Saturday, December 31, 2011

in need of rocket fuel tonight

"There are times when we need the rocket fuel of singing and dancing to power us through an act of blind faith. Falling in love is one of those times, when we need to move into a phase of enchantment with enough force so that when things cool and the air clears, we are locked into that person, that love. We fall in love and we sing as we walk down the street; we turn up the music and dance."

(Lavinia Greenlaw: The Importance of Music to Girls)

Sunday, December 25, 2011

I'd even cut my hair and change my name

A Christmas spent with my beloved family. A Christmas spent longing to be somewhere else entirely where there are no well-behaved kids, well-decorated houses, well-organized lives.

I have to go live in New York. Otherwise I will never be happy ever again. Have to find a way to walk those streets, exciting days, cool and smart people, glitzy bars to look beautiful in, a love to share a bottle of red and cold pizza with in a cramped apartment.

I think maybe I could, if I only first could find fifteen percent concentrated power of will.

finding the gate, finding the door,
finding the streets I used to walk before
when I was free, when I could see
when I was crazy
I wish somebody told me *

And then what? Throw away what I have now? Family, a view of the sea, a job I not only like but even believe in? Where is God and why did he make me want things and how come is life so bloody complicated?

* Marie Serneholt: I Need A House

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

the deadly blog entry

Note to self: Before you turn on the washing machine, ensure your phone is not located inside it.

While my phone is drying out on top of the radiator, I try to write a summary of the year that is soon to end, as I usually do this time of the year. Reading through the draft, I realise it is like that book from some fairytale I vaguely remember: Anyone who dares to read it ends up dead. (Or is my recollection of that stupid horror film I don't want to admit I have actually seen, The Ring?). I would like to believe there is something supernatural about my text. But the dreary truth is, my year 2011 was so miserable and dull that anyone who is bored enough to read a summary of it will get an immediate urge to slash their wrists.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

how to locate your deity

It is important to locate God. In case you were thinking about trying this little corner of Finland, I can advise you that he is not here.

My God is in exciting stories, fascinating and odd people, animals, science fiction, pubs and above all in foreign countries. Most likely he is somewhere in the British Isles.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

favourite smells

Lily-of-the-valleys, peppermint tea, coffee, railroad tracks, books, cigarrette smoke.

Wednesday, December 07, 2011

academic love

I had just studied Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and like Orsino, I was in love with love itself. Like Olivia, I was in love with a dream.

I was a first-year student and dreamed one night about a boy, an older student who bossed me around like older students do with freshmen. I fell helplessly in love. As far as I knew, he didn't exist in real life. But you never know for sure.

I would go to the old factory building where the English department was housed and attend lectures in the depressing basement room (only a few tiny windows near the ceiling showing the feet of passers-by proved to us students that life went on outside). There were lectures on British society by a white-bearded English gentleman, who worried about us in with avuncular kindness, and a smart, older-brother-type of a post-graduate student. There were grammatical drills by a stern but eternally smiling blonde lady (I tried to dislike her as much as I hated her subject but found it impossible) and strange literary analyses led by a weird girl who sometimes seemed to detest us and an even weirder fat man who spoke in a dreamy voice about medieval alchemy (never realising that none of us could follow him to the higher spheres where he dwelled). There were lectures on language history that I followed with reluctant but increasing interest, held by a Santa Claus-lookalike who patiently endured the fact that few of us showed up for lectures and even fewer ever did any homework (his subject somehow always ending up last on our long list of priorities). There were courses in American society, literature and language varieties led by the guest professor from Harvard who was deceptively funny and likeable and who scared us all silly with his high demands and his warnings against procrastinating. There was the one memorable course dedicated to Shakespeare, presided over by our awe-inspiring professor who had once shook the Queen's hand.

(How I would have admired all these people for their intelligence and knowledge, had I met them later in life...! At the time I was either too scared of them or just assumed I knew everything I needed to know.)

I also spent time in the dusty, deadly quiet of the two library rooms of the department, strangely inspired by the towering bookshelves around me and the feeling that these contained knowledge not found anywhere else. I was never inspired by the small room where we endured small-group tutorials and were forced to answer difficult questions, present our essays and sweat through the criticism of teachers and fellow students. I was scared of the common room, cosy with its coffee fragrance, magazines, and funny quotes pinned to the notice board, simply because the older students gathered there.

And wandering around the long corridors and tiny rooms with old carpets and new desks, meeting bright and beautiful people everywhere, I secretly hoped that I would one day turn a corner and stand face to face with HIM, the prince of my dream. Or that he would suddenly emerge from a group of older students gossiping around their coffee mugs. Perhaps he would pretend I was beneath his notice, like other first-years, but as he passed me with a regal stride he would grudgingly nod at me or toss me a mocking but well-meaning comment. And that would be enough. I would be his forever.

what I didn't learn at university

Next time I get a university education I will go to more parties, wear skirts and get drunk more often. But I will also get more involved in my studies.

Last time around, I did go to parties, but usually the non-alcoholic kind. For some unfathomable reason, I didn't pay much attention to the boys. I spent more time worrying about my personal morals and the European Union (!) than enjoying youth and freedom. I ran from lectures rather than let them inspire me. Stupid, stupid me!

Still, there is something to be learned from this. In my present life, I will go to more parties, wear skirts and get drunk more often. I will pay attention to the men. I will stop worrying about worrying and I will enjoy freedom, experience and the fact that I work for a crap salary and a good cause. I will be inspired.

Monday, December 05, 2011

the kitchen of all humankind

"Wow, a personal visit by the Inquisition! Would you care for a coffee?"

When friends of mine drop by at the Little Shop of Harmony and I happen to be at lunch, my coworkers direct them to the staff kitchen where they inevitably find me chewing on a cheese sandwich while reading a book and brewing a pot of coffee. My coworkers never say so, but they seem to find these visits slightly odd. Can't say that I blame them. Various visitors in the staff kitchen during my half-hour lunch include:

* A giant of a man in black leather and tattoos weeping like a baby
* Another tall, muscular man striding in and going straight to the business of ripping a metal locker door off its hinges
* A third man in a long military coat who never makes it as far as the kitchen because he gets distracted by all the books
* A tiny Asian girl who looks no older than twelve and who leaves as quickly as she arrived without meeting anyone's eyes
* A doctor coming to tell me off (hence my Inquisition comment)
* My sister, bringing another cheese sandwich, coming to lunch not with me but with one of my coworkers
* An environmental engineer coming for hushed conversations with me regarding the Revolution
* Our landlord, bypassing my boss, breezing in to discuss the future of the shop with me

It's the kitchen that does it - never was there a better place for human beings.

Saturday, December 03, 2011

there are priorities and there are princes

Hid in the basement when I should have been helping my coworkers with the Christmas rush. Because I needed to flirt with a handsome man.

December action

* Clubbing, eating blue cheese and pondering decadence (2005)
* Stormgazing and treehugging (2006)
* Finding the gates of Heaven at a street corner in Stockholm (2007)
* Suspecting God is off somewhere drinking whiskey and playing pool (2008)
* Trying to love winter while scraping ice off a borrowed car (2009)
* Being fatherless and facing a new world (2010)
* Thinking a prince might love me back (2011)

Friday, December 02, 2011

a flawless night in Vöråstan

Homemade, hot mulled wine, made on redcurrant and other currants and some serious spices. A cheese platter. Russian chocolates. A storm lashing the windows with rain. A friend not seen for ages. Candles.

Topics discussed: Life. Men. Cheese. Work. Disease. Friends. Church. How to change the world. Books. More books. More men. How to start a company. How to live on less. Ex-poodles. Kids. Internet connections. How to change the world while making money and living on less. Ice Age 3. Sugar addiction. Clearing out attics. Moscow. Ice-skating. Ultra-sound massage.

It ended on: "Where's your Calcutta? See you on Independence Day!" and a bike ride home in the rain.

Thursday, December 01, 2011

deus dixit

 And the voice of God boomed:

Why are you working so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?