Mucovin.
MasCara.
Two different words with very different connotations.
(Note: This was originally written the Thursday before Midsummer weekend started. In addition to the Mucovin, wine and whiskey were involved. Yes Mom. I know it's bad to drink. But this was a drinking holiday. A must do. And we did.)
Mucovin is the elixcir that Leo has bestowed upon Irene's malady. To soothe my loud irritating smoker's cough, I have diligently consumed a 5-10 ml serving of Mucovin ... in a Schnapps shot glass. No teaspoon for Irene when a shotglass will suffice. Ok. So what if the average shot glass fits 20-25 ml, I've had my medically endorsed tonic for the evening. I share this as Tarja and I watch South Park. Yup. America shares it's finest.
(Mom/Dad - a cultural reference follows that is long and sordid. And well, hard to explain. Suffice it to say, Comedy Central has a show with rude little cartoons.)
It's kind of funny; Kyle is 'sick' (because his kidneys are shutting down). Kyle's Jewish sounding mother is convinced that holistic medicine will save her son.... and prevent the need for doctor endorsed surgery. (Kyle's mother's neighbor recommended it - who read about it in People Magazine. A reputable and reliable source.) Turns out the only solution that Kenny's friend learns from his own doctor is the need for a kidney transplant. The 'fat boy' is the only person in town who has the same blood type. Yah. Like Cartman is going to give up anything for free. [The entire time Stan is trying to sell Cartman on the transplant idea, Kyle is pathetically coughing. Kind of like me.]
Hmph. That entire passage is utterly confusing largely attributed to my lack of character names. Sorry. (Remember, I'm medicated at this point.
Mucus-wine)
The entire time Mr. Garrison is off writing the novel of his lifetime, as the school has encouraged him to take time off... until the 'whole child molestation thing cools off'. What does Mr. Garrison write? A Harlequin novel...that oddly focuses upon penis' 6,083 times. In one book.
And they say western culture is detrimental. Why?
Mascara
I never noticed the Spanish influence is saying," MoreExpensive" until I witnessed the Finnish reincarnation,
MasCara, in Stockman. They sell coats. Hmm.
Commercial
The Brits saying,"We're the nation that drinks the most after the Finns. Hence the saying, 'Have you finished that?'"
Next Commercial
"Yeah, I've always wanted to go to Lappland.
Lappland, the home of lap dancing."
Oy. Finnish programming.
The Onion is too funny sometimes. The author desperately tried to
get her mother online.
What NOT to Include in an Essay
" Hemingway includes no modern terminology in A Farewell to Arms.
This, of course, is due to that fact that it was not written recently.
(snort)
Discovered on the WSJ Career Journal's
Essay Gaffes. I was poking around a bit and couldn't stop laughing. Prudence (ok, and the fear of getting fired) stops me from sharing more of the classroom giggles, but these are publicly posted:
"Such things as divorces, separations, and annulments greatly reduce the need for adultery to be committed."
.....OHhhhh. So that's how it works.
"For almost all involved in these stories, premature burial has had a negative effect on their lives."
Under Activities: Volunteer (Retarded totor)
Name of Activity: Cook and serve homeless.
..... (Hungry anyone?)
On a transcript: AP Engllish
The end of the semester rolls around, and I find myself pampered in accolade notes.
Read: Bullshit.
Through the generousity of my Italian Chefy in training, I've had the opportunity to learn that essentially
anyone can 1) pay for a master's program and 2) maintain a near-perfect G.P.A. I'm too pooped to go into it now, but this semester in particular has encouraged me to seriously consider my future educational goals. Whatever, let's just get that piece of paper out of the way.
For lunch M-F, Tarja takes me to Franck.
Funny system that would completely be taken advantage of in the U.S.
... You come in, greet the proprietor, claim a table, and proceed to enjoy the open buffet style lunch.
(we'll discuss fast eating some other time).
... When you're done you head back to the register and drop off a coupon slip.
... On it you write your name and what you ate.
... eventually this slip is billed back to your company.
Can you imagine the ruckus that would ensue back in NYC? Uh, no.
Think of the sandwich places where the always-pleasant-cashier sneers at you while she rings you up... Deftly manipulating her inch-long acrylics across the miniscule keys of her machine. (Or at least the pencil eraser.) ha.
Picture Time!
Ok, so most of these pictures are still from week one, but what can I tell you, I'm working on it!
(Dad, I sent you a separate email with this link already)
Happy Thursday folks!
Why am I in such a chipper mood? Because I slept a gazillion hours last night. Sometime around midnight I toddled off (after some assistance from the drink of choice dry cider) and woke up fresh as can be at 7.30 this morning. That's a LOT of sleep for me lately.
And it was quiet. But not dark. Like the moron you know and love I forgot to bring one of my many eye cover things to block out the persistant daylight. Curtains in Finland are an oxymoron. They're so thing they're not even good for privacy guards. A serious issue considering how often nakedness occurs. Or even just being clothed in a towel. Anyway. The transparent curtains in Marjo's room do little to keep the light out. Last night was the first time I slept like a baby. The caffeine from the 6 cups of coffee did not keep me awake.
I am well rested. Dressed in ironed clothes. (How could I have forgotten to tell you about the lack of dryers in this country?? Egads. You wash you clothes in these microwashers (maybe the size of 2.5 six packs) and then have to find hanging space to dry out your dry-clean only clothing. (Ok, so I'm still a cheap ass. And I don't believe everything from Macy's has to be sent to the cleaners. Rule of thumb: if I bought it on sale - it's not going to the cleaners. Ever.)
Sleeping is important this week as:
1) I have a summer cold which has me coughing like a ... like what? I dunno. Loud and annoying, but only distracting. No chest pain or trouble breathing. Seems like it's ok unless i have something like tuberculosis. (Which would be really funny to see the horrified reactions at the clinic. What did the American bring??) I do sound like a professional smoker though. Which only comes to mind now because my hair and clothing no longer reek when I come home from being out. Smoking is stictly prohibited in the bars. Think California strict. The French would be pissed off here.
2) This weekend is the official celebration of mid-summer, Juhannus.
3) My *** semester is wrapping up this week and grading is a bitch.
Bleck.
But good blah.
I had forgotton how much fun is around the corner! The goal for Juhannes is to barbeque, drink cider, sauna, and stay awake for the duration of the weekend. In no particular order. The original plan had been to go back near Mikkeli (the old BBA stomping grounds) and spend it with Pekka's high school friends. All 19 of them. (and the crazy 2 who were insistent on communing with the mosquitos. WHY sleep in a tent when you have a modern house 10 feet away?)
Upside of Mikkeli Juhannus:
... fun, fun, fun meeting new people
... big house
... way too much food with a chef (ok, one of the spatula wielding guys)
... scenic rustic locale
Downside of Mikeeli Juhannes:
... loud
... no privacy
... fewer amenities
... a gaggle of jealous girlfriends ready to spit fire and flame the minute their boyfriends start practicing their English
... and as Tarja put it,
"Here, why don't you sleep on this rock? Sure! It's comfortable, really. But be sure to keep the screenless window open so the mosquitos can help push in the evening breeze for us in the big soft bed. Don't worry about falling off the thin, precipitous shelf we've set up for you. etc."
Ok, so we're over dramatizing, but are staying in Naantali for the festivities. We will be using Tarja's family house (which is chock full of the stuff that makes leisure good - and free). Henkka will show up
only after whatevergodforsakenfootballgame is over. And we might go grill one day with Marjo - the poor woman stuck in the middle of nowhere with the cows. (Tarja's sister the vet who's apartment I am currently using.)
We're going to stop at the travel agent today to see what arrangements we need to make for our trip to Talinn. Yah! That sounds like fun.
A funny link I found while looking for the brand of cider :
Vocabulary - How to become a Finn
Why so funny? Well, the first term,
Alko focuses on the horus of operation for the only booze distributor in the country. They do close early. And after that your only choice is cider and beer (which can be purchased in the supermarket). The first time I was here you could only pay cash. No bank cards what so ever. And that extended to credit cards. The government was afraid what the people of Finland would do to themselves if left alone to think. (Something I've heard repeatedly from my friends.) Now that
Stockmann has introduced a rewards program, Alko accepts the Stockman card. A dangerous store credit card that only allows you to continue your membership the following year IF you meet a minimum amount. Every year. ouch.
And the closing term,
Vappu, is so accurate:
Spring starts April 30th, whether it's snowing or not. It's the day of the year when every Finn suddenly become very talkative and very funny. With either a student's matriculation cap or a paper hat on the head and a bottle of champagne in the hand, people are out strolling in the streets and enjoying the carnival.
People DO walk around with booze. And it's ok b/c they're wearing their little hat. The first week I was here they had Graduation Day - another occasion where hats abound. Hmm.
Alright. Meet
Karhu, the predominant player in the beer market in Finland. I think we're going to pick him up later today. Must do all necessary shopping for the weekend by tonight, as the shelves of the supermarkets will be wiped clean by tomorrow. Zilcho. There's nothing left. Literally. And it's annoying because the entire country shuts down over the weekend. There's no running out at the last minute for anything.
Hugs from Finland!
I think I am one of the only people who could care less about the World Cup.
What's the big deal?
I skip a few days of the news and what do my virgin eyes see first?
Man Shoot Three in Rampage in East Village
This is around the corner from Xunta for god's sake. !!!
ack.
And then:On Wednesday, a prowler climbed into a window of an apartment building farther south, on the Lower East Side, and killed three people. And in April a Russian-born engineer was shot as he tried to resist a robbery attempt as he and a date walked around Greenwich Village. The police have arrested suspects in both of those cases.
Dude! What's going on back home?
The Book!
I found it!
I Who Have Never Known Man
written by Jacqueline Harpman
Normally, I'd insert a link here, but my tags are not behaving and I'm too tired to figure the damn thing out. Go to
http://www.stardancer.org/send-review.phtml/nonfic/rev-neverknown.txt for a review.
One of the reviews I was skimming earlier asked:
What is the deepest fear? Is it to be alone? Is it to be isolated in a crowd? Or is it to be persecuted without ever learning the reason why? What if this were your existence? Could you survive, and how would you know if you had? These are the questions that haunt the heart of French literature...
uh, perhaps the French need to expand their subject matter and tone. The book is thought provoking, but I would hate to think that all French books follow a similar vein. Anyone know if much of French reading is so stark?
Food
Today we ate.
What did I eat that was decidedly of the non-Finnish culinary history?
Burgers.
With all the trimmings.
Not quite a trip to Hesburger
They put mayo on everything.
(even the fries. the biggest seller is the red-mayo burger with extra pickels. joy.)
Pekka gussied up the homestead with red viini, sun-dried tomatoe 'ketchup', and a set of toasters in the dining area for our convenience. (Heaven forbid any of us have to walk the fifteen feet to the kitchen for warm bread.)
For dessert Tarja whipped up brownies. The kind that come out of the box.
(that I mailed to her a month ago. what comes around goes around;)
Guess this balances out the traditional Finnish lunch I had today:
... salad (of course - what meal isn't complete sans lettuce and tomato? Finns eat salad with absolutely everything.)
... Boro (reindeer)
... Salmon
... Kinkkukiusasus (Potato with ham casserole)
and kahvi.
Two things to note:
1) eating fast is more than common. My dad would commiserate. It's as though they're afraid someone is going to come along and take it away from them.
2) coffee is drunk more per capita than anywhere else in the world. In 1946, when a ship arrived from Brazil with the first consignment of 35 tons of coffee (since the commencement of WWII), they almost made the day a national flag day.
Education of the Masses
In case you haven't realized this by now, people here are seriously proud of their country and its past. History lessons abound. No matter what you're doing, someone can conjour up a snippet from the past. It's usually funny, and yet educational.
Assorted facts I acquired tonight:
... Kim Catrell (from Sex in the City) was the sultry brunnette in Police Academy I.
... That 70's show is extremely popular.
Charming, Mass Suicide is based on a famous book.
(Hurmaava Joukkoitsemurha)
THink: Depressed folk who post an ad in the Helsinki Sanomat (newspaper) seeking equally depressed patriots. People actually respond, and then proceed to drive around the country for one last hurrah before they 'go'. Seriously. This is Finnish TV. The show is ridiculously popular, as the viewing population hang on every word as the show's casts seeks a final resting place.
Orderliness
One of the first things I remembered about FIN was rediscovered in the Newark airport.
The minute (and I'm not kdding) they announced general boarding
everyone proceeded to stand in line to to get on the plane. THE ENTIRE PLANE (besides families with infants and first class that is). It's not like their seats were going anywhere. I timed the line. People stood on average 30 minutes. What the hell for? Overhead storage? Why?
These are also the same people who patiently wait for the traffic light to turn green so they can cross the street. Even when there are NO cars on the road.
While on the matter of order, the only time I've seena cop is in a traffic car issuing parking tickets. NOT in public. Certainly not walking about patrolling the streets. There are the occasional random DWI checkpoints. (The legal imit is 0.5 just incaseyouneedtoknow.)
A product from Garnier for the Finnish:
Pschitt Gel
Y O U try pronouncing that one. It sounds like 'shit'.
Yid Yap
Wanna know what makes wine kosher?
1) it has to be touched only by a Jew from start to finnish
Wine needs to be kosher so that the pagans don't get their hands on it.
The things you can find on the internet. We almost purchased a piano book (The Ultimate Yiddish Practice Guide)... which features the popular,
Wicked Wicked Man top seller.
Ever get so incredibly bored with something that you become silly goofy?
That was Tarja and I today at work.
Needless to say, we've cemented our place in hell for the immediate future.
(No waiting in line for us;)
Oh, all right enough ridicule with the immediate environment.
On to the *** 'students'.
Two of my top-of-the-line classmates apparently enaged in a verbal scuffle over the weekend. one of which told the other to," stop disrespecting her, or there'd be butt to kick."
On that note, night night!
Hot, hot, hot!
Yesterday I checked the temperature while throwing water onto the sauna stones.
It was 85 degrees Celcius.
For those of you paying attention in junior high school, 100 degrees is the boiling point for water.
Converting over to the U.S. system we're talking some serious math:
multiply by 9 = 765
divide by 5 = 153
add 32 = ___
um, that's something like 185 degrees fahrenheit.
I say 'something' because I hope I'm wrong with my math.
geez, it gets hot in the sauna.
(pronounced the finnish way, its," sow (like cow) - nuh"
As I was saying, the gym sucks. I never noticed how helpful the text provided next to the drawings was recently...when I found them conveniently covered with stickers translating them into Finnish. Now I'm left to decipher the torque capabilities of machines via cryptic pictures straight out of a high-school biology book. Irrespective of this communication blocker, I managed to lift a few kilos here and there. Never mind that my eye was glued to the clock. I counted every minute. bleck. Who really likes going to the gym? What's wrong with these people?
Tarja drove us to the gym last night. She lives less than one city block from the gym.
Why does this make sense? To avoid the ticket-wielding police. This might make sense if this were a big city. But it's not. And so we drive everywhere.
Let's see. This weekend flew by, even though we did oodles of fun things.
Irene:
... was coerced into playing croquette. Croquette can only be classified as fun to odd sorts of people.
... was repeatedly referred to as,"Blue Balls" by the party thrower. Even after careful translation, my hysterically funny new-friend Jukka thought it best to stick with "Blue Balls!" or "Miss New York!" (Exclamation points are necessary, since every sentence in English was enunciated at top audible levels;)
... went to the sauna (again)
... slept late for the first time in ages
... barbeque'd
... went to a party with Advertising people at someone's humongous house. (Who are these people my age masquerading about as adults??)
... went to the Turku castle
... walked around the seaside part of Naantali
... found the studio of a very cool artists who paints Finnish scenery with Ducks
... got rained on
... bought a big fat sweater due to the inclement weather.
Yep, that's right. It was freaking cold on Saturday. And so I had to buy a thick cable sweater to supplement my thin sweaters. I forgot how quickly the weather can turn, and luckily found a sale rack. (I made Tarja pay the piper, and indulge in a new leather coat. The sales were killer! Only a die-hard shopper will appreciate this, but this coat was only 30 euros; real leather, zip, stylish, cream, cut above the hip.)
Um, and there you have it. What Irene can remember right now as she sits in the now desolate office. It's 17:48 and there's NO ONE here.
Work is coming along and we're having a hoot trying to figure things out.
And I'm going to scoot out of blogness to wrap up some *** grading.
Later gators!
Today everything hurts. And I mean everything.
First my pants didn't fit properly, and now I am incapable of picking up a pen without wincing.
The Oikarinen family has deemed exercise as a critical component of my well being.
These are also the same people who 1) overfed 2) over 'watered' irene to create the current state of being.
Ahem.
I have been introduced to the nuances of Finnish gyms. They are pretty much the same here as in my previous experiences. There are some people who obviously visit them on a regular basis (which is evident by them electing to wear snap-up pants 24-7) and then there are people who come once in a while. I am in the second group, who can usually be found, with wrinkled brow, staring in absolute confusion at the knobs on a 'torso cruncher' machine. Ah yes, before I forget: The gym included in my compensation package is run by a former convict. (Not sure what he did, but he spent considerable time in the slammer.)
So I went to the gym again last night, and reaquainted myself with the joys of inflicting pain at my own pace. Actually, the visit to the sweat house was quite entertaining. Consider how relatively petit I am. Ok, short. (5' 1" with shoes on. And socks.) Now picture that the average Finnish woman is somewhere around 5' 7". (I don't know that for a fact. Just play along here.) Finns are tall. Everyone is tall. This much I know because I need to readjust, at minimum 2-3 knobs per machine each time I sit down to flex a muscle. When I alternate machines I enjoy the discontented sighs of scorn and contempt of the significantly taller women whenever they sit down.
And so it went, a dance of sorts around the rubber-matted floor. More to come after feeding time.
Some of you may recall my rudimentary education concerning a woman's reproductive cycles.
(See Oprah - Are You Menopausal And Don't Know it? - for a more in depth commentary.)
My takeaway at the time:
You can be as regular as rain, but be in the middle of menopause.
Today's takeaway:
You can only be as regular as rye bread.
There is a correlation between the roughness of Finnish TP and
rye bread.
The Fork Lady did actually bring some cool things over. Among others:
... rugs
... curtains
... fireplaces (with tile)
... carriages
... theatre shows (which obviously didn't carry far into modern day society)
... and 'Spanish style dressing'
Considering there are no elaborite hair combs proliferating the streets of Finland, I have no idea what Spanish Style Dressing means.
Alright, so I was wrong on the location. We went to Naantali last night to hear a male tenor sing in German. The range of music selected was interesting. We started with Bach, moved through Mendelssohn, and finished with Schumann. My favorite was something called,"Mondacht." (Perhaps I shouldn't have been, as T. explained the majority of the songs were old love songs; which somehow tied together flowers, girls crying, horns, and nightingales.)
Naantali is roughly 20-30 minutes away from Turku by car. The way Tarja and Pekka drive it takes 15. I'm not kidding. And I always wear my seatbelt.
(And my heart in my stomach.)
As I just finished saying to my brother, I missed his call because I was sitting in church at the time.
Listening to a concert. Not god.
(snort)
Not that I don't think he's a good guy, but you know what I mean. If society thought a woman was wearing the pants, I might be encouraged to think differently. Until the Catholics get their robed clergymen to begin behaving decently, I'm not holding my breath.
The church we went to was simple, but breathtaking. The Lutherans in Martin's time painted over all the paintings and decorations that were presented in Latin. (Why have stuff up that the common person couldnt' understand? Latin's a tough one. Zipzip, white paint.) As a result, you're left to examine the arched structure, the organ, the hanging ships (?), and the altar. A few snippets from the old days have been recovered, but for the most part, the walls are off-white. I couldn't understand the ships suspended from the ceiling until T. explained.
Sailors were so worried of not coming back to port that they created exact replicas of their homes to present each time they came ashore. By leaving 'their' ship in the hands of god, they hoped to protect themselves while at sea. Kind of neat. (But still out of sorts when hung next to a lamp, but hey, that's me and nautical themes;)
It's funny when you consider why the country became predominantly Lutheran.
Turns out that greed can work in mysterious ways. When dear Martin Luther started his prophesizing, Finland was under the countrol of the Swedes (the super power of the north at the time). The king in 1527 was flat broke, and desperately seeking alternative sources of income. His disinterest with religion turned into quick action, when he realized that the 'new' religion on the block stipulated that the head of the state is the head of the church ... and therefore in charge of the Church's financial resources. Ha. If you consider how rich the churches were at the time, it wasn't a bad idea. King Gustav Vasa even went so far as to make canons out of churchbells.
A Holy Boom.
(sorry.)
And no more bowing to the Pope. No more convents and monasteries.
(And no more saying,"Take thee to the Nunnery!")
King Vasa was the first elected King. (The peon in me has to point out: See what happens when you let the un-royal into power?) Vasa might, therefore, have been disappointed to learn about future decisions by his government. Before he died, the Parliment decided to readopt a policy where the son succeeded the King. eh.
Now, don't go thinking the remainder of the Vasa clan was normal by any means. The brother of the son had a Polish wife. This in itself isn't the punchline. The wife is single-handedly responsible for bringing the fork to Finland. (I don't know why I found this funny, but I did.)
Q: "Hey, what's your claim to fame?"
A: "I brought the fork!"
Katarina Jagellonica (a.k.a. fork lady) threw her husband into the slammer. Why? Well, he was a man. Seriously, they fought over 1) power 2) religion. Oh, and popularity. He didn't like it that the people were falling quickly in love with her mystical powers.
Tomorrow's history lesson:
Poisoning your Family
Who needs daytime soaps, when you have Finnish history?
OHMY! I forgot to tell you about the prime time viewing schedule. It will have to wait until later, but just be informed that
Passions, Days of our Lives, and the
Bold and the Beautiful are staples in Finn's TV vocabulary.
Hallo!
Today is Thursday, not Wednesday as I had originally thought. Oof. I don't know how I 'lost' a day, but I did.
Tonight we're heading to a concert in Turku. I am forcing my hosts to attend a cultural event with me in the city church. Seated in what Tarja describes as,"hard, uncomfortable wooden benches that will inevitably hurt our backs" we shall enjoy a bit of classical musica. This I am quite looking forward to.
Last night I coerced my hosts into taking a long walk around town. I don't think I've expressed how hilly the area is, and I thought hiking shoes were in order to properly walk about. Today my tushy hurts. Tomorrow we're supposed to go to the gym to partake in something called, "Tummy and Butt." Whatever that is, it can't be good. Keep your fingers crossed I don't die in the middle of a tortuous floor exercise;)
New Phone Number!
+358 40 513 70 40
The old one has since been returned to it's owner. Please leave Madame Oikarinen alone.
:)
Ok, so nothing fails to put me in more of a foul mood, than losing a document. Having just spend a lovely ten minutes summarizing yesterday, it all disappeared in the flash of a cursor mouse. Blast. I should know by now: Save. Save early and often.
Vittu!
A useful addition to my Finnish vocabular. Actually, I just learned that the translation provided to me in previous visits is a little off. As it had been explained to me, 'vittu' translated roughly as 'fuck', in a similar fashion used in the states to cover a wide variety of angered emotions and irritations. Looking at my trusty online english-finnish dictionary, I learned how far from the mark I am. (I wonder how many people that looked at the greeting on my Spring PCS phone were horribly offended? Considering it read,"Vittu ;)" It means cunt or pussy. Oops.)
The curse word that would have served it's purpose for my irate state should have been,
"Voi helvetti!"
For an interesting peek into the semantics of Finnish cursing, you might want to see the Alternative Finnish Dictionary. Ahem. It's very true. These words are in use at the most opportune moments.
Hmmm. Right. I had just completed a vivid description of my activities from yesterday, when I did something stupid. No big surprise here. Basically, no Helsinki for Irene as Pekka had to drive immediately there from Kuusikaupunki to pick Tarja up. It made more sense to go directly, instead of backtracking an hour for me, to turn around then drive two hours to Helsinki. Hence, Irene stayed locale in Turku and decided to head to Tarja's apartment as she has an incredibly fast dedicated ISDN line. (Remember, office hours promptly end at 5 p.m. Get out. Now.)
Once safely ensconsed a block from the office, I began foraging for food. After nearly two weeks of being overfed by my very generous hosts, yesterday had been an exercise in self-control. I started the day with the breakfast of champions; or two pieces of toasted rye bread, dabbed with Benecol ("proven to reduce cholesterol"), a nibble of cheese and a banaani. When lunchtime rolled around, poor Leo (Tarja's Dad) misinterpreted my "Ei, Kiitos" (No, Thank You) for lunch to be a personal affront. That combined with the English barrior made for an animated hand waving 'conversation'. Anyway, when dinnertime rolled around I was ravenous. Hence began my experiment with appliances and fire control. Well, it wasn't that dire, but let me see you try defrosting something frozen on one of today's helpful automatically programmed microwaves. In Finnish. As soon as I find a place to host my pictures, I'll show you what I'm talking about.
Using a Ransas-Suomi (French - Finnish) dictionary I had to make due. I now can recognize the following words:
peruna = potato
vihannekset = vegetable
keitto = soup
kala = fish
linamureke = meatloaf
AND
tuttiplullo. The last one is funny, because I had no idea what," biberon" could possibly be.
(It means nursing bottle).
So using the microwave was a joy;)
When I when to turn the boob tube on (TV) I could help but laugh at the situation.
Even though everything was in English, I couldn't get anything to work. I say anything, because there are 4 remote controls which direct communication to the DVD/CD, MP3 player, VCR, Dolby surround sound, and of course, the television. After 2 minutes of joyless play, I turned my attention back to the online world and had a chat with one of my *** students. (He missed a deadline and wanted no penalty imposed. Hallo! He waited until the last minute to do his assingment. Do I have any sympathy for him? Uh, that would be a resounding no.)
In short messaging Tarja, I learned a few funny things. (Text messaging is a serious matter here. It's so funny b/c it often takes significantly longer to type the message out, than calling the person. People opt to use SMS, short messaging systems, for different reasons. It's common to send and receive text messages in the middle of other conversations. Also, it costs something like 15 euro cents and significantly less battery use.) Through the BBA gossip vine, it appears that Irene is 1) going to be starting a new job soon 2) is in Salo 3) and has a great apartment somewhere. Ha. That's what second hand information will due for you.
It's funny how quickly news spreads here, even if it is outlandishly off-base. Laura told Harri the Salo thing. I'm assuming Laura learned this from her recent ongoings with David (the republic of Georgia guy) and Jukka. In the email Jukka sent previously, he seemed to think I had a FT job in Finland, for which I was moving permantly from New York for. Wrong.
Sidenote: Laura is really tall funny girl from the BBA program, who has a penchant for booze and sex. In no particular order. Per Henkka, she was planning a rendevous with David. Henkka was attempting to be delicate and politically correct when conveying this information, but in my opinion, there's nothing wrong with exercise. Interpret that as you will.
The other SMS issue to come up was the BBA party that is today in Helsinki. Kind of a cross between an informal class reunion and a picnic. Except that Jukka is the coordinator, and a large proportion of the attendees will be acquaintences of his girlfriend, a BBA 9. Wrong class, and wrong guest of honor (David - the boy who kept trying to get in my pants and was irritated at my refusal to participate.) A resounding no-way-jose. Henkka would consider going, except that his precious soccer prevents him from seeing the light of day during the competitions. (eyeroll) What's the big deal about men sweating around a ball? Honestly.
I'm off to eat lunch first, and then I'm going to run some errands. Desperately needed time at the beautician to pluck and buff. Trinkets for Tarja. And postcards for me. (Tarja said she can send a bunch for me care of the company. How cool is that?)
moi moi.
For the NYC women who are checking in with me, see this hysterical commentary on dating. This woman provides insightful and caustic commentary on how ridiculously different reality and the glamorized version of city living is.
Warning:It's been ages since Irene had to worry about popup windows, that this link takes you to the site directly, which unfortunately does not allow for easy use of the "back" button. But still worth reading if you're single. Or have an inkling of what it used to be like out there.
Oh, all right. The idiot grovelled sufficiently for me to forgive him.
But damn, my tongue is a sharp one.
Customs Almost Gotcha
Dirty little bastards. Apparently use of an express service is more likely to generate suspicion for customs inspections in Europe. Not only does it defeat the purpose of 'on time delivery', it can be expensive. Filling out a customs declation can add significant expense. So can not fillling out the form. (WHat the hell?)
Saved only by the vicous nature my dear Tarja attacked the customs woman, my boxes were cleared and I avoided paying taxes on the duty. Whatever. A guy I was talking to said the same thing. (Not that Tarja is 'even tempered';) In Germany , customs service opened a package to make sure "no value" meant "no value"; it was just a rough draft of a sales presentation. On one document they charged about $15 customs duty plus $3.00 tax, and included 12 pages of paperwork with the invoice.
Grrr. People, be warned. Customs can be an evil thing.
Scary when you consider how easy the security clearance was to enter Scandanavia. SAS doesn't pat you down prior to boarding (randomly, like the U.S. airline carriers.) I guess they figure no one is coming up to the middle of nowhere to cause harm, so removing your shoes for the metal detector is the only check point. Except they never asked me to do that at Newark. A tad bit unsettling, but I got here, didn't I?
On the off chance someone wanted to send snail-mail, the address for the remainder of June is:
Irene **name removed***
c/o Marjo Oikarinen
Airikink 1A5
20100 Turku
FIN
This is
the schwankiest of all apartments. Situated on the picturesque bank of the Turku River (which I'm sure has a real name), the large 1BR is equipped with not one, but t w o balconies. The larger terrace (~5'x10') is enclosed with glass to protect the apparently dim-witted feline, who I will herein refer to as
Slasher. The spacious bathroom (roughly 10'x10') has a modern Finnish (dry steam) sauna tucked alongside the cutest washer ever.
Ahem. So what if I sound like a newspaper classfified section?
The apartment rocks. And it's actually quiet at night here. No garbage trucks to wake you first thing in the morning. (Unless, that is, you stay home during the week. Then the sound of construction is all around the city, as a number of buildings are slowing sinking into the muddy ground they were built upon.)
Today I might be heading back to HEL to pick up Tarja. If Pekka gets out of work early, then we'll hop in the car and hang out for the remainder of the daylight hours. Tarja is well matched with Pekka, as both share an affinity for shopping as a sport;) Because the sun doesn't set until 10.30 - 11pm, the days are really long. You can find people outside until it's dark. Then the show's over. For a few hours that is. The sun starts to rise at 2.30 am. I know this only because the birds wake up at this time and chirp their oh-so-repetive-songs-until-I-can-ignore-them.
Driving home on Sunday from HEL, we were on the road during the dark hours. Weird and kind of scary. Apparently the Moose (yes, those big animals with horns) migrate most often during dusk/evening hours. When it's dark on an unlit road the thought of hitting a moose is less than appealing. This is where the orange triangle signs you've seen come in handy. The signs are shown in a few situations. 1) When you're near a natural crossing area 2) when the fence along major roads in not continued 3) whenever they feel like posting a sign. So basically, driving at night is a bad thing as you're more likely to hit a moose at the knees...thereby folding the animaly violently head-first into your windshield. Uh-oh.
I ate smoked moose (and reindeer) before developing a fear for the beasts. Pekka picked up a bunch at the KKK. (No, not that KKK. The biggest supermarket chain, Prisma, shows drivers the relative size of the store by using the letter 'k'. So a superhuge store would have 4 K's in row, while the large would have 'KKK'. Funny only to the Americans. The Finns don't even notice it. On another tangent, there is a company called 'Penis' that sells computers. And don't forget about 'Hackman' the company that sells knives.)
brb.
More for later. Brain pooped.
(Might have something to do with the shock of seeing rain today. The weather has been perfect so far. No humidity, none of the swelting suffering of paved streets, just the mosquitos when you're by the water...or in the forest. Most of the time it's been 70-75 F. Kind of cool.)
One last reference to the useless and unnecessary:
The Popcorn Fork
Ha. Read how my new favorite tech geek, Joshua Allen, writes with such aplomb,"
I've been running a personal website for about six years now. You should see the ladies' faces light up when I casually drop that little nugget at a kegger or outside the dressing rooms at Old Navy. Their voices get husky, they twist their frosted curls around suggestive fingers, jot their numbers on my bare chest just in case I need someone to do some "freelance QA work," you know how it is.
(To view the remainder of his hysterical article, check out
Webmonkey.)
In my relatively insignificant lifespan, I've found that funny is good. It has certainly gotten me into a host of problems, but overall has been the key to continued existence (as well as sanity). To be funny one usually requires a level of smartness. Can someone please tell me why so many men are inherently blockheaded? (and by default unfunny) Mmm?
I am still a tad miffed and poopoo'd at the old boyfriend. Yes, I have issues to work out. But really. Why should I be expected to receive him with open arms? Bleck. (Certain parties are still friends with the old chap, and can't understand why I'm so stingy with accepting apologies. I think more groveling is required;)
Ok. So the deal with me "working".
There's less than I originally anticipated. The company is on a very relaxed schedule during the summer. I have the remainder of June to work with my team, and then Tarja is whisking me away to never never land.
1) we go up-up-up North to fight with fist-sized mosquitos in Lappland.
2) we hit Talin and Stockholm
3) board a plane for mid-europe and drive/train it around
T.B.D. of course.
When I know something I'll tell you . Otherwise assume I'm in Finland.
M.I.A. Perrin Rowland
Are you ok?
Me getting worried Italy has swallowed you in one gobble.
Lemme know if I should send the Finnish military down there.
Oy. This is rich. Shutterfly provides the link only after you've emailed it.
Here it is.
(so sue me if the note is directed towards my dear old dad. this is a lot of technology for the old coot to swallow in one day:)
Bloody Hell.
Anyone have success using Shutterfly (or something similar) to post pictures? What I would like to do is provide a link -here- back to Snapfish to share an album. From what I can see, it appears the only way to share a link back to my album is using their emailing function.
Gack. That's no fun. And requires more 'work' from me.
Hmm. Perhaps someone can explain to me how to keep my pictures stored elsewhere and reference them within here. Or I could rouse my lazy arse and learn how to do it myself.
Sorry. I need to fiddle with this a bit more before I can start posting pictures online. (Dad: emailing them takes up so much room, and often bounces right back to sender. Which is why I wanted to just send you a link. I'll keep you posted, but you're going to have to wait a bit more to start seeing pictures from here. Sorry:(
Oof. I just had the scare for the day. In getting ready to hit the 'post and publish' icon, I somehow hit a weird mac combination of keys which took me to another site (Mactopia). For about 3 minutes I was convinced that everything I just wrote had disappeared. Thankfully, no.
So writing in this blogger thing is weird. As much as I mocked Trisha and company (sorry guys;) it does kind of make sense. [I found it odd that people who see each other on a regular basis were expecting these same friends to regularly checkin to hear updates. Now I understand the immediate sharing component inherent to blogging (Dad: online diary).] Right now my connected time is significantly much more limited than it was in the states. Writing email to each of my friends seems like an incredibly daunting task when I'm so far behind. The coursework from *** is killing me, and it took me well over a week to ditch the jet lag. Waa waa waa. As my father recently said,"Cry me a river. Stop complaining about the keyboards, and for god's sake learn some Finnish." (Thanks Dad:)
What I do find weird is the public nature of it. Presumably you're reading this in response to an email I sent you notifying you of the URL. In order to receive the mail, you'd have to be in my close circle of friends. Most of you have some idea of what I'm up to, and are more or less familiar with my cast of characters. But not all of you. And now I'm just jumping into the middle of a million stories. I'll try and backtrackwhen I can, but if there's anything that's confusing, ask over mail, and I'll provide more detail. Somethings are better left unsaid. (Actually, a lot of things are, but my brain loses control of the edit function on a regular basis;)
I am in the most beautiful part of the world and very appreciative of the time outside of NYC. (Especially this morning when I watched the DW channel to learn about the dirty bomb plot Ashcroft intercepted. Whatever. It's all a plot to make the American population less angered at the madness and disorganization of our 'leaders'. If I have to see one more shot of Georgie smiling like a dumb ass and saying something stupid I'm going to scream. For my first few days in FIN, the news media kept running the same clip of G Bush, and then poking fun at his comment about 'oh, you have Blacks in your country too?'. What is wrong with the leader of the free world? Oh, psh. I'll be quiet now.)
After I've had a chance to catch up, I'll scoop some of the dirtier dirt where my parents won't be so horrified. Tee hee.
Funny / Interesting tidbit of news: Jukka and the Georgian guy are aware of my entry to FIN. A bit of background information if you will...
1) there was the sad attempt at an apology via email from Jukka. (For those of you who missed that, suffice it to say the boy made a complete ass of himself years ago and then sent a short email 4 years later to apologize. Right.)
2) in a drunken state, I responded via text messaging (never a good idea to drunk dial, but somehow I convinced myself 'it was the right thing to do'. kick me in the ass, and twist my rubber arm for drinking at a picnic in Mikkeli. Oh! That's another place I've been. And been overfed by Pekka's parents. Hmm. More on that later.)
3) David was the guy who ruined the remainder of my only trip to St. Petersburg...by getting into a fight with another guy in our travel group and somehow falling through an incredibly expensive double-paned window in our hotel. David was also forever trying to get into my pants. Handsome , but definitely a player. Once he slept with the ho-ish one from Seattle I wrote him off, and refused to even acknowledge him. He was uber annoying after ahile.
4) David is apparently in HEL with Jukka (D staying at a hotel for part of the week), but in cahoots with the BBA group.
(BBA is my reference to the exchange program I did in Mikkeli at the end of college.)
5) Jukka returned the text message by calling back the phone that sent the message. (Tarja's phone). Since Tarja is in HEL right now, she kindly informed me via a call last night of the message he wished to convey. I should call him, or else he's going to keep calling me until I answer. Allrighty. Lemme add that one to my priority list.
Henkka informed me of the BBA reunion that Jukka is organizing in HEL for Wednesday or Thursday. The whole thing is entirely too funny, because I have little inclination to forgive (ever), hang out with BBA 9's (when I primarily know BBA 8's and 7's), and meet whoever Jukka's new girlfriend is. Grrr. Whatever. (Although I do feel a tad bit guilty for having a laugh at Jukka's expense last week. Henkka and I guzzled whiskey, cider and beer in an unprecedented display of drunkeness and rowdy behavior. Tarja came home to find two very inebriated folk sharing sloppy stories. Abbreviating the story, a correlation was made between Jukka and wet mushy marshmellos. I am going to hell. Darn.)
Pause for coffee jolt.
Hurray! It's working.
Today is Tuesday, June 11th. Common knowledge to the rest of you, but news to me. I had completely lost track of time and touch with the English speaking world. I've been essentially alone for the last two days and finally had time to think. Whew. Very therapeutic. Don't get me wrong. It's unbelievable how generous Tarja's family is being, but sometimes solo time is necessary. (After reading the book I referred to earlier, I'm not so sure a lifetime of solitude is a good thing, but you know where I'm going with this.)
Since I got off the plane, my time has been allocated to drinking excessive amounts of very yummy cofffee (mom: no sugar or milk), drinking cider, eating entirely too much food, and not getting sufficient sleep. I need more than 6 hours. In the dark. Even though I thought I packed my eye-patch-sleepy-thing, I've had to make due with the plain-vanilla one provided by SAS. (note: SAS is one of the best airlines I've flown on. 2nd best to Virgin. Unbelievable service, pleasant employees, localized food, and pure air. I'm not kidding. My skin didn't break out at all, the bathrooms were clean, the food was recognizable when I opened the plastic containers, and the stewardess was eager to bring me the breakfast I had slept through. G O O D airline.)
So far I've seen Tarja, her family (dad, mom, aunt, assorted cousins, sister, the dog, mean dumb cat, and then some), Avain-Tuoute (the lock security company), Pekka (Tarja's boyfriend), Henkka, Harri, Mariika, Johanne, and an assortment of friends of friends. I've been mainly splitting my time between Helsinki and Turku; two cities with very different attitudes and styles.
I'm writing in this journal because I'm so incredibly behind in my email writing, and desperately miss using the telephone on a regular basis.
Should anyone wish to call me, the number of my temporary mobile is: +358 50 361 8466.
(Tarja's family was concered I'd wander off and get lost. Impossible since I've been accompanied virtually 24 hours. Until yesterday that is! More on Tarja's Dad later. He's too funny. And acts like Dads do around the world. Over protective and worried about everything. But very funny even without speaking much English to me.) The phone is a loaner from Tarja's mom. As she pointed out, she never uses it and doesn't need it b/c she's always with someone who has a phone. (But so am I but don't think I'm complaining.) There are no charges to receive an incoming call, only to make them. And it costs something like 15 cents to make a text message. If you do decide to call, just remember that I'm 7 hours ahead.
If I shush you when you call, it's because I have to step outside of the very quiet office I'm sitting in. Talking at work would be disruptive (since the office is like the rest of Finland - quiet) and I would have everyone's rapt attention focused on my every word. Even though the majority of my coworkers understand a significant amount of English, many are still timid and are hesitant to practice their spoken English. Point being: too many ears for my liking. I'm in the office from 8 am to 5 pm. Come 5 pm, this place is desolate. People clear out like clockwork. And you're not supposed to work late. Which is bizarre b/c there isn't enough time to do anything with normal hours. (Most people come in at 9.) You figure an hour for lunch/exercise and you've got the shortest work day in history. (Well, compared to the French.) If you decide to stay late at the office you have to know the security code, and must expect a visit from the security guard. I'm not kidding! I know this is a security company, but it's still weird.
(sidenote: "J" is pronounced with an english "Y" sounds. Tarja is "Tar E uh")
Hmm. Let's see.
I've been here almost two weeks now. Last night was the first time I slept alone. Ahem. (Not to imply that I've been conducting any aerobic activity during the noctornal hours;) Seriously, I finally had time to move into 'my' apartment. a.k.a. Marjo's apartment. (Marjo is Tarja's sister the vet who is spending the next couple of weeks in the countryside making friends with the cows.) The idea had been to have me watch the place while she away, pick up mail, water plants. etc. I could have moved in right off of the plane from NYC. However, we've been bouncing around everywhere saying hello and catching up with old friends. There hadn't really been any urgency to pack me off, especially since we were having so much fun with our little sleep overs.
Things turned dire the other night. Somehow a very sober Irene managed to injure her shoulder while sleeping. I went to bed (pooped and reading a very disturbing novel which I'll get to in just a second) and woke up with this mysterious pain. At first I figured it would go away, but oh no. Everytime I put on my backpack, pick something up, or stretch, my shoulder makes this funny creaky noise and is annoying. The pain has decidedly toned down, but is still noticeable. Honestly, how the hell does one manage to twist a shoulder while sleeping soundly on a couch?
Anyhoo.
THe book that kept my rapt attention until I finished it: For I Never Knew Men
(or something like that)
I just tried searching for the book on Amazon and of course have the name incorrectly branded on my brain. I'll look again tonight and let you know in case you're interested. Point being, it's the weirdest book about doing almost nothing but has these deep underlying lessons about appreciation for what we have, particularly the relationships we share with others. Some catastrophic event has happened, and a group of 40 women are locked underground in this drab cellar monitored constantly by 3 guards. The light is always on (except when dimmed for sleeping hours) and they're feed a steady diet of carrots and mutton. Ok, and some other things. (For whatever reason, potatoes are considered a delicacy.) Basically the minimal level of food needed for survival. The women have no idea why they're kept locked up, nor what happened to their friends or family. The guards are strict about allowing personal contact, emotion, exercise, and especially any information about life outside of their cell. (They make piles of the straw mattresses they sleep on during the 'day'. Make tunics from minimal rolls of fabric, often resorting to hair in lieu of real thread.)
Anyway. The storyteller is the youngest of the group, who has the most bizarre point of view, since she has absolutely no recollection of life 'before'. 'She' (b/c I can't remember her name) starts puberty, but never matures woman-wise (no raging hormones, except for the explosions she creates through daydreaming. read: mental mini-orgasms.) At some point our author begins counting her heartbeats to keep track of time. After being ignored by her 39 closests friends (ok, mean bitter women) her skill becomes highly valued. This girl/woman associates her heartbeats to the average minute, and then to the hour, day, week, month. For her 72 beats equals one minute. She counts constantly. In her sleep. I don't want to ruin the remainder of the book, but it's more of a page turner than you'd think based on the characters. She is constantly seeking answers, and is faced with a certain future of uncertainty. Oh! And she never meets a man. Which is why the title of the book should be easy to remember, but you know me. When I stop back at the apartment, I'll make note of the author. A definite quick read. Translated into English from a Belgium author.
Brb. Sorry to babble, but there's so much to talk about. Let me post this to be sure I know how to use this blogger publishing tool thing. Back in a sec.
Hei!
Where is everyone? I know I'm in Finland, but that doesn't mean my email isn't working. Remember, I am the neediest person you know. I need affirmation from my little circle once in awhile to know that I'm still here. So write me! In return I promise to keep a running commentary on the sillyness I'm witnessing while over here. In addition, I can start boring you to tears with my fancy schmancy digital camera. I have been out of control using my new toy. (Thank the Canon Gods).
Ok, so this is more of a test than anything else. Keep checking in once in awhile to see what mischief I'm up to.
Hugs,
irene
