AGH I SUCK AT LIFE

Hey dudes. Sorry I haven't written in ages. I made the move back to New York, and I am now living in "East Williamsburg" a.k.a. Bushwick in Brooklyn. (My apartment is amaaaazing, by the way. Total schwing digs.) Bye for now, Helsinki.

I am such a failure that I haven't even made posts about my last two days of busking, and all of the stuff I have heard from people after the article came out.

I'll either post that tonight or in the next few days. Plus, I'll make some posts about Flow Festival, since that was my last big bang in Finland, with photos and all. Until then, you can see my coverage – photos and text – on www.nickydigital.com. (See photos of Lily Allen, Grace Jones, Ladyhawke, Vampire Weekend, Yann Tiersen, Handsome Furs, Fever Ray, and more.)

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Three Trapped Tigers – 1

THIS IS HOW WE DO IT

The article written about me came out yesterday in Nyt.

Check it out! OG Mack.


(Click on it to see a bigger version.)

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Montell Jordan – This Is How We Do It

I guess I must be having fun

I'm in NYT today! It's not online, so I can't show y'all yet. But if they don't put the article up on the Web site, then I'll have to scan it in. It's funny, and it's in Finnish, so it won't make much sense to non-Finnish speakers. And Google Translate won't help you if I scan it in!

And it's nice and sunny – not rainy like I expected. Maybe I'll go busking for an hour? Then it's back to packing. Then to Flow Festival!

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Talking Heads – This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)

OK OK, here we go

Below, find the details of Tuesday's busking adventure:

First thing, one woman got a necklace. I knew I recognized her from somewhere, and I later realized she's a waitress at Tori. Whoops.

I had no customers for a long time, so I got food. And there was this seagull that was aggressively trying to steal my food! It kept diving in at me, or trotting up. One of the waiters chased it away for me, as did my friend Jaakko. I finally finished my meal in peace.

With my free time, I wrote a story for this art project I'm doing with my friend Ashkahn. It's top secret until we get some stuff together, or maybe I'm just saying that. Nonetheless, he's a great artist/graphic designer/typographer/guy.

Then I found out that my meal from Tori was free. Thanks, Fredi!

Finally! I got an order for writing! A guy asked for a story, and didn't know what the topic should be. I made him pick something, and he said, "A man and a woman go to play tennis, and you decide what happens." What happens: Mr. Williams (a prominent art dealer) goes to his country club to play tennis with his girlfriend/arm candy, Charlotte. After the first game, Charlotte notices the ball boy doodling caricatures in the white lines of the court and threatens to report him for graffiti. Mr. Williams likes the art, and says he will make the boy famous. The next time Mr. Williams comes to play tennis at the country club, he's there with the ball-boy-turned-artist (who is now a valued member of the club)...and this time, Mr. Williams' arm candy is named Lucy.

Then a couple approached me and said that it was their two-year anniversary. They asked for a poem. I asked if they wanted it to be lovey-dovey (not in those words) or funny. They said mix the two. So I wrote what felt best. I delivered the poem to their table and watched for their reaction. The man read faster than the woman and gave me the thumbs up. The woman cried. About half an hour later, one of the waitresses carried out three glasses of champagne and said one was for me...from the couple. They clinked their glasses with eyes locked, and then they looked at me, and we three raised our champagne flutes in the air for a silent toast. I like getting tipped (extra) in champagne.

My last customer proves that the world is small, or at least that Helsinki is. She ordered a poem with the prompt "What it means to be born on a Thursday." I thought what I wrote was kind of cheesy, but she said she loved it. It was for her son, who is 19 and was originally born on a Thursday. She asked, "What's your name?"

"It's on the back of the poem."

"Wait...that's your name??"

"Yeah...?"

"I was your landlady last year!"

Haha, no shit. We had never met, only exchanged emails. We thought that was awesome.

Wednesday, it rained, so I didn't busk. But I did meet Lilu for a goodbye lunch. She's fantastic. And Wednesday night, I went to Helsinki's best bookstore, Arkadia Bookshop, for a finishing-of-book party. The author is that guy I have mentioned before, an American from New York who was writing (but is now finished with) a book about the Winter War. Gordon Sander. Check it out.

That bookshop is glorious, too. The owner, Ian, is such a delightful man, and he has a lovely British accent. He and I made a trade: I got one of the Arkadia tote bags in exchange for a story, which I will mail to him. He also gave me a book by Kingsley Amis, one of my favorite authors. If you’re ever in Helsinki, this is a must-see-stop. One of my favorite parts of the store is the color coordination of books. He sometimes has entirely orange bookshelves, or blue, or, in this case, one long strip of just red books.


Then I went home. And I started packing up. All of my wall decorations are now placed safely into containers for the long journey home to New York. Pretty soon all my books and clothes and everything else will be too.

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Handsome Furs – Dead + Rural
(Hey Handsome Furs, see you at Flow Festival.)

For next time...

I have great things to update about. But no time right now. Packing. Busking. Cleaning. Drinking.

Will today be my last day of busking? Or should I go tomorrow for a few hours just to see if the article actually encourages people to come?

In other news, Flow Festival starts tomorrow!
In other other news, I might stop in Stockholm for a day, if I can!

P.S. A photo from one of my busking sessions: Tori's delightful ice cream.

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Metronomy – My Heart Rate Rapid

New Hampshire, Shanghai & Couch-surfing

I'm in a bad mood this afternoon, and busking while feeling bad isn't good. I can't pretend to be happy, and customers are more attracted to genuinely happy buskers! Maybe busking will make me happy again.

Yesterday wasn't great for business, but it was a good day nonetheless. I sat down and got absolutely no customers for the first two hours. I did, however, write my little thank you present for Ravintola Tori, since the people there have been so great to me. It was a fake complaint letter from a married middle-aged man (or so I imagined) named Wayne Peters, from New Hampshire, U.S.A. The man in the letter complains about the lack of variety in blanket colors, the expensive prices at Tori, the cute staff members who make married couples jealous, the "fancified" food, and, finally, me. Yup, the guy complains about me. It's more humorous in context, I bet. They said they will frame it and put it up in the resto, and perhaps even scan it and put it on the homepage of their Web site. Sweet!

Lots of free time, though. Finally, one of the waitresses, a cute British girl named Natalie, asked me for a story that would fit into this little frame. She wanted it to be about her, her presumed boyfriend, and their dog. What I wrote was rather cheesy, but I think she liked it. She tipped me well. (She also later ended up getting a necklace, too. She picked my favorite.)

An old lady came up to me and started looking at necklaces. She began to talk to me, and we kept switching between Finnish and English. She asked for a poem about anything, so I wrote a poem about, well, busking. Me busking. And only having one more week to do it. (In fact, I have less than a week, since I think my last day will be on Thursday.)

She tipped me for the poem and also got a necklace. She was very nice, but kind of rambled a bit about her family. But she would interject with compliments, telling me that I have beautiful sea-green eyes and that I'm "very good-looking." How nice of her to say. I am sure I started blushing, since I don't take lots of praise well.

After busking, I met up with this girl from Shanghai, whom I had met a few nights before. She needed a place to crash on her last night visiting Finland, and I opened up my doors to her. I already had an extra mattress laid out and everything. We went shopping a bit and took her stuff to my apartment. Then she took me out to a fantastic dinner at this fancy-shmancy place called Juuri. She ended up spending over 90 euros on dinner for the two of us. (Three appetizers, two glasses of wine, two main meals, two desserts, tea, tout.)

I told her that it was too expensive, and I tried to convince her to let me help pay, but she wouldn't let me. She said that she would have spent another 140 euros on a hotel room (i.e. a bed), and she would rather spend that kind of money investing on a great meal and good conversation. We had both.

I ended up taking her to Erottaja Bar, and I paid for two Brooklyn Lagers. (I like to support The Brooklyn Brewery, wherever I might be.) Then we went home and talked. And looked at photos. And listened to music. And talked. And then we went to sleep. She left to London this morning, but we decided to stay in contact, and she said I am welcome to visit her in Shanghai. I just might...

P.S. The writer from Nyt told me that the story will for sure run this Friday. Look out for it!

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Robert Johnson – Ramblin' On My Mind

A Sample

Here is a sample from the book I wrote for mystery millionaire.


As you can tell, the "book" I wrote is a children's book, one that he can read with his daughter. The book is entirely about them, including their names and things about them (as much as I know), so it's a very personalized gift. My mother helped me with the illustrations when she was in town, so thank you!

I contacted him, and I hope I get this book to him before I leave!

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The Exploding Hearts – Modern Kicks

One More Week

One more week in Helsinki, then back to New York. Will this be the end of my busking career?

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I want an answer, Nyt!

What the fuck my article didn't come out today and I don't know what's up wid dat.

I asked the writer and he said that Nyt loved the article, so they must be holding it off until next week for some reason. But that doesn't help me. If the article came out today, then I would (I hoped) have a delightful boost in customers during my last week here. But now it's coming out next Friday, right before Flow Festival, which I will be attending. So I probably won't be busking that weekend anyway. And then I leave back to New York on the following Monday or Tuesday.

Or the article might not come out at all. Maybe they cut the story? Shit.

I'm not going busking today, for several reasons. 1) Because it's my mother's last day in Helsinki before she heads home to Los Angeles, so I'm going to spend time (i.e. drink & dine) with her. 2) The weather is nuts. Keeps switching on and off from sweaty, hot sunny to sweaty, hot rainy. Weird. 3) I just don't feel like it.

P.S. Madonna played in Helsinki last night (first time ever?) and the city was craaaaazy!
P.P.S. I forgot to mention in my last post that one of the dudes from Dead Combo walked by my busking spot and told me he likes typewriters. I like typewriters, too. What a co-ink-e-dink.

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Florence & The Machine – Dog Days Are Over

Ketchup, on the rocks

I have to catch up on my busking blog. Not having internet at home prevents me from updating as often as I busk!

Let's see here...where did I leave off? Last Sunday, I said I had to go busking because I was being interviewed, but I didn't because it was raining. We just did the interview at Tori instead. Monday, I got to read the article for fact-checking, and I went busking. The photographer for the paper came and took photos of me and it was super awkward. She just told me to type and I had no customers, so I just wrote whatever. Maybe I'll post what came of it later.

That day I only had two customers, one who works at the restaurant and the other was some tourist. The Tori worker asked for a poem for his fiancee – not too cheesy. He tipped me well! The tourist came up and asked for a poem for his camera, a Leica, which he then used to photograph me as I wrote. He said he will post the photo and my poem (which I titled "I Like-a Leica, how original) on Flickr and forward the link to me. He did not tip me too well. Haha.

No busking Tuesday.

Wednesday I had three customers, the first approaching me immediately when I sat down. 1) A story about four friends. Three of them live in Spain, the other in Helsinki. They rarely see each other. I wrote a story about how they will form a band and reunite when they tour. 2) Some guy asked for a dirty poem about his friend from Paris. Dirty, dirty poem. I made a dirty, dirty poem. It was this guy going up to a woman and whispering all the things he'd do to her into her ear and then finding out she was a man. 3) Lilu's brother asked for a poem about his daughter, who is going to study in Rome for one year. I made less than I would have liked that day, due to less-than-average tips.

But! Tori gave me a free meal with a coke, and Fredi (Tori big shot) showed me this Gonzo book he bought. He saw HST's typewriter in the photos, and made the connection. Pretty cool book, I'd say. And then, towards the end of my busking, I had absolutely no customers. In that time, I wrote a story for my friend in London, the owner of The New Evaristo Club, a bar on Greek Street that I regular. I also wrote out some postcards and another one of the Foals story series, this one being for Yannis. (Yannis' story has to do with swine flu and Oxford, as per request.)

Today was great for business. I was only out there for about an hour and a half, max, and I got quite a few customers. Right when I sat down, three guys approached and said that they each wanted me to write something. Two stories, one poem. Story 1 = a girl who runs away from everything. Story 2 = man and woman walking in Helsinki on a summer night and how the endless sun messes with your perception of time. Poem = a Helsinki summer poem.


A bee/wasp landed on my typewriter today and I'm a wuss, so I couldn't type while it was there. Instead, I took photos of it molesting my David.


Soon after that, I got a sleek-looking business man. Very savvy looking. Very sleazy looking. He asked for a poem and a cigarette. He wanted a happy poem about life being good. I wrote a poem called "A Life on the Rocks" which I ended up copying for myself. He also later came back, said he loved it, and said that he'd give me another Euro if I wrote out another copy of the poem for his friend.

My last customer was a (I think) German family. They wanted a story about their young son, Jona. The kid was wearing a bandana and an apron. An apron? I ended up making the last couplet something like, "At my apron, people may stare and gape. / But, you see, it is just a backwards cape!" Silly, cute – just what they wanted.

Below, find the poem that I wrote for the slickster business dude.

A Life on the Rocks

Rocks and stones connote a hard time in life,
times that are trying and so full of strife.
A rock and a hard place, stuck in between.
A stone weighs you down; hard things to foresee.
But life is so joyous! A grand old time!
Why make rocks so heavy, bog down the mind?
This is not the way that I like to think.

Because, you see, for me,

Life on the Rocks is the ice in my drink!

Ah thank you.

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Andrew Bird – Anonanimal

No Busking Because...

I haven't been busking the past two days, and for very good reasons. On Friday it was pissing rain, as I noted in my last post, so it wasn't worth trying. Saturday was a beautiful day for busking – warm, sunny, brilliant. But I didn't go. Why not?

Because I had the worst hangover I have had this summer to date. As I also mentioned, I went to see A Place To Bury Strangers play at Tavastia on Friday night. I was going to go to the Helsinki10 Concept Store for that pre-concert party, and I did walk by a few times, but I never once went in. At Tavastia, I said hello to Oliver from APTBS while Dead Combo was playing. Then, after APTBS had played, I sneaked backstage to say hello again.

Oliver, A Place To Bury Strangers at Tavastia

A few beers and a shot of whiskey later, we moved the party to Bar Loose, where there were more whiskey shots and beer. I got wasted, thanks to Oliver.

Oliver with a Finnish tranny

The next morning, I woke up still drunk and as the booze wore off, the hangover took over. I met my mother at her hotel and, while she used the last of her free internet there, I curled up on the floor of the hotel behind her. I was in bad shape. There was no way I could honestly put together intelligent pieces of writing; I could barely stand up. I spent all day sprawled out in my bed, while my mother took care of me. I'm sure she's very proud.

Today, I have to go busking at Ravintola Tori because I am being interviewed for an article in Nyt, the cool insert mag of the major Helsingin Sanomat newspaper. The writer will come to observe me busking and then interview me. Tomorrow, they'll send the photographers for my own personal busking photo shoot. Hahahahahahahahahahaha. I'll link to the article when it comes out, though it will be in Finnish, so good luck translating.

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Mark Morrison – Return of the Mack

Rain Crushing

I'm not going busking today because it's PISSING rain. This storm is nuts! It's raining like I haven't seen in a long time, with thunder that lasts a full 20 seconds and blindingly bright lightning. Cleansing the dirty streets of Helsinki...

Since I'm not busking, I don't have much to update on, though I did stop by and meet that dude who ordered the poem a few days back. He said he was at Crush Cocktail and Lounge Bar, across from Tavastia, where I'll be seeing A Place To Bury Strangers play tonight.

When I got there, he came out to meet me. "Man, I've been here since 10 a.m.," he said.

"Oh? Do you work here?" I asked.

"Well, I own the place."

"Oh, ok."

He tipped me for the poem and offered me a coffee/drink. I hung around for a bit. An older woman turned to me and said, "You must be a native English speaker. Are you?" to which I, of course, answered that I am. She read my poem and said that no Finnish person can write a poem in English like that unless they did really, really well in school. She and I started talking and she was pretty cool. Turns out she's an English teacher (and her accent indicates that she's originally from the UK). She's also the mother of the guy who ordered the poem from me...I think.

Robert, the dude who ordered the poem, said that I am welcome to come back for a drink at Crush anytime. Maybe I'll take him up on that offer.

It's my dad's last night in Finland, so I'm going to brave the rain and go meet him for a bit. Then I'm going to some event called "A Contract With The Devil," presented by Helsinki10 Concept Store and Anti Sweden. Jeans launch party/swaparoo? The after party is the concert at Tavastia, also featuring Dead Combo.

Christ. Going out in Helsinki is so damn expensive!

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The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – Stay Alive

Flower Power

So today was a funny day. Not particularly profitable, but every little bit helps. I had no customers for ages, so I decided to write something – anything – to make my typewriter useful. And to intrigue people with the occasional ding and whirrrr of my machine.

I ended up typing out this really weird dream I had the other night. It's a funky piece of writing, reflecting my funky dream. Let me just say, this one dream includes a white bat and Jimmy Fallon. I don't know what that means either.

A guy approached me after a while and talked to me for a bit. I think he was trying to hit on me, which was a bit weird. He had me listen to his mp3 player, and he read the story about my dream, and then he asked, "If I give you flowers, will you write a poem for me?" I was hesitant, because I didn't want to encourage bartering since I do need money. Because of this he said, "Oh well I'll just give you the flowers anyway." At which point, I said I'd write a poem for him for the flowers (because I'd feel like a total douchebag if he gave me flowers and I didn't do anything in return). To be fair, I did see his wallet and it was completely empty. But it was strange that the dude leaned over and hugged me (him standing, me sitting) when he gave the flowers to me. They were wilting a bit, but still lovely.

My dear David (the typewriter's name) with the flowers

But right after him, I got some customers, with actual cash, so I decided to do their poems. The first was a girl who purchased a poem for her childhood and lifelong friend who just had a birthday. It was a cheesy poem – nothing I'm proud of. She tipped and walked away with a smile.

Another girl came up and asked for a poem about anything. I tried to convince her to give me a topic, but she just said, "Write about whatever is on your mind." Coincidentally, my mind was on my mind, since I have had some very strange dreams recently. I wrote a poem called (surprise) "State of Mind." I copied it into my journal since it was one of the only poems I have written on the street that is not about another person. I would reprint it here but, seriously, my poetry is crap. I think it seems better here since English is not their native language, so sing-songy rhymes are A-OK. She was nice and, even though she said she was poor herself, she tipped me well because she said she loved my idea so much.

I also ended up writing that poem for the guy who called back. I'll meet up with him tomorrow to make the exchange.

The workers at Tori were great today, too. They brought me peas in the pod (a popular street buy in Helsinki) and they were more than willing to accommodate my needs. I told Fredi, a big shot at the restaurant, that I wanted to write something special for them since they have been so good to me. I told him to think of something for a few days, and that I didn't want to write a poem because my poems are cheesy. I much prefer my stories, and you should too. He smiled and said they could put it on the home page for the Web site. That would be cool.

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Yeasayer – Sunrise

Dwindling

I have gone busking three times since my lucky day. Those days were not so lucky. In those three days, I made less than 1/10 of what I made on the millionaire day.

On Sunday, I had two customers. One was a love poem for a woman named Anu, purchased by a guy who was just very intrigued by my "business". The second was another love-ish poem. A guy asked me to write a poem for his girlfriend whom he hadn't seen for months because she went to her home in India for a while. I wasn't very happy with the stuff I wrote that day – all pretty cliché lines. The only thing I liked, really, (which is still pretty silly) is that I titled the poem for the Indian girl "The Jewel of My Crown". Get it? Geeeet it?

I did get a discount on dinner, though. And the restaurant gave me a small bowl of strawberries and whipped cream again, which is so delightful. Another guy approached me and said he thinks what I'm doing is great and asked how often I'm there. He said he's going to think of a good prompt and come back one day.

I didn't go busking on Monday because, instead, I went to go check out an apartment for my brother who will be moving to Helsinki in just over two weeks. He's going to University of Helsinki for his graduate degree, so cheers to that!

Tuesday, I got three orders. First, a girl asked for a poem for her friend who was having a hard time in life at the moment. I compared hard times with bad weather, with the idea that just like bad weather, bad times will pass. Then, a guy ordered a poem for his Scottish friend who had fallen for a Finnish girl, for the guy to give to her. He was in a rush, so he left before I finished the poem, but asked for my number so he could pick it up the next day. I stopped writing the poem assuming that he wouldn't call to retrieve the poem. He did call, and I have yet to write it. Shit. I need to write it, call him back, and somehow get it to him.

My last customer was a guy who had purchased a story early on in my busking career, the one who had just come from therapy. He ordered two stories, one about himself and one about the lady he was with. Apparently, the chick he was with is one of the best billiards players in Finland. I wrote a story inspired by an episode of The Ellen DeGeneres show (no joke). A kid inventor wanted an air hockey table, or something like that, but his mom said he couldn't fit it in his room. It was either that, or the bed. So the kid devised a piece of furniture that encompassed both. He could just flip the bed over and, hooray!, there's the game table. The story I wrote is basically about that, but with this lady doing it.

And yesterday, I went busking and, once again, made absolutely no money. Awesome. Luckily, my parents are in town so they came to Ravintola Tori and ended up buying dinner for me. The money that I made in those three days didn't last long either. I spent most of it on drinks at the New York Dolls concert I went to last night. (At least I got into the concert for free, thanks to a friend.)

New York Dolls live at Virgin Oil, Helsinki

But I'm not going to get discouraged. Busking is still incredibly enjoyable. And the free time I have in between customers allows me to do other things, like work on the book I started for the millionaire. Or write stories for friends. Or myself.

One recent story I'm quite proud of is entitled "The Fox and The Frenchie," which I wrote for my friend Chris, in London, who housed me in his squatter's mansion. A fox sneaks into the mansion and cleans himself up. The best part is when the man discovers the fox and says, "Merde! What's all this?" to which the fox replies something like, "I would have told you, but judging by your initial reaction to me, I didn't think you'd approve." It's probably funnier in context. Then the Frenchie compliments the fox's suit and they become friends. (Oh, how silly.)

I guess I'll go busking now.

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Foals – Heavy Water

Trying my luck, getting lucky

Yes, it's amazing story time.

I went busking Saturday evening, for the first time in ages. (Friday was rainy, after all, so I never got the chance to go.) But Saturday. Yes.

Within five minutes of sitting down and setting up, the kitchen at Ravintola Tori had already sent me a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. They're so good to me! While eating the delicious dish, I wrote out a story for one of the boys from the band Foals. I have decided to write a story about each band member, all completely fictional, and then I will mail the bite-size bits to the fellas. I started with a story about Walter, pouring ketchup onto a plate. (That was a given prompt, by the way.)

Foals & friend with joke respiratory masks, Oxford

Soon after that, I got my first customer: a man who spoke fluent Finnish but wasn't from Funland. He parked his bike and stood there thinking of a topic while his two gorgeous children looked pensively at their pensive father. He ordered a story about the dualism in life that eats away at a person. I wrote about the "live to work or work to live" dilemma.

Then nothing for a while. An American author whom I met while hanging out with Lilu came and sat down next to me. He used to work for the New York Times and the Financial Times, so this guy is a pretty experienced writer, I’d say. I had him read the Foals story for Walter, and another one I had written. He liked both. He’s writing a book about the Winter War, and had me read a chapter and – believe it or not – it was fucking hilarious. It was well written, visual, and there were lovely bits of comic relief. That’s the kind of thing I need in a historical account of war. He’ll be finishing the book this week.

Across the terrace, but still within earshot, a man called out to me. He was with a gang of folks, all pretty tough-looking. The woman looked like Posh Spice and the men looked like badass thugs. This guy (whose muscles were like glistening mounds of meat on his arms, decorated with tattoos) caught my attention. He asked me what I was doing. I started messing with the guy, and being a bit of a prick, actually. He asked me to come to his table so he could give me a topic for a poem.

“Nope,” I said. “This is my office, so you come to me.” (I’m such an asshole, but it’s a good thing I gave the guy a little trouble, I think.)

He said he’d give me a good tip if I came over there and, necessity overcoming pride, I succumbed. He tipped me very well, basically the standard awesome tip. (Being so vague is really frustrating.)

The topic was awesome; he has a daughter in Stockholm whom he rarely sees and he just wanted me to write a poem for her telling her how much he loves and misses her. Really touching, in fact. I wrote the poem, with a few distractions on the way. He became impatient.

When it was done, I delivered it to his table. He made me sit next to him while he read it, and then when he had, he hugged me. He said it was perfect. He was really thankful. I went back to my post and began to ponder about what had just happened. I judged him and gave him a hard time, and he gave me one of the most heartfelt topics for a poem. I was exhibiting necklaces made by Nina Ristimäki (my cousin’s wife), and decided that I could give him one for free, as another present to his daughter.

I called him over and said, “You know, I just think it was so sweet that you got that poem for your daughter. Take a necklace for her as well.”

He was clearly taken aback. He sat down next to me and told me that he would buy the necklace. I said, “No, no, no…please accept it as a present.”

He said he would accept the free necklace, but that he wanted to give me some money anyway. He was so amazed at my offer – which was, honestly, just a simple act of kindness. He pulled out a bill that, erm, shit. How do I put this into perspective? This one bill was worth more than I have ever made in one day of busking. That, on top of his initial tip, is more than twice what I usually make in a day. I refused the generosity and said that he cannot possibly consider giving me so much money. I told him I was happy to give him the necklace for free, etc, etc. He insisted.

I was blown away. What the fuck just happened? I decided to write the guy another poem to show my gratitude. When I delivered it, he handed me two more of those shockingly valuable bills. I refused once again and told him I cannot accept his money when I did nothing to deserve it. I put the money under his drink glass and ran back to my post. He walked up to me, dropped the two flaps of paper into my purse and told me he would be back in two weeks.

At one point in conversation, he offered me 2,000 euros to write a movie script. I giggled it off. He wanted me to write him a book. I think I might.

A friend at the restaurant (reacting to my gaping mouth) asked what happened. I told him, and he said he thinks the man is the owner of a hockey team here in Finland, or at least used to be. At home, my cousin’s wife did some investigating and turns out the customer that I had initially slagged off is some Finnish millionaire, worth hundreds of millions of euros. Talk about luck.

Can you imagine being so rich that you can just tip a busker with 50-euro bills (PLURAL)? I'm not that rich, but I'm glad I met a guy who is.

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The Zombies – She's Not There

OMG OMG OMG

I HAVE THE BEST STORY TO TELL YOU GUYS AND I WILL WRITE ABOUT IT SOON BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TIME RIGHT NOW. HOLY HELL THIS IS GOOD I PROMISE.

Missing in Action

Sorry I have MIA for most of July. As I mentioned earlier, I went to the UK, and I just spent most of this week at my family's rented mökki (cabin) in the Finnish countryside, sans Internet. But now that I am back to civilization, I intend to launch back into busking for my last three weeks in Helsinki. This morning was gloomy, but the sun seems to be breaking through and the sky is blue; maybe it will be a nice day for busking. I'll go back to Ravintola Tori today!

Oh yeah, and that really vague bit about me not being able to busk until I knew the outcome of something . . . I thought I had swine flu (thanks to my visit to friends in Oxford) but it seems I don't. Yes! H1N1 safe!

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Monogrenade - Ce Soir
(The video is pretty cool too. Check it out here.)

The Return

I am back in Helstinky and I had a fabulous time in England. There are lots of stories to tell, and some to keep to myself. But there's a problem now that I am back, and one that I'm keeping confidential until I know the story in full. And until I know the outcome, I won't be busking.

Shit shit shit, how am I going to make money?

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Cymbals Eat Guitars – Wind Phoenix

A note, written while hung over in Oxford

I wish I had brought my typewriter to the UK.

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Nouvelle Vague – Too Drunk to Fuck

Pre-Blighty Busking

Can it be? My Internet is working? In short bursts, with low signal – but, hey, that's good news. Better than none at all!

I didn't go busking this weekend, and I didn't even make it to that music festival. Lame. It was bad weather, which is bad for business, and it makes me tired. And I realized I had been rather discontent with life and kinda cranky. I was stressed, and my life is hardly stressful here.

Then I realized it was because I hadn't been busking recently, and I missed it. (And last time I went busking, I didn't have any customers, which isn't that great either.) Today, even though I had tons to do, I promised myself that I would go busking at some point, no matter the weather or business.

I was running around town all day with my laptop (since Internet was out). Then I ran home, grabbed my typewriter and headed to Ravintola Tori, with my laptop still in my arms. That's a lot to carry. It was sunny, but quite cold today. When I got to Tori, the terrace was EMPTY. I figured I'd use their WiFi until some more people showed up.

The city is dead, though. For two reasons: 1) lots of people are on their vacation, so the city has calmed down all over, and 2) it was cold today!

My boss from last summer told me he was getting out of work and that he'd stop by and buy me a beer. He did, and it was nice. Then I sat down to busk. I also set out some necklaces that my cousin's wife made, to see if people were interested in buying.

I had nothing for ages. I was getting worried that maybe this busking thing won't fund my living. Maybe it's not worth the time I put into it (other than the enjoyment I get from it). I wrote for myself a bit, and that was fun. After what seemed like AAAAGES, some dude asked for a story about a bad Monday morning that turns good. It was a silly story, but he tipped well.

The first customer is always the ice-breaker! Another customer came up soon after and asked for a poem. She didn't know what she wanted it to be about, which is hard for me to work with, but I encouraged her to think of something. "What did you do last Saturday?" I asked. "Umm...I went to work, and drank wine, and um...went swimming in the sea. Write about the sea!" Ka-ching. A topic. I ended up writing this little poem about how she loves the sea, despite the fact that it's so dirty from kids peeing in it and "those Americans" who polluted it with tea. (Hell yeah, reference to the Boston Tea Party. What's up fifth grade history.) She liked it so much afterwards that she came back to give me more money.

Another girl at her table liked the poem, too, and came to order one about their day. She said she hadn't had a day off in ages, and that last night her friends had gotten wasted. This morning, some workers from Tori (who were hanging out with them) made them breakfast, and since there were so many people who had spent the night, they went to the market to buy five toothbrushes. Then it's like beach, ice cream, dinner, booze, blah blah blah. The last line ended with "One day free, Monday spree" or something. They liked that one too. The girl who ordered this poem also bought two necklaces, much to the delight of my cousin's wife. Best part is: I get a cut of the necklace sales. WOO!

Busking makes me happy. End of story.

P.S. Blighty = Britain, and this post is Pre-Blighty because I'm going to London tomorrow! I will not be busking there, so I'll have no busking updates for the next week. Just FYI.

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Dirty Projectors – Stillness is the Move

Photos

Since I know my blog is so text heavy (and it kind of has to be), here's a break, with a few photos of things I see in Helsinki:

Downtown Helsinki, near Kauppatori

The famous Havis Amanda

Juhannus (Midsummer) weekend, my cousin with the Finnish flag

Night (but still light) picnic
P.S. Yes, you can buy Brooklyn Brewery beers here

Night (but still light) picnic

A night out, a FINLANDIA vodka mirror

Some people doing capoeira behind Lasipalatsi
(Not a very effective "roda")

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Holy Ghost! – I Will Come Back

All Luck Ran Out

The Internet went out in my apartment and, since I'm subletting, I have no idea how to contact somebody to fix it. I'm just hoping it miraculously comes back on its own. If not, I guess I will do my Web stuff daily at this fabulous place I'm sitting now, Korjaamo. It's this great little art gallery/cafe/restaurant/theater/bar/club/concert venue. (Not joking, it really is all those things.)

I discovered that my Internet was out yesterday morning and I was very irritated. I remembered that Ravintola Tori has WiFi and so I planned to go there. And since I was already heading that way, I thought I might as well grab my typewriter and get in some busking time, too.

I spent the afternoon working online, and people who recognize me from busking were startled to see me with a more advanced piece of technology, my MacBook. But it was a lot to lug over to the restaurant: my typewriter and the rest of my busking materials, my laptop and normal necessities. I must have looked crazy with all that stuff.

Around 6 p.m., I started busking. And this was the first day that I didn't get one customer. Not one! I was kind of irritated by that, but the time I spent sitting at my post was not wasted. My friend asked me to write a story which I hadn't started yet. It was supposed to be "sexy," and I never write things like that, I guess. It was weird, and it took me a while, because it was a bit longer than the normal things I write. It was nice, after all, because I was able to make some writing that will not disappear out of my hands and mind right after I finish it.

Today is sunny, but rather cold and windy. I'm debating whether or not I should go busking, and the answer is probably yes, I should. I do need the money, after all. Let's hope I have at least one good customer, if I do go.

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Junior Boys – Dull To Pause

Rain and Shine, Fucking Good Times (A much needed update) Pt. 2

(Continued from previous post)

Let's just say I had a slight ache that morning when I awoke to my phone ringing. Hangover, bad. Phone call, good. It was Lilu! She called to ask what had happened the day before, and she wanted to give me the subject for the next poem. "I know commissioned writings cost more," she said – which I imagine she said with a wink, even though I couldn't see it. It was a birthday poem about her friend whose motto, so-to-speak, is, "Champagne goes with everything I wear." Awesome motto. With the hangover, I knew I would not make it to busking until that evening.

I headed out to Tori at around 4:30 p.m., and intended to stay until maybe seven or eight. I had both poems ready for Lilu when she arrived, and she adored the birthday one. (I'll admit, the graduation poem wasn't as good as the birthday one.) She tipped me well and her friend also ordered a poem, this one for an American buddy, Bill. He's turning 71 and I had no idea what to write. I ended up using the name "Bill" as a hook, rhyming "Clinton" with "live on." Then I made some little references like "undiscover'd" land (which I used both for its syllables and its Shakespeare-ness, another "Bill" I mentioned in the hook).

I ordered a sandwich from Tori (one of the benefits of busking there). I usually get the cheapest one, and it's delicious every time. One of the managers from the restaurant gave the sandwich to me on the house. Am I becoming a staple of Tori? That's amazing.

Lilu offered to get me a glass of wine. I was going to turn it down but then I figured one glass wouldn't hurt. Hair of the dog? I went to their table, which was situated right next to my busking post, to thank them. They told me to sit down and so I did. We ended up having a great conversation, and they kept pouring wine for me. Then they ordered dinner for me! These women, who are about the age of my mother, are FABULOUS. They decided to "adopt" me, and their humor is surprisingly similar to mine. Quite crude, in fact – which I adore. Lilu also decided to become my "agent."

I wasn't sitting at my post, though my stuff was still set up, so I could tell people were curious as to who was supposed to be there. They didn't know it was me, so I wasn't doing much business, but I was having a hell of a time anyway. We were all getting a bit tipsy, and then Lilu turned to one young girl who was leaving and began talking with her. Why are you leaving? Well, I'm done eating. Don't you have an event coming up? Er...I guess. If so, BUY A POEM!

Lilu was marketing me! It was fantastic. She convinced the girl to buy a poem. The girl said her friend was coming to visit from the Netherlands and that they were very crazy and spontaneous together. They once hitchhiked to a carnival in costumes; this girl had been a bunny and her friend had been a sort of femme fatale. I called the poem "FF in Helsinki." The girl seemed rather doubtful about buying, but when she came back to pick up the poem, she actually dropped her jaw. She loved the poem I wrote, or maybe she's a good faker.

The view of Tori's terrace from where I sit (at a slow time)

The American traveler from the night before decided to pay me a visit. (I told him where I'd be...) He stayed at Tori to have dinner and a beer.

Another girl who had seemed interested in my sign when I wasn't at my post came up to me immediately when she saw me sitting there and ordered a story about anything. I wrote about two artists who don't like clocks and they use the sun as their guide. One year, they spend the summer in Helsinki randomly (after spinning the globe). Since the sun is always up, the two men are lost in this timelessness and find themselves working at all hours because they are suddenly schedule-less. They come back to Helsinki the next summer.

After that, I went back to join Lilu's table. She kept introducing me to everyone she knows who strolled by. She always introduced me as someone who "will be famous someday." Lilu again tried to market one of my poems to two women, but they were more resistant. Lilu decided that she would buy a poem for the women instead. It was about how they rarely have moments like this (hanging out, just them two, at a cafe). They met because their husbands were friends and they sent their daughters to the same music school. I tried to tell Lilu that she didn't have to pay me for the poem, because she was being so glorious to me. She insisted on it.

I noticed the American guy was sitting alone, so I suggested that we move inside and join him. This was after maybe three or four bottles of wine split between us three ladies. Lilu's friend had left, and another one replaced that one. The ladies also bought the American dude's dinner and poured him wine.

Then Lilu asked about a man who was sitting alone. I had heard about this man. He's an American writer, mostly deaf, who comes to Tori everyday to write. Lilu and I went up to him. He told us that he's writing a book about the Winter War and that he's from New York. He worked for the New York Times and the Financial Times, and he developed a relationship with Finland when he went through a stage of reporting about small countries. Lilu invited him over for a glass of wine.

It was a riotous good time spent over, perhaps, five bottles of wine. (I think the employees at Tori were weirded out since they're not used to me being a "customer" as much.) And I ended up showing the American traveler around (meaning we went for more drinks elsewhere) since it was his last night in Helsinki.

And unfortunately, I haven't been out busking for the last two days. Wednesday morning, my cousin called me and asked if I would like to work for a day or two at his office. His coworker was swamped with work and they needed to lessen his load, so I was basically an extra set of hands (since the work didn't take too much thinking). It was great, because I'm getting paid for that, which means I might actually make rent this month!

I plan on going busking tomorrow, but I may not go this weekend, because I'm trying to go to a music festival called RuisRock in Turku, Finland. Let's hope I get to go!

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Sunset Rubdown – Idiot Heart

Rain and Shine, Fucking Good Times (A much needed update)

Monday was another late afternoon/early evening busking day. And it wasn't my best.

When I arrived at Ravintola Tori, the woman who had purchased a poem from me on my first day, and then came back for another, was there. Considering that I will undoubtedly write about her in the future, her name is Lilu. Lilu is absolutely brilliant. She said she wanted to order two more poems from me, one about a kid who just graduated from high school in New York who is coming to Helsinki to celebrate. The other, she had not decided on its subject yet. She went to her office and said she'd be back in an hour. Then my friend Antti, another one of my customers from Day 1, stopped by with his friend. I was thinking about getting lunch since I hadn't eaten much since breakfast, so I packed up my stuff and took a break with Antti and his friend Pekka. Pekka ended up buying one of my ready-made stories, and after both guys left, I went back to sit down.

I sat there for a while with no customers and then, damnit, it started to sprinkle. I love the rain, and this wasn't even real rain. But I couldn't risk my paper and stuff getting wet if it started to rain more forcefully so after making very little money, I packed up and went home.

Lilu and I never exchanged the graduation poem I wrote, but I know she's my loyal customer, so I figured I'd run into her again. She said she did stop by at some point and I wasn't there. Unlucky. After I made it all the way home, the sun started shining full force again. Fuck. But I didn't want to go back out again, so I just decided to leave the day as it was.

I ended up going out for "one pint" with a friend, which never really means one drink. We met this American guy at the bar who was traveling the world alone and we showed him how you really do it in Helsinki; we stayed out until 5 a.m. reveling in Finland's endless sun and drinking until it's finally time to stumble home. This American traveler is relevant later on in the story, hence the introduction. I'll write the rest in another post, to break it up a bit. And it is a story about two different days, anyway.

Helsinki birds at 4:30 a.m. next to the 24-hour McDonald's
(Notice the French fry that the bird is about to snatch mid-air)

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Beck – Sunday Morning (Velvet Underground cover)

The Evening Shift Pt. 2

I am getting blisters on my hands from carrying this typewriter around everywhere.

Yesterday evening, since it was such a bright and sunny day, I decided that I should actually go out busking. I was afraid I might not have many customers since it's Sunday, but nice weather in Finland always lures people out of their homes. I realized I had run out of paper, having only one sheet left, and I needed to buy more. I went to Stockmann to stock up on paper, and ended up spending almost 12 euros on it. That's expensive! But I don't want to buy cheap, crap paper either, because presentation of my writing is as important as content in this case.

Then I went busking. Over at the restaurant, nothing happened for a great while.

I think evenings aren't as good for business. In the afternoon on a sunny day, people are more spontaneous and willing to put in some money for a random piece of writing. In the evenings, however, that spontaneity has disappeared, and people are more interested in their white wine spritzers or their beer or food or friends (the list goes on) than that gentle tick tock sound of my typewriter.

Regardless, I got some customers. A woman had her adorable son order a poem from me, so I made a poem about the boy, Raffaello. The boy gets two euros from his mother, spends it on candy and has a dream about a land made of candy only to wake up and find out its not real – but he still has his sweets. The poem itself was not as cheesy as the plot makes it seem.

The good thing about getting one customer is that it gives other people the guts to come ask for one. A girl came up and asked for a poem about love, but no one in particular. High cheesiness factor, but I dodged that by creating a voice doubtful of the point of the word "love," discussing how you don't need to say it, but you can show you love somebody in what you do.

The girl and her friend liked it so much that her friend ordered another: a poem about friendship. The poem I wrote was so bad, so cheesy. It is Hallmark card worthy. But with a prompt like "a poem about friendship," how am I supposed to avoid the obvious cliches? I would have tried to make the poem a bit edgier, describing, perhaps, the friendship of two ne'er-do-wells, but I think my customer was looking for cheese. Yuck.

Another girl told me to write a poem about her and her three friends. They call themselves the Seagulls because they're so lively and they love to party, etc. This was a fun poem to write, and the four friends loved it. Said it was "perfect." I think my final couplet rhymed "talk" with "squawk."

My final customer was a lady who asked me to write a poem for her boyfriend, Petri. It is his name day today (the day after I wrote the poem), so I did a little tribute to the name Peter, and its historical fame "from Peter Paul Rubens to Frampton's breed." I think I misspelled "Rubens" in the poem by adding an extra "e." They loved the poem.

No one paid extra tip, except the last lady (and I think that was more of a pity tip). But that's fine, because ya get what ya get. Weather's nice again today, so I'm gonna hit the terrace at Tori once again, but I am considering busking in front of the local contemporary art museum, Kiasma, in the future.

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The Smiths – William, It Was Really Nothing

The Busker Beside Me

When I was busking at Esplanadi, there were a lot of other street performers, from a guy with two horses and a carriage to musicians to magicians. There was even a guy who was driving a little car around that had a couch hitched to the back, and he was charging people who wanted to take a ride on the couch. How the hell do these people make money and I don't? Ah right, spectacle.

Anyway, just across a small dirt road, there was this guy:


Sorry for the bad photo quality. He was kind of far away and I was using my cell phone camera. Ha! I'm such a hypocrite, talking about people trying to sneak photos of me when I'm sneaking photos of other buskers. But I honestly don't think he noticed, because his shtick was to stand completely still, looking like a disciplined native (not of Finland, though – God no). When someone threw a coin into his basket, he pounded his staff a few times and then did a little dance where he simply shuffled back on forth on his feet. I heard him grunt a few times too.

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Martin Solveig feat. Dragonette – Boys & Girls

Back to Tori

Yesterday was another brilliantly sunny day in Helsinki, perfect for busking. I got a late start in the day, and didn't go out to Tori until 3:30 pm. That's not really a good time for busking near Tori because lunch break is over, and no one is out of work yet. But, I knew I was going to celebrate a friend's husband's book launch later that night, so I wanted to get a few hours in. (Ha, I make this sound like a real job.)

Business was slooooooow. I typed up some stories on my own, because the noises of my typewriter tend to intrigue people. I was getting pretty worried that maybe busking wouldn't turn out to be enough to support myself adequately this summer. I got lots of pity looks from people who understood that I wasn't getting any business.

After finishing one story, a woman came up and asked to buy it. I offered to write a story personalized for her instead. She just wanted a summer-y story, so I wrote about an adventure she went on via different forms of public transportation, getting a rose, a portrait, 10 euros and a hat on the way (all found). It was kind of a silly story, and definitely not my best.

Then I spent a lot more time waiting. And waiting. Nothing! I was getting hungry. Luckily, the best part of busking outside Ravintola Tori is that I can order food while busking. My friend at the book launch called and said I should come to the party where I could get free drinks, but I hadn't made much money, so I told him I was going to stick to busking for a bit before joining the gang.

After ordering my food, a man walked up and asked me if this was my job. He asked if I could read in Finnish. Then he handed me a God booklet and began preaching to me a bit in Finnish, and I must say I felt awfully awkward, especially because I couldn't understand most of his words except God and life and such. (There is some small church right next to the restaurant, by the way.) Luckily, some lady walked up and asked for a poem right then, and the man moseyed away.

This woman asked for a wedding poem, dedicated to a happy couple uniting the next day. I sized a piece of paper perfectly for their card and wrote a simple poem about love and such. I even typed out the to-be's names on the envelope with my typewriter. Their idea for a wedding poem was a nice touch, I thought.

Right after that, some guy who works at Ravintola Tori – or is a regular or something – asked me to write a story with seven or eight different names in it. I realized that these names were all people generally involved with the restaurant, in some way or another. It's hard to get that many names in a very short story like the ones I write, so I had a great idea: I wrote a story about a horse race, using the names given as either people who bet on horses, or the names of the horses themselves. It turned out very well, and I'm actually incredibly pleased with what I wrote. The people who ordered the story erupted with laughter at my descriptions of the foreign horse, and the horse owner who bets against his own horse, etc. I guess it's now the Tori Story. Good stuff.

Also, one of the new waiters had been trying to make me smile all day (which I guess I wasn't since business was slow, or maybe my face just looks that way normally...). When I was packing up, he asked what kind of stuff I write, and I showed him the first story I had written that day. I told him he could have it, and he asked how much it was. I told him he could have it for free, but he refused to not pay – and he tipped me well.

The sudden rush of business and the positive reactions I got from my customers gave me a bit of an ego boost after the lull.

I ended up going to meet my friend at the bar where the book launch party was being held. Since I knew the author's wife, I got drink tickets (nice!). People wondered about my typewriter, and I ended up selling two poems in the bar.

One poem I sold for more than double my usual price. He said he wanted it to be about "the Jackson Cult" – which, right after Michael Jackson's death, I thought meant the musical family. Then I realized he was referring to the day's author, Steve Jackson, and his newly launched book, The Cult of Analytics. I combined bits of both, citing the fact that Jermaine Jackson has over 20 toilets. (He does! He said so himself on the show Never Mind the Buzzcocks. Check out the clip below. At the very end, Simon Amstell discusses Jermaine's many toilets.)



People were impressed with my poem, even though I wasn't. (A big hit was the fact that I rhymed "toilet" with "foil it.") The guy who bought my poem ended up selling it for 20 euros to another guy who saw me write it! Business among boozers might be effective after all!

Then the author and his wife realized that they're going to a wedding in three weeks' time and asked me to write a(nother) wedding poem, so I did. Who knew I'd make money at the bar?

After getting a bit sloshed, I met up with other friends (still carrying my typewriter) and my dear David was such a hit everywhere we went.

As for today, I have decided to "take the day off." The weather is a bit gloomy, and I have things to do around my apartment. And you know what? Since I'm my own damn boss, I can do that.

New Places, New Faces, Less Business

Yesterday, I decided that I should try busking in some new places. Business is pretty good at Tori, but I haven't tried selling my stories in other spots and, who knows?, I might make more money elsewhere.

So I went to Esplanadi, the lovely little touristy park near the port. It's right next to all the ritzy places in Helsinki – the most expensive restaurants, stores and the most expensive lodging around: Hotel Kämp.

Esplanadi, Helsinki – Photo via www.lomamatkailija.com

I saw down right on the main gravel promenade and oh, jeez, business was slow. I got lots of smiles, and lots of photos of me taken, but that's about it. A young couple came up to me, holding hands, and asked me to write a story about them. It was so cheesy and cutesie – which is generally not how I write. Well, I can be cheesy at times, but I'm not a cutesie writer. They paid money, though, so I wrote it.

A lot of people tried to take photos of me without me noticing. Like I'm not going to see you standing there pointing a camera at me, even if you are standing to the side? Ha. I don't really mind. I'm in a set of some random person's vacation photos. I was considering charging for photos, like the old ladies in Peru do, but that just feels so dirty to me. It's sleazy and I can't bring myself to ask for money for a stupid picture that I would totally take and not want to pay for myself. Anyway, though it is important for me to make money to pay rent and food and such, it's more important that I'm doing this because it makes me happy – not to be a sleazy tourist-trapping busker.

One woman walked by and said, "I LOVE THE IDEA!" but just kept walking. It doesn't help if you love the idea but don't buy from me, I thought. But then she came back five minutes later and told me she loved the idea so much that she had to buy a story. She didn't have time, so she bought one of my ready-to-go stories. This one was inspired by my friend Frank's prompt: "Janet opened the envelope with her test results." It's about a woman who is excited to find out she's not pregnant, despite the fact that she's never had sex.

Then I was having some technical difficulties with my typewriter. It – I don't know – just stopped working. It wouldn't spin the ribbon wheel, so I could type, but the characters would become more faint because of the used bit of ribbon. Other strange things were going on, so I tinkered with it for a good 20 minutes until I miraculously fixed it. Don't give up on me, David.

My last and final customer was a guy who had been looking for a present for his girlfriend. He said he didn't think he would be able to find anything, and that a poem by me was probably the best idea. So I wrote a poem about exactly that: the boy was looking for a present for her, but didn't want to buy something that's a "drag" (as I say in my poem) like a hat or clothes or lipstick, and so the poem is the best option because it shows more clearly what she means to him. Another cheesy piece of writing.

Esplanadi wasn't that great of a spot. People stop to look at me, but they don't stop to buy from me. I'm a tourist attraction more than a writer. And then people don't really have time to wait for my stories, so I think that's another reason business was slow.

But most importantly, the clientele are completely different. Instead of writing fun poems about a straw hat, I'm writing cutesie, couply stories and poems. It's not bad to write the occasional lovey dovey piece of crap, but I can't have that being my main source of income. It would drive me nuts to write "Roses are red, violets are blue" type things all day.

So today, I'm headed back to Ravintola Tori, in the hopes that I'll get some cool (and perhaps generous?) customers.

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David E. Sugar – Although You May Laugh

The Evening Shift

Someone at the restaurant suggested I try to busk in the evening, just in time to catch all the men going home to their wives. And maybe to catch some drunk customers who wouldn't mind shelling out a few euros for a poem.

I think I arrived at Ravintola Tori too late to catch all the loving hubbies, because I didn't get there until 6 pm, despite my best attempt to get there earlier. It was great: my first customer approached me before I even sat down! He asked me to write him a poem about a straw hat and handed me the exact amount of money. (He was wearing a straw hat and it looked like it might have been a central part of his image.) I wrote the poem and, man, I'm actually kind of proud of it. It's a silly little poem about a man who buys a straw hat, wears it everyday, loses it on a train, cannot find it at all and then, one day, he sees it in a magazine. It was a simple AA BB CC rhyme scheme, which seemed to work with the subject matter. The guy came to pick up his poem, which I churned out in a good seven minutes and went back to his seat. His table was audibly pleased, and the man came back and said, "We liked your poem so much, we thought we'd give you this." He handed me more money!

Then, this amazing man, this great customer asked to write a poem for me! He told me he would recite a poem from the top of his head, and then I would type it up. So we did it. And he signed it. I tried to take a picture of it but, just in case the print isn't clear, I re-typed it below:


"A Poem for the typewriter girl"

Dear typewriter girl
Sitting on the sidewalk
Please save the world
And make your machine talk

About peace and love
And about the God above
Dear typewriter girl
Please save the world!

(By the way, in the photo, the paper behind the poem is actually Ravintola Tori's menu haha, which I just so happen to have conveniently by my side in my apartment.)

A lady who had been sitting with that man came up and ordered a poem about anything. I had a little sliver of paper left from another sheet, one I didn't want to waste. But it wouldn't go into my typewriter properly, unless I put it in vertically. The paper I was typing on was about eight inches long (normal width of a sheet of paper), but only about two, or two and a half inches wide. Since I could write about anything, I wrote a poem called "The vertical Poem" which outlined why I chose to write on the paper in such a way. She tipped me well and went back to her seat. The man who had purchased the first poem turned around in his seat and applauded me from across the terrace.

But the rest of the evening busking didn't go so well. I went nearly an hour without a customer at all (which is the reason I'm bringing a book along with me today). Finally, when I did get another customer, it was a drunk fellow from a group of – how shall I say? – douchebags. They were loud, overtaking the terrace with their antics and laughter. The drunk guy told me to write a nice story, so I wrote one about a man named Michael whose girlfriend just broke up with him. Not very nice yet, but he goes out with friends and has a great one-night stand with a waitress in short pink shorts. I went to their table to hand them the story and they hooted and tried to convince me to join them. They also continued my story, narrating that Michael's best friend Kip does a dimebag of cocaine and steals the gal from my man. Then my main character commits suicide, according to them.

I offered to continue the story (for a tip), but the dude said no. I so badly wanted to write, "Unfortunately, the cocaine that Kip had purchased contained arsenic and Kip later died a horribly painful death." (Isn't it strange that my form of subtle revenge in this case is to kill off my other character?)

They were rude and drunk. But it was also 8 pm. I'm not sure I'll be doing much more evening busking, as my afternoons seem to be more effective. But maybe it was just a bad night? I'll give The Evening Shift another chance someday in the future.

sTori Time

Last weekend was the Juhannus (midsummer) celebration here in Finland, so I didn't go busking at all over the holiday. Yesterday, I started up again, sitting at my post outside Ravintola Tori. I arrived at around 12:30 pm, hoping to catch some of the lunch customers.

It was a slow start this time. People were more baffled as to what I was doing; I got a lot of stares. My first customer was the woman who bought a poem from me the week before – the one who had cried. She told me my poem was a smash hit and that she would like another, this time about a crayfish-eating tradition among family and friends. She promised to come back next week for yet another poem, about a young man's graduation from high school. She also asked for my email so she could send the photo she took of me busking to my inbox. Here it is:



(One of my coworkers told me that she had framed my poem with my photo in it! She's also apparently a really cool older woman on the Helsinki scene. She arranges club nights for people who are 50+ . . . people who are younger than 50 can't get in! Amazing!)

A couple came by and asked for a story about the meaning of life, so I wrote about a kid who schools his father on the subject – and then asks for ice cream. The kid in the story is named after my cousin's son, Oskari, but it has nothing to do with their family. The couple seemed very excited to read my story, but I didn't get to see their reaction to it.

A table of older men had been peering over at me periodically throughout their lunch. As one of the men got up to go inside, he turned to me and said, "I'm also a writer. But I write books." I told him, "Maybe someday I will!" and then he walked inside.

A few minutes later, he emerged and handed me money and his card, without having ordered a story. I insisted that he takes one of my ready-made stories, which he did. His card says he is an "independent photographer and non-fiction writer." Cool!

My next customer was an older lady who spoke flawless English. I'm pretty sure she was Finnish, though. She wanted a poem for her boyfriend. "Can you imagine, a woman my age having a boyfriend?" she said. She was in the process of a divorce and her boyfriend was the complete opposite of her husband, she told me. The poem was for her "man-friend" but she didn't want me to use the words "girlfriend" or "love" or anything like that. She was very pleased with what I wrote. She had a great conversation with me, tipped me well and even offered to buy me a drink from Tori. She told me her son went to Harvard for journalism and that he'll be in town for a week or two. (He has a girlfriend, she said, so it's not like she's trying to hook us up. She just thinks he and I could have a great conversation.)

Then a man decked out in rasta gear approached me. I had difficulty understanding him, but I finally realized that he played percussion (surprise!) in a group that tours the world. He wanted me to write song lyrics for him – which I had never really done before. He told me to give it my best try, so I wrote a song called "The Writer and The Drummer." Next smash hit, right there. The drummer tipped the writer very well.

My sixth and last customer had to wait extra because I was working on so many other stories. He told me he had just come from therapy, so a story would be very nice, but he didn't give me a prompt. He just wanted me to write a story for him. I wrote one based on the prompt of a friend: "Two ducks are flying and they see a balloon floating by them." All I have to say is that the ducks talk and their names are Frank and George. The man tipped me very well and as he got on his bike to depart, I overheard him say to his friend, "She's a smart girl."

Yesterday was a great day for busking! It was sunny and warm, I got tipped well, and I only worked three hours total! Then I went to meet up with my cousin by a pool. After a day like that, how can you not smile? I have not felt this happy and relaxed in a long, long time.

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Villa Nah – Ways To Be

Busking Sign

I made the sign out of an old Cheerios box and decorated it with acrylic paint that I found in a box that I had hauled from New York. Convenient.

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The Phenomenal Handclap Band – You'll Disappear