Death of the Author and Other Thoughts of the Month

Today, whilst I was in Metro, reading Roland Barthes, it hit me. I had nearly forgotten the Fox. Well, not forgotten, but I had felt way too busy lately and everything had seemed so much more important than the blog. I wish I could have said I really had been that busy, but obviously I couldn't. You, who are on Facebook, you know that I could have written much and much and even some more and spent far less time on writing something more important than my status updates:

X is wondering if it is November making her feel like an ugli fruit. 8:30pm

X is a podgy bored pony-tailed pomelo. 4:14pm
X is a sodden ponderous toothless tooth fairy. 3:45pm

X is completely at sea. A frozen one. 9:38am

X is having gentle useless rants inside her head. 12:38am
X is having broken teeth and snow kind of a weekend. 8:34pm
X is suddenly aware it's November already. 7:07pm
X is writing again. 4:28pm
X is going to listen a lecture by Tate Modern's Exhibitions Registrar now. 1:15pm
X is trying to write. 9:53am
X is finally realising that she is a bookshopaholic. 12:20am
X is a Monopoly-loser. 9:36pm
X is boringly writing about some art stuff. 2:43pm
X is a worker. 11:39am

X is way too water-y. 12:26am

X is feeling Ikea-dizzy. 9:53pm

X is in a Tuesday tune. 1:06am
X is in a monday mode. 10:46am
X is at sleep. 1:19am

X is offline. 3:44pm

X is wearing a red nose. 2:36pm

X is going to visit the bookfair today. Yay! 10:52am

X is torpidly tired, but at work. 9:48am

X is ready for the spectacle. 6:47pm

X is mycket bättre after the buffé, wine and chocolate. 5:35pm

X is bad-tempered, not festive. 4:35pm

X is going to go to bed with a real book. 12:02am

X is drinking tea and building up a virtual bookshelf for the virtual self. 9:42pm

X is not working. 6:49pm

X is working working working not wanting but working. 3:23pm

X is feeling sick. 3:18pm

X is óleo, platos, bondo sobre lona impermeable verde. 3:08pm

X is stressed out. 1:57pm

X is working, working and working. 11:22am

X is sleepy. 11:54pm

X is almost back from the completely knackered state of mind. 8:58pm

X is completely knackered. 9:32pm

X is a happy owner of new shoes and feels better already. 8:17pm

X is exhausted, well beaten, run-down, washed-out and nearly dead. 4:05pm

X is argh. 12:37pm

X is apparently a some kind of a lawyer with a cleaner's salary. 12:07pm

X is beginning a new full week. 8:39am

X is asleep. 12:19am

X is unable to write except about the penguin pee and stuff like that. 11:51pm

X is done. Hooray. Hip hip hip hoo-ra...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 8:02pm

X is working. Boring. 3:14pm

X is back from Ratatouille. 6:25pm

X is still thinking that the perry creme brûlée & cinnamon-orange sorbet was rather nice. 10:55am

X is apparently very invitation friendly this morning. 10:21am

X is at home again. 1:59am

X is trying to find her clothes. 5:38pm

X is at work and waiting for the evening and dinner. 9:23am

X is frozen, but fully amused. 12:20am

X is having presents and bubbly drinks before going to the amusement park. 4:01pm

X is frustrated. 8:31am

X is really happy for Y :). 11:50pm

X is not reading a text "Some Reflections on an Agonistic Approach to the Public.". 6:41pm

X is reading a text "Some Reflections on an Agonistic Approach to the Public". 9:15am

X is a worn-out worker. 8:43am

X is apparently a cheerful chipmunk. 11:54pm
X is writing nonsense. 11:48pm

X is definitely not up to something. 11:12pm

X is a cuddlemaster. 1:06pm

X is probably just way too optimistic. 12:20am

X is not sure actually. 12:17am

X is just happy. 12:13am

X is asked to play with her notepad instead of facebook. Hmph. 10:28pm

X is aware that her home is filled with beer, naked women and potatoes. 7:29pm

X is feeling dizzy. 1:30pm

X is looking after a strange fluffy toy. 12:36am

X is going to drink all the wine now, because she just got frozen outside. 8:48pm

X is having an Eastern European mole as a weekend guest and wonders if they drink red wine. 7:44pm
X is happy like a small horsey again. 12:03am

X is so exhausted, but happy. 4:33pm

X is going to work hard today. Seriously. 8:39am

X is going to light up the room. Well, the bedroom anyway. 12:06am

X is slush and whoosh. 9:23pm

X is a having a big mouth and no brain. 4:08pm

X is an ice-cream eating ice-cube. 11:04pm

X is an ice-cube. Also terribly lazy. 10:00pm

X is not going to change any bloody smitten tires with mittens anyway. 9:07pm

X is stupid smytten. 9:05pm

X is suddenly thinking about winter tyres and smittens. Depressing. 9:03pm

X is . 9:01pm

X is as much fun as a wall. 12:13am

Talking about walls:



origin here

Travel Day 5 - The Memory Returns

Of course I forgot because it was all in front of my nose. Or actually behind my nose, or whatever. It was all about my face, because I got my face as a part of a work of art. Oh, I almost forgot, my friends on the Facebook can see an unclear photo.

More egoistic wankery

What exciting have I done this week?
Lets see. I've been a judge of a kids' art competition.
I've been filled with some unfilled papers.
I've tried to find out the exact location of four stuffed horse legs and an iron ball.

Nothing much to write about, but luckily I saw this meme at Annie's.

1. PICK OUT A SCAR YOU HAVE, AND EXPLAIN HOW YOU GOT IT
I've got so many. When I was an arson baby I surprisingly didn't get any, but when I was three years old I fell down from a balcony. That was the very first one, that small one on my forehead.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?
Which room? Am I too old for this? Well, I will pick out the bedroom. One black and white photo of me and Mr Fox when we were so slim, beautiful and angrily rock, sitting in a bus in Estonia. Another black and white photo of Mr Fox, my Son's godfather and one, already gone architect friend of us, wearing funny hats on a rock festival. Four photos of my Sons. Two oil paintings which I have done. Some signed graphic art from various artists. One unknown oil painting with an Italian landscape motif. Some old English postcards from my best friend. Some artwork made by the cubs. An old, beautiful mirror.


3. WHAT DOES YOUR PHONE LOOK LIKE?
Bit slippery silver shell with a Totoro toy. At work a too small silver one.

4. WHAT MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?
Look at my profile, there's some I like.

5. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT DESKTOP PICTURE
Won't show it, but it's a lovely photo of my kids and their cousin drawing aliens and teddy-bears.

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?
It's a secret. Guess.

7. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GAY MARRIAGE?
I'm not so sure about any marriages at all, but I do have many gay friends and I want my friends to be happy, so if marriage makes someone happy, why not.

8. WHAT TIME WERE YOU BORN?
Early in the morning.

9. ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL TOGETHER?
No, thank god, no.

10. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?
Now? Various kind of shouting and a noise of a broken washing machine.

11. DO YOU GET SCARED OF THE DARK?
If there are spiders hiding there, yes.

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?
Well, I won't tell any names.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE COLOGNE / PERFUME?
Almost everything by Kenzo.

14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOUR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE SEX?
I like blond long hair, brown short hair, bit curly red hair and brown, blue and green eyes.

15. DO YOU LIKE PAIN KILLERS?
Not at all. I have given birth to two strong baby boys without any pain killers. But I think I got hooked on laughing gas.

16. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?
I'm not particularly shy at all.

17. FAVE PIZZA TOPPING?
Mozzarella and sun dried tomatoes.

18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
I'm not hungry, but if it could be anything, I'd like to have something only my Granny could do. It was called tirrileipä and it was a Carelian dish with rye bread fried in the butter or something. I've eaten that about 30 years ago. After that some freshly smoked flounders. Possibly a glass of Gewürztraminer. Oh, a dessert. Mango lassi, please.

19. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU MADE MAD?
I have no idea. Can I make people mad? [blink]

20. IS ANYONE IN LOVE WITH YOU?
I have been told so. I guess I have to believe.

T Fox goes egotripping

Well, almost everybody's done this memememe already, so I will too.

Seven things I have wanted to be :

1. designer ( garden-/graphic-/industrial-/interior-/exterior-/anything goes-designer...)
2. film maker or actress or both (bit like a singer-songwriter, except it has nothing to do with music and wouldn't work out anyway.)
3. fiction writer
4. antique salesman
5. horse breeder
6. a British blond, tall man, living in 1920s. Well, Sebastian Flyte actually.
7. wiser
   

Seven things I have been:

1. published
   
2. window cleaner
3. thin
4. exhibited painter
   
5. flower seller
6. archaeology-/tv & film-studies-/Sanskrit-/literature/art history-student ( what a career)
   
7. politician

I add an advert

So, I wasn't having a baby, just been busy with the wind.
Now when back in blogging I invite you having at least a virtual tour in the --- ( The doors are closed, sorry )

questioning the quintessence of taiga

Mlle B. Insecúre: What is there to do in Taiga?
Mr Google: Wha? Lets ask her.
Taiga: Well, there is lots to do. It's such a brisk wind outside.
Our Indonesian guest just went ice-swimming.
I was just inside a dark metro tunnel, sitting in a metro with no lights on.
So there's lots to do in Taiga, you see.

---- 12 and something hours later ---

I just thought to say this: apologies I haven't found any time on commenting or anything lately, but after a week I will show you why, I suppose.
Meanwhile I might answer some more questions of the googlers.

Googler One: Where can I find Taiga?
Taiga: Here. Obviously. Visit us again.

Googler Too: Good things humans have done for Taiga?
Taiga: If I would be a Miss Somethingverse contestant I would answer, but I am not.

Googler three across the sea: Is there salmon in Taiga?
Taiga: No, but there will be cheese in Taiga soon.

My third day of the sick leave

It's not that bad. Although I may not be able to make mezzotint or sink my hands into the soil anymore, I've been busy drinking hot chocolate with Cointreau, building snowmen, drinking mango lassis and being a tourist in my own city.

It's about time

T Fox: I wonder if I would have been able to help that Arizonian Googler, trying to find an answer to his question "slippery road, horse stuck?" from my blog.
Mr Time: It's too late. He won't come back.
T Fox: Hopefully the horse is fine.
Mr Time: Don't know about that, but you aren't.
T Fox: Oh, it's you. I have something to ask.
Mr Time: Go on, then. I've got plenty of time, unlike you.

T Fox: Well, that is bit related to my question. How come time flies?
Mr Time: You couldn't invent more unoriginal question, could you?
T Fox: Remember, before I was 30, I thought I could do anything I'd want. You know, have time for everything and similiar.
Mr Time: Yes. And?
T Fox: When I had the cubs, I thought I could go on with my previous life when they get bit older...
Mr Time: And you figured out you can't.
T Fox: Well, it takes still 14 years until A is 18... and I am then [counts vigorously] 48!
Mr Time: And then somebody's probably pondering would you prefer a table clock or a week in Las Palmas as your 50th Birthday present.
T Fox: Stop it!
Mr Time: Okay [sulks]

T Fox: I was just wondering if that really was right, that Do it today, not tomorrow-thing?
Mr Time: More clichés? Yes that is true. Remember how you didn't have that portrait taken of you when you were around your twenties?
You thought you'd look exactly the same for long enough to...
T Fox: [sigh]
Mr Time: And now your future grandchildren will think you have always looked like a mixture of a citrus fruit and a fat onion.
T Fox: [sigh]

Mr Time: Remember how you promised your son you'd do that finger painting tomorrow?
T Fox: Yes..
Mr Time: And after that tomorrow, it was again tomorrow, and after that tomorrow you said tomorrow...
T Fox: Okay. I got it. I have to do that before it's too late. Before he is too old and all he wants to paint are some tags on the trains... I will do it tomorrow.
Mr Time: No you won't.
T Fox: Excuse me?
Mr Time: It's too late. Tomorrow you can't paint anymore.
T Fox: What?
Mr Time: Nor can you have a splish splash in the water. Or dig any soil without gloves. You can forget the gardening now.
T Fox: That can't be true. Or can it?
But time didn't tell.

Five things I've heard

Today is the official ending of the Christmas season, so we threw the tree from the window and ate the delicious ginger bread house after dusting it. What then? A perfect time for doing Annie's Twisted Meme.

Five things somebody's said to me or about me:

1. You could be a model if you hadn't that ass.
A stranger on the street when I was 18.

2. Have you been part of the DDR shot put team?
A man after two years of dating.

3. I think I haven't told you, but you've got a brother.
Dad, when I was 19.

4. Look, Mum, is that Santa?
A small girl when I was 15 and wearing a trendy pink, furry coat.

5. You have such a voice it makes me sleep. Are you a news reader?
A stranger on the train when I was around 25.

Every year the same thing

The Fox searches for self and drops an earplug in a martini

Start wearing purple shouts 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'm quite done and almost gone

I still didn't find anything about that about me, which I seem to have lost somewhere.
If anyone sees it, please let me know. I will start searching it from here to here.

Me me me me me

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?

My blog posts are as short as the northern days.

The sun rises.
Damn, I'm lost.
The sun sets.








----
A quiet voice below the darkness: It's quite pointless and depressing, well... like I am, actually.

W is for wintery watermelon week

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.

The mutterer's box with worthless money

Yesterday evening, after doing some wearying household-things, I had to do some paperwork.
As it wasn't already bad enough, I didn't find a thing, which has no name. Well, it surely has, but I don't know it in Finnish, so how could I know it in English.*

I was trying to find the thing and a name for it.
If there would be a course called "Office-aid things naming for beginners", I would participate, if it would be free and possibly during my working-hours.
Well, anyway, I was going to take off some staples from the papers, carefully, but I couldn't, because I didn't find the thing with no name.
I even opened my million-box, but it wasn't there.

What is inside your million-box?
Yes, in that box, where you put everything you might once need or everything you just happen to have in your hands, just when you are leaving the house and don't know where to put it. You put it inside your million-box, don't you?
Well, I do.

This is what I found:
1. Designer's gouache Giallo limone (dried)
2. A Japanese pencil from the 70s
3. Five English pounds
4. Twenty Deutsche Marks, [when was it when Germany got Euros?]
5. Ten Deutsche Marks [sigh]
6. One Finnish mark from 1982 [we've got Euros too]
7. 20 Estonian cents
8. A coin of Serena spa lockers
9. A white plastic gate for Pippi Longstocking playhouse
10. Beauty and the Beast-video brochure
11. An used ticket for Dance-theatre Hurjaruuth's Winter circus
12. An empty expensive pen
13. Save our Zoo-badge. [Never seen before. Either the Zoo or the badge.]
14. Black tape
15. A yellow earplug, unused
16. A pair of shoestrings, unused
17. A plastic screw
18. A half-eaten Bob the Builder's cat-shaped eraser
19. A brown cat-shaped reflector
20. An odd-shaped football-magnet [from Easter egg]
21. A used Gallen-Kallela-stamp
22. A mite picker
23. A plastic snail
23. A bunny-shaped reflector
24. A key-ring with blue light
25. A key-ring with seal-picture
26. Some wool [I don't have a sheep or a goat, must be husky's]
27. Unused magic sand
28. A pink heart-shaped eraser with cute animals in it
29. Black thread
30. A yellow plastic ball [I remember like I'd tried to find that, but don't remember why and when]
31. An Equus Judo thingy [I'm a question mark shaped person. What is this?]
32. Wonka Spooky Nerds Fruit Punch Flavoured candies
33. A rock with a metal hook
34. A papyrus bookmark
35. A piece of pine bark with a hole
36. A yellow silk ribbon from 70s [my granny used to tie my plaits with these]


* I am a terrible mumbler. Everyone who has seen me knows that. Anyway, thank you for your visit, lovely Patch and Mr. Blue Cat.

I'm not superiously rock. I'm Hilda Fazer-Blue.

This is the first time I'll do any of these kind of things. And probably last, but anyway. I just love to put letters in the wrong order, if no-one has spotted that yet.
Thanks Dave.


1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet and current street name)

Kesy Portti.

[Ok, I'll translate it.]

Tame Gateway

[It isn't very cool, is it? Well a suitable name for a rock star, who plays a hammond organ maybe.]

2. YOUR MOVIE STAR NAME: (grandfather/grandmother on your Mom's side, your favourite candy )

Hilda Fazer-Blue

[Well that's something. Singing with Fred Ashtray.]


3. YOUR "FLY GIRL/GUY" NAME: (first initial of first name, first two or three letters of your middle name)

S-Ma

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favourite colour, favourite animal)

Blue Cat

[Oops.]

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)

Marita Kouvola

[Maybe if I'd had a side role in some unknown Latino Soap]

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of Mom's maiden name and first 3 letters of the town you grew up in.)

Metsarukau

7. Terrorist Name: (middle name spelled backwards, your Mom's maiden name spelled backwards).

Atiram Nenopur

(That's not a terrorist name. That's more like a shopkeeper in Mumbai.]


8. SUPERHERO NAME: (your favourite colour, favourite drink)

Blue Pays d'Auge

(What kind of a superhero is that? That sounds like I was a distant French relative of Batman's Robin or something.]



If some-one wants to do this, feel free.

This is it

I'm going to spend my money and time on this.
I bought her house.
The one my Grandpa built with his own hands.
The one she learnt to love.
I bought the window to look at the invisible through it.
Or the garden.
I'm going to plant my own flowers between hers.

This summer I will sit in the kitchen again
and tell some stories to my kids.

Non sunt multiplicanda entia praeter necessitatem

The restlessness of the springiest vixen.