Today the sun manages to stay over the horizon for seven hours and a bit. Despite the snow, days are desperately grey, and everything kind of blurs. It's hard to keep track of deadlines, or even remember if I've managed to do anything worthwhile lately.
In addition to teaching and trying to finish my PhD there isn't all that much going on at the moment - but at least I've had some interesting dreams lately (even compared to my usual standard). Last night, for instance, listening to the constant drip-drop of water outside my window, I finally managed to fall asleep and grew convinced that there was only one person who could explain the meaning and the source of the noise: Samuel Pepys.
I believe this history lark is really beginning to mess with my head. In the nicest possible way. Just like this song.
Today seems to be one of those days when everything is sort of sticky and slow right from the beginning. One of those days when you know that no matter hard you try - and in truth you don't try very hard - everything's going to conspire against you having a productive day.
The weather is grey and uninspiring. The computer is slow. Just when you get in the right mood for some work (writing a thesis in my case), someone calls you, and BAM, the thread of your thoughts is tangled again. In the supermarket everyone moves just as slowly and aimlessly as you do, not looking anyone in the eye, blocking the aisles with their slow trolleys. You pick the slowest queue in the whole darn shop - possibly in the whole universe - and wish you had the presence of mind to open the bag of sweets you're buying, before you've paid for it.
On most days, if things start piling upon me like this, I just get pointlessly angry. Today, as befits a slow and sticky day, I've just been drifting around in a half-awake haze, hoping that the aforementioned bag of sweets might brighten things up a bit.
And it has. The best part of the day is already hopelessly wasted, but at least now I'm fully awake. The other thing which contributed to my newfound alertness was this startling piece of poetry:
The weather's been most uninspiring for the past week or so, and I can't say that spring in general agrees with me. All that light and slush and birdsong just makes me restless - which doesn't bode well for the PhD. Motivation seems to have jumped out of the window, and at the moment sitting still and writing a few coherent sentences now and again is all I can manage - just barely.
A part of me is already frolicking in the old Green and Pleasant (where Otter, T, and Otter's brother - another T - and myself are headed next month). The pessimist in me tries to put a damper on things by suggesting that perhaps we haven't yet seen the end of Icelandic smoke and ash - and many volcanoes can erupt in the next three weeks. Yet the thought of all those full English breakfasts, pints of bitter, lovely Devon countryside, and perhaps even the moderately lovely city of Bath (which didn't impress me on my first visit - but I'm willing to give it another go) keeps me going, despite the cold weather and academic underachievement.
Talking about achievement - here's something that has been making its rounds in the feminist blogosphere over the weekend, and made my day yesterday. Behold the power of the Brontë sisters:
I wish I'd had a Brontësaurus when I was growing up, instead of a Barbie. Then again, Barbies could do some kick-ass stuff as well, even though they didn't come with those amazing moustaches.
Today was one of those rare December days when both the sun and the moon made their appearance - and not just any kind of moon, but a luminous full disk which, coupled with the cold weather, turned the sky (and the landscape) a pale, powdery pink.
More of this, please. This I like much better than the pouring slop we've been subjected to in the past couple of weeks. Instead of wanting to go back to bed at 9am, I'm almost motivated to work again.
It can't get much darker than this: six hours of daylight, most of which is blotted out by leaden clouds. Not a snowflake in sight. Jingle-bloody-bells to you, too.
Tomorrow sees the end of my teaching career - so far, at least. It's been a lot of work, but a lot of fun, too. Here's hoping something as motivating turns up next year as well.
On a wholly unrelated note, on Juska's recommedation I've been listening to Tori Amos's latest album - a Christmas album would you believe - and liking it a lot. In fact, Midwinter Graces is brilliant. If you don't believe me, listen for yourself:
I can feel myself slowing down with the darkness: everything feels just a little bit duller, and all chores take just a bit of more time to get done - or even to get started.
At least I managed to take some new pictures before the snow fell and changed everything into a slippery slush. Lately most of my photos seem to be of the same place - the nice bit of forest nearby, with its nice bit of pond. Water is such a great element, as it keeps changing so radically with the season (and the weather), providing always something new to look at.
So that's what I've been doing lately. Gazing into ponds.
Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
and how the wind doth ramm,
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.
"Song" by Ezra Pound. Modelled after this little ditty.
I did promise a couple of weeks ago to start a series of posts about my favourite British comedy shows, and in case anyone is wondering whether I've forgotten this promise, I can now confidently answer: no, I haven't.
Although I'd watched loads of British comedy before I was aware of Monty Python - and although there were many brilliant TV comedies before The Flying Circus came along (chronologically speaking), I think no other show has had quite the same influence (on me, or on British comedy) over the years. Also, as it's now the 40th anniversary of the first broadcast of the series, so I think Pythons are a very good place to start.
For me, the first encounter with the Python phenomena didn't come through the TV series, but through the films. When I was around 17, YLE broadcast The Holy Grail and The Life of Brian, and especially the first of those hit me over the head with the proverbial rubber chicken. To this day, it's one of the few films I know by heart, and quote at unsuspecting people (the only other films are A Hard Day's Night and Help!. I suppose I was a bit of a Beatles geek as a teenager).
There are so many brilliant bits in The Holy Grail that it's hard to pick only one. However, the Knights Who Say 'Ni' sequence is one of the highlights of the film, as it includes not only the bewildered King Arthur and his long-suffering entourage, the wonderfully silly Knights, and Roger the Shrubber - but also Brave Sir Robin and his minstrels (who get eaten towards the end of the film. There are just so many random elements around that it's amazing they hang so well together.
After wearing out the VHS tape on which I'd preserved both of the aforementioned films, I finally got to the real thing - the Flying Circus TV series, which of course blew me away (and gave me loads of whole new quoting material). I generally like the more 'literary' stuff (like the sketch in which John Cleese and Graham Chapman - dressed as suburban housewives - get into an argument about existentialism, and sail to France in order to ask Jean-Paul Sartre which one of them is right); the 'Dead Parrot' sketch, for instance, is a bit too shouty and violent to my taste. However, one of my absolute favourites is the 'Cheese Shop' sketch, which works along similar lines, but is much more clever and verbally acrobatic (it also features some lovely dancing).
After watching this, I always get a craving for Venezuelan beaver cheese, for some reason.
As there's so much good stuff to choose from, it's nigh impossible to name my absolute favourite Flying Circus sketch. This court scene one, however, encapsulates many things that I adore about Monty Python. It's got Eric Idle giving a mock-Olivier address to the court, John Cleese hopping about in wig and gown, Graham Chapman both as a voluable lady and a keen-eyed police inspector, and Michael Palin as Cardinal Richelieu (complete with pink robes and a personal microphone). Yet my favourite bit comes at the very end.
A guy in a suit of armour, wielding a rubber chicken. That would come in handy at my Doctoral defence ceremony, as a kind of rhetorical device - in case my carefully prepared argumentation fails to impress the audience and my opponent.
(In case any of my friends are reading: this is what I'd like for Christmas. One suit of armour, one rubber chicken, and someone willing to act as a rhetorical device in the near future. Please.)
Since the last post, seems like nothing much has been happening here. After such a delicious and hectic summer, going back to the routine takes some getting used to. And lots and lots of caffeine.
Then again, I've managed to do quite a bit of reading (for my PdD) and have been trying to work all this new-found information into the tapestry of the thesis. So far so good, but I'd really appreciate some outside feedback as well - which hasn't been forthcoming in the past year.
On the other hand, I've also had time to read some brilliant fiction. Mostly re-reads, but some new gems as well. A couple of weeks ago I gobbled up Veikko Huovinen's Lyhyet erikoiset in about a day, cackling all the way through. There's something about Huovinen's wry style that completely disarms me - though of course the things he chooses to write about are quite unusual as well. Or at least I haven't yet come across another short story that discusses the relative merits of tinned foods from around the world.
Another book that completely bowled me over was Eeva Kilpi's Naisen päiväkirja. I first read it a few years back, and I remember being impressed by it: reading it a second time I was almost overwhelmed with its frankness, fragility and sheer scope. Kilpi tackles loneliness, ageing, sex (or the lack thereof), her relationship to her children, to God, and to the universe in general, all with soul-baring intensity. Amazing stuff.
On a more melancholy note, I was sad to hear of the death of Ellie Greenwich - and it was also saddening to note how swiftly her death was glossed over in the media (I don't think that YLE, for one, even mentioned it). It's really hard to pick a favourite from her impressive repertoire ('The Leader of the Pack', 'I Can Hear Music', 'Do Wah Diddy Diddy'... ) but then again, it's not that hard at all:
My summer holiday is now officially over. So, from today on I should be getting on with my PhD, begging for money, and preparing lectures.
But I just can't be arsed.
Partly this is due to the inevitable back-to-work disorientation, which most of us are familiar with, but mostly I'm just pissed off with our department, which doesn't seem to get anywhere with my Licentiate thesis. As it appears that nobody's interested in reading my text, I can't really be bothered to write any more of that stuff. But we'll see what happens when things get moving again after the holidays.
Instead of doing research, then, I've been doing other, no less important things - like updating my blog and shopping for groceries. But the thing that takes up most of my time now is this little project.
I'm not one of those people who shops for recreation. As a rule, I don't like crowded places, and I'm not that keen on spending money, either. Flea markets, however, are something different; I like their complete randomness and the element of unexpectedness. Indeed, one should never go to a second-hand shop looking for something particular, for at least in my experience, real 'finds' are things you never expected to find.
After a busy week, I'm winding down for the weekend, listening to the sublime Madeleine Peyroux:
I've been meaning to write a post about my favourite summer albums and songs, and isn't it just my luck that when I've finally got the time and inclination to do so, the weather turns foul... But that's no excuse, especially in this country, as good music is good music, regardless of the meteorological circumstances.
Ok, let's start with one of my all-time favourite albums, Gillian Welch's Soul Journey. As a rule, I know very little about bluegrass, and Welch is probably the only artist in my record collection who can be classified under that genre. I'm not sure about this album's summeriness, either, but since I first heard it in early summer (must have been around 2002...), the associations with sunshine and t-shirts have stayed with me. But there is a dusty, drowsy feeling to the songs, which makes Soul Journey a perfect soundtrack for late summer especially, with trees drooping in the sun, a winding dirt track rippling in the heat, and a gentle sound of banjos in the afternoon air.
Although in my case Joni Mitchell has been pretty much a 24/7 occupation for the past few years, some of her music has summery associations for me as well. The Hissing of Summer Lawns is an obvious choice, although it isn't among her best-known work. It also differs from Mitchell's previous albums in both its soundscape and its more socially-aware lyrical content. The title track, which slithers along like the snake depicted on the album cover, is a good example of this.
Very L.A. chic circa '75.
Speaking of which, the next summer album is also in the Californian jazz-rock vein, with some Latin influences thrown in for that irresistible groove. Can't Buy A Thrill by Steely Dan was one of those records I took to immediately, and I rediscovered it a couple of weeks ago.
Then the obligatory Motown feelgood track. In my case it's 'Dancing in the Street' by Martha and the Vandellas. Amazing singing, amazing energy. Not so sure about the lyrics, though... "Every guy, grab a girl / everywhere around the world". Buh.
However, when it comes to feelgood let-the-summer-begin songs, I need to say only three words:
For some reason, in the last few days preparations for the Renaissance party have motivated me much more than academic accomplishments. So here's what I did today instead of grading home exams or finishing an essay: I baked a Renaissance-style cheese and onion pie. In case you're interested, you can find the recipe here (be warned: that is not a Weight Watchers page you're entering).
I was expecting the tart to be tasty (after all, what's not to like: fatty cheese, onions, sultanas, parsley, sugar and spices), but still the result surprised me positively. It's not too sweet, although the added sugar and sultanas make your brain do funny things, not knowing whether this is a sweet or savoury dish. Also next time I'll double the amount of ginger.
But yep, this one's definitely on the party menu.
Another example of my skewered priorities is that when I couldn't sleep last night, I got up to trim my French hood (now there's a double entendre if I ever produced one). Never in my life have I considered sitting up until 11 pm sowing beads on a piece of headwear. Strange days indeed.
The SHS is also spreading its sinister influence, one person at a time.; at least I've already managed to involve some totally innocent people in this Renaissance lark. Last week I persuaded my mum to help me with the making of two bumrolls (ours are blue, by the way). Mum's a good sport, and she complied with surprisingly little resistance (I think she was curious to know what exactly I had in mind). However, in order to make a decent bumroll, you need quite a lot of stuffing. Having exhausted our supply of old pantyhose and other miscellaneous hosiery, we turned to my mum's best friend for help. Thankfully, she's one of those people who never throws anything away, and soon furnished us with about fifty pairs of old pantyhose. (Seriously, people! Let this be a warning to you all...). But now Otter and I can cut a nearly authentic figure in our Renaissance frocks, although I don't think even Queen Elizabeth has as cool bumrolls as we do. At least hers weren't stuffed with support stockings...
Now here's an amusing thing you can do if you've got time on your hands and zero motivation to do any real work. Check out this website. (I found it through her.)
While I don't think that the English language is getting impoverished, or that all these newfangled words are ruining its ages-old beauty, it's nevertheless a nice idea to hang onto some of the older words and expressions - especially if they're useful or poignant or just downright silly.
Here are five words I picked, and have pledged to use as much as I can. I tried to choose words that are genuinely useful (there are lots of words that are very specific, and thus not all that practical for everyday activities like blogging).
Blateration. "blabber, chatter". As in "I couldn't get a word in the edgewise for all the blateration at the meeting."
Foppotee. "a simple-minded person". This is my favourite - mainly because it's meaning is so self-evident. "He's a great foppotee, but I like him nevertheless."
Incabinate. "to enclose or imprison in a cabin." A word of great usefulness in the Finnish summer. "They're planning to incabinate me for two months."
Welmish. "of a pale or sickly colour." While obviously handy when referring to people, somehow I think this word applies very well to animals as well - especially dogs. "The new puppy was cute, but of a strange, welmish colour."
Yelve. "a dung fork." This word has a deliciously Ye Olde Worlde ring to it - and I can't believe that fantasy writers haven't rallied to its defense. "Gandalf was greatly annoyed when the Balrog prodded him in the backside with his yelve."
Why is it that when electric appliances decide to expire, they have to do it all at once? This morning I found out my battery charger had stopped working. Then, on my way to S-Market, the headphones of my mp3-player started acting funny. These are minor things, and easily (and quite cheaply) repleacable, but I'm waiting for the inevitable third casualty - I'm guessing it'll be either my computer or my freezer (just my luck it'd stop working while I'm on holiday).
Nothing much has been happening here. I've spent most of today reading Sicily-related web pages and blogs, trying to find out what to see, eat and drink while I'm there. I've also been listening to some more of Dowland's lute songs - and to my surprise discovered that 'Weep You No More, Sad Fountains' was originally written by him. Although I knew it was an old song, I had always associated with the famous pianoforte scene (below) from Sense and Sensibility.
For me, this is the definitive version of the song (with the melody composed by Patrick Doyle). I play it on the piano quite often, and each time I perform it, I imagine Alan Rickman walking through the door and stopping to listen, mesmerised.
I just got back from a conference trip to Turku - my first ’official’ performance outside my own alma mater. As I got up at 4.30 on Thursday morning, caught an early train to Turku and then had to find my way first to the B&B and then to the university - in a city relatively unknown to me - by the time I had presented my own paper I was completely knackered. Which was just as well, as there was very little in the symposium to get my academic teeth into.
What annoys me about these gatherings is the sheer amount of bullshit that goes on between (and sometimes during) the sessions. Maybe it’s just my Finnish nature that doesn’t agree with empty small-talk, but I feel extremely out of place when people start complementing each other on their ‘interesting’ work - while at the same time they probably don’t even remember (or care) what it is that these people do. Of course it’s always nice to meet colleagues etc., but otherwise there's very little substance to these conferences, at least when compared to the amount of money and time that goes into organising them.
During the weekend I also got a quick tour into the unbelievably narrow-minded world of some of these academics (some of them well-known in their respective fields). Musicologists for one seem to be terribly concerned about keeping their own field carefully fenced, so that those people who don’t do ‘real’ musicology (ethnomusicologists, for example) can’t get in to steal their precious resources. An interesting paradox in itself, as the purpose of the conference was to celebrate the multi-disciplinary nature of music studies. Ha.
On a brighter note, I skipped the last day of the symposium altogether in order to get a closer look at the Turku Castle (which I’d previously seen only from the outside). So while the others were busy patting each other academically on the back, I rambled the halls and corridors of the castle - and boy, did I get my money’s worth! Actually, there’s so much to see that three hours wasn’t nearly enough; I especially would've liked to ask more questions from the guides (who seemed to be very knowledgeable of the stories of their respective rooms - and also eager to share that knowledge).
Also the city itself had a surprisingly welcoming atmosphere; I say ‘surprisingly’, because I’ve always thought all people West of Jyväskylä tend to be glum and more reserved compared to us easygoing Easterners. However, all the people I met were friendly and talkative - but then again, we all tend to be like that in the first sunny days of spring.
Talking of that: this time next week I’ll be sitting in a piazza somewhere in Sicily, soaking up the Mediterranean sun. Should be good.
Yep, it would have been a bleak life for me as a 30s housewife. Dunno which counted against me more, the habit of cooking in my PJs or the fact that I don't "praise marriage before young women contemplating it".
This reminded me of an article I read some time ago (tried to google it but as it was an online newspaper thing, naturally it's gone now... :P) about three British women who aspired to be 'perfect' housewives, living in homes decorated in the 30s, 40s and 50s style, respectively. Presumably they begin their day by dressing in their lovely vintage clothes, doing their hair and face, then proceed to make a nourishing vintage breakfast for their manly husbands in their immaculately clean vintage kitchens (the 50s kitchen looked particularly enticing).
I can't remember if they mentioned what they do all day when their husbands are at work (besides bake pies and lounge in their painstakingly constructed fantasy worlds). My guess is that they hang around at ebay trying to find more lovely vintagey stuff).
Naturally, they all thought that life was much better, lighter, purer and less scary in the first part of the 20th century when men were men and women didn't have to worry about careers or having opinions of their own.
Such an easy life, I know, and I'll have to admit that there is something slightly appealing in the idea - until you realise that these are 21th century women who've had the choice to live like that, and who have husbands who have enough money to finance this silliness. The forties may sound like a charming place to be, with impressive-looking cars and jaunty hats, but imagine yourself running to a air-raid sheter in the middle of the night, dragging along half a dozen bewildered kids, and then tell me about how women in the past were so much better off.
An avid reader, amateur writer and musician and an all-round lover of words. Also a full-time feminist.
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This blog mainly contains ramblings about popular culture, costume drama, and the weather. You can contact me at haukanmaa (at) gmail (dot) com
