Christmas Shopping at TOKYO

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!

The NY Chronicles: How to Spend a Saturday

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.

Cruising on a Friday.

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.

A One Night Stand

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.

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.

Things to do on a Sunday.

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.

1. 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'.
2. 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. 
3. 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. 
4. 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.
5. 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.