Lately I’ve been reading a lot of books of the chicklit genre. Just haven’t felt up for anything more thought provoking. But there’s one thing that annoys me to bits: factual error considering Finns/Finland. In surprisingly many books there are references to my homeland. Can’t for the life of me understand why. I don’t mind artistic freedom or saying something even quite nasty about our cheerful nation and it’s inhabitants.
But using names that actually do not exist here (and usually they sound vaguely Swedish or Norwegian) or writing about WHALES in our seas. Last time a whale was sighted near Finland it was around 1978. We used to have a type of whale (Phocoena phocoena) around here but they are seriously long gone… Only thing dumber to say would be the time honoured tradition of thinking there’s polarbears in Helsinki.
The annoying bit is this: if the writers/editors have gone through lengthy factchecking process considering everything else (like the French daycare system or the income situation of single mothers and it’s development since the 1940’s ) they could not google the goddamn whale bit!?!
Okay, I understand that the daycare system might be important for the plotline. And those bits I’m annoyed by are just tiny little details, a mere mention to fatten up the character of the au pair but still. Urgh!
Monday, February 16, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Daffodil Lament
For some reason this song by the Cranberries has always been very important to me. I am trying to figure out why, what is the connection. There always is... All the important songs in my life remind me of something, someone. Soundtrack of my life...
It's like with literature, there always has been someone before who has said things better than I ever could, that's why this is the highest form of writing that I will ever do. I know my limitations.
"...I have decided to leave you forever..."
Maybe that's it. When this song was new I was in a point I had to let go of my first true love. It was basically a teenage thing, nothing to be counted as serious when you think about it now. But back then... damn... it was serious then. It was growing up. I can still remember how it felt. There's a lot of stuff that's escaped from me now, but not that. Not accepting that loss. First failure of that sort. Little did I know there was a lot of that kind coming up.
It's strange, the pain that just will not go away. The humiliation of being rejected. The memory of things that could have been very different if just... If I would have been different. But then I would have not been me.
For someone who does not live in the past I sure do write about it a lot. That's my way of dealing. I write, and then I can not think about it again for a while. Emotional vomiting.
It's like with literature, there always has been someone before who has said things better than I ever could, that's why this is the highest form of writing that I will ever do. I know my limitations.
"...I have decided to leave you forever..."
Maybe that's it. When this song was new I was in a point I had to let go of my first true love. It was basically a teenage thing, nothing to be counted as serious when you think about it now. But back then... damn... it was serious then. It was growing up. I can still remember how it felt. There's a lot of stuff that's escaped from me now, but not that. Not accepting that loss. First failure of that sort. Little did I know there was a lot of that kind coming up.
It's strange, the pain that just will not go away. The humiliation of being rejected. The memory of things that could have been very different if just... If I would have been different. But then I would have not been me.
For someone who does not live in the past I sure do write about it a lot. That's my way of dealing. I write, and then I can not think about it again for a while. Emotional vomiting.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
On a lighter note, part 1056...
I listen to the radio at work. Sometimes I hear some really strange stuff…
A recent Idols competitor (he was actually fourth on the competition and I can’t for the life of me understand how he got that far) moved in with his girlfriend. Okay there’s nothing strange in this. Except the fact you could wonder why that is newsworthy information. Broadcasted on a national radiochannel. Granted, in entertainment news, but still…
So the happy couple moved in together after two months of dating. Nothing strange in that either. But the strange part is the phrasing used:
“xx moved in with his girlfirend xx FINALLY after dating for two months”
How is that finally? After two months? C’mon! And they are not even lesbians!
A recent Idols competitor (he was actually fourth on the competition and I can’t for the life of me understand how he got that far) moved in with his girlfriend. Okay there’s nothing strange in this. Except the fact you could wonder why that is newsworthy information. Broadcasted on a national radiochannel. Granted, in entertainment news, but still…
So the happy couple moved in together after two months of dating. Nothing strange in that either. But the strange part is the phrasing used:
“xx moved in with his girlfirend xx FINALLY after dating for two months”
How is that finally? After two months? C’mon! And they are not even lesbians!
Learning stuff
Last Friday I was having lunh at work and idly looked through a magazine someone had left on the table. I came across a page where there were things to do and see over the weekend, and one of them was a memorial gig for a guy I knew when I was under twenty. I hadn’t known he had died the previous fall. I vaguely remember reading about a fire where a young man died but at the time I had no reason to believe I’d know the victim. He was a friend of a friend of a friend, someone I never knew well, who used to hang out with the same crowd of people, and for the last ten years I’d see him occasionally around, nod a hello, if even that.
So then, the next day I was reading another magazine. There was a story written by a freelance journalist, a story about how her mother got cancer and how they took care of her until the end with her siblings. In the story was a mention how the night when her mother died there was a fire in the building where the journalist lived and in that fire a young man died. With the details and the timeline it was certain that it was the same guy. So how spooky is that?
I mean he had died three months earlier, I had no idea and then when I finally knew, he’s all over the place… I can spice this story with one more detail before the grand finale of this post. Three days before I read about his death I was in a recordshop and saw the first album he published with his band, and I decided to go and get it later. For the first time in a really long time I thought about him and the other guys. This is starting to turn into Twilight Zone episode…
Last night I dreamt about him, I was on my way to go see his band play and I could’t find a parkingplace and when I finally did make my way to the gig it had turned into a memorial show because he had just died. And I left and I cried and cried and made my way into a bar in Lahti and drank and drank. But when I woke up I was feeling quite well, kinda relieved.
So what does this tell me? One line from Melissa Etheridge comes to mind, “the letting go has taken place”. I don’t think I had to let go of him, as a person, because I did not know him well enough to, well, personally mourn for him. Not really in any other aspect than the general way of feeling sad when someone dies young. But I think this was one of the moments when I let go of my youth. Of the teenage years, of the people I knew, of the person I was. And because it is me, drinking in the dream was a symbol for letting go.
I am letting go a lot of stuff, gradually. Moving on, letting some things rest. Learning to let go of things that I have no way of ever finding out why they happened. Letting go of hurt. Piece by piece.
So then, the next day I was reading another magazine. There was a story written by a freelance journalist, a story about how her mother got cancer and how they took care of her until the end with her siblings. In the story was a mention how the night when her mother died there was a fire in the building where the journalist lived and in that fire a young man died. With the details and the timeline it was certain that it was the same guy. So how spooky is that?
I mean he had died three months earlier, I had no idea and then when I finally knew, he’s all over the place… I can spice this story with one more detail before the grand finale of this post. Three days before I read about his death I was in a recordshop and saw the first album he published with his band, and I decided to go and get it later. For the first time in a really long time I thought about him and the other guys. This is starting to turn into Twilight Zone episode…
Last night I dreamt about him, I was on my way to go see his band play and I could’t find a parkingplace and when I finally did make my way to the gig it had turned into a memorial show because he had just died. And I left and I cried and cried and made my way into a bar in Lahti and drank and drank. But when I woke up I was feeling quite well, kinda relieved.
So what does this tell me? One line from Melissa Etheridge comes to mind, “the letting go has taken place”. I don’t think I had to let go of him, as a person, because I did not know him well enough to, well, personally mourn for him. Not really in any other aspect than the general way of feeling sad when someone dies young. But I think this was one of the moments when I let go of my youth. Of the teenage years, of the people I knew, of the person I was. And because it is me, drinking in the dream was a symbol for letting go.
I am letting go a lot of stuff, gradually. Moving on, letting some things rest. Learning to let go of things that I have no way of ever finding out why they happened. Letting go of hurt. Piece by piece.
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