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.
29 June 2009
28 June 2009
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.
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.
27 June 2009
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.
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.
26 June 2009
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.
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.comI 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.
25 June 2009
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.
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.
24 June 2009
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.
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.
20 June 2009
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.
The Busking Queen
I'm half-Finnish, half-American. I live in New York for most of the year, but I always like to escape the city every now and then. For the past two years, I have come to live in Helsinki for the summer. Last year, it was such an enriching and amazing experience that I figured I might as well try my hand at this northern capital once again.
The only difference is that, last summer, I had a job. This summer, I'm jobless and moneyless.
I made up my mind: instead of wasting my summer in a crap job (like one I had for a hot second working for Premiere in Kamppi), I would rather spend my time busking. I grabbed my typewriter, some paper and a cushion for my butt and parked myself outside of Ravintola Tori in Punavuori. I wrote stories and poems for people for money! In just over two hours, I sold three stories and one poem for a grand total of 19 euros. (Impressive to me, considering I only asked each person for 2 euros.)
And now, I have decided to document my experiences as a busker in Helsinki, for all to see and for memory's sake. From interesting customers to aggressive competitors – whatever I encounter, I'll list it here.
Read the original story about my first time busking on my XIHA Life blog.
The only difference is that, last summer, I had a job. This summer, I'm jobless and moneyless.
I made up my mind: instead of wasting my summer in a crap job (like one I had for a hot second working for Premiere in Kamppi), I would rather spend my time busking. I grabbed my typewriter, some paper and a cushion for my butt and parked myself outside of Ravintola Tori in Punavuori. I wrote stories and poems for people for money! In just over two hours, I sold three stories and one poem for a grand total of 19 euros. (Impressive to me, considering I only asked each person for 2 euros.)
And now, I have decided to document my experiences as a busker in Helsinki, for all to see and for memory's sake. From interesting customers to aggressive competitors – whatever I encounter, I'll list it here.
Read the original story about my first time busking on my XIHA Life blog.
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