Ooh, said the Fox, we had such a jolly Christmas. Thanks for remembering the Fox family; Dave, BiB, Mimi, Alda, IP and you all. Special thanks for one Cornish Santa. After eating too much salmon Taiga Fox tried to build up a massive Lego Viking boat and a huge Midgård dragon.It took approximately six hours to do it and I promise I'll be a dragon myself if someone tries to play with the thing.
Oops, said the fox. I seem to have lost my memory, but I can't remember being a host at all. Maybe it was all that wine I sipped. Or perhaps my brain is as shiny as Ice Mummy's.
Anyway, it was nice to see you Dave. Hopefully the bed was comfy. Also, we still don't have any snow in Helsinki, so I suppose the rest of the Cricket Team was alright too, sleeping in the tents.
It is the annual time of Little Christmases. The time when every company, every society, every .. well, you got the point, organizes a party where the employees etc. get massively drunk. I had mine already, which included fine red wine and brilliant M.A.Numminen & Pedro.
Few days ago I got an e-mail listing some other kind of habits to celebrate. Or if you are not sure if you have had one, you can check here, which kind of Little Christmas it was:
Lord of the Rings - Little Christmas
You remember being separated from your friends, meeting some elves, fighting, talking to the trees, walking hellishly long distances and you apparently lost your ring too.
Cinderella - Little Christmas
You arrive at home without your shoe and smell vaguely pumpkin like.
Sleeping Beauty - Little Christmas
You fell asleep and might wake up when somebody, definitely not a prince, kisses you.
Ariel - Little Christmas
In the morning you notice your legs are somehow glued together and you smell like a herring.
Snow White - Little Christmas
You wake up with seven men.
Red Riding Hood - Little Christmas
You share a bed with your granny. More points if it's someone else's granny.
At first I lost my ability to comment on my own blog and now I seem to have lost a post. Anyway, the essential part of it was this link to Umberclout Digsby, who is finally back. If you haven't read, go on and do so.
Aristotle Catfish: May I say that was highly enjoyable little barcarole, but just stick it in the oven, Mr von Strahl. Stejar Strahl: Pardon, stick what where? Aristotle Catfish: The red nut, stick it in the oven. Stejar Strahl: Why is that? Aristotle Catfish: Listen carefully, my comely-faced copper, if you burn the nut you will turn to be your father. Eiseemi Laxi: Is this the red nut? Stejar Strahl: But I don't want to be my father. I don't even know him. There might be hundreds and hundreds of rather short, but so jolly men around the village of Superlon, where they gave a key to my jail, but the very next day they gave it away...
Aristotle Catfish: No! Don't burn that! It's Mr Mac Piggin Buckets, not a nut. Stejar Strahl: What a shame, it looked bit like a tiger... Aristotle Catfish: Yes, that's what they all say, but there's always a small redhead clown inside Mr Mac Piggin Buckets. Well, there was one. But now... ... no we will have to take a flight to Embololalia.
------------ Plop = an onomatopoeic term for the sound of an object falling onto a surface or into water.
Great. Bloody November. [Note to self: Be more clear] Great. Buggerin bloody November. [Note to self: Use understandable language] Moan moan whine whine blah blah bloody November. [Note to self: Be optimistic.]
So. Here it goes again. Here is Mr Fox. Yes, that one. Say hello.
Another update again: Because this went all ploppy, here is some poo. That means I uploaded few new photos as well.
Start wearing purpleshouts a bearded skinny man and Taiga Fox avoids the hitting fist of a tranced dancer boy. She wears black and listens to the angry man singing furiously Love is unkind Love is unkind Love is unkind It don't like nobody It don't got no friends. A naked rubber doll flies through the air. A young boy wears a pink t-shirt with a text Youth against sudoku.
The old cable hall is filled with sweaty teens, sweaty wanna-be-teens and hundreds of black clad people smoking. Taiga Fox wants a drink. Mr Fox: What do you want to drink? Taiga Fox: A dry lingon cider without ice. Mr Fox: I suppose it's going to be a lager. Taiga Fox: Have you got any cash? Mr Fox: Nope. Why? Have you? Taiga Fox: Do you think they accept plastic?
I never thought blogging would be as hard as it has lately been. Well, I could blame the polar nights and lenghty naps by the copier, but I'm blaming the About Me-thing. What to write on that empty little box? I am a Finnish Fox in the empty box. No. I am a Finnish mother. No. What was that I had before? Oh yes... I am a mad Valkyrie kind of short and quiet person with tiny Moomin toes. Oh bugger, I am too many and nothing to be described in that box.
My dear friend just pointed me how my profile is ever-changing and he's true about that all, but I'll just blame my everlasting musical crisis and Blogger, which started claiming me being a Blogger since August 2006. That wicked thing stole over six months of my life! It was almost like that back in October 1995.
Taiga Fox: I have a doctor's appointment at 10.45. A woman behind the desk: And your social security number is? Taiga Fox: It's 27031988+444U. A woman behind the desk: Could you repeat that, please? [looks closely at her megalomaniac sized computer] Taiga Fox: it's 27031988+444U. A woman behind the desk: I'm sorry, there is no such number. Taiga Fox: What? How? Did you get it wrong or something? A woman behind the desk: [repeats my social security number] No, I really mean there isn't such number. So you are not... [pause] .. alive or something. [looks me carefully like I was a ghost or an illegal immigrant] Taiga Fox: But I am here. A woman behind the desk: Yes you are, but there really isn't... oh wait, sorry, I forgot to press enter.
It felt awful to be no-one, not living, for that short moment of my questionable existence, but now it would be so easy to be anything I ever wanted. Why can't I just write just something on that box? As far as I know, only three bloggers (Finnhund, Patroclus and James) would really know I wouldn't be telling the truth, because they have seen me in real life.
So here it goes: I am 8,1 ft tall * blond cellist and have a PhD in feline psychology. I have an Afghan dog kennel and a raising political career in Japan, which amazes even myself, because I'm 17.
I have an online identity problem.
----- Update: *Was that bit too much? Hmm, it might have been. Although few weeks ago I saw a man almost tall as that. But that would turn my online identity to be something like this, wouldn't it? Is she a woman or an animal?
It's Thursday again and a time for a Photo challenge. This weeks theme is white and because it's all black in Helsinki now, I'm using a photo from last February, when the whiteness around us hurt our eyes.
A bus to home, around April 1998 Boy: Mom. Mom: Yes? Boy: What came after the Iron Age? Mom: [silence] Look, there is a nice bird on the street. Taiga Fox: [thinking] When I have kids of my own I will always answer their questions properly. Especially if I'm sitting on a bus.
A metro train to home, November 2006 A: Mom. Taiga Fox: Yes? A: Do people grow after death? J: Why there are volcanoes? A: Are you going to be Granny one day? J: Is it possible to hit a knife onto the moon? A: Did great Grandma know what happened around her, when she couldn't speak or see anymore? J: How deep are the meteorite lakes? A: Is the sun made of fire? J: Can I have a magnifying glass? A: How come it's possible that a fiery ball is hanging on the air? J: How long does it take until the sofa is on fire? A: Why do some people promise something and then they forget it? J: Can I have a mobile? A: What are the worms eating? J: If I can't have a mobile, how am I going to make an emergency call if something happens to you and you haven't had time to tell us what to do in that situation? Taiga Fox: [long silence] Look, isn't that a funny advertisement on the wall?
Life is disappointing me. I have nothing else to say. If you still are hanging on there and reading this stupid blog... .... let me introduce Paska. He is a bald angry man with a terrible name, terrible voice and an album Women Are from Venus, Men from Anus. ( NB. the page is in Swedish. Lyssna is to listen, köpa is to buy. Might contain bad language.) Now I'm going to see Borat. You go and see some HelLooks. It's a project of Liisa Jokinen and Sampo Karjalainen, a man behind Habbo Hotel.
The sick king's castle was filled with candies, cakes, balloons and presents. J had 13 quests, who ate, run, puked and had fun. After the treasure hunt, candy-fishing, dinosaur digging and usual headbanging, half of the balloons were exploded at 120 decibels and my brain felt like a monkey's bottom during the monsoon.
The guests were mainly boys, except Ella, who sat close to J and gave him a brand new squirrel CD. When the boys were having a battle with a long, green plastic snake, she was writing a text on the Magna Doodle: Ella loves Lordi.
Few weeks ago J said Ella had kissed him whilst they were digging some sand. Ella's mother told me later what she had said. Mother: So, you like to play with J? Ella: Yes. I kiss him because that's the only way to stop his never-ending talking.
The title is the entire lyrics of the humppa song I am a reindeer by Eläkeläiset.
It's Friday evening, so let's dance some Finnish foxtrot: click
The beginning of the humppa goes something like this: Yössä kulkee hän hilpeä on hiprakka kateissa allakka solmiossa hieman ketsuppia noh tuli vähän kallisteltua kuppia juurelta puun rannalta joen löydät arvoituksen sitä pähkäillessä menetät karvoituksen...
He wanders in the night his tipsiness is merry his calendar is lost some ketchup on the tie well, he did pour some. Near a tree by a river you shall find the riddle whilst thinking of it you'll lose your body hair...
Oh no, it's November. This is the month I become cranky, moody, sour, not at all sweet and all-round bad tempered. We have bad weather. I am ill. So are the others.
There are some Finn-fans living in the blogosphere. I let them say how nice music Finns make. Yes, yes, I know about Husky Rescue, the Rasmus, HIM etc. etc. but I tell you something: It's not nice. We make bad music, like Helsinki Shitty Boy.
So, my dear readers, it's November and time to see what this land is all about.
Instead of just playing to be a mummy on Sunday, I will probably be like one. Well, I walk more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, than an Egyptian, but maybe if I add some toilet paper around me... and try not to drop my head.
Anyway, I have injured my neck and I shouldn't write a word now. I probably shouldn't do anything at all, but the kids wanted to have a carved pumpkin, so that's what we did then. I mumbled in my mind how bloody American that is and we should celebrate kekri instead. I didn't say anything, because I wasn't sure what I meant. When I was young, there weren't any festivities during the autumn. Nothing at all to lighten the dull grey days and besides the pumpkin looks great.
We're going to celebrate J's sixth birthday party soon.
J: Have you bought the plates? T Fox: Yep. J: There aren't any pictures of Winnie the Pooh on them? Because that's for dummies and babies. T Fox: Watch your words young man... J: You promised I could get a crown. T Fox: Yep. J: Can I be dressed like Jafar? T Fox: No. [taking a blanket away from the bed] J: Could you leave that and fold it as a pillow? T Fox: Why? J: That's my sarcophagus. T Fox: Your what? J: My sarcophagus. I will surround my head with the toy animals and place my feet on the pillow. When my quests arrive could you give me my crown, so they can see I'm a resting king. T Fox: Why would anyone be interested in seeing you as a resting king, when they're coming to your party? J: I don't know. [saddened] T Fox: Why can't you just play a king who is awake? J: I don't know. [cries] T Fox: [tries to figure out something nice about living kings] I don't think kings lie like that anyway, it's would give an image like the king would be... A (4): The kings do sleep, Mom. T Fox: Yep. A: Maybe J could play a sick king?
So, apparently on next Sunday we're having a jolly birthday party, with a sick king theme. Any ideas for the decoration?
There she was like always. Dressed on her rosy pyjamas, smoking her fourth morning cigarette. She landed her hand on the fresh morning paper and made a gentle glance towards her loving companion, still sleeping. It was 6.30 am. Her hair is whiter than I remembered, thought she and looked at the news again. It was dark outside. Demanding drops banged the window. It was so silent.
Suddenly she heard noise behind the front door. Heavy footsteps, sudden squeak of the wet wellington. Then nothing. She looked at the paper again. "The City of Helsinki plans to declare itself a smoke-free city at the beginning of next year" she read and lighted another one. Someone tried to open the door. Sounds of movement. Scratching. Was that a small howl?
Her tottering walk led her towards the dusky hall. A key was stuck into the keyhole. Whoever it was behind the door, was becoming impatient. She looked at the door. It's silence was shaken with a furious twisting. A sound of fist cracking it's wooden surface. She heard annoyed noise behind the door, saying: "Let me in, you son of a ****, I know you are in the kitchen!" The voice was familiar. She opened the door.
Neighbour: What has happened? Is there a fire? Taiga Fox: Why didn't you let me in? There must be something wrong with my key... .... Oh dear, wrong door!
So, a week or more of watermelons and winter. No proper blogging, no commenting. Just a broken broadband and an autumn holiday.
Day 1 Freshly picked, outgrown watermelons! Who said there are polar bears roaming on the pavements of Helsinki? God they were delicious. Not the bears.
Day 2 The cubs visit a museum. The guards wish they were unemployed.
Day 3 It starts to be horribly dark. The sun rises and sets sooner than you can notice.
Day 4 I see a car accident and a death of a woman.
Day 5 Gosh, it's November soon, but Mr. Fox gives me flowers, so I really don't care.
Day 6 At the amusement park. Stuffed inside a plastic helicopter rising noisily up in the air, I remember how much I fear heights.
Day 7 Stuffed inside a movie theatre. Cars, super size popcorn and loud kids.
Day 8 Countryside. Sauna. Heavy rain.
Day 9 It's freaking cold. I stand at the backyard, have a rake in my hand and stare at the snow. Later I stand in the local bar, have a pint of too sweet cider and stare at the former punk star who sings Goan reggae songs.
Day 10 I wish I had just one free, lazy afternoon, when my biggest concern would be to consider whether to bother finding a mobile for ordering a pizza or not. I film a dark road movie. I'm a poor woman's Tarkovski.
Day 11 I have a broken broadband and I'm trying to find my way out from the bottom of my undone jobs.
Day 12 Forget everything I said about the darkness. It's even darker now. I almost sleep at the theatre, watching a depressive circus about a lack of communication. My only joy was to get a free packet of butter. But the broadband works.
Vähän myöhässä tällä viikolla syysloman vuoksi, mutta Valokuvatorstain 22. haasteen aihe sopiva: syksy. Tänä vuonna syksy tuli hiipivän hitaasti ja ensilumi satoi kukkivan konnantatteren päälle.
I'm little bit late this week, after having a rather nice holiday. The 22th subject of the Valokuvatorstai is the autumn, which has been quite peculiar this year. After the long lasting summer we had the first snow yesterday.
Aristotle Catfish: Good Morning gadders. Stejar Strahl: Ecnednopserroc fo ytiliba ym tsol evah I ekil smees ti. Aristotle Catfish: What is your friend trying to express? Eiseemi Laxi: Drow a dnatsrednu t'nac I, llet I dluoc woh? Aristotle Catfish: Are you all retroflexers? Ella Salmon: Diputs rehtar eb ot strats lla siht noinipo ym ni. Aristotle Catfish: Try singing. Stejar Strahl: The boy named Table met Lilly Flower Smally Small and sat on the bee. They needed water. Where, where, oh where they thought. Lilly Flower Smally Small cut a picture on the wall. They looked at their papery pool. Aristotle Catfish: Oh, excellent, I've been waiting for your companionship for years to arrive. Follow me, Mr. von Strahl.
The dog barks. I wake up. Mr Fox wakes up. The loud doorbell voice bounces around the otherwise silent house. Mr Fox goes to check out who's behind the door. It's not Granny Fox. A strange, skinny, bearded man stands on the porch. Mr Fox: Do you know anyone from here? Me: Not really. Who is that? Mr Fox: Well, it's some man. He's almost naked.
There really was a man. He was wearing just black underwear. Man: Let me in! Mr Fox: Who are you? What do you want? Man: I want Saara! Mr Fox: There isn't any Saara living here. Man: She is there. I know!
The conversation went on and on. The naked man didn't believe she couldn't find Saara from our house. Finally the man started to be desperate. Man: Where is Saara then? Mr Fox: I'm so sorry. We don't know her. Why are you naked? Who are you? Man: I don't know. Mr Fox: Where did you came? Man: From Toivola of course!
The man didn't remember his name. He didn't know why he didn't have any clothes on. He just remembered he and Saara had moved away from Toivola. I called my Mum. Me: Do you know any Saara living at the neighbourhood? Granny Fox: Oh. There is one living near the station. Me: Saara lives near the station. The naked man looks confused. Man: Sounds familiar. Please, let me in.
He was somewhat blue in colour. It was + 6 ° C outside. What could have we done? Let the strange, naked man to come in ? But we didn't see what really was behind the door. Maybe he was hiding an axe or a friend there? Why was he knocking on the strange doors in the middle of the night? Why wasn't he wearing any clothes? It was easier to wash the blood away from the naked body, though.
On the another hand he was freezing. I saw his blue, dead body in my mind. I saw our axe-murdered bodies in my mind. We threw a blanket from the window and called the police. The man sat on the porch. Man: Please. Let me in. I'm not bad. I'm really not a bad person. Mr Fox: Sorry, no. Man: Okay. Could we just have a chat then? What kind of music do you listen?
We didn't hear what was his favourite piece of music. The police came and took him away. Early in the morning I found his wet clothes and a wallet from the backyard.
There was Saara's credit card inside the wallet. They had just moved living quite near to us. He was drunk. He must have fallen down and taken all his wet clothes off. The houses look all pretty much the same. But instead of finding his loving, but possibly angry wife, there was a strange man inside his home, telling him that Saara (obviously a wrong one) was living near the station.
I thought how utterly confused he must have been and how ashamed and confused he must be now. I thought why I couldn't trust anyone anymore. Then I saw a black plastic bag on the porch. Me: Oh my god! It's Saara! Maybe he didn't remember where he left the remains of his wife. I opened the bag. It was filled with rubbish, leftovers from the workers repairing the roof.
The cubs were having a conversation. They couldn't decide which vegetables to take with them to the harvest feast.
J: I'll take a banana. A: I'll take a clementine. J: That's not a vegetable, silly. A: I'll take a chocolate bar then. J: That's not a vegetable! A: Ok. I'll take an egg pudding then, pour it on my head and add two blueberries at the top of it! J: You should be a delivery pizza instead. We'd have a free ride!
------------------------------------------------- Finland Today ------------------------------------------------- (Read this from the paper.)
Mother: Look there's a crow! Child: Oh. What kind of a ring tone it has?