Just a quickie...

Right, that's that. I've gotten my Russian Visa (pictures to come), frozen my bits right through at a tram stop, purchased my train ticket, bought film, remembered my gig ticket, realised I have to post my tax return tomorrow, found my tax return, filled in my tax return, cursed around the apartment for an envelope for the my tax return, decided to go to work first thing tomorrow (to post the feckin' tax return - could they possibly make the process of taking money off one any more painful?), packed my bag (including tax return), and it's only 4.23 am. The alarm is set for 6, I'm tempted to just veg in front of the computer - I've even started leaving sleeping until the last minute...

With any luck, this time tomorrow, I'll be snoozing on someone's floor, dreaming of a great REM gig, and the day I plan to spend in the Hermitage...

When I have more time, I might go into the magnetic properties of computers... I only came over here to turn this one off, and look what happened...

Anyway, sleep! Me that is, you enjoy whatever it is you're doing...

Square wave

Today was like a psychotic, schizmed, girlfriend. Picture her - ladies too please, even imaginary lesbianism will probably make this far more interesting for everyone. So: picture her, as someone who wakes you up in the morning by punching you in the face, before being stricken by remorse (remorse, above all emotions, gets the gold for leave literary characters "stricken". Silver goes to fear, and woe gets bronze) and making up for it by giving you (no...) breakfast in bed (family blog, you see). While you sit checking your email, tenderly probing your swollen (no...) nose, she does the washing up. She pauses her scrubbing as she picks up the frying pan, that deranged gleam flickers in her eye... ...and she spends the evening rubbing your (seriously...) feet and apologising profusely (similarly, is it just me or do only sound, colours, and apologies profuse?).

At this point I should clarify that this imaginary girlfriend is completely, utterly fictional, and is in no way based upon any person, especially not my girlfriend, who is a picture of rationality. Except for that sinister rag doll. With my photo and hair on it. That nearly killed me when I sat on it. Kidding, of course (but now I'm wondering: why do voodoo people always use their dolls for harming people. Surely an atomically correct doll could be, say (no no no, for the love of criminy! Family blog!...) used for remote massage therapy or similar?

Anyway, I will try to illustrate this metaphor with a point. I was awoken this morning at 8:30, which would be reasonable but for my retiring a scant three hours earlier. I had asked Agathe to ring me, to make sure I was awake, so I could get my tax card for the new year. This made today a bit like Christmas in reverse - your excitement stems from anticipating how much you're going to loose. We were going in early to beat the queue.

I wobbled along on my bike slightly aware that the old motor skills weren't quite up to par, at perhaps too brisk a pace, when a dawdling old dear on a rusty old bike plus the sudden manifestation of roadworks where roadworks were clearly undesired, caused me to have to brake very hard in a narrow space. The handle-bars caught on a barrier, then thoughfully halted my flight by digging into my thigh. Profuse language and bruising ensued.

Feeling really chirpy now, I pulled up at the tax office, and took a ticket, preparing for a wait of eons, to find that I was next in line, joy! I beamed at the clerk, who smiled back and informed me that, since I'm being taxed on a whole years income now, rather than 5 months, my tax rate had doubled.

I moved on to work, and from there to town at lunchtime with Agathe. I had steak. It was a good steak as steaks go, and as steaks go it went (ah, Saki...). With it went a good conversation, some cheesecake, and an espresso (while a portion of our income is still disposable), and my bad spirits. Feeling much better I trundled off to a travel agency to procure a visa for myself and Alex's jaunt to St Petersburg to see REM specifically, and the city generally.

I met a very nice lady, who explained that one needs official (ie paid for) accommodation in order to get a visa, one can't just kip on the floor of a friend of a friend. This meant our planned four day trip would cost me in excess of €250. Oh. Back at the office, Alex followed up leads furiously (a visa takes 6 working days, I needed it in 6 working days, and 5pm was approaching) until we discovered a "visa agency". These wonderful people will provide you with a visa, and a reservation at a somewhat insubstantial hotel in return for 55 coins.

Feeling like I should get the rest of the day over with as soon as possible, we headed for something to eat. On the way I noticed an ambulance careen through traffic to pull up outside a cafe I've been to - full of young yuppie types in general. Perspective.

So I guess the moral of the story is: your girlfriend may strike you, but better her than cardiac arrest. Or something. Sorry, I'm shattered!

Home to bed!

Oh, PS: self and LongHairGuyInTexas have official formed a mutual appreciation club. Visit! The power of Chris compels you (weaker, but cheaper than, Jesus).

PPS: The smashing picture of a locomotive in Hedonists blog runs with the caption: "Put item in cart" and refers to the imminent auction here in Helsinki, of said locomotive. In pristine working condition, a snip at €900,000.

Greetings

Over to the right there, you should notice a "Blogs of Note" section. I urge you to browse at your leisure, since they're superlative: chock-full of wit, drama, insight - even chocolatey goodness - and basically should resonate with 20-somethings making their way in the
world. You, like me, probably won't get the full impact of Alex's blog, but at least you can look at the pretty pictures (Big Toblerone shots!!! Free!!! No hidden charges!!!)

If anyone else would like to have a link added, please send the url by carrier pigeon, or rocket-pack-packing chipmunk. Or email, whichever is most convenient. I believe I have the privilege of knowing a higher proportion of brilliant people than is strictly fair, and hopefully this way I can introduce you to each other (and try to steal just a little of your brilliance by osmosis. Or association, whichever works best).

I had a quick scan of this page the other day, and Christ but I'm a verbose bastard. Polonius wouldn't get a look in...

Congratulations!

To my rather brainy little sister, who won first place in her age group in the Social Sciences category of the Young Scientist! w00t! Links to come :)

Unnnnggggghhhhh *Kablam! Kablam!*

Ungh. I had one of my infrequent bouts of insomnia last night. There are many possible reasons for this - my schedule has gone to feck, dragging my circadian rhythm down with it. Also, I went climbing yesterday, which was phenomenal. I've had a mental block climbing above Finnish grade 4+ since I started again, and after popping off a 4+ straight out of the blocks, I resigned myself to a frustrating session, before sending a 5+, a 5-, and a 4+. The grin was threatening to bisect my head.

The thing is, having been away from climbing for a few months, at about 12 metres up the first route I got "The Fear". That is to say, I had a minor panic attack. This tends to leave me a little pumped up for the rest of the day.

Other factors which may have contributed include some bastard making noises at 5am. Actually, I've mentioned the noises and strange goings on around my block on a number of occasions, and I've formulated a theory from acquired knowledge. Apparantly, the company that leases my apartment runs hospitals. In general, their accomodation is provided with workers at said hospitals in mind. Innocuous so far, yes.

However! The hospital I live beside is a mental hospital (Dun dun duuuunnn!!). Full of people who are likely to scream at night, pretend to be action man in public places, and so forth. I'm speculating that perhaps some apartments in my block form a sort of halfway house. Either that, or insanity is contageous.

Anyway, the point is, I feel zombified to the point where making sense of my maladjusted program (at 9:30pm) is physically painful. Furthermore, I've developed an irrational fear that my resemblance to the undead is so complete, that someone is going to blow my head off with a shotgun, and then feel very foolish ("He was just tired? Oh no, how silly of me. That's the second time today, I feel like such an idiot. Is there anything I can do? Well at least let me help tidy up, we don't want to let that brain congeal, it'll ruin the monitor... Well, if you're sure. Sorry again!") Despite all this I blog, as Alex has just pointed out...

Speaking of Alex, here he is (bottom picture), with the largest toblerone in the free world. Kim Jong-il has a bigger one, you see, hence the qualifier. He teases foreign diplomats with it. Bastard.

What day is it?

Thanks for the replies! So much sound advice, wit, and a bit of perspective from Rob for good measure. What a great pity it's mostly contradictory. I bought Heroes of Might and Magic IV for a tenner off someone on the intranet, so maybe that'll take care of the urges for now.

Anywhoo, I'm a tad pooped today. Yesterday was a national holiday. I had great intentions - I was going to get up early, I was going to work off some of my time deficit, I was going to invent a program-writing program. The reality was somewhat less idealistic, but much more fun.

I met Alex at about 2.30pm, and we headed to the rather funky apartment of a really cool friend of his, Kati, where there was tea-drinking, scrabble-playing, and wine-imbibing, until a gang assembled, whence the party relocated to the classily appointed pad of one of said gang, Antti. It was really fun to be around lots of arty, creative types for a change. Antti is a photographer, and his bedroom was doubling as a studio - really fascinating to watch him work - it's funny how magical and mysterious the making of art can be to a techie. Anywhoo, it was great, and we finally wandered off much the worse for wear at 2.30am.

Again, I had good intentions for today, but to no consequence. I got dressed to answer the door at 11am to some Jehovah's Witnesses. See, I made the fatal mistake a few months back, of actually engaging the JW's that called to the door. I argued theology with them for a good 30 minutes on my doorstep. I enjoyed it. It's quite fun to argue with people entrenched in their viewpoints - they tend to know quite sophisticated arguements by heart, which are a challenge to de-rail. In general I enjoy argueing religion - it helps me refine what I believe. I've had some great discussions - noteably with a baptist back in TCD, who told me one of my arguements troubled him for a week (is it wrong to take satisfaction in that?), and a Mormon last year in Helsinki, for almost 2 hours in the street.

Anyway, after having been visited by two older ladies, it appears they've decided that I really need saving, and sent a tag team of cute, wide-eyed, twenty-something girls as a last resort (you can almost hear the supervisor thinking "Heh! Lets see him leave them standing on the doorstep. Excusing myself instantly as being just up and late for work, they promised to come back again another time. I made my way in to work casually, since I thought it was Friday. It isn't, so I missed my Finnish class, simultaneously breaking two New Years Resolutions.

I think I'm going to watch some DVD's with Agathe, as part of a quiet weekend, till Sunday at least, when after far too long I've planned to go climbing. Early.

It just struck me that I need to fix up some linking mechanism here. All of you wonderful, wonderful people-who-replied but one have sterling blogs. The party that doesn't really should, shouldn't you Mr Skierspeare? Hmm? I'll get on it over the weekend.

The Snowmen Did it

Hello hello.

If I were writing yesterday, I would have regaled you with accounts of the delicate sprinkling of snow here, there and everywhere around Helsinki - for all the world like a dusting of icing sugar. How it brightened the days and nights, and made everything look clean. It is not yesterday, it is the day after, and the streets in general are wet and mushy, splattered with patches that could have been produced by gastroenteritic snowmen (either way). While the slush is much less pretty, and much darker, it normally redeems itself by being damn good fun to cycle on, and so it was today. Unfortunately, somehow, large quantities of mushy snow find their way on to my bag, where they melt, venture south, and make sitting down a damp and clammy experience for hours.

Anyway, none of that matters, because for some reason tomorrow is a national holiday. I'm probably going to work, to make up for one of my days at Christmas, though there are low rumblings of snowboarding...

Completely thrilled by some genuine feedback to a question posed in the last post (thanks Gordon!), I'm going to try again.

If I wanted to play games I would
a) Get an XBox - Halo2 is the r0x0r, principles bend, shame isn't fatal.
b) Get a PS2 - San Andreas? Final Fantasy? Helllooo?
c) Get a GameCube - If Nintendo ever make the GameTurd, I will pre-order
d) Upgrade CPU and possibly the graphics card. Consoles suck.
e) Save. Play with my money until I can affoard my dream system.
e) Sell my computer, buy a Mac, and self-flagellate until the urge dies
f) Sir! Sir! Please sir, there were two e)'s sir!

In Transit

Hey ho, and a happy new year one and all. I'm in Stockholm Arlanda again, and maybe I was hard on the old place the last time. A seriously turbulent landing tends to paint old scenes in new, shiny colours. Also, I ate on the flight, and the gent I was sitting next too was very nice. He gave me his fun-size toblerone, inadvertently making a friend for life. I wish him good luck on his 500km car journey north.

Christmas was great. Those three words have capacity for expansion not seen since the Big Bang, so I'll limit myself to saying that it was wonderful to see everyone again, and the ease at which we fell into old grooves was comforting. It spawned some "If I were living in Dublin" threads, and it makes the departure gate a bit of a wrenching experience. I miss you all already.

I'm feeling a bit thoughtful, I'm doing my damnedest not to launch into a "2004, De Year Wot Woz" review. I'm refraining from sniping snidely at the people behind me, straddled either side of a Celeron v P4 in Laptops debate (and how the salespeak caterpillar morphs into tech folklore). I'm going to shut up entirely, in fact, and acquire some bottled water.

Er, PS: has anyone read the Lemoney Snicket books? Does the story really just pack up and end like that?