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

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

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

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

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

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