Wednesday, March 28, 2007


I nearly forgot my Dad's 60th birthday.
I was eight years old when I saw him first time. Well, that was the first time I saw him and remembered it afterwards. He came with a shiny big car, which colour looked like a palomino to me. He had a cassette recorder in the car and we listened to something, which I can't remember anymore.

When he took me home, I asked him if he could come to my birthday party. He asked me what I would want as a present and I wanted Elwyn Hartley-Edward's The Pony Owner's Encyclopaedia. Definitely, he said.
The next time I saw him was ten years later. It was the same year when my Mum said she bought me the book, which arrived a week later and which I had kept as my greatest treasure.

Today I was sitting on a bench, enjoying of the sunshine and tried to keep myself awake after a sleepless night. I watched my sons driving bicycles.
Suddenly I saw them standing still, giggling and then screaming loudly: "It's coming! It's finally coming!"

They were running towards an ice-cream van, which was playing it's teasingly jolly melody. I had forgotten I had promised to buy them a box of ice-creams when it would arrive next
time and there it was now. I had one Euro and twenty cents, two stamps and some bad tasting Easter candies in my bag. The kids watched how the mother next door bought two boxes. Our neighbour's son came to me and asked if I could buy him an ice-cream. I watched him to go at the end of the line, watching how the mother next door carried his two boxes of ice-creams.
Next time boys, definitely, I heard myself saying. Next time, definitely.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Mother Tongue

It's warm, sunny and shiny outside, but I'm scuba diving in the muddy waters.
Whilst I'm there, learn some Finnish.

The longest word in the world


What does it mean, isn't that clear.
Wonder if he can also do something with his capability of not being disorganized?
Anyway, something to do with being not confused, I think, but it's bit too confusing.


If you find that word from your electricity bill, just pay the damn bill.


If somebody calls you that, you are apparently a student and later in your life you will fix the airplane engines or something.

Some place names somewhere in Finland

Nobody knows what it means, but Santa lives quite near.

Semmonen niemi jossa käärme koiraa pisti
Translated as: That kind of cape where the snake bit the dog.

Translated as Cow's-leg-went-broken-glade.

Grammar is fun

Verb          Meaning
tehdä to do
teettää to have someone do
teetättää to have someone have someone do
teetätättää to have someone have someone have someone do

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


I have been feeling relatively snappy these days. Not energetic, just have had that snappish tone in my voice and in my actions. In fact I have been so snappy, I fear I'm soon going to snap.
I can't stand waiting. Well, maybe if I love someone, I can a bit, but otherwise I become first tensioned, then irritated and finally saddened, especially if I can see I am constantly promised something I can't get, and even more if I can see that someone who promised me something isn't busy doing something, but just doesn't care. So that's when I start to be snappy.

Today, when I started to decide if I'm just like one of the Jill Greenberg's teased kids or just sad, I stepped on a dog shit with my new shoes.
Are the new shoes making me lively like Carrie Bradshaw? Could they make me finally write some quirky blog posts? No, they made me feel more like Leo Johnson. I made a drooling comment about my new shoes to myself and thought what to write.
As always, my mind was empty, as vast as the field nearby.

At the end of that field was a car park. At the end of the car park was my car. Behind my car were some Uni students dancing without music. They were wearing bright green overalls. They danced on the sand, happily. We had a snowstorm on Sunday, but quite suddenly it is spring now. The students just went on dancing happily when I thought if I should write about the fact that today is the spring equinox.

I also thought should I mention the fact that we used to look down on everybody wearing those bright University overalls. We wore black. We celebrated annoyingly, faking young intellectuals by drinking cheap Chianti and re-acting famous contemporary performances, until I reacted to the excess cheap Chianti drinking. But never dancing on the car park. Never.
Once we were making a performance of Da Vinci's Last Supper.
I was Jesus. When the press came, I was having a cigarette outside and it read on the paper: Jesus wasn't having the last supper, because she was having a fag outside.

I looked at the sky where six swans crossed the field and I felt so dusty and chained. I was picking up the kids from the daycare and wondered why my mind was suddenly so empty, just looking for more troubles and impossibilities, when I could just be happy with everything I have. I should be enjoying of all that, not be saddened by everything I won't have, but there I was, so desperately much wanting to try flying, feeling lonely and bit damp and watching how the last swan flew away.
Suddenly I wanted to have a friend to whom to tell all that there was, inside my blank mind. I wanted to have a walk and a talk, but my shitty shoes just seemed to be stuck on the field.

I was wondering should I write about all the lost friends, who just have disappeared somewhere or about the ones, I can't ever talk to. Few days ago I counted all the people I used to know and who had committed suicide. Five. All young men.

I thought about the boy who was sitting next to me when I started school. We were having almost similar names and were the only ones who could read. I read The Famous Five and he read dictionaries and I couldn't get him at all, because he didn't have any sense of humour, but I sat there next to him, because we did have almost similar names and he was shy and so bright, even when I always turned my head away from him.
After 10 years time he was my dancing partner when we had a high school ball. He was shy, so bright and had still no sense of humour, but he had chosen a wonderful white suit, which matched my blue dress perfectly. Five years later I saw him standing on the railway station. I walked away quickly and hoped he wouldn't have recognized me. I wish I had said he wasn't that bad at all.

Spring. The time when the most of the suicides are committed, except maybe in November. I love light and wondered why this season makes us so depressed.
For months we can just hide, be like some grumpy old bears, sleeping inside in the darkness. And suddenly the light, revealing everything.
All the dust on the tables, pale faces, dog hair stuck on the black trousers. We have to take our winter jackets off and let the others see what is left there after the long winter. Was it just the heavy jacket keeping us not falling apart?

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Some Stejar's Reminiscences of the Songs of Rejoicing to Grapes


Monish title - Moisten hilt - Miltonist he - Helotism nit - Limit honest

The good wife’s guide

· Have dinner ready.
Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

· Prepare yourself.
Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

· Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him.
His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

· Clear away the clutter.
Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

· Gather up
schoolbooks, toys, paper etc. and then run a dustcloth over the tables.

· Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire
for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

· Prepare the children.
Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

· Be happy to see him.

· Greet him with a warm smile
and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

· Listen to him.
You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

· Make the evening his.
Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

· Your goal:
Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquillity where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

· Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

· Don’t complain
if he’s late home for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through that day.

· Make him comfortable.
Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

· Arrange his pillow
and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

· Don’t ask him questions
about his actions or question his judgement or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

· A good wife always knows her place.

Housekeeping Monthly 13 May 1955

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

T Fox meets Com-pa-ny

Today I had a pleasure to meet two brilliant young designers: Aamu Song and Johan Olin.
All I saw was so delightful, funny and witty that I'm still bit lost for words. That's why I'm doing something I haven't much done; borrowing photos and words straight from their web site.

Lazy Taiga presents: Com-pa-ny.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

For anyone who wanted to have a beard.
Specially made for the northern countries where men don't grow much beard.

Material: Cotton.

FootHill Shoes
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Made in Germany summer 2006 World Cup time. For a fancier playing, or something..
Hand-re-made by Johan Olin

Mobile Shoes
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Kimi und Schumi.
Handmade by Toni Engelberger

Safety Skirt
Available in White, pink and sky blue


Chairman is a good man.
Chairman is little bit lazy.
Chairman appears in sunny street when it's between +15'c and +20'c.

Material: Plastic stool from Thailand, industrial felt,
rubber thread in gold and white, used Rukka windbreaker jumper suit
Click the chairman, please.

Takkiainen (a combination word that ties together the meanings of two Finnish words: takki, a coat, and takiainen, a bur )is a jacket for lonely or bored people. It is designed to help the wearer to get in contact with others.

Since we brush against each other every day as we move around in the city, we can use our clothes as a medium for meeting people and communicating with them.

The jacket is made out of Velcro strips of different widths that have been sewn together side by side to form alternating hook and pile stripes.When these materials touch each other, they grab onto each other. The lonely user can be happily connected with other loners simply by walking around in the jacket. Even babies can be attached to their parents.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Sleeping is so much funnier than you.

I just heard the title and it reminded me about the small article I read some days ago.
One of my all time favourite directors Emir Kusturica, who is funnier than normal sleep if you ask me, has made some perfectly weird movies like Underground and Arizona Dream and now apparently lives in a small village called Drvengrad.

If one of you ever visits his village, there is a chance to buy some fruit juice whose bottles bear the names and images of Che Guevara (raspberry flavour) , Fidel Castro (blackberry), Kusturica (strawberry) and Josip Broz Tito (blueberry).
Also Saddam Hussein juice is available, but it didn't say in which flavour. Any suggestions?

Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Helsinki Big Bang

Location: Helsinki - a quiet, little and cold bird nest.
Time: Thursday afternoon.

Place: Helsinki city police center.

Phone rings and wakes everybody up.

Officer: Yes? Is it another stolen Habbo Hotel coin again?
Some woman: Somebody fired a gun!

That was something, really something. The officer gasped and left the building immediately in order to help the victims.
Not just him, but 5 police patrols.
All wearing two body armours each.
They were in such hurry they forgot their helmets, but what the heck, at least they were on the crime scene soon enough and found the block of flats easily.
They climbed up and opened the door of the questionable home.

Behind the door was standing a mother with her two little kids.*
One of them had jumped on an empty package of juice.

* Not me, but could have been. It's possible I may have to start thinking properly what to wear at home. You never know who is going to visit you.

Just 100 Years ago...

I was just pondering whom to vote to Parliament, when I started to think what if I couldn't vote at all. What if I'd live in Brunei?
We, Finnish women, were the first ones in Europe to have the right to vote, but still, only 100 years ago...
and it makes me so annoyed when I notice I have forgotten to be thankful and keep things for granted.
Anyway, good job Miina! Thanks!
Altogether nineteen Finnish female MPs were elected to Parliament in 1907.

Happy International Women's Day to all my lovely readers!

Tuesday, March 06, 2007

T Fox meets a film genius, who thinks women's eyes just suck you in

Why did you start to do films?
I didn't want to just watch films, so I bought a camera and started doing my own. That simple.

How do you finance your films?
I don't.

How have you met all the famous people, like Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol and Yoko Ono?
I've no particular interest in famous people. They all have come to me.

Have you got any favourite Hollywood film makers?
Yes. If you have to sit at your computer all the day, your body needs action too. I love action films.
I've seen John Wayne movies 40 times each. I watch them. I forget them immediately. I watch the again. It' so refreshing.

Do you know any Finnish film makers?
Not particularly.
But you are so lucky, you know, you are the only ones who won Soviet Union.

What is your method?
I'm interested in happiness. I leave depression and sadness to the others. I want
to catch the fleeting moments of everyday happiness, which people don't pay attention to, because everyone seeks for drama.

Have you got any goals in your life? Dreams?

So you just go with the flow?
I've got feet on the ground. I don't go with the flow, you know, I'm not a fish.


Sunday, March 04, 2007

Greetings from Stejar and Eiseemi!

We have moved.
Our new address is:

No no no no no, we have't moved!
The robots and turtles were suddenly so grown up, I gave them a new shiny flat of their own, so they can do robot-y and turtlesy things.
The Fox family stays in this scruffy fox earth.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Purity Rant

Whilst the New Superlon boils and bubbles, I have time for a purity rant.

For an entire week I have been somewhat slightly confused about my imaginary image of the blogosphere. I've been blue-eyed* thinking of an idealistic equality and the freedom of speech, but obviously how wrong have I been. I have noticed some certain hints about discrimination, contempt and naive schoolgirlish/-boyish bullying, but that has never happened to me before, or possibly I have just been blindfolded.

I have been reading one blog, not so regularly, but from time to time, because my friend links to it. I had never commented anything, because I constantly have this underlying fear of my flimsy capability of English speaking. Last Thursday I made a decision to comment and so I did. You might not believe, but it was a very ordinary and short comment. Nothing hasty and nonsensical like I usually scribble. Later I made another visit and saw that the owner of the blog had deleted my comment without saying anything. Hmph.

Actually that wasn't a rant. Yesterday I participated a demonstration, which was nice, civilized, quiet, arty and aesthetical. Hmph.

Speaking of purity, I want this, please. I can't afford it. Hmph.

* blue-eyed [sinisilmäinen] in Finnish means naiveness