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.)

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.

###

Andrew Bird – Anonanimal

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

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)