Tunisia

« The Sousse Ribat. Four galleries of photos from Tunisia; Black & White, Colour, Carthage and El Jem. The people of Tunisia were decidedly uninterested in being photographed and would hide their faces the moment they spotted a tourist from 100 paces away. Next time, I go dressed as a Jawa. »

Tunisia was the destination for our winter holiday this year which conjured a mixture of the exotic and the 'Star Wars' familiar in the imagination. We departed late on Christmas Eve on a plane that had the most cramped seating I've ever had the displeasure of sitting in and still have the bruises on my kneecaps to prove it. I drank 3 glasses of wine and chewed my fingernails to the quick to tamp down the swirling homicidal urges directed at the woman in the seat in front of me who kept bouncing the back of the seat not realising that the bumps she was feeling in her back were my knees.

Fortunately, the flight was only four hours long. At passport control, I watched a rather intimidating customs official linger over every person and I began to be quite nervous about being a Yank. I gave the man my papers and tried to do my best 'customs casual' hoping that there wouldn't be a squad of armed guards if I looked too tense. While waving about the folded receipt for my residence permit renewal application that he found in the back of passport, "What's this?!", he asked. I explained what it was and he then went through each and every stamp in my passport. Twice. A few other questions and he tired of toying with me and let me pass. A metal detector and two more passport checks awaited us. Jarkko half-jokingly said to some other Finns on the elevator in the hotel that he wouldn't be surprised if there was a passport check at the room door. Welcome to Tunisia....

We strolled into Sousse on Christmas morning in search of coffee and a general idea of the place we had flown into the night before. Sousse is very much a product for the consumption of the tourists who come there to visit but even with that in mind there were no McDonald's, no Pizza Huts, no porn, no giant new shopping malls. There were a lot of Santa and New Year decorations which were clearly part of the tourism package but otherwise there were few signs of American/European culture having found its way into Tunisia which was a refreshing change of pace. Our 4-star hotel room even lacked a TV, telephone and anything else electronic. It was paradise. We found a cafe and, after nearly two years of strong Finnish coffee, the Tunisian coffee I ordered 3 consecutive cups of was so good as to be sublime. I wanted to order a thermos of it to go and I fantasized about a coffee pipeline from the mediterranean to Finland.

The Sousse medina was like running a gauntlet at a an American vacuum salesman convention in Las Vegas. Primed for an international clientele, i.e. tourists, the shopkeepers would step into your path and attempt to get you to look at their touristy crap at low prices just for you. "Päivä! Päivä! Mitä kuuluu?" and "Raha on loppu?" was their mantra to the pale folks like us dressed in black unless they noticed my camera and then it was either "Wie gehts?" or something in Dutch. I must admit that I admired their polyglot approach to pitching their wares even if I wasn't so fond of their aggressive sales tactics. Touristy towns always attract grifters. On our last day, we experienced what I called a 'Tunisian mugging' delivered to us by an old man who caught us off guard by speaking very good English and offering to show us the way to the great mosque in the medina. A few scary alleyways later, I shook his hand, thanked him and it dawned on me that we had been had in the least clever manner possible. We gave him a few coins and wandered back into familiar territory somewhat relieved.

On the first evening in Sousse, we had a few drinks in the hotel pub with a congenial bartender who would show his approval or disapproval of drink choices and keep the flow of little plates of finger foods coming all evening. At some point, between the second and third indigenous cocktail concoction, a local businessman started chatting us up and extolled the wonders the tax-free status businesses enjoy for five years in Tunisia. I asked, of course, "What happens after five years?", and he laughed a little too heartily and said, "You change the name of the business." Apparently, Tunisians also enjoy a Mexican-style privilege where they are allowed to hop over to Italy as a source of cheap agricultural labour. The train to Tunis the following day was a tour moving through olive groves and piles and piles of rubbish. Hundreds of tissue paper thin plastic bags in white, black, pink and other colours lay on open fields catching the wind which looked like some post-modern crop ready for harvest. After so many kilometers of rubble, rubbish and olives, a giant superdome of a football stadium rises up out of the plain just outside Tunis which instantly tells you where the national priority lies. The Lonely Planet guidebook mentions, "Westerners are often shocked by the depressing amount of litter in the countryside; it's not unusual to see rubbish being thrown from cars or buses.", and continues to mention that forests and animals are all but gone as well as widespread pollution from heavy industries and water scarcity place Tunisia pretty low on the environmental health index. I think anyone, not just westerners, would be appalled by the rubbish covering the countryside. I have a few German sayings that my mother used to quote frequently that all basically say that you don't have to be rich to avoid living like a pig. It makes you incredulous that empires fought over this once prosperous and lush land that is now a giant landfill.

The Tunis medina was much larger, much more interesting and filled with local goods instead of the tourist crap and the pushy salesmen that went with it. It is not, not for the claustrophobic or those who like personal space in a crowd. One local man got Jarkko's attention and pointed from his eye to Jarkko's jacket pocket and let him know he should be mindful of pickpockets in the very tight crush of people. It was just a brochure for Carthage, but it was very nice of him to try and help the obviously 'not from around here' shoppers. I bought only one thing in Tunisia and that was an authentic fez. The local costume is a brown wool cape with pointy hood [think Jawa] and red wool fez sans tassel. I wanted to buy one fez with a tassel for the perl pod mullah, but the man refused saying that those were only for tourists. Uh...Yah. :)

After 8 years of Latin and Roman history, I was really excited about seeing Carthage, but having seen downtown Tunis before riding the local train out to the ruins I was already lowering my expectations. Carthage is reportedly an upscale suburb but they must not expect anyone to visit it on their own as there are few signs to the scattered sites, no maps, and no visitors office for information. A pile of garbage was sitting in front of a European embassy where several cats were picking through it casually. I suppose that 'upscale' simply means better a garbage selection for the local stray cats. The view of Tunis and the sea from Byrsa Hill was beautiful, but after the museum the rest of the ruins were a bit too shabby for me to bear. We headed back into Tunis to get some lunch and catch the train to Sousse and, while I was waiting in line at the tabac, I watched with some fascination a calligrapher decorating cards for people who wanted something special for their New Year greetings.

After the depressing state we found Carthage and since we couldn't make the trip to Dougga we decided to head for El Jem which the guidebook spoke very highly of for its colosseum that was third largest in the Roman empire. Getting there was half the fun since, aside from the twice daily train, the only way to get there was via louage. A louage is a shared ride where you go to the station, state your destination and expect to ride on the roof of the minibus because the guy with the goats needs more room and goats are more difficult to tie down. Most of the roads are 2-lane and crowded with slowly moving trucks so the louage drivers are constantly leapfrogging through traffic. After a few terrifying moments where I could count the moles on a truck drivers' face, I decided to stare out at the passing scenery until we reached El Jem. :) Drivers chat on their mobile, change the radio station, make change for passengers and pass slower traffic all at the same time. It was a very cool experience, a bit unsettling, but the view of the colosseum from the outskirts of town was enough to know that even walking there would have been worth the trip. El Jem, formerly known as Thysdrus, built its wealth by being a transport hub in the olive trade and became the most opulent city within the Roman empire by 238 AD. The city revolted, assassinated the tax collector and proclaimed the African proconsul Gordian as Emperor when Emperor Maximus attempted to apply a heavy tax and relocate that wealth to Rome. Furious, Maximus punished the city and it faded from the memory of time and would only be remembered much later through some references made by Catholic priests.

The food was very good, especially the couscous and the olives. Tunisian Celtia beer is a light pilsner that is surprisingly good as are some of the local wines that we got bombed on one evening when it was stormy outside and didn't want to leave the restaurant. The appetizers are divine and full of fresh vegetables that I've not seen in years, which I ate in spite of the brief thought of the fields filled with rubbish contaminating the food supply. Hey, pollution tastes yummy with enough chili and onion served with it. :)

Tunisia is a very interesting place and I'd recommend it to anyone who is willing to deal with the inconveniences of a country that hasn't quite made it to the 21st century or, more precisely, it has many of the bad parts of modernization without most of the good ones. If we decide to return sometime, we'll avoid the tourist compound, hire a local guide and head for some of the more out of the way places. Don't leave home without a good guidebook as you won't get very much information from the tourist bureaus or a reasonable supply of pocket tissue packs since toilet seats, hand soap and toilet paper are rare commodities in public toilets. Next year, we're going to go somewhere hot, sunny and more modern for our winter holiday. :)

permalink Ω 30 January 2005, Helsinki

Concentration

« Otava parked in the park. »

You never really appreciate how much concentration is required when sitting on the toilet until you have a furry beast who is tall enough to rest his head on your knees, has big brown eyes and whines in intervals perfectly timed to prevent you from succeeding in your moment of repose. It's also a challenge to stifle a giggle while issuing a throaty and stern, "NO!", when he bores quickly and seeks entertainment by chewing on my underwear or going for the TP, pre- or post-wipe. And I thought that I was the one who was easily entertained. I have no time to relax, no time to myself, not even in the toilet. :)

Otava is a bit of a silly puppy since he is very reluctant to go out the door to go outside but, once he is outside he wants to go to the park and when he's in the park he doesn't want to go back home. I'm not entirely sure how to correct this sort of behaviour since dragging a dog who is going to weigh more than you will in a few months is not an option and he won't be fooled by offers of treats, either. Honestly, I think he's pretty irate at being separated from 2 of his sisters who kept him company until he left home. Right now he's lying at my feet under the desk, quiet and contented, giving no indication of the rather implacable monster he was last night after the dog park was deserted and he didn't get a romp. He's a good puppy overall, but it's clear that he's going to be a lot of work in the next few months to make sure he doesn't become a problem child.

The dog park protocol is just like the kiddie playground protocol where parents chat and keep a watchful eye on their little darlings to be sure that they aren't precocious homicidal maniacs. Otava is at a difficult age since he's too big for the tiny dogs, too small for the bigger puppies and dogs, but he loves to play and tries to fit in just the same. Size doesn't always matter as there have been a few wee dogs who have managed to play rather well with him. We're starting to get to know who has which dogs and their names. I wish there were some sort of playdate sign-up board for dogs of similar size so that we could meet dogs he could play well with at a regular time every day since the look on his face when the park is empty just breaks my heart. He looks at his reflection in windows and the oven door and he whines and licks at it which is precious, too. I wish we had enough space for two.

Winter has finally come to Finland with -15C, snow and wind. I'm still wearing the waxed jacket from the warmer seasons and I will note that waxed canvas becomes stiff as cardboard around -10C which isn't really a desirable feature in a winter jacket. :)

And, since WLM didn't translate the article from last Sunday's Sanomat for the International Edition this week, Roman Schatz has a new book coming out in mid-February published by WSOY's boutique imprint Johnny Kniga called Suomesta, Rakkaudella in Finnish and From Finland, With Love in English. The article mentioned that he is a German man who has lived here for close to twenty years and wrote a column for a lacklustre English publication in Helsinki until the readers complained about his opinions which, from what I surmised from the story, contained certain truths about expatriate life that are difficult for some to come to grips with. One particular quote I found to be rather astute was that he said that he didn't consider himself a German anymore, but also that he wouldn't ever be quite Finnish either. This sort of 'stateless' identity is common for those who have left the land of their birth for another which may come to feel like home but will always have qualities of otherness to it unlike the place where you spent your formative years. There are very, very few books written by expats who are in it for a lifetime and not just a short assignment abroad, especially in Finland, so I'm hoping that the book is as good as the Sanomat makes me believe it will be.

permalink Ω 29 January 2005, Helsinki

A "Wellness Sensation"

« Aloe Vera Yogurt: medicinal cream or foodstuff? Yes, this is as deep as my thoughts get today. It tastes good, actually, but I'm tempted to apply some to the giant scrape down my arm that I got last night when I slipped and fell down the snowy stairs when leaving work. It also has an aftertaste that lingers for several hours that is reminiscent of worn sweatsocks. They're marketing it as a 'wellness sensation'. The hot buzzword used to be 'nutraceutical' but it might sound just a little too much like neuticles for comfort. »

permalink Ω 26 January 2005, Helsinki

Patois

« Boring as Fuck - the band correction, the festival. »

I managed to read I Am Charlotte Simmons while on the ferry and, in spite of my utter adoration for Tom Wolfe and his writing, it was a thoroughly disappointing read. Of course, his writing style was as elaborate as ever but it was tough to plod through a book with such a narcissicistic protagonist and a carnival of painful stereotypes. Anyone who went to an American private university will find it a vivid reminder of younger, dumber days frought with promise before grim reality set in. The book seemed less a snapshot of current college life than a caricature of the stereotypes as a form of social critique, a satire. The one part of the book that was thoroughly entertaining was the treatise on 'fuck patois' and 'shit patois', which amuses more than it shocks since both fuck and shit have become so hackneyed that they have been reduced from the profane to the pedestrian.

The frat boys and the sorority girls sang songs-all of them seemed to know all the words to everything-they shared gossip-the two bitches were superb at filleting people's reputations while seeming to be merely adding little details-they turned whatever they could into sexual innuendo-they indulged their predilection for Shit Patois. Charlotte had been aware of Fuck Patois from the day she arrived at Dupont, but it was not until spending hour after hour after hour cooped up in this SUV that she reliazed how cool it apparently was to use shit in every way possible: to mean possessions ("Where's your shit?"), lies or misleading explanations ("Are you shitting me?" "We need a shit detector"), drunk ("shit-faced"), trouble ("in deep shit"), ineptitude ("could play point guard for shit"), care about ("give a shit"), rude, thoughtless, disloyal ("really shitty thing to do"), not kidding ("no shit?"), obnoxiously unpleasant ("he's a real shit"), mindless conversation ("talking shit", "shooting the shit"), confusing story ("or some such shit"), drugs ("you bring the shit?), to egest ("take a shit"), to fart in such a way that it becomes partly egestion ("shart"), a trivial matter ("a piece a shit"), unpleasantly surprised ("he about shit a brick"), ignorance ("he don't know shit"), pompous man ("the big shit", "that shitcake"), hopeless situation ("up Shit Creek"), disappointment ("oh, shit!"), startling ("holy shit!"), unacceptable, inedible ("shit on a shingle"), strategy ("oh, that shit again"), feces, literally ("shit"), slum ("some shithook neighborhood"), meaningless ("that don't mean shit"), et cetera ("and massages and shit"), self-important ("he thinks he's some shit"), predictably ("sure as shit"), very ("mean as shit"), verbal abuse ("gave me shit"), violence ("before the shit came down" or "hit the fan", "dont start no shit", "won't be no shit"). ....

It's almost like a South Park episode only no one kills Kenny and the dialogue is far less entertaining. Somehow, I don't think the man in the flawless white suit was going for that effect.

permalink Ω 25 January 2005, Helsinki

Big Yellow Nuts

« I don't suppose that squirrels play fetch with tennis balls tethered to trees. »

The bad news: Signe Brander's photography book sold out on the first morning it was available and, when we checked back today, will remain so until another printing comes along in mid-February.

The good news: Canal+ now features The Daily Show on weekdays with a 1-day lag. :)

Otava continues to be adorable and is a very good boy with only one accident in the house so far and sleeping through most of the night. I remain a bit of a sleep deprived zombie.

permalink Ω 23 January 2005, Helsinki

Need Sleep

« "All politicians are shit. Make a statement by not voting." A fitting rebuke on inauguration day for all the people in the US who didn't vote. Four. More. Years. »

Otava is settling in well. At first he was shy and skittish but now he's enjoying his first snow and meeting other puppies in the dog park. His love for books and just about anything else continues which mandates constant supervision. We pulled HB's giant crate out of storage, cleaned it and gave Otava his own cozy personal mini-cave but he has spurned it. I had forgotten how much energy puppies have and how slow they are to tire. I haven't taken many pictures of him yet as I'm exhausted and he is always next to me or in constant motion. It's wonderful to have a dog back in the house again, even if it is like a 2nd full-time job.

permalink Ω 20 January 2005, Helsinki

Arrival

« Welcome home Courmayeurs Stairway to Heaven, a.k.a. Otava! »

We left for Stockholm on Sunday evening as it was finally time to go get our new baby and bring him home. The seas were pretty rough through the night and I began to worry that maybe an hour or three in a crate on a plane might have been a less stressful option than the slow overnight boat. Unless you enjoy the drinking or loading up on the duty-free stuff, there's really not much to do on these boats in bad weather except read and try not to think about the Poseidon Adventure.

After four or five hours of wandering aimlessly around Stockholm, we met the breeders back at the ferry terminal for our lovely puppy. It must be the most difficult moment for all breeders when the puppies go off to their new homes. The puppy arrived in the back of their Volvo wagon and I wasn't entirely sure what size to expect since it had been so long since HB was that age; he's 15kg, he has huge paws, he's only a little more than 3 months old. :) We said good-bye to Lasse and Sussi and took him to the ship which was a bit of an adventure since, for him, everything was new and confusing. Saints have a lovely trait of quietly observing the world around them and so, we did a lot of waiting while he observed and did a lot of coaxing to get him onto the boat before it left the dock without us.

He settled into the room on the ship rather quickly by comparison to the doubtful trek we took through the terminal. He drank some water, flopped down on the blanket we brought for him, toyed a little with the kong tennis ball and started napping shortly thereafter. We got some sandwiches from a cafe and sat around reading for a few hours when he woke up and tried to nibble on the book in my hand. Jarkko looked up and said, "Otava", the name of the great bear constellation and a book publisher, which I immediately thought perfect for him. He made all the right signals when he needed to go pee, even if he was more than reluctant to leave the room he seemed to love riding in the lift up to the 'poop' deck. He even slept through the night without much trouble, perhaps lulled to sleep by the hum of the ship's engines.

The EU has a new 'pet passport' regulation and it really does look like a passport with a photo and pages for a lifetime of vaccinations, vet certifications and customs stamps. We had to wait around for a little while for the Tulli guy to come around and check Otava's papers since the pet inspectors never seem to be on the premises. The same thing happened when we brought HB from the US as we could have cruised on through the airport into Finland, but if I go to the trouble to fill out the paperwork, someone better be prepared to check it. I was awfully surprised that the customs guy hadn't seen one of these new pet passports yet though.

We arrived home and tried to make him feel safe, loved and welcome so we gave him water, food and a little space to wander around and check things out. It must be so disorienting for him as everything is new and very unlike the cozy kennel out in the Swedish countryside which was all he had ever known until now. So far he has been very happy to stick as close to us as possible. He came with us for a brief visit to the local pet shop a few blocks away for a proper adjustable puppy collar and it seemed liked he trusts us a wee bit more. The next few weeks will be important to help him have as many positive introductions to new things as possible while teaching him what is and is not acceptable behaviour with much patience. And lots of love.

permalink Ω 18 January 2005, Helsinki

Nice Badonkadonk and Bass, baby!

« More proof that whatever your kink there is porn just for you. This is the 2005 Women in Waders calendar as seen in the fishing shop nearby. I'm sure women go fly fishing dressed in a tiny bikini to pose with a strategically placed bass all the time. "Because your buddy never looked this good in waders..." Well, they've got a point. This year's calendar is already sold out so you'd better pre-order 2006 so you don't have to settle for Beauty and the Bass next year! I'm sad they don't have a calendar of Furry Knuckles. :)»

Amusement of the day: the JL421 Badonkadonk Land Cruiser/Tank. I'm still not sure if it's real or a joke but it looks like a lot more fun than the stupid Segway human transporter. The added bonus being that 'badonkadonk' is a slang term for big booty ala J Lo. It gives a new dimension to, "Dude, that's a bigass tank!" The product description:

Product Description

The JL421 Badonkadonk is a completely unique, extremely rare land vehicle and battle tank. Designed with versatility in mind, the Donk can transport cargo or a crew of five internally or on the roof, and can be piloted from within the armored shell or from an exposed standing position through the hatch, thanks to special one-way steel mesh armor windows and a control stick that pivots up and down to allow piloting from the standing or seated positions. The interior is fully carpeted and cozy, with accent lighting and room for up to five people. A 400 watt premium sound system with PA is mounted to project sound both into the cabin and outward from behind the windows.

The exterior is a steel shell with a rust patina, and features head and tail lights, turn signal lights, trim lighting, underbody lighting, fixed slats protecting the windows, and a unique industrial-strength rubberized flexible skirt that shields and protects the wheels to within an inch of the ground, while still allowing for enough flex to give clearance over bumpy and uneven terrain. Master power, ignition, all lighting, and stereo features are controlled from a single switchboard to the left of the driver, again accessible from either the seated or standing position. Standard drive is an air-cooled, 6hp Tecumseh gasoline (unleaded only) engine, with centrifugal clutch, giving the Donk a top speed of 40 mph.

This vehicle is not licensed for use on public roads, and is intended as a recreational vehicle only. Badonkadonks are produced on an order-by-order basis, with each one having it's own unique set of features. With your order is included unlimited consultations with the designer and manufacturer concerning all relevant options (a representative from NAO will contact you shortly after your order). Price does not include shipping and handling.

And, because I need to share the pain that will likely send me into years of therapy, I present hasslecrotch with its hypnotic powers. I blame ignatz.

permalink Ω 15 January 2005, Helsinki

The Popcorn Berry

« Lumimarja, a.k.a. snowberry , that grows rather well around Finland. When the guys at work told me it was the 'famous Finnish popcorn berry' I was willing to believe it since it does look like popcorn on a stick, but when they asked if I had seen the yellow variety known as the 'buttered Finnish popcorn berry' I knew I was being toyed with. :) »

While I was walking to the bus stop this morning, I thought I saw 'vuokraamo' in the window of a gunshop that usually has a few rather serious-looking samples on display. I thought, wow, there's something you never see - Gun Rentals. Can you imagine the clientele? The promotions? "Rent 5, get the 6th for free!" Ah, well, I misread the sign.

It's amazing how work kills your freetime. :) Sifting through the Tunisia pictures, getting them online and annotated has taken a bit longer than I had planned this week, but everything should be together by tomorrow as once the puppy comes I'll have even less time for the next few weeks while we get him all settled in.

There's a tyynysota on Monday at noon, in the railway station square, where the world's record for largest pillow fight will be attempted. The event will last about an hour and the duration of the pillow fight itself will be approximately 15 minutes. Bring your own pillow and inner child. I'm disappointed that I'll be too busy with the puppy to help Finland achieve greatness in tactical pillow warfare.

permalink Ω 14 January 2005, Helsinki

My Little Pukki

« Meet the pre-1900s model of the Nuuttipukki. The post-1900s model is not nearly as entertaining or colourful. »

For as long as I've been in Finland, I've been confused by the different 'pukkis' around the Christmas holidays. I think I'm pretty set on the whole idea of the Joulupukki, a.k.a. St. Nick, being associated with the guy in the red suit who lives in Rovaniemi. There are two others, olkipukki and nuuttipukki, that have been quite confusing since most Finns I've asked about them seem to know little about these traditions that have more or less faded from Helsinki, if not much of Finland. I find this a bit odd since most Finns I know seems to have more knowledge about American pop culture than I do yet when I bring up their own traditions in a country the size of New Mexico with a population about the same size as the Boston metropolitan area, they draw a blank. Of course, this could be a sign of how a lot of the old traditions are disappearing as the younger people don't learn about them or practise them anymore.

The olkipukki is a goat which used to be a pagan symbol of fertility which was, predictably, co-opted by the Christians in Medieval times and made into a devil who accompanied St. Nick at Christmas time. Later the goat would be softened into the gift bearing Christmas goat. Much, much later, Coca-cola would replace the stinky, fertile goat with a jolly red fat guy accompanied by a sleigh and 8 reindeer. Personally, I think I like the idea of the fertility goat better since there is now no mascot for the traditional Christmas shag and the children born 9 months later. You can make your own olkipukki in preparation for next year but mind that it mentions that cats seem rather fond of biting the finished product.

The nuuttipukki is even more obscure than the olkipukki as tomorrow is Nuutin päivä, but it's likely few people under 30 would remember it. :) Who couldn't love a day where you can dress up like an evil furry beast and trick-or-treat for booze and leftover ham?! I could really get into that sort of thing but it turned into a lame holiday that lost the spirit of the original and thus has faded from the holiday calendar. It's a pity, really. Perhaps it could be reincarnated as a pub night where you go demand beer from your local bartender in exchange for a few euros.

Nuutin Päivä

The following explanation of Nuutin päivä was summarized by Jarkko from Arno Forsius' page Nuutin päivä.

The "nuutti" comes from two Danish beautified kings named "Knut" (you would know one of them as the Canute with the poor command of the sea), both Nordic catholic saints. (Yes, even though the Catholic church was thrown out, the holy days survived, witness "juhannus" for St. John's day.)

The date was originally 7.1, being the day after Epiphany, seen as the end of the Yule carnival. One of the Knuts was killed on that date. Later in early 1700s the date was moved to the 13.1 because of some holy day shuffling. Which date was used depended on the region; some people kept using the "vanha nuutti", while some people started using the "uusi nuutti". In some places the festivities took two consecutive evenings: 7/8th or the 13/14th.

What happened on that day was that young men (mostly, sometimes also young women) dressed up as "nuuttipukkis" by wearing their fur coat inside out, old clothes, maybe wearing a mask or scarf of some sort or blackened face, often wearing straw sheafs or horns.

The groups of people went from house to house and loudly demanded the remainders of the Christmastime food and drink (especially the latter, beer and ale were popular draughts). If the people of the house did not cooperate, they were mocked with song and off-color jokes.

Sometimes the loot was consumed right there, sometimes collected to some large communal house (many villages had such a house for weddings and other large parties), and then consumed there.

In Finland the tradition survived the longest in the west and the south. In the beginning of 1900s the tradition became solely practiced by children instead of the teens or young adults, and instead of demanding beer they asked for candy and other treats, quite possibly affected by the Eastertime tradition of "little witches" that arrived from Karelia and eastern Finland.

permalink Ω 12 January 2005, Helsinki

Snap Crackle Squish

« Finnish jätehuone still-life; bucket, waste drum of some Sodium Dicyanamide (used mainly for the production of chlorhexidine, a versatile bactericide, and agrochemicals), a dead dot matrix printer, torn insulation on heating pipes, a 1970s chair and a bizarre red, gold and black pillow adorned with ancient Egyptian motifs. »

The deep thought for the day came to me in the grocery where I noticed a new kind of cereal: Are Multigrain Rice Krispies© still Rice Krispies©? Shouldn't they be Multigrain Krispies© or something Krispies© instead? What about Rice, Oat and Maize Krispies©? Maybe Pro-Biotic Krispies© for the middle-aged yuppies? When they started with Corn Chex©, they franchised into multiple flavours but never Multigrain Corn Chex©, rather Multigrain Chex©. I am perplexed. I did notice that the same cereal is being marketed in the UK as Rice Krispies© Muddles which come with a pro- and pre-biotic bio-bonus payload! Sounds more like a biology lab experiment than a breakfast cereal served in sugar with a little milk.

I am also frightened by the disturbing rumour that Oliver Stone is thinking about making an epic fanfic movie that will make every Thatcherite pre-order the DVD for enjoying it in private with a jar of vaseline and tissues. He is supposedly thinking about Meryl Streep for the lead probably because every other self-respecting actress in the UK would laugh at the very idea of it.

And, Scene from My Life, nee A Day in the Life, has finally returned after a long hiatus with a photographer in Paris whose photoblog I follow regularly.

Seven more days until we get the puppy. :)

permalink Ω 10 January 2005, Helsinki

Everyday is Monday

I had a week of Mondays last week and Friday had an added bonus of being both Friday and Monday at the same time due to the holiday on Thursday. From Monday onward, I seemed to fumble everything from the complex to the simple. I patched the system a bunch of the CPAN sites run on, as well as this blog, only to have it come up perfectly but be unable to log in to the system because sshd decided it didn't want to run so I have to wait until Ben can get to the console and start it for me, hopefully soon. I spent the weekend away from computers to try and change my system karma. :)

I've scanned all the pictures from Tunisia and have been sifting through them and whenever sshd comes back online, I'll put them up on the system.

permalink Ω 9 January 2005, Helsinki

Object of desire

« An innocent killer bunny at the Zoo. It looks like he has survived multiple holy hand grenade attacks unscathed as he is surrounded by craters. »

For years I searched for the perfect pair of bunny slippers but couldn't find anything in my size or what I pictured a classic pair of bunny slippers should look like. I finally resolved to make my own which worked out rather well but I noticed the most amazing pair of slippers in a shop window that I just had to have, Killer Bunny with Pointy Teeth slippers ala Monty Python. I'm going to have to find some appropriate knights of the round table to put in the gaping maw. I wonder what Freud would say about my lust for bunny slippers. The similarly afflicted will find the object of their desire at Good Fellows Comics. :)

permalink Ω 5 January 2005, Helsinki

Only the Shadow Knows

« Careful, he's armed with punctuation and he knows how to use it! »

The first time I saw the black silhouette I flinched and momentarily panicked thinking that someone was behind me. After that, I merely thought it was creepy until I deigned to read the text on the wall next to him explaining the dot, the comma and the shadow man which made me think of it as an artifact of a time when any stupid idea with enough internet buzz could get funded. It is a reminder and warning of absurdity past, present and future. Even the blurb is so rich in hyperbole that it reads like one of the dot com era business plans.

The dot and the comma are small but very powerful tools. The dot is used to complete promises and judgments, by moving the comma you destroy and create. Both bring pleasure and sorrow, therefore it demands a special responsibility from their users. The dot and the comma are viewed in current society as the sun and the moon. The shadow man is the often invisible bearer of responsibility that makes things work. In the briefcase he carries his tools, the dot and the comma.

Who knew that punctuation could be transformed into celestial bodies after years of thinking they were the domain of the punctuation pedants? I noticed before Christmas that someone, we don't know who, viewed the post-modern man as an empty canvas begging for embellishment and gave him a cheshire grin, a sporty tie and mustanaamio in his briefcase with EZ-peel stickers. Sadly, they were removed but I agree that this empty void begs for flair as the dot and the comma at least light up thus giving them a purpose if not meaning. Perhaps a lightbulb should be added to the top of his head with a socket. He's like a naked Mr. Potato Head.

Weird books Amazon has recommended me lately:

• Kitchen Utensils: Names, Origins, and Definitions Through the Ages - Hmm...a book of American utensil porn 'through the ages'? Do 300 years count as 'ages' now?
• Mr. Skin's Skincyclopedia : The A-to-Z Guide to Finding Your Favorite Actresses Naked - What could possibly have given Amazon the idea that I need help finding naked pictures of any woman, much less actresses. This is work the male computer geek has already done for me. The guys at EMC had a couple terabytes of porn on the office symmetrix. It wasn't catalogued though.
• The Largest U.S. Cities Named after a Food: And Other Mind-Boggling Geography Lists from Around the World - Mind-Boggling? I wonder if there's a field guide to navel lint coming out soon for Amazon to recommend.

And I'm slowly catching up with my pre- and post-holiday email for those who might be waiting for me to reply as the wireless at home seems to be very tempermental. The photos from Tunisia will have to wait until the weekend since the colour film won't be back until Friday.

permalink Ω 4 January 2005, Helsinki

Are Pork Chops a Euphemism?

« What a difference a letter makes....I see a new marketing campaign for Crowmoor in this; "Drink More. Grow More. Crowmoor!" »

When looking to the shelves to find a slimmer and lighter book than the current titles I was reading before leaving for Tunisia I found and decided to take When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?, George Carlin's recent book filled with deliciously funny cynicism that I can relate to. It was only when riding the train to Tunis, in a car containing mostly Tunisians save for two very chatty German women who found endless amusement in the train timetable, did I start to think that maybe carrying a book with "Jesus" in the title and a slightly altered illustration of the last supper on the cover might not have been the wisest choice for reading material, especially when I kept laughing while reading it. :)

George, I know you're just like every other egosurfing author on the internet these days and if you read this, I loved the euphemism bashing and want more. [I nearly wet myself laughing at the HBO special where Carlin goes on at length about 'servicing the customer', but that's probably TMI.] I might also add that you forgot to take on the weather. Finland has a fabulous word, räntä, that sounds as unpleasant as the weather it describes. It's a short Finnish word, too, something to be cherished in a Finnish word. In English, we get sleet, snain [snow + rain], freezing rain, wet snow and, lest we forget, "wintry mix". What the fuck is "wintry mix" anyway? Something the weather people came up with to say 'well, we have no clue what will fall from the sky today so let's just use this vague term to cover our asses no matter what?' I miss those low-tech days where a guy would stand in front of a board with a happy sun icon over Florida and a giant snowflake over Chicago and tell it like it was; if you weren't in Florida, your weather was likely cold, crappy and grim. Nowadays they have 3-D 'fly through', 5-day forecasts, doppler radar and tons of new words to describe the same bloody thing the fat smiling guy in front of the wooden cut-out of the lower-48 states would; the weather where you are sucks and will remain that way until you move to Florida, dimwit.

The word folks will enjoy WWJBTPC as George has frequent rants on euphemisms in English that tend to have little purpose other than replacing another word or words with others that aren't as clear. George takes no prisoners and even though it's very amusing it's rather disturbing to realise that it has reached self-parodying levels of absurdity. The poem A Modern Man is an anthem for the wired jet-set who would have died at thought of a week without any information appliance nearby. And, Prepositional Phrases, made me think of most Finns who complain about English and its arbitrary use of them.

We Americans love our prepositional phrases.

Out of sight, off the charts, in the groove, on the ball; up the creek, down the tubes, in the dumper, out the yin-yang; off the wall, 'round the bend, below the belt, under the weather.

And of course...under the table

Table Talk

But rather than under the table, let us begin on the table. That's a phrase you hear a lot in the news, especially from Washington. In negotiations of any kind, certain things are said to be on the table. Implying that other things are off the table. And sometimes, regardless of what's on the table, a settlement is reached under the table.

The table seems important. If a person is highly qualified, we say he brings a lot to the table. Unfortunately, those who bring a lot to the table often have too much on their plates. Still, they're guaranteed a seat at the table, because they think outside the box, which puts them ahead of the curve.

Now, if the negotiators agree on what's on the table, then they're on the same page. Personally, I don't like people on my page. If someone says to me, "We're on the same page," I say, "Do me a favor, please, turn the page; I'd rather not be on that page. In fact, I'd rather be in a completely different book." Buat that's beside the point; I've wandered off the track.

Returning to negotiations, if the sides are getting close, we're told they're in the ballpark. This often comes from people in the know, speaking off the record. And in Washington, many in the know are also in the loop because, after all, they work inside the beltway.

Now, there are other government people, outside the beltway, who, nonetheless, remain in the know and in the loop. They function in foreign countries and we say they're on the ground,. If they're CIA, they're under the radar and paid off the books. Much of what they learn is picked up on the street. But they don't always need to be on the street, because a lot of information comes in over the transom.

Hey, we don't make the rules, we just make fun of them. :)

permalink Ω 3 January 2005, Helsinki

Instead of watching CNN

« A picture of our expected bundle of fur at 12 weeks :) »

Having caught up with the news after our holiday in a country that had few TVs and even fewer western newspapers, I just don't know what to say and will instead just share an adorable Saint Santa photo from the breeders that they sent to us. I love the look of quiet indignation at being made to wear the costume. :)

permalink Ω 1 January 2005, Helsinki