side, part II

"Just look at me Mr. Parrot, take my hoof,
I won't let you fall, I promise.
This is not Cliffhanger and I'm not
Sylvester Stallone"

Not-relaxing in the sauna, top 4

So I'm a Finn, right? So I like to go to the sauna, right? Wrong.

I used to like going to the sauna, then I came to Italy. The Italians have a weird relationship with the sauna, like it was a new toy that you can dress up and play with. By no means is it a nice calm place where you go to listen to your own thoughts, spend some quality time with yourself just looking out the window, and sweating your ass off with a look on your face that says "oh, it's not hot at all, in fact let's throw some more water on the stove". To us Finns going to the sauna is an art form not to be messed with. But practicing my art here in Italy has turned out to be very difficult. Here's why.

when going to the sauna,
you should take a nice
refreshing swim every 15 min

I got to the sauna at my gym. It's a nice place too, and they have 3 different saunas: THE sauna (a.k.a the Finnish sauna), a bio sauna, and a Turkish bath (or the disgusting watery pit as I call it). I use the first two, and I actually prefer the bio sauna to the Finnish sauna because the warmth is nice and soft, and there's a nice level of moisture so that your airways aren't on fire while you're inside. It reminds me of the sauna my parents have at home, which is heated with wood instead of electricity, and so it's like bathing in very hot milk. In other words, cuddly.

The first thing that doesn't sit well with me is that you have to wear a bathing suit. Now I'm no fan of hanging around naked with people I don't know (or with people I know for that matter), but you shouldn't go to the sauna with a bathing suit.
a) because you bring millions of germs with you into the sauna
b) it sticks to your skin like a sticker you found from the cereal box

But ok, I get it, if you can't build two sections, one for the ladies and one for the gentlemen, then it's better to keep your pants on.

The second thing is that they advice you to bring a clean towel with you to sit/lay on. WTF? A towel, no matter how clean in the beginning, will spread even more bacteria than your sticky bathing suit once you've sat on it a few times. If you only went to one of the saunas, in and out + shower + go home, then fine, your originally clean towel can be accepted. But seeing that people go back and forth with their sweaty bottoms, sweaty bathing suits and even sweatier towels, I'd say the soup of bacteria is served. If you want people to sit on something, get them to use one of those disposable butt-covers. Right?? People?? I told about this super idea to one of the guys who works there, and the response was enthusiastic but apparently not enthusiastic enough to do something about it.

The third thing are the weird people in the saunas. Here's the top four.

if you notice that you're bathing with pinguins,
you've been swimming too long/far

1) Mr. Happy Feet
There always a dude that won't stand still. Usually he's the same dude that has a bathing suit made of a fabric that rustles and swishes and scratches, so when he moves around it's like listening to a autumn storm. First he has an itch on his leg. Then on his nose, and then in his ear. After that he lays down, then sits up, then hitches one of the knees up, then back down. Then suddenly he's really worried and starts to sigh. Or breath heavily, or just blow out hot air because it's fun. I'm on the other side of the sauna getting stressed just by looking and especially listening to him


2) Miss I know I shouldn't use my phone here but I will anyway, and watcha gonna do about it?
There are signs the size of little countries inside the "relax-area" where they indicate that you shouldn't have your cell phone with you. They are written in Italian and English (I think), and even if you don't speak any of those languages you should get the hint when you see the huge picture of a cell phone with an even huger cross over it. Still, there's always someone, usually a woman, who insists on using a cell phone, browsing through FB or some other thing that just can't wait until your done with the bathing. When the phone suddenly rings, they act all surprised and run out saying "yes hi, wait a minute, I'm in the sauna and I'm not supposed to use my cell phone here so I'm gonna step out, just hold on...what, she said what? Really? Well I hear that she didn't really mean it but Sophie was saying that......" and there she goes, off to talk about this super important ordeal with Sophie. Yes, I can see why it couldn't wait.

it's also important to breathe some
fresh air and rest in a quiet place

3) Mr and Miss Oh-how-much-I-love-you-hunnybunny
There's always a couple who's madly in love with each other. So much so that this young girl, who's still in the prime of her life and without even a hint of cellulite or love handles, sees me as a threat. I, who at this point have been battling all kinds of new bulges to my ever growing body, am SO not competing even in the same league, or even in the same dressing room with this girl, and yet she gives me the evil eye and sticks like glue to her boyfriend so that it's clear even to the blind man in the jacuzzi that they're madly in love. I feel so weird in their presence that I don't know where to look, so I just tend to close my eyes and go to my happy place.

4) Miss Do you mind if I put my bath essence on the stove?
Now here's the most important reason why Italians don't get sauna. It's not a place to play or decorate. Still, they insist on using all kinds of liquids to add to the water thrown to the stove. Eucalyptus, honey, blackberry.... you name it they got it. And the beauty of it all is that everybody wants to use their own liquid, and in the end your left with an extremely hot room that stinks like a mixture of sweat, honeysuckle and cookie dough. The best part is when they ask if you mind them putting some "herbal essence" on the stove, and you say that you'd rather breathe the normal air in the sauna, they look at you like YOU're the one not getting the point of sauna. Yes, I only went there twice a week for 30 years. I obviously know nothing about it.

So, there you have it. My 4 reasons for spending a not-relaxing day at the sauna. Oh, and people, sauna is not for having sex. If you have sex in the sauna, you will die. I repeat, you will die.

And don't tell me you haven't been warned.

Victoria's secret, and mine

Recently I've thought about fashion. Does it interest me or not, and if so then in what way? Here's the conclusion.

Fashion does interest me. Not so much from the clothes-wearing point of view, and certainly not from the high price and cool labels- point of view, but from the creative point of view. I don't understand fashion, and so I'm dying to find out what the hell is making a designer to create that ball gown out of yesterday's newspaper or those shoes with a 20 inch heel and room for one toe only. 

As you might know, we watch a lot of TV in my family. Apart from German soaps I also watch Project Runway with my mom every time I go to Finland to see the folksies. I love to see the contestants die of agony when they can't seem to come up with a decent idea or wanting to kill one another because Bill stole Angie's idea and now their dresses are identical. I love to watch the runway show, trying to figure out what the judges will say of each piece, only to find out that in the end they said the total opposite of what I thought they would. I don't get fashion, and I never will. That's why it's fascinating. Or should I say fashinating....aaaaaaahahahahahahahaha. Ha. Ok, it's not that funny.

I also watch those documentaries where they go about following some big designer a day before his/her show on the Milano fashion week or whatnot. I love to see how they explain the origin of each clothing, the sketch, choosing the fabric etc. I love to see all the anxiety and people running around to make the last alternations because "the designer has decided that that button was too avantgarde and not post-feminist enough". If possible I like high fashion even more, because it's so out there that there just has to be a good story behind it. Those weird haywire-meets tinfoil-meets tupperware pieces don't just happen, there's a reason for each material. However crazy it might be.

Now, apart from Project Runway I'm usually not that into watching runway shows. Except for one. Victoria's Secret. Now that's a good show. It has nothing to do with fashion, it's more like a costume party with half naked gorgeous girls. But it's the coolest thing ever.

I'm not a lesbian but by god watching those girls I wish I was. They're not those I've-eaten-my-grandma's-toenails-for-the-past-week kinda models. They're not skinny, they're in shape. And instead of having two raisins for tits they have a nice C-cup. Those girls make me proud to be a woman. Even though they're twice the woman I am. Well, physically anyway, tits-wise and all.

And how much fun do they have? Lots. Every year I watch the runway show from TV and as you might know they also take you back stage. There's always Heidi Klum who shouts "auf wiedersehen!" as Seal tries to cover her up, the new Russian model who says "oo kaan juu tseek iiif maai niiplls aar souing?" and the girl who's last name is Lima and who's been selected the sexiest woman on earth for like ten times and still she's asking "honey, does my bum look big in this?". They're smiling and dancing on the runway with their little wings flapping about. It's just good ol' fun, and that's that. The day after all the little girls like me go to a Victoria's Secret store so we can also flap about. You wish that some of that good spirit has transported itself into your newly bought bra. And who says it couldn't happen?

I might not wear fashionable clothes every day (although I wouldn't mind to do so if someone bought them for me and told me how to wear them) and I might not write the hottest fashion blog in town, but by god fashion interests me. And not only fashion as in Dior or Chanel or what have you, but any kind of fashion. Anybody making a piece of clothing is interesting to me, and not least for the fact that I couldn't sew anything if my life depended on it.I might not wear your design, but I'd still appreciate it for the idea behind it. 

How the hell do they do it anyway, the sewing part? How do you make the clothes fit so well? In Finland we have to learn how to sew in school, and I always totally sucked at it. While making a simple blouse the sleeve came out of the front instead of the side...I couldn't even iron the damn thing once finished. So to me, someone who's able to create a garment is a genius. All the more reason to marvel the work that does into making a piece of clothing.

With Victoria's Secret there's not much to sew, but it's double the fun and games. Already roasting the popcorn for the 2014 spectacular spectacular.

Capa to capacapa dark after nothing, reunited with his leg, and with you Taro

If the headline rings a bell, raise your hands and sing along. If it doesn't, then let me tell you what it's all about.

Villa Manin

I have an acoustic duo. We do mostly covers, and try to choose pieces that are a little out of the ordinary. So once I porposed a song by Alt J called Taro. A bit of a weird choice, since the group has a very distinctive style and on top of that the song has like 10 000 words and you need to sing really really fast. It also has strange lyrics, that talks about Indochina, bombs, and two people called Taro and Capa. The lyrics made me curious so I checked them out, and it turns out that these two were a couple, and both of them worked as photographers of war. Both of them were killed young, doing their job in the field. She, or Gerda Taro, was killed first, he, or Robert Capa lived on to be 40, when he was killed by a mine. 

Villa Manin

We practiced the song a lot, we even liked it, but we just couldn't make it work acoustically. In the end it even made us laugh and we did mock versions of it, just for fun. It's ok that it didn't work out, it still taught us something and gave us fun moments. We never played it live, but it'll always remain in our own memories, and that's the best place for a song to be.

This Saturday a friend of mine asked me to go see an art exhibition at Villa Manin at Pordenone. She told me the name of the artist but it didn't ring any bells. I went anyway, since I had nothing to do and Villa Manin is a really cool place. Basically it's this castle with a garden, and some of the coolest bands in the world have played there in the huge yard (e.g. Radiohead).

As we were queuing to get in I asked what was the exhibition about. My friends told me that they were photos. "Photos of what?" " Photos of war" "Ah, ok....and what was the name of the artist again?" "Robert Capa" "Ah, ok". I started thinking, Capa....capacapa....capacapacapa....sounds familiar...and then it hit me. Holy shit it's THE Capa. Suddenly I couldn't wait to see the exhibition and learn more about this dude who had been a part of my Monday night band practice for a few months.

Robert Capa

If you want to know more about Robert Capa, go look it up in internet. I'd like to talk a little about the thoughts the exhibition stirred up in me.

The photos weren't about dead people (well there were a few dead people also, after all, he was photographing the war), but about the people involved in it. Civilians, soldiers, captains, leaders. Moms, dads, children, Chinese, Spanish, German, American. People living the war, everybody in their own way. Pride, happiness, insecurity, loneliness, desperation. People working, people getting by. People who were always running. Nobody complaining in public,and if you saw someone crying it was in the cemetery, like a mother burying her child. I think in that case you're allowed to shed a few tears, right?

I've never experienced a war so it's really hard to understand what it's about, but his photos helped me understand it a little better. All the photos taken from the wars back in the day are in black and white. To me, war is black and white. War has no colors. To me the photos taken today from war zones around the world are almost not real at all. It's like there's not enough suffering because of all the bright colors (which is obviously not true, I'm not saying the suffering has ended since man invented a camera that took colored photos). It's hard to think that colors existed also in the first world war even though they weren't evidenced in the photos. Blood was red also 80 years ago. The grass was green and your gun had a silvery shine to it. There were birds and they had yellow eyes.

Gerda Taro

Another strange thing is that the was sunshine. Did you ever think that during the war there are also sunny days, and you still go to war? There was this film running in a big room inside the villa, where Capa had filmed what I believed were the troops getting ready to invade Omaha Beach. It was a sunny day. Some of the soldiers were actually smiling. It was like they were saying "well, at least it's not raining!" War doesn't happen in gloomy days only, even though you always get that idea from the murky black and white photos. I think there should be some universal law, that if it's a nice day, you take the day off from killing people. You only do it when it's raining, and preferably also in the dark.

Or better yet, let's not do it at all. Like Capa said, "the greatest wish of a war correspondent is to be unemployed".

One of the most touching photos to me was the one of the "last soldier who died in the second WW". Basically the war had already ended, and Capa was with a soldier keeping watch in a tower (or some place high anyway). Suddenly the soldier was killed by a sniper's shot. Before leaving the room Capa took a photo of the dead soldier and named him the last soldier that had died in the war. Capa made sure that his death, in some way even more useless than that of someone dying in combat considering that the war had just ended, would not be in vain. He would live on forever in that photo.

If you ever have the chance to see an exhibition of Robert Capa, or Greta Taro for that matter, go see it, it'll be worth your while. Capa didn't only take meaningful photos, but he also lived an amazing life. He was friends with Picasso, Steinbeck, Hemingway and many more artists of those days, and he even dated Ingrid Bergman. A friend of mine said that it must have been amazing to know all those people, and live in that age in time. I told her that I' d try my best to become famous so that one day she could do an exhibition of photos of us doing silly things at parties. She didn't seem too convinced.

Robert Capa may have died at the early age of 40, but I still think he lived more than I ever will.

The orange moose walks on the wild side

"Hang on Moosey, I'm coming for you!"

The orange moose threw a Halloween party

"Oh Moosey I swear it wasn't my fault"
"It's ok Mr. Parrot, I didn't like it anyway"