Uh to the motherfucking oh. It didn't snow in Finland for Christmas this year. This is what they got instead.
Crocuses. This has never happened before. Also, apparently 22 hours a day of darkness is ultra-uber-dark without snow for whatever light there is to bounce off of.
And you got your giant ice shelf that broke off into the sea there. (Thanks to Jason Grote for the tip-off.) So, looking good. It's looking good. We're looking great. Our friend Neville in Australia used to walk around muttering, "Dark days, dark days." Word, Neville.
On the bright side, in hair news, I ditched the zero and got with a hero. Old hairstylist? Babe, I have left you. This not only means that I have a fine new haircut - this means that I don't have to be Zelig* any more. I have been Zelig with more hairstylists than I care to admit. They've been these loud obnoxious party girls, and I've felt this compulsion to kind of ape their brassy loud blah blah when I've been in their chairs. I was unconsciously working on the hypothesis that they would give a better haircut to someone they relate to. It was exhausting. (Confidential to the hairstylist of 2001: Your downstairs neighbor is actually a SAINT.) Not only is my new hairstylist sane and charming, she's also incredibly fastidious. And I can just be myself. My bachelor days are over.
*Zelig, for those who haven't seen it, is an old Woody Allen movie, wherein the title character has a disorder that makes him turn into whomever he's talking to. If he's talking to a Chinese person, he turns Chinese. If he's talking to an Orthodox Jew, he turns into an Orthodox Jew. During his therapy session he turned into a psychologist. During my haircuts, I became a boisterous Tri-Delt from SMU.
So there we go. We may all be up to our necks in seawater soon, but my head will look great.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Finn said it tonight and he meant it. Dave was feeding him bananas in the other room, and he bit the spoon in an unpleasant way and began to cry. And then he fucking totally said it. Purposefully.
An unbelievable feeling. Stomach dropped. I ran in there. I'm tied to him with the cord of all cords. I love that baby in a way for which I have no precedent.
Merry Christmas to me.
Monday, December 11, 2006
In honor of this blog's newly donned gay apparel, please enjoy this small play inspired by this photo of snowy Helsinki. See if you can attach the right person to the right line! Hint: There are more lines than there are people. Because, or wait, no. Okay. Two people have two lines apiece. I fixed it. It's cool. Never mind. Just play! Go! Don't overthink it! Jeez!
Finnish person 1: Hyvää Joulua!
Finnish person 2: Minä rakastan sinua, Joulu Pukki!
Finnish person 3: Minä olen pikku vauva Suomalainen kotona laivasaattue vaunut!
Finnish persons 1, 2 & 4: Aaa!
Finnish person 5: Minä olen epätoivoinen...ehkä palvelija , ehkä apulainen. Pääasiallisesti , alusta tähän epätoivoinen.
Finnish person 6: Hei! Minä olen pikku vauva Suomalainen kotona laivasaattue vaunut! Hei, törkeä nainen!
Finnish person 7: Tokko me hapantua meidän takaistuin. jotta nyt kuluva lellitellä , se jälkisäädös unohtaa me aari tähän.
Finnish person 8: Kyllä. Me aari ei tähän. La la la.
Finnish person 9: Minä olen astuva jotta sisu kotona nyt kuluva rakennus.
Finnish person 1: Merry Christmas!
Finnish person 2: I love you, Santa Claus!
Finnish person 3: I am a tiny Finnish baby in a navy carriage!
Finnish persons 1, 2 & 4: Aww!
Finnish person 5: I am a forlorn...possibly a boy, maybe a girl. Mainly, I stand here forlorn.
Finnish person 6: Hey! I am a tiny Finnish baby in a navy carriage! Hey, bitches!
Finnish person 7: If we turn our backs to this baby, it will forget we're here.
Finnish person 8: Yes. We're not here. La la la.
Finnish person 9: I'm going to go in this building.
*Maybe this is a translation. I used one of those English-to-Finnish translators, and I suspect I may be offering you some wack Finnish.
Oh, partridges. I don't know about this color scheme. Help me.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Seven and a half months on this earth. Friends, he is getting the hang of it. All sorts of things are underway. First, I draw your attention to the photo in the lower left hand corner. That's the official shot of Finn Rowley, Space Cadet. Dave flies him around and he reports for duty. He's a gentleman space cadet because he's always floating around looking for ladies to assist. He hovers over ladies' heads and says, "Excuse me, lady, are you in need of assistance? You are? Well...I'm taking my lunch break now.....also, often after lunch I have a nap. Excuse me." And he floats away.
He's a man of three teeth. Two below, one above. He's a man who's working on crawling, but once he gets himself on all fours, he's like, pardon me while I pause for a downward dog. Yoga is my passion, ma'am. He's a fellow whose hands sneak their way to the upper rim of his playpen before he struggles like a nutjob to pull himself to standing. He can do it. For a second. And then he tips over in what looks at first glance to be the Agony of Defeat. But then he's just lying there blankly considering his next move. Pas de problem.
I was feeding him some applesauce tonight and he said, "Bbbbbbba bbbbba bbbbbbba bbbmmma mmmmaa mmmmma mmmmmma mmmmmmmmma," and my heart stopped. I was like, play it cool, lady. Play it cool. That sounded like mama. But don't have a heart attack. He's just making noises. And then he did it again and I started pretty much vogueing. I pointed to myself and squared my hands around my face all, MAMA? DID YOU SAY MAMA? I'm MAMA. MAMA, that's this lady right here. I mean...you know....whatever...have some applesauce. It's cool.
I should be asleep. I'm like a crazy person here blogging for you. I'm exhausted. Finn is glorious in the extreme, but he also kicks my ass all day long. Not metaphorically, although that, too. I'm talking about getting punched and kicked and headbutted and bitten on the toe and having my hair yanked and my nose ripped off and my ear brutally examined to death. When evening falls, Dave and I stumble around like slit-eyed zombies while Finn is still merrily fighting for his right to party. We laughed until we cried the other night as we tried to calm him down to go to sleep. He was on the bed kicking his legs and squealing, and I was attempting to give him a massage and saying, shhh, shhhh, it's bedtime. Time to go to sleep. And it had so little effect that we likened it to going into a giant football stadium full of screaming fans and walking around making that two-handed, palms-down, take-it-easy gesture and murmuring to people randomly, "Okay...okay...let's get some sleep now. That's enough, everybody. Night night now. Shhh. Calm down." Ah, lord, we thought that was funny.
He's a happy guy, our young space cadet. We thank our lucky stars.