Tavaroita

We live within walking distance from the local Prisma. If you're unfamiliar with it, it's a chain of "hypermarkets" here in Finland.

We rarely shop there because, in truth, I kind of hate it. In fact, I hate shopping of any kind. To me, it's the worst of all chores.

Prisma, though, always seems packed like an enormous sardine can full of consumers. People mill about aimlessly among the rows and, if you intend to buy something specific, you will most likely have to push past several people who are entranced by the yogurt or the baked goods. It reminds me of Walmart, though it's actually a good deal larger than any Walmart I've ever had the misfortune to visit.

Now, to be fair, Walmart is an evil son-of-a-bitch. Although it is owned by oligopoly member S-Group, I doubt very much that Prisma's business practices are quite so deplorable. (A Google search didn't yield much information either way. Please enlighten me if you happen to know something I don't.) I don't seek to equate them. It's just that I've been programmed to feel irritated whenever I'm in a gargantuan supermarket brimming with people.

And when I'm finally out in the open air, goods in tow, I resolve to be less of a curmudgeonly jerk and to understand that, for some people, Prisma is quite an awesome thing. "Hey, I don't need to drag my children to four different stores; I can complete all of my shopping in one trip!" If you're a parent or a person otherwise lacking in time and energy, Prisma must be of immeasurable use to you.

But, really, is it so interesting for its size and abundance? Is the "Prisma trance" a result of anything particularly compelling? Is there porn tucked between milk cartons and pasted to the back of every t-shirt?   Clearly there's some incredible fun that I'm missing because I'm such an utterly joyless shopper.

Still, I think I'll be happy to keep rushing impatiently through the act of shopping. And I think I may just stay away from Prisma until the day I manage to suppress my inner curmudgeon. 

Pen tied: Learning and Writing Finnish

In the last two or three weeks, I have continued to study Finnish pretty intensively. At this point, I'm discovering that there's quite a lot that I can learn on my own when I stray outside of my course's curriculum. Here are a couple of study methods that have been very helpful to me:

1) I record myself saying 20 - 45 important new vocabulary words just about every day. On such recordings, I'll repeat a Finnish word three to four times and then give a definition of it in English. Then I simply listen as needed. Doing this has helped me a lot with vocabulary acquisition and pronunciation. My guess is that most people prefer not to resort to rote memorization of vocabulary, but I find that this activity helps me to store words in my long-term memory on a short-term basis. Then, when I encounter them in class, reading, or in conversation, I have a greater chance of remembering them more permanently.

2) I read, in English, any information I can find regarding the grammatical structures that I want to learn. Finnish: An Essential Grammar by Fred Karlsson has been immensely helpful as a reference guide.

And that's quite enough of the dull stuff.

On a related note, however, one of my homework assignments for this evening was to write a story using all of the following verbs:
               vihata = to hate
               rakastaa = to love
               ajatella = to think (about)
               lyödä = to hit, strike
               suudella = to kiss
               odottaa = to wait
               etsiä = to search
               käyttää = to use
               löytää = to find
               huomata = to notice
               tuntea = to know, to feel
               myöntää = to admit, agree
               kutsua = to invite

And, without further ado, here is my absurd, completely stupid "story":
Joku mies rakastaa naista, ja hän päättää kertoa hänelle sen. Mies ostaa kukkia ja menee naisen luo. Kun hän saapuu sinne, hän koputtaa kovasti ovea. "Oletko kotona?" hän huutaa. Nainen tulee ovelle ja avaa sen. 
     "Tunnenko minä sinut?" nainen kysyy. 
     "Sinä tunnet minut hyvin! Minä olen sinun rakas! Haluan kertoa sinulle, että minä rakastan sinua! Minä olen etsinyt rakkautta, ja olen löytänyt sen, koska sinä olet kaunis!" 
     "Odota minua pieni hetki..." nainen sanoo, ja sulkee oven nopeasti. Mies odottaa vähän aikaa, mutta hän on kärsimätön. Hän koputtaa ja huutaa, "Tule takaisin! Haluaisin kutsua sinut minun luo kylään!" 
     Nainen tulee takaisin ja avaa oven taas. "Mene pois. Huomaan, että sinä olet vähän hullu." 
   "Höpö-höpö," Mies sanoo. "Minä myönnän, että olen vähän töykeä, mutta olen töykeä vain koska rakastan sinua liian paljon!" Sitten mies yrittää suudella naista. 
     Nainen lyö miestä päähän ja sanoo, "Käytä järkeäsi! Et saa suudella vieraita naisia!"
    Mies on surullisen näköinen. "Mutta minä ajattelen sinua tosi paljon! Haluaisitko mennä kahville ja keskustella sitä? 
   "Voi, voi," nainen sanoo. "Okei. Pieni hetki. Haen mieheni."
Mies murjottaa ja sanoo, "Minä vihaan sinua." 


(Most everything is in present tense because we haven't yet covered other tenses in class. I did slip in a bit of perfekti, though.)


Translated:
A man loves a woman, and he decides to tell her. The man buys flowers and goes to her place. When he arrives there, he knocks hard on the door. "Are you home?" he shouts. The woman comes to the door and opens it. 
    "Do I know you?" she asks. 
    "You know me well! I am your love! I want to tell you that I love you! I have searched for love, and I have found it, because you are beautiful!" 
    "Wait for me just a minute..." the woman says, and closes the door quickly. The man waits for a little while, but he is impatient. He knocks and shouts, "Come back! I would like to invite you over to my place!" 
     The woman comes back and again opens the door. "Go away. I see that you are a little crazy." 
    "Nonsense," the man says. "I admit that I am a little rude, but I am rude only because I love you too much!" Then the man tries to kiss the woman. 
     The woman hits the man in the head and says, "Be reasonable! You can't kiss strange women!"
    The man is sad-looking. "But I think about you a lot! Would you like to go for coffee and discuss it? 
   "Oh my," the woman says. "Okay. Just a moment. I'll get my husband." 
The man sulks and says, "I hate you." 


So what do you think? Do I have a shot at being the next big Finnish novelist? Perhaps after studying Finnish for the next thousand years, you say? Yep, I'm afraid I'll have to agree with you there. When you're constrained by a lack of knowledge and ability, you have no choice but to embrace the absurdity.

Höpö-höpö aside, it was a pretty great exercise.

Odd Is As Odd Does

I went through some of my old journals recently, and found this tidbit from when I was 18 or so and not yet in university:


There are so many odd birds in Winsted. I have been noticing them more lately, perhaps because I have resumed my old habit of walking on main street, and there are always people floating around. I am trying to formulate some sort of character sketch about at least one of them. Sometimes I can't help but stare. 


For instance, while heading out to grab some lunch at a restaurant down the street from my apartment, I noticed this woman coming out of the Register Citizen building. She was about 70 years old and had dyed her hair jet black. Her makeup was very thick, and I wondered if perhaps she was participating in a play somewhere locally, as it was difficult to accept that she thought it looked attractive. Blue eyeshadow, pancake-thick foundation, and ruby rouge, virtually circles on her cheeks, she looked like someone who might audition for a music video. I know my description borders on cruel, but believe me, I don't intend it that way. She was very beautiful in an odd way. All these people are beautiful to me in the odd way. I just wish there were some way for me to utilize this fascination. 


This place is so weird. I grew up here, and I should be utterly used to it, but I am not. Every day I walk down the street with a continued fascination that may outfit itself in either hatred or contentment. It always manages to be fascination, though. Confusion, even. 


This town used to be so lovely. Think of it; even Route 8 comes out in Winsted. Before the flood, this place was really something. Now it manages to be some kind of voluntary prison. There's no denying that this place sucks, but it holds a simple beauty. I intend to visit often once I escape.

Note that to say I "grew up" in Winsted is overstating things. I actually grew up nearby, in a much more beautiful and more rural place. Still, Winsted had the grocery store, the shoe store, and my father's small label business, so it's true that I did spend a good deal of time there. At 18 I had moved there temporarily, in with my father, in an effort to figure out exactly what it was I planned to do with myself.

If memory serves, I wrote this shortly before another, more intimate and more frightening encounter with an "odd bird."

There was a man I used to see around town. He was between 50 and 60, and he aways wore the same army green jacket. I assumed he was homeless. He always smelled of earth and alcohol. I'd see him nearly everywhere: at the pharmacy, the grocery store, and on the street. We saw each other so frequently that we eventually began to acknowledge one another with a nod and a smile.

One day, as I was walking home, he came up behind me and said, "Hello!"

"Hello," I said. We had never spoken before.

"How are you on this beautiful day?" It was cloudy. He used the few teeth in his mouth to smile like a politician.

"Fine. I've got to go," I said.

"Well, just wait a minute. You're usually so friendly. Don't you want to have a chat?" He was blocking my path. The street was empty, even though it was midday on a Saturday.

"Well, I would, it's just that I'm very busy," I said.

"You're so beautiful. Are you married?" he asked. It was then that I knew he was either stupid or nuts.

"Not yet," I said. In retrospect, I really should have said yes.

"How can someone so beautiful not be married?"

"I'm too young," I said. In retrospect, I really should have said, "Because I've got herpes, syphilis, and the clap."

"Can I give you a hug?" he asked. Yes, he was nuts. Too much alcohol had pickled his brain, and he'd retained his ability to speak but not his ability to think.

"Nope. Gotta go!" I said, and tried to walk swiftly away. I was only two meters or so from the front door. He grabbed me by the shoulder and ran his hand down the length of my arm. I froze. In retrospect, I really should have kicked him square in the nuts. Hindsight.

Then my father came out of the building with a garbage bag in his hand. He saw us, walked calmly in our direction and asked, "Can I help you?" He was addressing the man but it was, without question, me he was helping.

"Oh," the man said, his face falling, his head drooping. "You're already with someone, I see." Yes, he was nuts. Certifiable, in fact. Too bad that he had no one who cared enough to certify him.

I ran inside. My father stayed behind and talked to him for a few minutes. When he came in, he said, "That guy sends his apologies."

The strange thing is that I never saw him again. Perhaps it was because I avoided all of the places in which I typically ran into him. Perhaps my dad scared him into hiding, although I find that somewhat hard to imagine. Perhaps I did see him once or twice, and I just don't remember it. I'll never know.

That's actually just the most dramatic example of a few incidents in which I felt threatened while walking around in Winsted. Living in the country probably made a pansy out of me, but that small, sleepy town is not without its dangers. Nothing of that sort ever happens to me here in Lappeenranta. There are drunks here and everywhere, but they've never bothered me. Perhaps it's because I'm older, and perhaps it's because Finland has a far superior system by which to decrease poverty and desperation.

Isn't it odd, though, that I miss that place?

Mayday Mayday

Thanks for your comments last post. As my late friend used to say occasionally: "Fuck cancer."

 Moving on.

Today is Vappu, May Day, or International Worker's Day. Most of you are likely to know that. People in the US are far less likely to take note of the day, but my hope is that there will be some attention paid to the marches and happenings in New York. For my "slacktivist" part, I photoshopped a quote from Patrick Bateman onto a depressed looking picture of Congressman Paul Ryan.

The weather has been absolutely beautiful, which meant quite a lot of our Vappu was spent outside. Vappuaatto was warm and clear. We began the night by making some guacamole and drinking a somewhat disappointing French rosé. Then we went to see if anything interesting was happening in the center. Turns out there wasn't much other than a few drunken young people (younger than my 27, at any rate) staggering wildly from bar to bar, and up onto the fortress hill. That's not to say I would have minded doing so myself, but, you know, I didn't know whether or not they'd appreciate a random American woman cramping their style. It was so beautiful, though, so we set out to get as much fresh air as possible. The sunset was the stuff of summer.

Today, we woke up late, drank too much coffee, and I let my brain decompress from the studying I've been doing. I cooked some chicken and rice with plenty of chili, cayenne pepper, and garlic. We ventured out again to see if we might catch a march, but we had lingered for too long. We did see scores of people camped out at the fortress, though.

Though I failed to experience anything too terribly traditional and have therefore failed to write a decent Vappu post, there's always next year.

Hauskaa Vappua!


Edit: Check out this Finnish band that I discovered today, called Black Lizard.