Female Author

Spring Things.

2011-03-09T19:25:00.001+02:00

This whole eternal winter thing seems to be finally coming to an end. It's been really Springy for the last week or so - something i realized the other day when i stepped into some dog crap that had resurfaced from underneath the melting snow. On a more pleasant springtime note, it's not long until you can bring out the sunglasses, sneakers and head for a pint outside in the sunshine. Hells yeah. While we wait for the last of the snow to disappear (and conversely, all the dog shite to reappear), i compiled some stuff into a Spring Wish List.

Like this Marimekko dress, which i fell in love with the other day.

And this one. Both are priced at a little over 100 euros, which isn't too bad. Now if only i had some sort of party coming up as an excuse to buy one (or hell, both!). Like maybe the Opening of Terrace Season. I'm sure that warrants its own dress.

I think i own about six pairs of Converse All Stars (and hey, i like 'em as much as the next guy), but let's be honest: they freakin' fall apart like no one's business. All of mine are in varying stages of decay due to festivals, extensive winter wear and the less than awesome combo and quality of rubber, canvas and glue. Most of my Chuck Taylors have been bought for pretty cheap (Thailand, Camden Market thrift store, Boston outlet, discount sale, etc.), so paying over 100 bucks for these kiddos seems a little steep. They are pretty, though, and i am digging the whole Converse <3 Marimekko thing. And shucks, nothing screams spring like a new pair of sneakers.

Costo from here

Hats. Awesome. Bobble hats. Even more so. This might have to be the Spring that i finally get me a Costo hat. So should i lose all self control and end up buying all of the above things, can someone come buy me a pint when it's finally terrace season? I'll be the kid with all the springy clothes and no money.

Sick as Balls.

2011-03-08T19:03:00.000+02:00

This being sick thing blows. I'm convinced the way to overcome this sickness (which isn't pneumonia anymore, by the way. The doctor has now re-diagnosed it as being sinusitis and strep throat with a side of pink eye. WTF, right!?) is to make myself feel better in any way possible. So for the last couple of days, i've woken up, transferred myself from bed to couch (blanket in tow) and indulged in movies (some really crap ones), tea (seven different kinds in the last three days) and ice cream (hell yeah) for breakfast.

Things are looking good on the ice cream front: i found this new Ben & Jerry's flavor. On the side of the pint it says: sweet cream ice cream with chocolate cookie pieces, chocolatey peace signs and chocolate fudge swirls. Uh huh. They say 0.15 euros of the price of the ice cream goes towards saving the Nordic Sea. I doubt whether ice cream will save the Nordic Sea, but i'll admit it is damn yummy.

As for the movie front; in the last couple of days i've watched Inception (yeah, not as good as i thought), Letters to Juliet (painful. i thought with Vanessa Redgrave and Gael Garcia Bernal it might be worth it. It's not.), The Kids Are All Right (loved it. Julianne Moore and Annette Benning are awesome), Into The Wild (wow, beautiful), Shrek Forever After (yeah they should stop making these) and Shortbus (which is awesome). If anyone's got more good recommendations as for what to watch, do drop me a line.

And last but not least, here's a selection of the meds i'm currently on. Antibiotics, flu meds, cough syrup, lemsip, ketamin, finrexin, codeine, strepsils, keep-out-kids'-reach-meds, don't-operate-heavy-machinery-meds, cold meds, knock-you-out-cold-meds...i've got the whole cornucopia here. So if you're looking for a buzz (or alternatively to contract one of my contagious diseases), you know where to find me.

Baby We'll Be Fine

2011-03-06T13:43:00.000+02:00

Goddamn. So i went and saw The National. I'm not even gonna try and describe it, or write an epic post about it. All i'm saying is, those of you who were there, you know what i'm talking about. Those of you who weren't: how could you be so foolish? Personal highlights include Matt making his way through the audience, taking an empty seat, sitting down and singing Mr. November; getting to touch him as he made his way back to the stage and passed right by us; hearing Slow Show; ending the whole show in a singalong of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks...Yeah, all i've got is 'goddamn'.

<3 <3 <3

New Favorites: Kippo and The Ounce

2011-03-05T15:31:00.000+02:00

Frozen yogurt has finally made it to Finland, huzzah! Kippo, a dinky little hole in the wall on Iso Roba, opened shop a week or so ago. The place is tiny, the frozen yogurt is home-made to a special recipe, and it's all organic. And tastes damn good, too. The idea is to get a cup of froyo and choose from a selection of toppings ranging from nuts to berries to chocolate. I opted for the dark chocolate chips, but i could have just as well eaten the frozen yogurt topping-free, cause it's that good on its own. A small kippo of froyo with one topping will set you back a little under four euros. A little pricey, but it's not something you have every day. (who am i kidding, i'd eat frozen yogurt every day if i could). Come June, this place will be the shit; muggy heat, flip flops, frozen yogurt on your way to the park...the shit, i tell you.

In the past few years, tea shops have been popping up around town, which is good news for coffee-shunning tea addicts. Up until now i've mostly done my tea-shopping at Thehuone on Eerikinkatu, so for a change i decided to check out The Ounce on Freda. Compared to the classy, minimalist decor of Thehuone, The Ounce is like the set of a period play; it's like you've set foot into Ye Olde Tea Shoppe, complete with a shop assistant who looks like Little Bo Peep. I guess it's kind of endearing. In any case, the place smells delicious and they have a nice tea selection, in little brown bags with hand-written labels. I ended up going for some flavored black tea, most of which have curious names. But i'll admit, sipping on a mug of 'Alice in Mirrorland' or 'Lolita' is admittedly a more exciting start to the morning than a cup of the old Earl Grey.

Back with a Vengeance.

2011-03-01T17:16:00.000+02:00

It's been a million years since i last wrote. I'd love to say the reason for this has been a decadent, extended vacation in the tropics, as plentiful in cocktails as it is lacking in computers. But no. Quite the opposite, to be honest. I've been AWOL because the amount of work i've been doing lately has been verging on the incredible. Having said that, it's all been awesome, but what with all these events, projects and plans, there's been precious little time for anything else. Like blogging. Or sleeping, for that matter.

So here's what's happened during all the blog silence. A running theme has been me, spending a lot of time on the floor (and no, it's not all because of drunken blundering). Yours truly attended a JV-course and got certified to work as security. Said course consisted of two weekends of early (mostly hungover) wake-ups and a lot of time being handcuffed, strangled, or pinned to the cold concrete floor of Nosturi by people who were all bigger than me (and seemed nowhere near as hungover).

Photo courtesy of Hopponen

The other reason a big chunk of the last months has been spent on me hitting the ground is Roller Derby. The difference is that for this i've been sober, and the people responsible for flooring me have all been girls on wheels. Which, to be honest, is a lot more fun. Thanks for all the bruises, battering and good times go out to all the lovely ladies (and dudes!) at Helsinki Roller Derby.

Photo of November's Freshmeat by Dagger

The most recent thing that floored me, however, occurred this past weekend, and has little to do with sobriety. I'm talking about Femmagaala. In the myriad of work projects i've been meddling in these past few months, this one manifested itself last Saturday in the form of a raucous party at Henry's Pub. Complete with lipstick on mirrors, artists not being able to get in at the door, and a mean gig from Pertti Kurikan nimipäivät, this was the most hazardous, backwards and kickassest awards party i've seen in a good while, as the footage below depicts.

The party was awesome, the aftermath almost as much so: pneumonia and doctor's orders to stay in bed and dope up on some serious meds. Speaking of which; said meds are making me happily delirious and wildly dizzy. Hey, it might not be a vacation in the tropics, but passing out on the floor of the bathroom in a chemically-induced swoon is quite the trip in itself.

Christmas Shopping at TOKYO

2010-12-04T13:34:00.000+02:00

It's that time of year again. People become hordes of cattle rammed through shopping centres, grannies sharpen their elbows to make up for their small size and delicate build, and you hear 'last christmas' thrice an hour, which is enough to send a mass of people (already at the very end of their tether) straight over the edge, into yuletide massacre mayhem. All in the name of Christmas shopping. Ho ho ho.

Luckily, it doesn't all have to be shopping centres (or grannies or carols, for that matter. not that i have anything against either). Which is why last Friday i trammed it through the frosty afternoon to Arabia and TOKYO's Christmas sale, in the hopes of finding presents for my nearest and dearest.

These necklaces are made using a picture or photo, and you can get them with your own pictures, which is kinda nice. As would be giving one of these to your best friend with that pic of her passed out on the floor next to a puddle of vomit.<3

An advent calendar you can happily hang on your wall. None of that Disney-themed plastic crap with fake chocolate in it for me this year!

How can you not love these? A perfect gift for anyone. Especially your Grandma. And her sharp elbows. Nutty Tarts, i'm a big fan of your work.

After all those christmas parties, going for the brown-paper-bag-over-your-head look might start seeming like a pretty bright idea.

Lots of cool prints, too. I almost bought one daintily titled "Up Your Butt in 80 Ways".

And pretty cards, too. Couldn't find the ones with the elf flipping the bird, tho. (a pic of which can be found from last year's post on this topic).

And then i saw this. The tentacled bunny had me enraptured from the get-go. It's like The Mad Hatter and Cthulhu made babies. Tea-drinking, totally looney, world-destroying demi-god, semi-lapine babies. Set me back 35 euros, which is not bad at all. And it goes nicely with the print i bought last year, of two girls having a macabre tea party wearing masks, seen behind the rabbit in the above pic. Similarly to last year, i sort of ended up buying lovely things for myself, and failing at getting presents for others. I guess i can always resort to baking, wrapping and lovingly giving out gingerbread vaginas.

Which is what i might do right now, accompanied by the four hour xmas playlist (!!!) i put together on Spotify last night at two in the morning, and an industrial-size mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows.

Have a rockin' weekend y'all!

i heart in November.

2010-11-21T20:33:00.000+02:00

Oh my, it's been a while, hasn't it. I'm gonna go ahead and say that a month worth of blog silence has much to do with the fact that i find myself currently juggling four different job projects (and nothing to do with the fact that my leisure time occasionally renders me incapable of typing and forces me to put aside days solely for recovery purposes). It keeps a girl busy, i tells ya. In any case, here we are, with the most lovable things of November.

TOKYO Christmas Sale. Takes place next weekend. Wondrous things, creative talent, a small way of supporting your local artists. I've been delighted with my findings in the past, which have included some neat Ex Libris stickers (with pics of bird fetuses), cupcake magnets and undies with pubes printed on ("Look what Santa got you this year!").
My birthday, fast-approaching. Okay, it's in December, but the anticipation is at least 54.3% of the fun. Even more so because it's (once again) an excuse to beard up (wonder if that's ever gonna catch on, like 'suit up' did? Probably not.) Be that as it may, the theme is facial hair. Oh yes. I'm looking forward to seeing the stuff of legend; the obscure, elusive but ever-so-enchanting eyelash-beard. On at least three guests.
The Sleep Cycle app for the iPhone. The app measures your sleep patterns, tells you when you hit a deep sleep phase and lets you know how much shuteye you're averaging per night. Yeah, i didn't think this was gonna be interesting data either, but it's actually pretty cool comparing a sober, good night's sleep to the fitful, haggard tossing and turning of drunken slumber.
Jeavestone. Saw this band at Semifinal last Thursday. Prog rock featuring a melodica, flute and some serious stage presence, among other things (like cool stage names and seriously sweet merchandise).They had a Thursday night crowd hot, sweaty and sporting a semi.
Megazone. It's been close to a decade since i've last fired laser beams at people in dark rooms full of smoke and ultraviolet lighting. Which would explain why i've forgotten how awesome it is. Why discuss things with your work colleagues when you can stalk them in a dark alley and hide in the shadows, cackling, after shooting them in the back three times in a row? Rather satisfying.
Delay Trees at Bar Loose on November 24th with Black Twig. Make my November Wednesday, why don't you?
Roller Derby. I think this is something you hear from all roller girls, but i just dig the shit out of Derby. Seriously. Watch out Old Meat, the Fresh Meat are almost done with their training period, and they're coming out to play with the big girls. Oh yes.
Poetry. Yeah, saying you write poems is still kinda like saying you cry every time you have a wank, while simultaneously slitting your wrists. Whatever. I wrote a poem this week. It was about the irony of writing poetry. How postmodern and clever of me.
Arttu Harkki's cake. I was watching Neljän tähden illallinen (As i do. P.s. How good is this show?), and the chocolate cake he made looked delicious. Haven't tried it out yet myself, but the recipe is super simple. Think i might give it a whirl in the near future.
The Ugly Lamp. I spotted this curious porcelain seal at Urban Outfitters when i was in New York. It was half price (it's a blue porcelain seal, who the hell is gonna buy one of those?), and without stopping to think about transport (how the hell am i gonna fit that into my suitcase?) or electrical currents (this won't plug into my socket at all!), for twenty bucks, i made it mine. The Ugly Lamp came through victorious through both the transport and electrical conundrums, and now sits on my desk, where i admire it daily. And others shake their heads disapprovingly.

Musiikki & Media: American Kitsch

2010-10-22T12:45:00.001+03:00

Music and media professionals from Finland and abroad have once again made the annual pilgrimage to the hippest, most happening music city (err...) in this neck of the woods, otherwise known as Tampere. An extended weekend of seminars, talks, networking, gigs and generally approved intoxication in the form of Musiikki & Media 2010 kicked off last night.

As M&M first-timers, we rock up to Tampere in good time, decide to get the lay of the land and grab some lunch. I persuade Aleksi into checking out Classic American Diner, a place i've wanted to visit for ages. Now, i'll admit right here that i have a serious thing for all things kitsch and Americana. Which is why i can happily overlook the superficial, plastic pseudo-nostalgia of this 'roadside diner' situated in the middle of a shopping center in Tampere, and love it despite all its goriness. And the spicy veggie burger, fries and mint chocolate milkshake i had weren't too bad either.

the mint-chocolate milkshake

Later last night, we decide to delve deeper into the depths of this Americana experience, and go check out some rockabilly at Klubi. Turns out it was an awesome idea, cause they have a three band lineup of rockabilly ranging from the toe-tapping, bass-slapping gusto of Relentless to the sombre, cinematic melancholy of Last Calls, topped off with Fatboy from Sweden. Contrary to the diner experience, there was nothing pseudo or plastic about the music.

Relentless

Last Calls

We wander home in the early hours, in good spirits, and decide that Tampere is, indeed, a great city.

Having by now almost recovered physically from the after-effects of yesterday's Americana trip, i can only guess what's gonna happen tonight. If we're feeling adventurous, we might ditch Uusi Fantasia, Jätkäjätkät, The Capital Beat, Iiris, Neufvoin and a whole host of other bands for another nostalgia trip, this time to the teenage era, and go check out revamped pre-teen idols Jimi Constantine (formerly Pääkallo, of Technicolor fame) and Jonna Geagea (formerly Kosonen, of Nylon Beat stardom) instead. Trippy indeed.

i heart in October

2010-10-17T21:40:00.000+03:00

1. Girlfriends by Carol Ann Duffy. I found my copy of her Selected Poems at the bottom of a pile of books, opened it and didn't put it down until i'd re-read all poems. This one in particular is beautiful.

2. Thunderbaum. Who am i kidding, these boys are the dog's bollocks. Having seen them live five times in the last year, i know what i'm talking about. (Even though said gigs have been enjoyed in various states of pint-throwing wild drunkenness). Having said that, it's probably appropriate to be stupidly drunk when you're seeing the Morons of Rock.

3. Roller Derby. I haven't been this excited about something since i discovered sex, alcohol and hard drugs. Just kidding. Seriously though, Freshmeat Training Period starts in November, and i can't wait to get rolling.

4. Etsy shopping. There are realms of enchanting things out there i could (and do) spend hours exploring. Like, i never knew i couldn't live without personalized, custom quad skate toe guards.

5. Mr. Nobody. Chaos theory, parallel realities, the opportunity cost of choosing, string theory, the nature of time...oh, and then there's that guy, Jared something.

6. Autumn. My favorite season. Clear skies, crunchy leaves and crisp, cold afternoons are what i'm all about.

7. Morrissey. The 20th anniversary reissue of Bona Drag has been blaring out of my speakers for days now. Loudly. I hope the neighbors dig the Moz, too.

8. Théhuone. At my house, it's tea time all the time. This place is a tea drinker's fetish house. Last time i came home with a little bag of Chai, which i can't stop sniffing. I'm like one of those Japanese underwear-sniffers, but with tea.

9. Bored to Death. I always feel anxious watching Jason Schwartzman in this show, cause he's got really bad hair and he's always seconds away from some sort of awkward encounter. Also, Ted Danson is perhaps the most awesome character. Right after Barney Stinson, of course.

10. Nightvisions. Halloween's a-coming! And so is the Mutant Girls Squad, apparently. Will go see them, and other gory, dark, frightening stuff at the epic scare-athon, armed with a thermos of black tea, a gigantic bag of candy, and someone whose arm i can dig my nails into when the going gets scary (or i hit a combined caffeine and sugar high and can't sit still). Whichever happens first.

Free Lunch? No. Delicious, decently-priced Lunch? Hell yes.

2010-10-05T20:31:00.000+03:00

I found out today that there's a little known of secret when it comes to lunch venues in the city. The secret in question is located in what used to be known as Finnair Stadium (now Sonera Stadium) and it's called FreshCo. I'd never heard of it, until the good peeps i work with suggested we go there for lunch today.

Honestly, when it comes to any kind of food served at a sports stadium, i'm all set to have my culinary hopes shattered by mystery-meat masquerading as a hot dog and a pint of beer boasting a higher percentage of plastic flavor than alcohol.

Which is why i was baffled by the awesomeness of this place. (Which, as i found out later, might be explained by the fact that the man behind it is none other than Jyrki Sukula himself). The decor is a little office cafeteria, but the place is light, spacious and clean. The lunch menu has a meat, fish and veggie option (from around 10-12e), all of which looked tasty (well, as tasty as some sort of hacked steak can look to a vegetarian). Or you can go for the salad buffet (9.30e). Personally, i've always thought salad buffets can be the biggest ripoffs and downers of the buffet world (it's like, meh, dunno what to do with all this semi-frozen sweetcorn, wilted lettuce and 20kg bag of onions. We'll call it a salad and charge them 12 euros). Well folks, on seeing the salad buffet at FreshCo, i take back that nasty assumption.

Not only did this one feature huge olives, croutons, toasted pumpkin seeds, marinated zucchini and chickpeas in addition to the standard salad fare; there were also little veggie Caesar sandwiches and Jerusalem artichoke tarts. Not to mention freshly-baked bread with a herby spread. There's also mineral water on tap, which is awesome. The salad bowls are big, too, so this is no skimpy little salad you're putting together, either. And if all that weren't enough, your nine euros will also get you tea, coffee or hot chocolate, accompanied by the dessert of the day. Which, today, was a dreamy, chocolate mousse and red berry kind of affair. Forget breakfast of champions - this stadium-side lunch is where it's at.

FreshCo, Sonera Stadium, Urheilukatu 5, 00250 Helsinki

Libraries & The Smell of Old Books.

2010-09-26T21:08:00.000+03:00

I like libraries. Having said that, i hadn't been to one in Finland since i moved back from Paris a couple of years ago. And to be honest, in the last five years, visits to the library have been exclusively academia-related. Hours of essay-writing and crappy vending-machine tea, armfuls of textbooks, journal hunting in the dusty recesses of research rooms...you get the drift.

Well, i decided to make it right and head to the library with the sole ambition of borrowing some entirely academia-unrelated reading. And so i traipsed off to Rikhardinkadun kirjasto. And quite the bibliophile's wet dream that place is, too. The library was founded in 1882, and the building retains a lot of its original features. The coolest of which is the book tower, which is the highest point of the library. A spiral staircase leads up to the very top floor, which houses English Fiction. You can see clouds sailing above you, looking up through the skylight at the top of the tower. It's old, charming and eerie in equal amounts. I wanted to find a corner, build a fort and sit there with a blanket, flashlight and a thermos of tea and spend the night reading books. It's kinda awesome.

I spent an hour browsing the bookcases (and smelling the books - yeah, i'm one of those sneaky, old-book-smell-loving library pervs), trying to figure out what i wanted to borrow. i realized i'm a complete library-noob, continuously marveling at the fact that i could just pick out any books, and they'd let me take them home to read. I had to remind myself several times that that is, indeed, the premise a library operates on. And they didn't have to be bricks of books that dealt with the consequences of modernity in regard with self identity, or critical essays about the role of media as the fourth estate. (Which are the kinds of books i've come home with on my most recent, academia-heavy library visits.)

So there i was, like a fat kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet, hoarding books. In the end, i didn't take out all the ones i wanted (they'll still be here next time, i told myself - another great thing about libraries), and got out the following: Factotum by Charles Bukowski (a marvelous account of women, booze and chronic unemployment in America during WWII), The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter (absolutely fantastic reworkings of classic fairy tales; dark, erotic and always wondrous) and Filth by Irvine Welsh (i thought Trainspotting was brilliant, but this was better. Mental problems; genital rashes; substance abuse of all sorts; the misogyny, racism and corruption of the Scottish police force in the 90s and intestinal parasites. The shit, in other words.)

Having vicariously drunk myself into oblivion, killed Bluebeard and hosted a particularly observant and intellectual tape worm, i need something new to read. If you've read something awesome lately, do leave me a recommendation (and it doesn't have to involve intestinal parasites - although that would be a bonus, of course). And if you haven't, i recommend you drop by the library and pick up one the aforementioned reads (and smell some old books while you're at it).

Autumn: Mushrooms and Movies

2010-09-21T00:27:00.000+03:00

It's September. Today i saw determined looking bar staff packing away terrace tables and chairs, probably to be seen next some time in May. On my walk home from a bar on the weekend i didn't see a single person sprawled out in the park, leisurely whiling away the hours between last calls and brunch next morning; a sight that has been a decadent affirmation of summer, and the happily ambivalent attitude to real life that goes with it. I refused to agree when someone stated it with conviction on the last night of Flow Festival, but now i can't deny it any longer. Summer's finally over.

Although this realization is often coupled with a sense of nostalgia and romanticized reminiscing of that far too short season, i don't mind autumn - in fact, it's quite welcome. I'm not gonna launch into that whole spiel about this being the time for some post-summer introspection, regular exercise, new projects and lighting candles when the rain pelts on your windows on a dark and dreary night. Nope. I'll leave that to womens' magazines (seriously, they tell you the same thing every year, WTF?). Instead, i'll tell you what i think is awesome about this season. In two words: mushrooms & movies.

The former were found in copious quantities in a rainy forest in Nuuksio over the weekend. First time in my life that i found torvisienet, which is why i was particularly excited upon spotting the curious looking fungi hiding under a fallen tree trunk (my mushroom book warned me one may easily mistake a torvisieni for a fallen leaf or other decaying plant material on the forest floor. You don't say? Luckily, that's not the case with any other mushroom). In any case, i reckon heading into the bush for some dinner ingredients is something everyone should have a go at. And there's still time, too, as the mushroom season extends until the end of October, at least (according to the aforementioned mushroom book, anyhow).

On the movie front, there's Helsinki International Film Festival, Rakkautta & Anarkiaa. Choosing which ones to see is the hardest part; there are so many movies it's confusing. I reckon your best bet (if you haven't got your tickets yet, that is) is to get a festival pass (11 films/70 euros), leaf through the catalogue, and pick your favorites. Unless you're on the ball with this and getting around to it early, you'll probably not get tickets to all the ones you wanna see. But i reckon this is a good thing, cause this way you can spend your remaining tickets on movies you wouldn't normally choose to see. It's nice to be taken out of your comfort zone and field of interest every once in a while - even if it is only cinematically. Personally, i'm quite looking forward to seeing Heartbeats, All That I Love, Dharma Guns and L.A. Zombie, among others. As well as spending most of my evenings this week in the comforting darkness of a movie theatre.

Back at the ranch, the fungi was about to meet its end. The 'shrooms were thrown in a pan along with some onions, soy cream and a good handful of spices and herbs, and ended up on a plate with some wholewheat spaghetti, topped off with some parmesan. There's something awesome about eating food you've foraged yourself. Even if it is from a stretch of forest crowded on all sides by houses and infested with other urban foragers, and even if that thing moving on the sizzling frying pan happens to be a slug that's crawled out of one of the mushrooms, seriously wishing it wasn't gonna end up as the protein constituent of your next meal. When this amounts to too much excitement for autumn, i recommend you light those candles and invest in some knitting needles.

Eating Italian at Vaelsa Pasta & Co.

2010-09-15T18:30:00.000+03:00

Some time ago, a little Italian restaurant took over the tiny space that used to house Subway at the Iso Roba end of Annankatu. While i quite enjoy the occasional sub, the presence of a new, non-chain Italian is a welcome addition to the Helsinki restaurant scene. So last Friday my mom, my brother and i decide to try it out.

They've done a nice job with the place. Gone are the harsh lights, clinical tiles and potato chip stands of the Subway days. In their place are low-hung, softly lit lamps, wall-to-wall carpeting and Italian music. They've turned the tiny space into a cozy, intimate restaurant.

We skim the menu, which is versatile enough to offer a nice selection, while being condensed enough to make choosing easy. I opt for the Insalata Caprese for a starter (9.70e). The tomatoes are juicy and the mozzarella melts in your mouth. The pesto, of course, is home-made.

My brother goes for the Bruschetta al Pomodoro (6/10e), which, he affirms between mouthfuls, is just as it should be. I sneak a bite; these flavors are why i love Italian food. Simple, straightforward, fresh ingredients. I wouldn't have minded the bread being a little more toasted, but apart from that, the starter was delicious.

The Risotto ai Funghi Portobello (15.50e) is the one of the three vegetarian mains on the menu; i choose it over the Pasta al Pomodoro (10e) and Pasta al Pesto (12.70e). Our mains take a while to get to us (the charming owner apologizes for this, as they're currently catering to a party of twelve that arrived just before us), but it's worth the wait. I'm a big fan of risotto, and i couldn't live without mushrooms. This is comfort food at its best, and i'm not disappointed.

I'm stuffed after the main course, but ordering dessert is the best part about eating out, so i decide i can manage the Sorbetto al Limone (5e). It's frothy, icy and very zesty, and in its lightness, a great way to finish off a big meal. My brother (who is on weekend leave from the army, and looks increasingly more like Skeletor every time i see him) goes for the Tiramisu (9.70e). I dig into it too, and it's gorgeous. I let Skeletor finish it, though. All in all, dinner was delicious, made all the more brilliant by the splendid company (this praise has nothing to do with the fact that my mom was awesome and picked up the bill). As far as i'm concerned, i say support your local Italian.

Vaelsa Pasta & Co. Annankatu 4, 00120 Helsinki

Culture in the City: Pecha Kucha & Kiasma

2010-09-05T20:27:00.000+03:00

September is looking like an interesting month. In addition to it seeming as if we're coming out of a scorching summer and plummeting towards winter faster than you can say 'global warming', it seems as if we're falling (if not quite as fast) towards sobriety. Or i am.

And i'm not alone, either. A group of us decided that after a summer of perpetual inebriation, it was time for some enforced alcohol-free quality time.

So not being drunk or shivering on the floor of the bathroom feeling the after-effects thereof, leaves time for doing a whole lot of other things things. Like getting cultured. Which is why on Thursday night i found myself at Kaapelitehdas for Pecha Kucha Night. Organized as part of Helsinki Design Week, the night saw 12 speakers from around the world giving design-focused presentations. The idea of Pecha Kucha (for those yet unacquainted with it) is that each speaker puts together a presentation of 20 slides and has 20 seconds to talk about each slide. This amounts to six minutes, forty seconds and a succinct, dynamic presentation.

Topics ranged from education to architecture, with a curious addition of a presentation focusing on architects' haircuts (probably my personal favorite). I hadn't been to a Pecha Kucha Night before, but i came out of there thinking that was 7.50 e well spent (all this stimulating knowledge for the price of a very expensive pint!), and i'd definitely go again.

A sober weekend is a curious thing. This hardly means i've never experienced one (i have. probably not recently, but it's been done), but perhaps i'm paying more attention to the difference now that abstinence has become this month's norm. In any case, this sober Sunday started off with brunch at Primula (who have upped the price of brunch from 10 to 13 euros!) and was followed by a visit to Kiasma, which has been free of charge to go to all week as part of the 20th birthday celebrations of Valtion taidemuseo.

This museum visit's highlights included these bubbles, entitled ILMA, by artist Hilda Kozari, in which she has captured the signature scents of Helsinki, Paris and Budapest. I like the idea, and there's something surreal about standing in a bubble that attempts to trap the scent of an entire city into a little, opaque, echoey orb. I can see how Paris smelled like Paris (heavy on the perfumed, refined scent), while Kristine, Anna and I all agreed that Helsinki smelled of man. Does Helsinki smell like a man? I don't think so. Unless the characteristic smell of the city is a club filled with peach-fuzz mustache-sporting barely-legals who think that when it comes to aftershave, more is more.

Ei, by Pekka Syrjälä. This reminded me of thoothpaste.

The biggest highlight, though, was Jacob Dahlgren's The Wonderful World of Abstraction. This jungle of ribbons suspended from the ceiling was the best thing about the exhibit. You walk into it, and the flowing wall of color envelopes you and screws up your depth perception, so it's as if you're walking through a dreamlike, trippy, vertical rainbow.

i was also feeling these mismatched, stitched-up frankenstein toys. Endearing.

There's also a wall to which you can stick your own personal message on a post-it. A lot of them are from international museum visitors. Like this one, from Barney Stinson. Culture and sobriety are awesome.

i heart in August

2010-08-25T19:54:00.000+03:00

1. Soap. In cupcake form. Or cupcakes in soap form. In any case, they're handmade in Finland using natural ingredients, they look amazing and they smell absolutely edible. Coming to a shop near you in the near future, but soon you can get your hands on them here.

2. Ahne '10 Art Festival. The exhibition is in Suvilahti, and showcases work of art students from Aalto University, among others. My personal favorite was the bra display. Also, it's free of charge. Bonus.

3. Naps. The good people of Juhlaviikot and Helsingin Sanomat are letting you nap at the Central Railway Station and Ruttopuisto Park for a couple of days; they provide the beds and blankets, and they'll even watch your stuff while you get some midday shuteye.

4. Rain. Finally. It's seriously pleasant after this hot as balls summer. Although that Apocalyptic Storm (pretty sure i saw some horsemen rolling around in the sky too) a couple of weeks ago was piss-my-pants kinda scary.

5. My new bike. A shiny black Jopo, named Nakkimankeli 'freebird' Makkonen (naming help was had from some brilliant minds - thanks for that), that rides like a dream. And on the same note: I hope you're enjoying my rickety, rusty, stolen one with the flat tyre, you bicycle-thieving nut sack.

6. Angela Carter. I went to the library the other day and borrowed The Bloody Chamber, where she refashions and reworks classic fairy tales in a brilliant way. i can't believe i've never read any of her stuff before. At times it's like a female Gaiman counterpart. Captivating.

7. Cookies. Bought Vegan Cookies Take Over Your Cookie Jar from NY, and baked a batch of Chocolate Fudgy Oatmeal Cookies, which were the shit.

8. Midlake. And the fact that they're coming back to Finland in November.

9. iBeer iPhone app. Turns your iphone into a pint of beer for 0.79e. This enables you to pretend you're tipping back the brews, with the beer sloshing and frothing around your phone/pint. I don't see how this could be satisfying; i do see how you'd look like an absolute twat drinking your phone at a bar, tho. What the hell is it doing on my list, then? see #10 below.

10. Sober September. That's right; it's as good a month as any to grab yourself by the neck and give yourself a good, solid, smarting slap of sobriety. The reason why it's on my list of things to love now is because it's still August. Cheers.

Flow Festival 2010: Personal Highlights

2010-08-18T15:07:00.001+03:00

1. Mr Husa's Polaroid Camera. I've wanted one of these for ages. Forget digital cameras and iPhones; this beauty, as unpractical in size as it is cool in terms of pics, is the only real media for festival documentation.

2. The XX. They had me at Intro. There was running, jumping fences and a lot singing and hugging caused by this gig. Romy Madley Croft, you rock my world.

3. Nakki Tehtaanmyymälä. Vegelihikset. Who ever thought someone would start making those? Best. Shit. Ever.

4. Jallu shots at the bar. See #8 for elaboration.

5. Bajamajat. Especially the Mens'. Very little queueing on that side. Or in general, for that matter.

6. Interviewing people about their Flow-related Facebook status updates, which included (but were hardly limited to) 'is going with the Flow', 'varrella virran', 'is overflowing', 'antaa virran viedä', 'has an afterflow', 'is WOLF', etc.) Such clever wordplay.

7. Running into friends. And having celebratory, happy chance encounter drinks with each of them.

8. Managing to fish 147,5 euros worth of anniskelualue receipts out of my wallet on Monday morning. Which is weird, cause i remember telling most bartenders i don't need the receipts.

9. Surfer Blood. I caught a glimpse of them live at Coney Island some weeks ago, but missed most of the gig. This entirely made up for it.

10. Biking home. By Sunday night i was actually doubting whether i could do it. Nevertheless, both the bike and owner found themselves at home on Monday morning, aching and semi-dead, but quite pleased with the weekend. In a state of post-festival afterflow, even.

Love in a Fake Empire: The National Live

2010-08-12T15:40:00.001+03:00

I grasp the little piece of paper in my sweaty hand like it's a lifeline. I'm so scared i'll drop it, accidentally tear it up, or naively show it to someone who'll snatch it from me and run for their life, giggling as they disappear into the sunset. I put my hand in my bag, still clasping the little rectangle, just in case. The text on it says 'The Bowery Presents: The National. Rain or Shine'. I remember it by heart, that's how geekily excited i feel about this gig. Right now it's shining. I'm hot, and slightly worried my ticket will start to fall apart in my eager, sweaty hands. The text beneath that says 'Celebrate Brooklyn', which is also written on the banner we're about to pass under. I glance at the line behind me; it zigzags so far back into Prospect Park i can't see the end. I wonder if all the people behind me are also having their gig entrance threatened by the damage their excited, sweaty palms are inflicting on their tickets. Probably. I take mine out to look at it again, just to make sure this is actually happening.

Because it almost didn't. Some time in May, when the thought of coming to NYC was just an idea i was flirting with, i checked online for any good shows coming up, and saw The National were playing Brooklyn at the end of July. If this New York thing worked out, this is number one on my list of things to do, i promised myself. A few weeks later, i'd booked my flight and checked back for gig tickets. The show was sold out. Shitballs, i thought to myself, undeterred. I'll see that band if it's the last thing i do.

Several weeks of serious Craigslist-stalking, dozens of emails and i'm-a-foreign-kid-in-NY-for-a-month-and-need-to-see-this-band-pleas later, we trot up to North Harlem late one night to exchange a wad of cash for a small white envelope (addressed to 'Nina, from Finland) with a very tall dude in a grey shirt. We nod, turn around and head in opposite directions. i tear open the envelope. It contains two tickets. I'm so happy i want to burst into a Gene Kelly's Singing in the Rain-esque rendition of 'i'm on a bloooodbuzzzzzz, yes i aaaam' like an idiot on a random street corner in Harlem in the middle of the night. I manage to restrain myself.

So here we are now. We enter the park, find ourselves a spot to sit. Everyone around us is having a picnic, laughing and talking in the most laid-back of manners. I look around and have half a mind to inquire how they're being so blasé about this, lounging on their blankets, scooping hummus with their pita chips; this is no time for casual eating, this is time for some serious, focused anticipation! I shake my head and content myself with taking long, ruminating drags of my last cigarette.

Some hours (and a Beach House gig which i might write about some other time) later the sun has set and the muggy heat of day is finally giving way to a balmy evening and a deep blue sky. The park trees have been strung with fairylights that twinkle in the canopy above the expectant crowd. Gigantic dragonflies buzz past and the breeze carries the pungent smell of marijuana our way. The blue of the sky takes on a deeper hue as people sip on their beers and the stage lights up. Suddenly, i see people standing up, the crowd shifts, an eager wave of applause ripples through the audience, gathering strength. I shoot up, standing on tiptoe, and catch a glimpse of Matt as he drifts on to stage, flanked with his band mates, and palms the mic.

Runaway

starts off slow, even melancholy. Matt's voice is soft, almost brooding. The green lights illuminating the band fade, replaced by lights that look like candles placed around the stage. The audience is silent. There's something really still about the moment. I notice all the hairs on my arms are standing on end. It's like voluntary suspension of disbelief. Am i here? Is this The National? Then the song is over, and Matt says a quiet 'thank you'. Before the audience can react, they burst right into

Mistaken For Strangers

Which is faster than the album version; all loud drums and growing sound with Matt discarding softness for an almost aggressive take on the lyrics. "Showered and blue-blazing" pummels the audience, and then amidst applause we're back from The Boxer, on to High Violet and

Anyone's Ghost

and the stage is bathed in a purple light; violins, trombones and trumpets. The music is huge, moving, and the sound is stellar compared to Beach House gig earlier. The song finishes and Matt addresses the crowd: "This next song is about Ohio, where we're from. But even though the song is about Ohio, we actually feel more at home here in Brooklyn." Brooklynites in a Brooklyn park burst into applause for their honorary neighborhood band.

Bloodbuzz Ohio

Draws an ecstatic scream from the audience within the first drum beats. Although a sea of people separates me from the stage, i see Matt, dressed in black head to toe, leaning into the mic. There's something about this guy, he has this easy nonchalance that gives him incredible charisma, independent of the enraptured throng of listeners shouting his name. The lights shift and Matt's silhouette is thrown on the back wall of the stage; the shadow of the man with the mic enormous and flickering. The darkening night and vibrating music has drawn bats from their perches, and these tiny shadows crisscross and flit in the air, likewise silhouetted against the lights.

Matt dedicates the next song to Luke Hewitt, "who i've stolen some lyrics from". And slowly they launch into

Baby We'll Be Fine

, accompanied from the start by violins. When Matt utters 'baby we'll be fine', i sincerely believe him. I wanna spill Jack and Coke down his collar. This is as good as it gets, i think to myself. I find i'm mistaken, when they roll into the next song.

Slow Show

is better. it makes me cry, i'll be honest. This is the song i've always wanted to see performed live. It's like a love letter. It's haunting. It's a fine example of Matt's talent for penning ingenious lyrics. I feel the drumbeat somewhere in my ribcage as "you know i dreamed about you twenty-nine years before i saw you" draws applause from the enthralled audience.

Squalor Victoria

starts with an extended intro and sees Matt's raspy scream of 'Squalor Victoria' echo across the park. The audience goes wild. To counter the roaring, the band softens for

Afraid of Everyone

I can't even count how many people are on stage at this point. It's all strings, percussions, and in the midst of everything Matt is pacing the stage like a man possessed, stopping to bellow forlornly into the mic. His baritone voice, criticized for its limited range and monotony, sounds beautiful.

Little Faith

The lit ends of blunts make little red pinpricks in the darkness, which has settled on the park like a mantle. The drums of Little Faith vibrate in the air, which hangs thick. It's as if the stage and all people are encased in a park-sized bubble, a little pocket of darkness removed from the rest of the world.

Available

The song is a rougher, edgier version, with loud blaring guitars matching Matt howling "how can you blame yourself when i did everything i wanted to" like a man carrying some serious emotional baggage.

The Cardinal Song

from Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers is an interesting choice for the set list. It's almost disconcerting how mellow and ballad-like it is after the raw screaming of 'Available'.

Conversation 16

is one of the best songs from High Violet, and the intensity between the band and the audience reaches a fever pitch; the stage is like a beacon of light in the balmy night with thousands of dancing, swaying, jumping shapes in the darkness before it. The song finishes and the band rolls right into the jovial rhythm of

Apartment Story

"This is probably the first show we could walk to", Matt remarks. "Instead of walking we should have arrived in one of those 400 feet long hummer limos", Aaron interjects, drawing laughs from the crowd.

The Geese of Beverly Road

Abel

The stage is red and the lights are blinding. "My mind's not right", Matt screams at the audience, who scream at him like theirs aren't either. I lose sight of the stage, which is obscured by the jumping crowd. The song comes to an end and the stage fades to black. They then launch into

Daughters of the Soho Riots

the mellowness of which makes the audience reciprocate with drawing out lighters and swaying like this was Woodstock in '69.

England

sounds crisper live, with all instruments audible; the violin especially sounds beautiful. Matt says "i think i might ride my bike home tonight. Straight to the Vale of Cashmere." I can't believe it; i want to live here, where seeing the boys from The National ride their bikes home after an amazing gig is nothing out of the ordinary.

Fake Empire

is what everyone's been waiting for. It's amazing seeing this live; it starts so small, with Matt singing, almost gingerly, and Bryce on the piano. Then in come backing vocals, the drums, clapping; musician after another emerges from the shadows of the stage and picks up their instrument...the song grows, just kinda lifts off. The audience counters it with a wall of sound, the stage lights are blinding, the song comes to an end with a resounding horn fanfare. The musicians take a quick bow in front of the exhilarated audience and disappear off stage.

The clapping, shouting and whistling sees no end. They're not gone for long.

Sorrow

has the stage flooded in purple light. Matt leans into the mic, grasping it with both hands. The song is beautiful, its melancholy mood at home in the dark park at the end of the gig.

Secret Meeting

Mr. November

As the third song in the encore, they finally play Mr. November. The stage alternates between pink and white lighting, strobe lights flash as Matt screams "I won't fuck us over". It's a haggard scream, the words to which are occasionally lost, but that's okay, cause everyone knows them.

Terrible Love

They play the first song from the new album last. "This is our final song. Thank you so much". The song finishes, the stage fades into darkness. And then, as subtly as it manifested, the bubble pops; the willful suspension of disbelief dissolves and the real world starts happening again. People look around, start shifting, moving towards the gates. Was i just here? Did this just happen? Yes i was and yes it did. And it was epic.

The NY Chronicles: There's a Tentacle in My Teacup...

2010-07-27T06:28:00.000+03:00

Lo and behold! The octopi have taken over! At least this is the conclusion i came to after a recent visit to Anthropologie, where the glorious, bulbous-headed creature of the deep had found its way onto many a curious thing. I don't mind one bit, because everything tentacled infatuates me greatly. Like these dinky teacups and saucers, for example. Notice the handle of the teacup is a tentacle complete with little suction cups.

And gorgeous Kraken dinner plates. "Eat your greens before Cthulhu floats off the plate and devours you!", i'd encouragingly coerce my frightened children in the future, with a house full of octopus china.

Then there was this lovely item, an eight-armed clothes hook. I had a really hard time letting go of this; it would have been right at home on my wall, mounted next to the bambi-skull and winged, grimacing skeleton. In the end, the only thing stopping me from giving this particular octopus a new home was the $48 price tag. Having managed to exercise such impressive self-control, i feel there might yet be hope for the black hole-like, bottomless pit that is my tiny, homeward bound suitcase. But more likely, i'll find myself at the airport trying to rationally explain my octopus-fetish and the second suitcase, bulging at the seams, full of tentacled paraphernalia.

The NY Chronicles: i heart Coney.

2010-07-26T08:15:00.003+03:00

A very long subway ride away from upper Manhattan, at the Brooklyn end of lines D, F, N & Q, lies Coney Island. Much like the legendary end of the rainbow, this magical destination is full of treasure for those who find their way there.

Coney Island - home of the American amusement park - has spawned, cultivated and cherished all manner of wayward characters during its long, murky and enchanting history, from ladies of the night to sideshow freaks, and tattoo artists to sailors. Reaching its heyday as a haven for laughter, inebriation and other wild pastimes circa the 1920s, the amusement park fell into a state of neglect post WWII. There have since been attempts to restore the park to its former glory, but the fairground still retains an air of old sex nostalgia, like a sullied, derelict counterpart to the polished, legendary original.

This, of course, makes it all the more interesting. I first went there on a gloomy day last May. The mist hung wet and thick across the boardwalk, obscuring the end of the pier, the water beyond it, as well as the towering, crooked-looking ferris wheel. The amusement park was empty, apart from the puffy, liquored-up 'Nam veterans standing sentry by the rides, waiting for those in need of amusement, but returning always to tip back their barely concealed brown paper bags. The merry-go-round travels in endless circles, the carnival music plays, the hot dogs are the best in the world and the mist thickens. i love it, this long-standing bastion of kitschy, crooked, bewitching Americana.

This time around, however, the weather was (rather surprisingly) sweltering, and my Coney Island day plan included lying around on the beach and dipping my toes into the Atlantic.

Gone was the gray fog obscuring the beach on the previous visit, and in its place were the browning bodies of masses of New Yorkers. With the temperature in the triple digits, it was to be expected. Kids frolicking in the waves, old ladies with those weird aluminum foil tanning mirror things, and beach vendors zigzagging the shoreline, selling everything from steaming empanadas to rainbow-colored kites.

I find myself a spot, apply factor 30 in excess and settle down with Richard Price's Lush Life, ignoring the smirks my chalky white limbs seem to be getting from the orange-hued hoochies in teeny bikinis on the neighboring beach towel. Ah, this is the life.

After finishing my book and dozing off for a while, i come to, thirsty as hell and with an uncomfortable burning sensation beginning at the back of my calves and ending somewhere around the back of my neck. Ouch. Note to self: even SPF30 isn't gonna save you when you fall asleep in the sun. The gum ball-popping ladies to my left continue to simper as i pack up my stuff and head back to the boardwalk with pizza and a pint in mind.

Before i call it a day, i pay the Glass Box Grandma a visit. There's nothing like getting your fortune told by a googly-eyed dame encased in glass.

I drop in a quarter, expecting the robotic geriatric to spring to life. It doesn't happen. Instead, a light comes on, the granny jerks awkwardly back and forth a couple of times, and then resumes her static, cockeyed vigil.

I'm a little disappointed. And then i see the card sliding out of the waist-level slot of the machine. I pick it up and decipher grandma's prophecy.

Grandma tells me i talk too much, can't keep secrets, shouldn't leave the house for any reason, and would be better off taking after a wise, old bird. For another quarter she'll elaborate. I'm satisfied with the crone's counsel; it's little nuggets of wisdom like these that keep me from making awful mistakes, like going on ill-advised trips to dirty, big cities; meeting horrible people and generally having the worst time of my life. Oh my, how dreadful it all sounds. How dreadful indeed.

The NY Chronicles: Cupcakes and Skulls.

2010-07-21T04:08:00.000+03:00

Cause these are a few of my favorite things.

The scrumptious delicacy above is a Devil's Food Cupcake from Crumbs Bake Shop. While choosing cupcakes, i noticed that the little sign displaying the name of the cupcake also tells you the amount of calories per cupcake. Appalling! Who wants to know what kind of calorie bomb they're tucking into? Who even cares? I'd like my decadence with a side of blissful ignorance, thank you very much.

I've been looking for a bird skull necklace for ages, so when i found this wood pecker skull pendant in a little store called Norbu in Williamsburg, i was over the moon. It's very similar to Pamela Love's jewelry, which i've been lusting after for a year now, but, lucky for me, comes at only a fraction of the cost. This skull set me back $35. I slipped it onto the same chain as my nerd glasses -necklace, just so i'd have somewhere to put it until i found it a chain of its own, but now i kinda like the skull with the glasses, so i might keep it there.

Cupcakes and skulls. Cause it's the baked goods and head bones that make you happy.

A Rock'n'Roll Heart: Murder City Devils Live.

2010-07-20T08:17:00.000+03:00

It's two o'clock on Sunday afternoon and Brooklyn, much like the rest of New York, is sweltering, i discover as i emerge from the furnace-like subway platform on to Bedford Avenue. The sky over Williamsburg is blue; the air is still, the heat making it flicker and dance over the black asphalt. Potential perils, such as sunstroke or severe dehydration do little to deter me today. I wouldn't miss today for anything. Wiping the sweat off my brow, and lighting a cigarette in defiance, I start towards the waterfront.

The Williamsburg Waterfront plays host to Jelly Pool Parties on summer Sundays in July and August. These one-day festivals are real gems, featuring an eclectic mix of bands, cold beer, dodge ball games and a smashing view of Manhattan across the river. While the event in itself is awesome, what makes today's pool party epic is the headliner; taking the stage at sundown is none other than The Murder City Devils. The superb garage punk group got together in 1996, called it quits in 2001, and have since done the occasional, random show. How i wished to see them. I just never thought i'd happen to be in the right place at the right time. And now, suddenly, hell, this is about as right as it gets. I sit on the grass and prepare to wait.

At six in the afternoon, the air has cooled a little and the white concrete field that makes up a good chunk of the East River State Park is rapidly filling up. An expectant cheer goes up from the crowd, i snake my way closer to the stage. The air is rife with giddy anticipation. And suddenly, there they are - this band whose songs have been the soundtrack of wild garden parties, first crushes and break-ups alike - on stage, right in front of me. Being unable to decide between peeing my pants in excitement and bursting into tears of joy, i instead join the jumping, screaming crowd and shriek at the top of my lungs.

Spencer Moody saunters on stage wearing a straw hat and his signature thick, black glasses; he's not particularly short, but he looks hobbit-like. Like he's just back from planting parsnips in the garden. And his beard, ginger and bushy, is topped off with an impressive mustache (which makes yours truly - a facial hair-fetishist to the bone - sigh in awe).

They kick off, hitting the sea of people in front of them with the big guns: all their best songs, each one making the crowd go a little crazier: Dancin' Shoes, Hey Sailor, 18 wheels... The audience is one big hive-mind of tattooed arms pumping the air, enveloped in a cloud of sickly-sweet smoke issuing from the blunts held in every other hand, bellowing out the apology in unison: I never wanted you to be a sailor's girl, to be a trucker's wife, to be left behind...And it's just like i always thought it would be.

Spencer Moody is furious on stage. He thunders into the mic like it's insulted him. When that's not enough, he shoves the whole thing in his mouth, yelling into it, head thrown back, hands in the air. It sounds exactly like it does on their live album, if not better. In between songs he stands with his back to the audience, the mic balanced on his head. And then he's off again, climbing the drum set, barking into the mic with that trademark raw, haggard rage of his.

The crowd hollers, screams, whistles, claps. Spencer turns towards the audience. His view is of the swelling mass of people before him, the afternoon sun behind them and the Manhattan skyline on the other side of the glimmering river. He smiles and squints at the sun in his eyes: "this is really cool, i love this" he says in a voice that sounds mischievous, with some kind of endearing twang to it; a stark contrast to the whiskey-soaked scream that just before pleaded the case of the Johnny Thunders. Someone taps me on the shoulder, i turn around to see a tall, skinny kid dressed in black, clutching little plastic bags. "You wanna buy a magic brownie?" he inquires, smiling encouragingly. I decline politely and he weaves his way into the crowd, repeating the question to those in earshot - the contraband punk gig equivalent of a baseball game hot dog peddler. i'm loving this.

For a band that's been off the live-circuit for the best part of the last decade, these Devils play well. A stumble on the drums at the first beats of a song earns a good-natured "you fucked up!" call from the crowd. "We're not quite ready", the band smiles in return, taking the time to tune their instruments. A second try yields results, and they're on their game. The atmosphere is amazing. The crowd, consisting mostly of hipster-types the Sunday before, has enjoyed an influx of the punk-minded this time around. Band shirts, Misfits skull tattoos and piercings abound. A pitful of carousers circle round, jumping with careless abandon, skanking furiously, most with eyes glazed over. Sweat flies everywhere, the fallen are set back on two legs, feet point skywards as someone is hoisted on to the shoulders of the audience. i fear for the life of my EOS-350, grasped in my hands, as a screaming Irishman comes sailing into me, headfirst, defying Newton's first law. I half-wish i hadn't brought the camera, in order to be able to throw myself into the pit with all the other crazies, but i figure photographic evidence will be of more sentimental value than an x-ray graph depicting crushed ribs. In the long run, anyway.

Spencer addresses the crowd once more: "We were asked to play this show when the Pool Parties were still by a pool", and again his voice surprises me. I don't know what it is - he kinda sounds like a cartoon character. Like he might burst into a fit of giggles at any minute. "We told them no, we're not gonna do that. You wanna know why? " The audience awaits an explanation. "Cause the stage was too small. We said, get an appropriate size stage, then we'll play", he smirks from the center of a massive stage which dwarfs him entirely, further emphasizing the hobbit likeness. "So thanks to the organizers for getting a better stage - here we are now." The crowd cheers and they roll into the next song.

This has been something else. Something unreal. The sky behind is coloring orange. My voice is hoarse from screaming. My legs are shaking from jumping. My shirt is soaked with sweat - mine and that of all these other crazies packed in front of a stage on a balmy Sunday evening in Brooklyn, seeing a band i never thought i'd get to see live. Suddenly, i'm all too aware of the fact that this is going to be over all too soon. Spencer's wolf-howl brings me back, sending shivers down my spine. Like a pack of primal, deranged canines, the horde assembled in front of the stage answers the call.

Murder City Devils, i rock'n'roll <3 you.

The NY Chronicles: How to Spend a Saturday

2010-07-11T04:07:00.000+03:00

Friday night featured beer, Disney singalongs, barhopping on Bleecker Street, vodka cranberries seriously lacking in the cranberry department, some old black guy channeling Jimi Hendrix onstage, promises of mountains of coke, passed-out sisters on the subway and far too many comments claiming i look like Lady Gaga.

Which is why today has been spent in front of the TV watching crappy movies, eating pizza, drinking beer and emptying a gigantic bag of peppermint patties. This is the life.

The NY Chronicles: Food at Sacred Chow & Music at Cake Shop

2010-07-10T10:12:00.007+03:00

It was Wednesday night in a sweltering city. Three women made their way to a vegan bistro called Sacred Chow. The place is tiny and easy to miss in the mix of little cafes and bars Sullivan Street is full of. Since none of us had been there before, we walked right past it in a state of heat-induced stupor. We backtrack, find the place, sit down and order a pitcher of Sangria. Things are looking up.

The restaurant is entirely vegan and the menu is packed with all sorts of veggie delights. I'm drooling. You sure as hell wouldn't come across something like Korean tofu cutlets on a menu in a restaurant back at home. I'm thinking, Helsinki, you need to get with it.

We go for some tapas: Mama's Soy Meatballs with Sicilian Sauce, Sun Dried Tomato Risotto, White Beans and Fried Potatoes, Cornbread with Sweet Potato Tempeh. The food arrives; everything looks good in home-cooked kinda way. The meatballs are lovely, the tomato sauce has a nice kick to it. And this cornbread, i love it. Warm, crumbly, almost too sweet to be bread and seriously moreish. Also, it's delicious with the whole sweet potato and tempeh combo.

We're absolutely stuffed after our entrees, but take a look at the dessert menu in any case. It features a Brownie Sundae. We can't resist. The vegan chocolate brownie comes with hot fudge sauce, vanilla ice cream and sprinkles. I lick my spoon and wonder whether i can discreetly unbutton my jeans.

We enter the muggy night once more and head to the Cake Shop on Ludlow Street, which features live music pretty much every night.

True to its name, the place does some pretty nice-looking cake, has a pretty big collection of vinyls for sale, and doubles as a gig venue. The street level cafe is all decked out in thrift store furniture and the walls are papered in what seem to be 80s fashion ads.The downstairs live music venue is small, dark and features a bar lit up by lamps with tasseled silk shades that look like they've been stolen from my granny. A little stage decked out in fairy lights takes up one end of the small space. It's got that slightly manky, yet lovable vibe, like Lepakkomies or Semifinal. I'm liking it.

The night's lineup is four local bands we've never heard of, but look forward to checking out nonetheless. The first band is called The Crawl Babies. The three-man band plays some rather generic indie stuff and the dudes look like the poster boys of hipsterishness. Their Myspace site claims they're from Osaka and Kyoto and features pics of Japanese folk to support the claim. We think this is part of their cunning branding scheme. The drummer plays his instrument standing up and never once looks at the audience. There's something irritating about the singer's voice and his spasmodic twitching on stage. But i've always been one to appreciate a little self irony, whether it's intentional or not.

The third band is called My Pet Ghost Project. They describe themselves as a sonic wrecking crew, which is quite accurate. Their music is cinematic, moody and songs build up to a rolling climax, courtesy of synths, serious drumming and the talented playing of the guitarists. For the most part, this is instrumental, gigantic stuff lacking in vocals and making up for it in terms of ambiance.

The music wasn't the only intriguing part of the night, either. Because i enjoy taking pics of toilets, i couldn't leave this out. Some serious cool graffiti and stickers on the walls of the Cake Shop restrooms. Also, this may or may not have been the guys' toilet. Why do i think that? Perhaps the pic below was a clue. Shitballs.

The NY Chronicles: Williamsburg is Burning.

2010-07-07T22:29:00.001+03:00

At the beginning of July, yours truly packed her bags, put her last pennies towards a plane ticket and fled to the sparkling, shiny city of New York. A month of exploration, adventure and decadence awaits. At least up until the money runs out. How did this crazy expedition come about? It all started when my lovely Manhattan-based friend Jenny sent me a message on Facebook, the subject of which was "Just to tempt you..". Her roommate was gonna go abroad for a month, thereby leaving her room in their lovely Harlem apartment vacant. Hell yes, is what i said. And to make a long story short - here i am, sitting in a New York apartment in the middle of a heatwave eating frozen yogurt and appreciating air conditioning like i've never appreciated it before.

Saying it's hot here is starting to seem like the understatement of the century. It's not just hot, it's wandering-in-the-desert-seeing-garden-gnomes, sweat-shooting-out-from-your-armpits-like-you're-the-man-from-the-Axe-ad, offensively-slap-you-in-the-face-with-a-reeking-hot-fish kind of hot.

Despite this hotness, we decided to set out to Brooklyn and do some exploring in Williamsburg. As walking in the heat was rather painful and the going was slow, we stayed mostly on Bedford Street, making sure to keep ourselves properly hydrated (as one should, when one goes exploring and adventuring).

We stopped by a couple of Vintage Shops, which are plentiful and very decently priced, like the one in the pic above, called Vice Versa. Toying with the idea of getting a Hawaii-print skirt from the seriously hideous 70s and a mallard-print shirt from the wardrobe of facepalm clothing-failures was probably influenced by the heat. In the end, better judgment dictated that the clothes in question would remain in the store, perhaps for some theme-party occasion or next hipster trend. What i did grab with, though, was a pair of black converse trainers for a whopping five dollars.

Having done some shopping, we decide it's time for food, and decide to sample some serious fusion cuisine at Dokebi Bar & Grill.

The place is air conditioned, the interior is a nice mix of Asian eatery meets American diner, and what's best is, it's happy hour. I go for a spicy mushroom burrito, which is an interesting mix of Asian greens, beans, and mushrooms in a Korean BBQ sauce, served in a corn tortilla. It's good, it's filling, and at 7 dollars, it's a good deal.

After food and a couple of cold beers, we brave the heat and head out. We don't get too far, cause we spot the nice rooftop terrace of Juliette's Bistro, and decide we've come far enough, and it's time for a drink.

Cocktails are the way to go. My cocktail of choice - the Guillotine - is heavy on the rum, which seems appropriate for this tropical climate we're enjoying. Also, rather than hydrating us, this alcohol-drinking is doing the opposite. I think i see a garden gnome scampering across the terrace from the corner of my eye. We agree it might be time to head home.

All in all, despite the sweltering heat, we agree it's been a fine day of exploring. I resolve to come back to Williamsburg, preferably on a day when the temperature isn't in the triple digits and the garden gnomes aren't on the move.

Arcade Fire

2010-07-06T03:06:00.000+03:00

Monday, June 28th. The midsummer stupor and deserted streets of Helsinki just a couple of days ago seem to have never happened, as a steady stream of flannel-shirted, bespectacled hipster-types fills Senaatintori. Between the shining whiteness of the monumental Tuomiokirkko and the stage that seems to have appeared out of nowhere in the space of a day, the stone steps are a-buzzing with the lucky folk who have decided to dish out 50 euros for the privilege of seeing Arcade Fire perform outside Helsinki Cathedral.

It's late in the afternoon, and it's hot outside. We get to the square when the line to the fenced-off concert area is still small. Seeing waving friends in the crowd, we secure seats next to them. The view is good, the weather is good, the people are good. It's really quite exciting, seeing as this is the first high-profile, admission fee-charging gig in this particular central Helsinki public space.

The supporting act, Micachu and the Shapes, start their set right on time. Based on checking these kids out on MySpace, i'm looking forward to seeing them live. Their set gets off to a sticky start; in addition to their music being eccentrically quirky, their stage presence and verbal output is a little awkward. The biggest applause they draw from the audience is when frontman Micachu talks about what a great band Arcade Fire is. Hell, it's a big band to support and a big stage for three to fill. "They're stoned out of their minds", a friend observantly remarks. Be that as it may, the audience gradually warms up to the band, and i find myself quite diggin' this eccentric live act.

But then the main act comes on. The seven piece group fill the stage. The screen lights up. The light show commences. They start off by addressing the audience: "Please stand up." Everyone does. Win's voice fills the square. I'm willing to wager this is closer to religious fervor than what is experienced inside the white walls of the building we've got our backs turned to.

These guys have three drum sets, they do laps around the stage, play a xylophone with the fierceness of the Phantom of the Opera playing the organ, switch instruments among themselves and say stuff like "Pickled herring. Hate it. But in your country i like it." They also play with an energy the likes of which i haven't seen in a while at a concert this size, while still managing to maintain the intimate feeling of a smaller gig. Their musical talent extends to a broad scope in terms of genre, instruments, lyrics and stage presence. I'm overwhelmed and more than pleasantly surprised to have all my expectations exceeded by the show they put on.

The only thing that caused me grief was that i didn't push into the front row with a couple of my lucky friends. Which really was unfortunate, because when Win jumped into the crowd after the gig, they got to touch him. I had to content myself with touching my friends. Arcade Fire, this nation of architects loves you.

Him and Her.

2010-06-15T20:38:00.000+03:00

He said 

"Baby my mind spins and my head reels. I remember you in red heels."

She said

"It's Sunday morning, more like afternoon. My boyfriend will be home soon." 

He said

"I'll fight for a woman who thus me enchants."

She said

"Damn, boy, pass me the sugar and put on some pants."

Cruising on a Friday.

2010-06-06T00:22:00.000+03:00

Helsinki Cruising Club takes over Nosturi on the first Friday of each summer month, featuring goodies for fans of the fifties, rockabilly fiends, vintage car enthusiasts and the entire scope of hair gel aficionados alike. Organized in cooperation with Fullsteam Agency and Hellbilly Crew, this a niche club night the likes of which have recently been paralleled only by Club Wanted at Lepakkomies. And the demand is there, tapping its Creeper-covered foot impatiently.

The first thing we notice is the row of pastel-colored vintage vehicles parked in front of Nosturi. It's not even nine yet, but the terrace of Alakerta is filling up quick, with girls in swooping dresses, hair tied back with ribbons, and guys clad in Hawaii prints and turned-up trouser cuffs.

It's not quite Hawaii, nor is it the fifties. But the sun is still in the sky and the air is warm. Rob Coffinshaker from Swedish rockabilly band, the Coffinshakers, can be heard crooning from inside. He sounds like he's channeling a forlorn Johnny Cash. The dude at the next table with the pompadour nods his head in tune. I sip on my icy cider, and Esa and i comment on how sometimes, the city is perfect.

The good mood persists when we check out Mike Bell and the Belltones upstairs. I'm a huge fan of the stand up bass, and the slapping this old bass is getting makes me wanna join the throng of dancers from decades back in the front row. I'm almost as impressed by the guitarist's choice of clothing. That Hawaii print shirt and baby-blue trousers make for some serious eye candy.

This is straight up, honest and simple rockabilly - the kind you need to see live for it to really stand out in a genre which suffers from a continuous surplus of legend-imitators and uninventive lyricists. The band's stage presence and Mike's disarmingly geriatric-sounding singing are part of and experience that just doesn't communicate in the same way via CD.

Be that as it may, based on the gig, i think i'll have to get the album anyway. To listen to on days when the sun isn't shining, the cider isn't cold and the city isn't perfect. Rockabilly will make it better.

Is That a Tentacle On Your Arm?

2010-06-04T00:46:00.001+03:00

Or are you just being devoured by Cthulhu? A peek of the new ink i got done this week. The entirety of which features more than just tentacles. Iris from Luau Tattoo did an amazing job with everything from the sketch to the colors; after four hours i left, numb limb, cling film and tentacles in tow, in that curiously addictive state of post-tattoo paining euphoria.

i. love. it.

will post a pic of the whole tat when it heals!

i heart in May

2010-05-27T21:46:00.001+03:00

Maailma kylässä -festari. The one and only place to be this weekend, and one of the only things i've had space in my life for recently; the office has become my second (sometimes first) home in the last months. (Currently writing this in the little bed i've made underneath my desk.) i love this job.
Fortune cookies. Kitschy and adorable. Bought some from Vii Voan on Hämeentie to cheer up the hardworking peeps at work. Deep insight along the lines of 'Charitable activities will stave off loneliness' goes down awesome in a group of sleep-deprived, hyperactive, semi-deranged festival producers.
Charley Harper. Birds, skulls, symmetry.
My bike. Or Black Death, as i like to call him. This rickety wonder-vehicle takes me swiftly from Kaisaniemen puisto to our office in Töölö - a trek i've been making at least twice a day for the past week. Often with random festival site-bound equipment strapped precariously to the frame.
Beirut. I must have been living under a rock when this band showed up, cause i've only recently discovered it. Carnivalesque, obscure, merrily haunting music that's ideal for when you're writing.
Luau Tattoo. Saw Iris' sketch for my new tat today - it's gorgeous and i cannot wait to have it done.
Arcade Fire. And moreover, having gotten a ticket for the gig at Senaatintori at the end of June.
Nosturi's roof. That thing just slid open after the Endstand gig. I knew it could do that, but seeing it was something completely different.
The Hipstamatic app for the iPhone. Seeing life through a pseudo-artsy, old school lens; i love the feel this app gives photos.
Peppermint tea. Cause hell, it's peppermint tea.

A One Night Stand

2010-05-24T23:46:00.000+03:00

There was something significant about Saturday night. In addition to savoring the glorious feeling of a subsiding hangover, standing in line outside Nosturi, i was taking in the buzzing anticipation rippling through the crowd. Bittersweet as it may be, this is the one and only, last ever gig Finnish punk fiends Manifesto Jukebox and Endstand are ever gonna play.

The folks in line know this, and this is surely a show some of them have been looking forward to for years. At nine in the evening, the line is immense - the second half of which was behind me at the time the above photo was taken. Nosturi is sold out.

The place is packed. After making it inside, i spend most the Wasted gig trying to find a spot where 160 cm is a tall enough height to get a view of the stage. These spots are scarce in a sea of fist-pumping people and the occasional stage-obscuring Mohawk.

Manifesto Jukebox has been around since 1998. It's clear these guys know what they're doing, and after the first five minutes it becomes evident their attitude hasn't suffered regardless of their absence from the Finnish punk scene in the past couple of years. I gotta hand it to Antti Luukkainen. In addition to being rather charming in his role as vocalist for the Atom Notes and singing bluesy tunes in Last Calls, he manages a rather convincing scream. My admiration is cut short when, suddenly, from somewhere in the dimness, a pint comes sailing and hits me in the head. Having stated my whopping height above, and the ratio of tall people and even taller hair, i'm not sure how this was possible, seeing as i was quite concealed (at least when it came to glimpsing the stage). Nevertheless, the plastic vessel in question managed to avoid every head but mine. I almost had to laugh when it happened - this was clearly karmic payback for the unproductive and slightly hazardous habit of pint-throwing i sometimes slip into in the wee hours of the night. That'll teach her. There's no question, i deserved it.

By the time the band finishes, the heat is becoming intense. I race to the bar (along with half of the folks there) and, after deciding not to risk what's promising to be a good night with a beer, order a pint of coke. I weave my way in back through the crowd and we settle in front of the black curtain drawn in front of the stage and wait.

I've never seen Endstand before, i've only heard stories describing the relentless energy of frontman Janne Tamminen. And i'm not disappointed. He looks like a big kid on stage. Until he opens his mouth. And roars. He has a presence, and he puts all of it into the music. A circle pit forms almost instantly, drawing half of the people present into the spiraling whorl. There's clapping and screaming. There are fists in the air. There are people on stage, jumping into the audience. There are people who have flown in just to see this gig. "We're just a bunch of small town guys who had too much time on their hands - if we can do this anyone can", Janne says. Too quickly, the gig is over and the guys have left the stage. I realize my t-shirt is sticking to my back. I turn around, look into the crowd and see something i've never seen before: the roof of Nosturi is sliding open. It looks more than a little surreal, seeing the clouds from inside. The night air feels nice. What a night of firsts and lasts.

Saddest Summer.

2010-05-16T23:41:00.000+03:00

Friday, 21.00, Koffin puisto

Green patches of grass grow scarce on the slopes of Koffari as groups of people flock into the park. Plastic bags full of bottles clink and the chatter gets louder as the Friday-minded merrymakers find somewhere to sit. Phones ring as missing friends are directed this way, someone's ghetto blaster can be heard from halfway across the park, while some drunkard sneakily peeing against the brick wall gets fined by the police, who are also spending the evening on the grassy knolls of Helsinki's nicest outdoor living room. It's the hottest day of summer so far. In addition to the temperature, spirits and alcohol intakes alike, are high.

Friday, 22.30, somewhere between Kamppi and Töölö

It's still warm as we make the trek towards Korjaamo to check out Leaders of the Republic. I'm in a shopping cart, thereby proving to myself that both a thirteen-year-old and a jackass reside somewhere inside of me. Buildings flash by as the cart speeds downhill. It's a pleasant mode of transport. Up until the point where we hit a curb and i catapult out of it and hit the pavement.

Saturday, 03.00, Bar Loose

We've made it from Korjaamo to Loose. This time on foot. We're starving and craving burgers. After sitting around with pints for the best part of an hour, convinced they've stopped serving food already, Linda goes to the bar, to make sure. Just in case they haven't. Turns out they have. Three minutes ago. Face-palm and epic failure. We look at each other and sip on our beers in silence.

Saturday, 11.00, Hietsun kirppis

It's hot. Anne and Karri have arrived at the market at eight in the morning with what seems like a truckload of stuff. They're gonna make some money. I'm gonna need somewhere to sit. My head hurts and i want food. I'm not the only one suffering; their Boston terrier, Lara, is hanging her tongue out and keeling over under a table in the heat. The scorching sun, the haggling crowds and acute dehydration are making me want to do the same. Feeling like my presence might result in an undesirable effect on sales akin to that of the Valtsu flea market expedition some months ago, i wander off into Koffari via Subway for some breakfast, and leave them to do business.

Saturday, 15.00, Taivallahden satama

Some food, a banana split flavored ice cream and bike ride later, I'm on a boat. It's awesome. Taivallahti is gorgeous, the sea is sparkling and the breeze is working wonders on my aching brain. The cider is cold and the conversation verging on the absurd. The toilet on-board isn't functioning, so we frequent the public facilities at Mestaritalli's terrace. The only problem is that we don't actually have the key to the harbor gate. You need this key to open the gate, regardless of which side of the gate you are on. The people from the neighboring boat, who were kind enough to loan us their key, have left. We're on our own. We hope our cunning piece-of-rope-holding-door-open plan is foolproof.

I head towards the toilets. The gate is closed. Locked. I'm stuck on this side. The wrong side. I glance back to the boat at the end of the pier. The folks on-board can't be of much help. I look from the water to the toilets on the other side of the gate. Not feeling like swimming, i go for the lesser of two evils and decide to climb over the metal frame around the gate. Easier said than done, but on a intoxicated summer Saturday when you really need to pee, you find yourself doing wondrous things.

Saturday, 21.00, Bar Loose

We've been craving these burgers for ages. Especially after last night's failed attempt at a midnight snack. So here we are, this time before three in the morning, for some long-awaited sustenance. We set off towards Koffari with burgers in tow. It's still light out. Koffari is, if possible, even more packed than on the night before. We walk through the entire park, trying to find our friends. It's a frigging circus. Pre-pubescent teens hurling in a bush. A group of hammered guys leering at the female police patrolling the park. Hipsters with guitars. Gypsies collecting bottles. A dude doing some fire-juggling. I sit down to eat my burger and survey my surroundings. This is madness. My burger is awesome. If this weekend is anything to go by, this summer is gonna suck big time.

Trying to Hate Siltanen

2010-05-13T19:02:00.001+03:00

I don't get thrown out of bars often. Granted, it may have happened once or twice, but it's not like it's an everyday occurrence. So ever since i almost got thrown out of Siltanen some months ago (a dramatic tale involving a birthday party, a snowstorm and some jaeger bombs) i've held a bitter and thoroughly justified grudge against the place itself, and certain members of the bar staff especially, whose textbook hipsterishness coupled with a total ambivalence towards customer service have left me dumbstruck on more than one occasion.

However, despite this deep-seated disfavor, i'll confess that on equally as many an occasion i've found myself spending the sunny hours of a summer evening lounging on said restaurant's terrace with a cold drink in hand and a plate of food in front of me. Nevertheless, where the service disappoints, the food has yet to.

This Monday was no exception, when six starving ladies sat down for dinner. Siltanen brought in a new summer menu not too long ago, which features sandwiches, soups, salads and the like – with vegetarians taken into account too. Prices average about a tenner, which won't set you on the road to bankruptcy. Also, portions are a good size, so making a pit stop by the dodgy-looking hot dog cart on your way home won't be necessary.

I decided to go for Ali Baba's Feast, a huge platter of hummus, spicy pita bread, couscous, aubergine dip, taboulleh, falafel and tzatziki. I reckon this platter is big enough to share between two, but such was the magnitude of my hunger that i devoured it all single-handedly. Washed down with a pint of ice cold Crowmoor, it was gooood. Falafels were crisp, the spiciness of the bread was a nice touch and the hummus was delicious. It's worth mentioning, though, that this here Ali Baba comes laced with garlic, to the extent that you can still taste it two days later. In any case, well worth the 12 euros.

And though Anne's Galette sandwich probably featured more meat than bread, i had to take a picture just to document the ambitious presentation. I'm told that in addition to good presentation, the taste was also spot on.

So yeah, Siltanen, as long as you make food this good, i simply can't hate you, no matter how hard i try.

Siltanen, Hämeentie 13 B

Yesterday Was Gorgeous.

2010-05-07T21:54:00.001+03:00

And a good day. Because of the small things. Strange dream of Quick Draw McGraw. Huge mug of tea in the morning. Biking to work in the sunshine. 'Mama, i wanna go surfing' blaring on the iPod. A laughter-inducing text message outlining drunken escapades of nights before.

Lots of little things. Somewhere in between recording a radio ad and having a power lunch at the Nepalese on the corner, i spotted a bunch of Mayday balloons. Meandering outside someone's window, stuck to the power cord, this flock of superheroes and my little ponies left over from the previous weekend's mayhem made me smile.

The sunshine persisted well into the evening, when a gang of hungry women decided to dine at Tori. The restaurant no longer serves alcohol, which, in the eyes of many, is a fairly sad thing. The food, however, is still good enough a reason to pay the place a visit. What's more, the kitchen was happy to satisfy my veggie burger-craving by whipping up a hearty tofu burger, even when it wasn't on the menu.

At the end of the day, full of food and seriously sleepy, i biked home, still smiling, like some victorious urban cowboy riding into the beautifully pollution-tinted sunset of an urban cityscape. 'Yessir', i thought to myself, as the empty beer cans tumbled by in the dry evening breeze; 'it was a good day, this one'. Now if only yesterday could Quick-Draw-McGraw today's offensively frigid and thoroughly drenched ass.

i heart in April

2010-04-27T21:39:00.001+03:00

High Violet. Fuck me, the anticipation has been hellish, but the rewards worthy. If you didn't get a chance to listen to this on the New York Times website, be sure to buy the album on May 10th. For those of you who did listen, coercing you into CD purchases is hardly necessary.
The Gashlycrumb Tinies. I keep going back to these kiddos and the sinister ways in which they meet their ends. This enchants me, big time.
Vegemesta food served at Bar Loose from April 29th onwards! My favorite bar + my favorite fast food joint joining forces = fuck yeah.
Terrace season. There's nothing quite like drinking outside in the sunshine. It's at the very heart and core of Finnish summer, i argue.
Jaqcues Cousteau hats. I've obviously missed the hipster wave on this one, but i like the hats almost as much as i was infatuated with the man himself in my pre-pubescent years.
Melissa auf der Maur. Not only was interviewing her mighty cool, but she was also really charming (and i think i might now have a small crush on her).
I Walk the Line and No Shame at Nosturi. One of the most rockin' gigs i've been to this month.
Tattoo Mystique by Angelique Houtkamp. Got this book at the Kaapelitehdas gift shop. Full of gorgeous photos, illustrations and tattoo flash. I'd love to order one of her prints, put it on my wall and admire it for a good while each day.
Onerva - Kaupungin naiset at Ateneum. Checking this out was the perfect pastime for a rainy weekday. The exhibition features clothes, maps, books, photography and the like from turn-of-the-century Helsinki. I especially liked how, among said paraphernalia, it featured all her gentlemen admirers as well. This was not a short list, either.
Festival lineups. Ah, it's looking good, kids. With the likes of The XX, Florence + the Machine, The Drums, Biffy Clyro, Against Me!, LCD Soundsystem and whatnot hitting stages throughout the country, there's a good deal of hot stuff to look forward to this summer.

Hiatus and Springtime.

2010-04-25T02:15:00.001+03:00

Well shucks, it's been a while, hasn't it? Female Author (both blog and writer) have been occupied with a number of pressing matters which have seriously hindered all sorts of writing activity recently. The most time-consuming of these has been work, which has been nothing short of breakneck hectic for the past weeks. Another hindering, not to mention grievous factor, was the bitter end my macbook came to some weeks ago. This end, direly lacking in the shock and drama department, was a simple refusal to turn on one day. All my beloved computer would give me was a foreboding whirr and the occasional faint beeping sound.

The first thing the mac fixer-upper man said to me, as i ran to a service shop in a state of panic was, 'i'm sure you've got all of this backed up, right?'. Rhetorical question fail. 'Yessiree, every last bit of it; actually, my horoscope warned me i should anticipate all kinds of technological breakdowns and bitter ends to long-term relationships, so just last night i made sure i got every last friggin' document, picture and piece of porn (just kidding) transferred to my external hard drive. Phew, what foresight and smarts i possess.' Or not.

So some weeks later, a considerably emptier macbook was returned to me. Functioning, but void of everything it had previously housed. Which, in this day and age, i'm not shy to admit, was most of my life. Be that as it may, while i'm sad to have lost a lot of cool stuff (a shiteload of poems and stories), as well as some really humdrum stuff (like letters concerning electricity bills to my janitor in Paris), there's something quite liberating about starting afresh, even if it means having to download all apps again and building up a whole new, intricately organized bookmark library. It's the exhilaration of a new start and the seemingly endless possibilities offered by a blank slate.

And via this finely crafted tangent, i can digress from my excuses for lack of blogging to the actual subject i wanted to write about.

Which is spring (see how that hardly cliched, new start/spring tangent worked beautifully?). After what feels like seventeen months of winter, three months of darkness and rain, and a good helping of hail on sunny days, i feel like we might be getting somewhere with the whole spring thing. Which makes me happy. Somewhere in my psyche a primal urge awakes, encouraging all kinds of errant and eccentric behavior, no doubt brought about by the sudden increase in sunlight and the masses of people coming out from a dark, booze-laden mental state of winter. Rather than running around naked looking for a mate and some sticks to make a nest with, i've embraced this urge and swapped boots for all stars, winter coats for leather jackets, and trams for my rickety bike. i've braved the cold, not to mention the prolific mountains of dog shit, by opening the picnic season for this summer a week or so ago on a windy evening in Koffari. I plan on taking this a step further in a week's time by throwing myself headfirst into the lairy, reckless madness that is Vappu in Helsinki.

So here's to blank slates, fresh starts, new awakenings and all other spring-associated cliches that we love to hate, yet find ourselves embracing wholeheartedly the minute we first venture out on to the terrace, pint in hand, to sit in the sunshine and take in the promise of summer. Hell, i'll drink to that.

Things to do on a Sunday.

2010-03-14T22:27:00.001+02:00

Sometimes i think i fail to adequately appreciate the awesome feeling of waking up on a Sunday without a hangover. Personally, a lethal headache coupled with vertigo-inducing nausea and an aversion to light to rival that of Dracula's keep me from accomplishing much on a hung over day. Unless the aim is to lie paralyzed on the couch, unable to tear your eyes away from the Sunday marathon of The City assaulting you from MTV, and dream of a pizza you can't muster the physical strength to order. And let's face it: this is rarely the aim of any day.

So this morning i awoke to the sun streaming into my apartment through the blinds, the icon of sobriety and spring cheer. And spent my day doing cool things, a few of which i've compiled in a list below, aptly entitled:

Cool things to do when you're not hung over on a Sunday.

Read a book in bed. I'm currently on Kingdom of Fear by Hunter S. Thompson, and must say my Sunday got off to a good start with a concise depiction of the stupidity of a past U.S. president, entitled 'Jesus Hated Bald Pussy'.
Bake scones for breakfast. Super easy to make, delicious to eat. Not as good as getting breakfast in bed, but probably the next best thing. Enjoy with the Sunday paper and extra strong Earl Grey.
Write. I never seem to find the time to write non-work related stuff during the week, so i took the opportunity to get some words on paper today. What came out was a short story about a lonely recluse of a taxidermist.
Listen to your Sunday playlist. You know, the one that's got all the right songs for a lazy Sunday. Mine currently includes The Drums, Midlake, Ella Fitzgerald and The Cranberries. There's nothing like singing in the shower with Dolores.
Venture outdoors. I went on a treasure hunt of sorts today. To the graveyard. The reason for this (apart from my graveyard fetish) is an old book i found at Hagelstam's some months back, which maps out the entire Hietaniemi Graveyard in terms of the most historically and culturally significant grave sites, and tells you who lives under the tombstones. Which is awesome. So there i am, amidst the headstones, breath fogging and book in hand, just before sunset. What i didn't take into account was that there's been so much snow recently that it's hidden half the headstones from sight, as well as blocked all but the main pathways. So i didn't get far on my graveyard adventure, but i did get to see a pretty sunset. As far as Sundays go, i'm not complaining.

Valtsu Flea Market

2010-03-11T14:54:00.001+02:00

It happens at least once a year, sometimes more frequently. It starts with you looking for your Horrorpops t-shirt. You go through your closet, pulling out piles of jeans, t-shirts and long johns. You know it's in there somewhere, but you can't find it. Instead you find your ex-boyfriend's socks, a ridiculous torn top proclaiming you're on a pub crawl, and a pink-and-silver striped cardigan you haven't seen in six years (and wish you hadn't come across now). By the end of this useless scavenger hunt, you know it's time. You call your friends (who, curiously enough, often have coinciding cases of losing favorite clothes into the seething black hole that is one's wardrobe), and set a date. And before you know it, you're hauling numerous blue Ikea bags of stuff into a tram at a ridiculously early hour on a Saturday.

This is what i found myself doing not too long ago. Bleary-eyed, tired as hell, i got off the tram at Valtsun kirppis, looking like a deranged bag lady suffering the after effects of a previous night's drinking. Which was more or less the truth. I blow on my fingers, which, in fingerless gloves, are already blue. Hoisting the bags higher on my shoulder, i venture into the building and find our table.

Valtsu flea market, at Vallilan Makasiinit, is the biggest flea market in Finland that's open all year round. On the weekends, it's a hub for peddling grannies, vintage-hunting fashion-aficionados, thrift-store-favoring students and seedy old men on the lookout for back issues of porn mags (okay, maybe i made the last one up. maybe not. whatever). The premise is to get there as early as possible, with as much stuff in tow as you can manage, and leave in the afternoon with as little stuff and as much cash as possible. For some reason, what frequently happens in my case is that i end up going home with no money, but just as much stuff. (new stuff, tho. or other people's old stuff, but still.) Which is pretty much what happened this time, too.

This time, i managed to get rid of some of the ugliest shoes i've ever owned (with the added bonus of the lady who bought them being over the moon with her purchase), some really awful clothes (a black top, curiously rubber-looking from afar. And up close, too, actually.) and some jewelry circa 1999. What i managed to find for myself was way cooler: a black tie and pearls, a very Kurt Cobainy grunge dress, and the perfect smoothie glasses.

I think i went home with about a tenner in my pocket, while my good-spirited, amicable and easily-approachable friends sold item after item, pocketing some serious coinage. So on my part the money-making goal wasn't quite realized. Neither were my well-rehearsed, fool-proof sales skills and marketing techniques or pleasant demeanor. Ladies, the boozy, blue-fingered, haggard-looking bag lady would like to offer an apology. Next time we do this, it'll be a sunny summer day and we'll be by the seaside, at Hietsun kirppis instead. Where bag ladies (and other folk) can counter last night's drinking with ice cold pints from the restaurant terrace just meters away. Ah.

Valtsun kirppis at Vallilan Makasiinit on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays from 9-15.

Book a space online here. Prices about 26 euros per day.

One Night in Tampere.

2010-03-02T21:58:00.003+02:00

Last Friday, three in the afternoon. I leave work, jet home. I throw stuff into a bag, grab a toothbrush and scamper by Subway for something to eat. I get into the car, slam the doors shut and head to Kallio. By four i'm in Kallio, waiting for my media-making colleague and the camera equipment he's brining. At 16.10 he gets into the car and tells me we have a a bit of a hitch when it comes to the gear. It's a little broken. It's okay, we're not running that late yet, we can swing by to get another camera. Agreed, we jet to Punavuori, where we get hitch-free equipment. At 17.35 we're ready to head off. Only 35 minutes behind schedule. This is where the weekend starts. Tampere, here we come.

19.00, more or less. We find ourselves in Pispala, outside Vastavirta-klubi. On time, with functioning equipment. We meet up with Jenni, our camera woman for the night. The night is looking good, there's a four band lineup of punk. Inside, we have a pint and discuss strategy. We're here to interview Tampere-based garage duo, Jaakko & Jay (#3 of tonight's lineup), as well as the owners of the club that's fast becoming a legend.

I like this club, and wonder why i've never been here before. It's a good kind of dodgy, like Lepakkomies or Semifinal. The kind that makes you feel at home. Plus there's a foosball table with sticky handles. The dudes from the band sit down to eat (apparently the veggie food used to be better, but is still not bad). We play some foosball after (and at this point my delusions of greatness at said sport shatter), as i'm told that foosball (or Kicker, as it's called here) is taken very seriously, with regular grand tournaments, t-shirts and the like.

Jaakko and Olli (a.k.a Jay) are more laid-back than a bus-full of stoned hippies. And good-humored too, not to mention polite. They offer incessant social commentary bordering on standup comedy. And it's obvious that they do what they do cause they love doing it. We're happy with the interview (having managed to include a question on shoes that are too small to fit big feet). They head off to do their sound check, we head off to hound down one of the owners of the club.

We find Piitse and ask him to sing Vastavirta's praise. He's quiet for a while, shrugging, and concludes finally that it must be the good music that draws in the crowds. This is also a man who's clearly where he wants to be. I'll wager Vastavirta lacks a polished branding strategy (actually i'll wager it lacks polished anything), as well as intentions of expanding outside the borders of Tampere (like Ruma, the other Tampere native that appeared in Helsinki one day). Piitse confirms this is not where they're going. They're happy here, doing what they do. And they do it well.

So do Jaakko and Jay. As always. The energy emanating from these guys on stage is like a sonar blast rattling your innards. Songs are punctuated by the intermission of their famous in-between commentary. They're ready to dispense with the police, assholes and most political parties. With giant smiles and sweat flying. The crowd goes crazy. The hand cam (and me with it) take a fall in the front row when a huge guy (who's seriously feeling the music) jumps backwards and lands on me. He pulls me back up, gives me a thumbs up and climbs on stage with the band. They don't mind at all.

The interviews will go up on soffa.tv as soon as we're done editing. Which will be soon, in any case.

i heart in February.

2010-02-28T21:42:00.001+02:00

1. Icicles. Especially those of the insanely long, razor-sharp variety, which are sure to pierce your head in true horror movie fashion, should you be lucky enough to chance upon the right place at the right time.

2. Tampere. There's life outside Helsinki. Everyone should give it a go. This observation is based on one evening's escapade in said town, contained to a single bar. It is therefore an entirely biased (and possibly alcohol-fueled) opinion. But one which i stick to, nonetheless.

3. Florence + The Machine. Not having gotten tickets for the gig at Tavastia, i'll have to content myself with admiring them from afar. Sigh.

3. Foosball. I've managed to convince myself i'm pretty good at this. I think i won't play it anymore, so i can keep on happily deluding myself.

4. Festivals. Only a matter of months until you get to wake up in a strange tent, lose one shoe, and have beer for breakfast.

5. Pad Thai. Kok Thai, the little Thai place just off Toolontori, does delicious tofu pad thai. Which i get a terrible hangover craving for. Oh if only they delivered. But they don't. Which is why i sit in bed on these mornings, headachy and salivating.

6. My new blender. I was at a loss after my old one died suddenly, mid-smoothie. This new baby, with its stainless steel finish and 700 watts of blitzing power, is set to save many a hung over morning by facilitating that welcome sensation of smoothie-induced brain freeze.

7. The word 'akimbo'. For no particular reason.

8. Helsinki Vintage. A treasure trove of beautiful people and pretty things. I'm convinced this is where i'll finally meet the object of my dreams: The Sailor Hat. fingers crossed.

9. My job. It rocks to get paid for doing something fun.

10. February. Cause it's the shortest month of the year. Now how about that summer? At this rate, we'll still have snow in June. Looks like you'll be in that tent, waking up next to a mysterious stranger ("who is this bumble bee-suited dude lying next to me, sporting a permanent markered cock on his forehead?"), finding your shoeless foot a curious shade of blue and your precious breakfast beer (and all other 27 bottles of solid-food-substituting alcohol) frozen and/or exploded. I'm just saying.

Heavy Metal Bingo

2010-02-23T22:01:00.001+02:00

Last weekend a mass of black-clad folk flocked to the shores of Ruoholahti and descended on Kaapelitehdas. The glinting studs, the billowing leather jackets and the involuntary neck spasms and hair tossing meant that Finnish Metal Expo had come to town once again. The annual event, which is the love child of a bizarre three-way between an exhibition, marketplace and festival showcases all manner of things pertaining to metal and music. Needless to say, the music is loud, the hair is long and the beer is a-flowing.

And so it was that Tuomas and i found ourselves in the midst of the leather-suited men and corseted women, slightly lost and more than a little out of place. But we were here on a mission. And not just any mission, a mission that we were awaiting with equal amounts of trepidation and good humor: In this convention for the satanically-inclined, we were gonna be hosting bingo. Yessir.

Our bingo-hosting was gonna take place at the Nosturi stand, where we had been happily drafted to entertain expo-goers. In addition to bingo our fun-and-games arsenal consisted of a seriously difficult heavy metal trivia quiz, and Satan vs. Jesus foosball. In previous years the stand had been manned by an unbeatable foosball god, a title to which neither Tuomas or myself felt we had any claim to. Which is why we (and the smart folk at Nosturi) felt it prudent to include other pastimes as well, lest we lost the weekend's quota of give-away tickets within the first hour. And so armed with games we came.

To our surprise, turns out that Tuomas was far from crap at foosball, and for the two times that i had previously tried my hand at the game, i wasn't half as shit as i expected (and i won against Tuomas). What's more, we weren't the only ones to think our stand was the shit. The hardest of heavy metal fiends threw aside their prejudices (and skull-mounted staves, as was also the case) and got their bingo hat on for the chance to win free tickets to various gigs at Nosturi (or a lollipop, in case they lost.)

Tuomas and i agreed that in addition to assuming the role of a bingo caller, rocking at foosball and occasionally sneaking off for a clandestine pint, making people happy by giving them tickets to see their favorite bands was the best part of the job. I mean, look at the dudes in the photo above, who rejoiced and praised the heathen gods after winning tickets to see Fear Factory. If that's not love and dedication, i don't know what is.

Moreover, spending two days quizzing people on some seriously arcane metal lore has its perks. 'Oh yeah?' you say. Yeah, cause now i know which song Udo Dirkschneider did not cover back in 1986. Betcha you don't.

Pink Flying V.

2010-02-15T22:02:00.004+02:00

It's the beginning of a new year, almost. As good a time as any for some new beginnings. Some new beginnings involving musical instruments, in my case. And not just any musical instruments either, but a pink Mahalo Flying V ukulele. My newest crush.

Let me tell you how the seeds for this infatuation were sown...

I guess it was a lot of little things coming together. One of these things was the pressing need for a new (less hazardous) hobby (that drinking business is way too much effort and far too detrimental in the long run). Another was the epiphany that, at 24, you're actually not yet too old to pick up a musical instrument (after all, after dabbling with tin whistles and singing in the school choir, i had a good founding for this). The third thing (or person, rather), was Emilyn 'cupcake punk' Brodsky, who was (and who am i kidding, still is) my crush prior to the arrival of the Uke (anyone who makes up a music genre called 'cupcake punk' deserves my admiration). The fourth and final things was a message that dropped into my Facebook inbox from the good folk at Aron Soitin, which informed me that their ukes (which are their best-selling product, they tell me) were back in stock again, for an altogether acceptable price of fifty euros. The deal was sealed. I could see it; I was headed for awkwardly eccentric, over-ambitiously folksy, pseudo-cool, four string, cotton candy-encrusted fame. But being still in the first leg of that journey to immortal underground superstardom, i'd settle for learning a couple of chords and entertaining myself.

Which is what i've been doing happily ("badly", the neighbors would firmly interject, nodding, at this point), almost every night since bringing the little pink thing home. There's something really disarming about the uke. The shape, the size, and the pinkness of it. It kinda looks like a toy that makes cool noise. It looks like it was made to play cupcake punk. Having said that, Mahalo ukuleles - and the flying V model especially - get a lot of flak for their quality as instruments. Some of it not unfounded. Sure, its triangular shape makes it tricky to hold while playing, and yes i'm sure the sound could be better, and it's true that despite the picture of the girl on the beach in the grass skirt the uke sports a 'made in China' sticker. I don't care. What the uke lacks in quality it makes up in kitsch and attitude.

So now it wont be long until i post a link to my first solo recording posted on youtube (cause that's what you do). It'll be called 'Teatime in R'lyeh' (cause it needs a suitable obscure name and nonsensical lyrics), it'll be filmed in my bathroom (the acoustics, dude), and it'll be preceded by me fiddling with the video cam (cause of the DIY factor) and adjusting my sailor hat to a jauntier angle (cause of the need for cool, unique head wear). All set. Take my hand, little green man, we're gonna be famous. All we need to do now is learn how to play.

i heart in January.

2010-01-31T22:56:00.005+02:00

1. Snow. i refuse to complain when it comes to snow. Still looking for someone to come sledding with me in Koffari after a sparkling wine-saturated brunch at Fanny.

2. Vanilla flavored milk. this nalle stuff is amazing and i've been using it in everything from cookies to tea.

3. 500 days of summer. i've liked joseph gordon-levitt since 3rd rock from the sun, and i love zooey deschanel. and i hate romantic comedies. but this one had me crying and laughing and going 'oh man, that's so true'. it also re-sparked a serious case of 'the smiths' addiction.

4. theatre. After seeing both 'kaikki isani hotellit' and 'odotus' in the space of two weeks, i'm convinced this is something everyone should do at least once a month. Thanks go out to my great theatre-going company.

5. not setting an alarm. Whether the reason is temporary unemployment or vacation, not having to wake up to a monotonous beeping in the pitch black morning is bliss.

6. new moleskine diary. i always thought these were a little pretentious, but when halfway through january i still didn't have a diary and came across this discounted one at Kiasma's gift shop, i had to take it home with me. And i'll admit i've quite liked it. if it' was good enough for Hemingway, it's good enough for me.

7. scones. The perfect thing to bake in winter time. Sweet, savory, hot & buttered. i love 'em all.

8. new speakers. I got these for xmas, and i don't even know how i've ever survived without them. Also, they're very cute.

9. Being asked for a dance at a bar. This never happens anymore. Being twirled around the dance floor at ruma for the best part of an hour at two in the morning really put a smile on my face.

10. The toilet seat (pictured above) which was in a rubbish skip when i walked past on my way to a bar on friday night, and was prominently shattered and on display when i walked by the next morning. Urban art, mofos.

Zombies, Psychos & Dead Girls Coming to a Bar Near You!

2010-01-28T18:33:00.001+02:00

Fans of all things psychobilly will be rubbing their hands together in delight while inspecting the gig lineup for several venues around town for the next couple of months. And hell, there's good reason, with great shows arriving to bedazzle folk from at least January to April.

This year kicked off with a wicked bunch of bands at Yabba Dabba Do at Loose last Saturday. Having seen both Gun Molls and Gangsters and Atom Notes at Hela-torstai klubi some months ago (and written a note about it here), i won't go into that in too much detail. Let it be said, though, that the Atom Notes' playing was as furious as ever, and that Mika on the guitar was still as dashing as ever. My personal highlight, however, was seeing The Patsy Walkers. The ladies haven't played gigs in what seems like ages, so in their absence i've had to content myself with renditions of 'Wolfman' in the shower (occasionally elsewhere, too). Needless to say, i was thrilled to hear they were going to be back on stage. Also, this gave me the opportunity to rifle through my wardrobe to find the Patsy Walkers band shirt i had discovered at Hietsu kirppis last summer, and promised both myself and the girl selling it that as soon as the band took to the stage again, the shirt and i would be in front row. Which we were. Compliments for choice of clothing were received from both band members and jealous fans. Sweet.

Onwards into the year, February gets to a lovely start with Blues Trash Cabaret at Loose, featuring Russian surf and b-movie inspired band Messer Chups. After seeing them at Tavastia's Psychorama last summer, i took a serious fancy to the Chups. Movie-sample saturated instrumental music and a stage presence that comes across as fabulously indifferent somehow manage to root you to the spot and forget about that third pint you were going for. Or maybe its the enchanting Zombiegirl on bass. In any case, this is the life-soundtrack of choice i'd prefer to have play in my head. Not kidding, definitely one to see.

Zombie Noise festival sweeps over Nosturi on February 20, bringing to town old school psychos, Mad Sin. These dudes are old but notoriously tireless, and if one is in the mood for sweat, spit, and a whole lotta man, this is the place to be. Other festival bands include French psychobilly group, the Astro Zombies, and domestic talent Relentless. And for a host of more homegrown talent, one needs only to head down the stairs to Alakerta, where the T-bird gang, The Bullet Biters and The Black Magic Six take the stage.

And last but definitely not least, Nekromantix. Ah. This is a band i've never seen live, but have always wanted to. Which will go some way in explaining why i'll be screaming like a little boy in the front row when i hear the chorus to Dead Girls Don't Cry. <3

6.2.Blues Trash Cabaret, Bar Loose
20.2 Zombie Noise Festival, Nosturi
1.4 Nekromantix, Nosturi

Raku Ya in January.

2010-01-21T22:41:00.000+02:00

Cold weather makes me want to eat. Eating is something i like to do in any case, but these last couple of weeks i've found myself heading out for lunch/dinner/second breakfast more than usual. Having two weeks off before starting a new job also means that right now i'm at leisure to enjoy super late brunches, long lunches and late dinners. Here's to enjoying it while it lasts!

On my list of 'places i wanna eat', Raku Ya had been in the top ten for a long while, but for some reason (probably more to do with budgetary restrictions than anything else), i'd never managed to go there for a meal. So when an occasion for a post-xmas family dinner arose, i convinced the fam the Japanese izakaya-style restaurant was something we should go for. High-end both in terms of its central seaside location and standard of neighboring restaurants, not to mention head chef Masato Ikeda's reputation, i had some pretty high expectations for Raku Ya.

The interior is of the restaurant, while not as sleek as that of Hotel Kämp's Japanese restaurant Yume, is pleasant. Our party of five was shown to a curtained, wood-finished booth, where we were asked to take off our shoes and given slippers to wear. Content in our comfy footwear, we proceed to order, going for some Asahi, Sake, and several different dishes to share. In izakaya-style, food is served as soon as it's prepared, which means everything is as fresh as possible.

Our Special sushi platter (29.50 e, pictured above) received good reviews from the pescatarian's of the family, and i'd rate the inari nigiri as some of the best i've had in Helsinki. The Ebi Furai (13.90 e) - giant shrimp tail deep-fried in batter, served with lime mayonnaise and a chili soya sauce - was also a favorite, owing especially to the chili soya sauce.

The Ebi Udon (14.90 e, japanese wheat noodles and deep-fried shrimp in soy broth) as well as its veggie counterpart, my Yasai Udon (13.90 e), were just filling and hearty enough to satisfy the appetite. Plump noodles, tasty broth and fresh veggies. Not complaining, although i'd still rate Wagamama's Udons above these.

In terms of price, Raku Ya is above average, but then again, the food is too. For good Japanese in Helsinki, this is the place.

Raku Ya, Eteläranta 14, 00120 Helsinki

Swimming and Eating Helsinki in the Winter.

2010-01-12T13:40:00.002+02:00

My sister and i decided to spend some quality time together yesterday. This quality time would commence with a leisurely swim at the swimming hall on Yrjönkatu, after which we would proceed to have lunch somewhere nice.

Situated right in the center of town, down an alley from a street corner, hidden from view, the Yrjönkatu swimming hall is one of the oldest public pools in Finland. Built in 1928 and completely renovated in the 90s, it still retains most of its original character. In addition to the classical architecture and historical significance, a noteworthy fact is that the pool is open to men and women on alternate days, and most people swim in the nude. As far as i know, this is the only public pool in Helsinki (perhaps even Finland) where alternate dates for men and women and nude swimming are the norm.

Neither of us had ventured here before, and both of us were slightly apprehensive about the whole explicit nudity thing. Which really is strange, considering the Finnish sauna and summer house mentality, which dictates that nudity is only ever a couple of beers away and never something out of place. It's just that this seemed so...public. Further investigation was required.

And so it was that around midday we found ourselves outside the swimming hall, shivering in the cold and inspecting the sign by the door. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays are reserved for women. Glad we picked the right day. We pay the lady at the counter (this must mean that the entire staff also works alternate days) and head to our lockers. The interior is beautiful; there's a lot of light and the ceiling is high. Classical arches frame the pool, the saunas and showers are at one end, the elevated changing space (i won't say changing rooms, cause there weren't any - it's all one big space) and lockers surround the pool.

Old ladies, mothers and young women glide through the water. Almost everyone is naked. It only seems strange for a while (like one of those dreams where you're naked, except that in this one everyone else is), then it just seems natural. We leave our stuff in the lockers and head for the pool. There's something of days gone by in the whole experience; it feels like a different time far away from the cityscape of commotion outside. Very serene. I was rather impressed. Enough so to maybe take this up on a weekly basis.

Famished after swimming, we decide to head to Kallio for some Thai food. We tread through the freezing cold towards Lemon Grass, a tiny restaurant that serves delicious food at a very affordable price. Lunch is served between 11-15 and will set you back 8-10 euros. We warm our frozen digits with steaming cups of tom yum soup and slowly start to regain control of chilled limbs. We follow this up with a veggie & tofu green curry, which is a perfect blend of fiery spice and creamy coconut. Lunch is rounded up nicely with a plate of fruit and a cup of tea. We both agree that the food is pretty awesome and also really good value for money.

Slightly sleepy, seriously well-fed and happy with the days activities, we pull on scarves, hats and gloves; venturing out into the cold to take on a city that is full of these great places. Helsinki, happy advocate of explicit nudity and provider of great veggie thai fare, i love you.

Yrjönkadun uimahalli, Yrjönkatu 21 B, 00120 Helsinki
Lemon Grass, Kolmas linja 12, 00530 Helsinki

Dansan Sushi Bar.

2010-01-08T22:59:00.000+02:00

The most recent addition to Helsinki's gradually growing sushi scene opened its doors some weeks ago on the corner of Annankatu and Uudenmaankatu. Dansan Sushi Bar is a small venue with big windows, clean, simplified decor and a handful of tables. The place is open for lunch and dinner, and was fairly busy on a weeknight.

Food-wise, the inari and maki veggie set i ordered fell short of delicious but was definitely tasty, a notch above average. My non-veggie dinner date was of the same mind. We both wondered at the seriously sweet soy sauce, though. The best part of dinner, however, was the miso soup, which was hearty, slightly spicy and quite delicious.

Based on just one dinner time visit i'd say Dansan serves perfectly acceptable sushi, priced slightly above average due to the stripped down design image of the restaurant and its hipster-ish location i.e., across from Motellet, which will probably make it a favorite with said crowd as a pre-club dinner spot. If that's not your cup of tea, swing by at lunch time instead for the decently priced lunch sets, and be sure to try the miso soup.

Dansan Sushi Bar, Annankatu 13, 00120 Helsinki

What i hearted in 2009

2010-01-05T15:57:00.000+02:00

Cthulhu. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside, this octopus does.
Bar Loose. I doubt this will change in the New Year.
Interrailing. Seriously the best way to travel and see places.
Summer. Simply. Hot days in Koffari, picnics, festivals, all-day drinking...
Ihmistulva. The coolest thing i've ever done.
My kitchen table and chairs. Who knew it would be turquoise vinyl diner furniture that stole my heart.
New York. It's where i'm living in my head.
Really awesome food blogs. Discovered lots of new ones, like this one.
City and Colour. I don’t know what it is, but these melancholy boys always do it for me.
My friends. Scattered all over the world, this year would not have rocked if it weren’t for all of you.

Going out to Ugly.

2010-01-04T22:06:00.000+02:00

A mere month ago, Tampere’s finest made its debut in Helsinki. Bigger, louder and lairier, Ruma-klubi took up residence in Helsinki nightlife’s central spot on Mannerheimintie. For a club known for its ambitious attempts at retaining the non-mainstream vibe that made it a favourite with anyone slightly left of centre, holding court at a venue that previously housed such meat markets as Den Kungliga Klubben and Opera is a bold move. Especially if your goal is to change more than the sign above the door.

Always on the lookout for some welcome disruption to Helsinki nightlife, I was curious to see what this newcomer had to offer. I first visited the place with some friends on a quiet weeknight after the club’s opening weekend. In terms of location and venue, the place isn’t far from ideal. The dance floor (yes, there is one. Bonus.) is centrally located and big enough to accommodate a fair-sized group of shameless drunkards thrashing about, and there’s enough seating space for you to usually find somewhere to rest your dance-wearied feet.

In addition to nice space, I like what they’ve done with the interior of the place; a row of porcelain toilets on display greet you at the coat check; you pass the framed, black and white cavalcade of Finnish presidents on your way to the bathrooms; and you sit on upholstered plastic beer crates. Wunderbaum air-fresheners grace the walls and the glass bar counters sport cracks made on purpose.

Another tongue-in-cheek feature is the smoking room, which is wallpapered with blown-up warnings from cigarette packs and images of filthy lungs. Despite that, it's always packed. Counterintuitive, but true. A special mention goes out to the ladies’ toilets as well; the insides of cubicle doors are plastered with gay porn magazine cut outs. Man-on-man gay porn. Being visually harassed by dozens of dreamily smiling dudes with gigantic hard-ons is harrowing when you’re trying to pee. I wasn’t surprised to find “what about porn for us lesbians?’ scribbled on the door on my next visit.

My first visit to Ruma was good for getting a sense of the place, and I was rather impressed with everything apart from perhaps the clientele, which seemed to consist largely of kids on the brink of their twenties. This notion was on the whole confirmed on visits number two and three, which took place during following weekends. It seems Ruma has found its psychographic pretty fast, judging from the way the club has been packed for the past couple of weekends. Strangely, it seems as if said demographic is made up of pretty much the same kids that frequented the meat markets previously occupying the venue. Maybe instead of anti-mainstream the club-goers at Ruma are representative of all-stream? Or perhaps this is once again an example of how anti-mainstream became the new mainstream. But hell, when a beer costs less than three euros, who can complain, even if it is watered down.

Ruma Helsinki, Mannerheimintie 6 00100 Helsinki