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.