Mrs. Dalloway's Coffee Break

I recently posted on my Instagram page a series of pictures of making a huge batch of cabbage rolls, a traditional Finnish delicacy, and was happy to realize the rather time-consuming, handicraft dish has lost the bad rep it had when I was a kid hating the horrible cabbage smell and reluctantly picking at the one sad, solitary roll on my plate before tiring out my parents and being excused from the table. Now, people were thrilled to see me make them, and if Instagram was a delivery service, I wouldn’t have had any left by the time we were done making them. And I don’t blame ‘em: in the mouth of a grownup, they do taste delicious, like home, like our childhoods; like it took three to four hours to make them, including the trip to the store in the middle of the preparation process, because I was being lavish with the stuffing and ran out of it during the first oven sheet, and father was like “I’ll go, I’ll go right away!” and me and my mother were like “Great, we’ll just hang ...

I mean what respectable man doesn’t have a few skeletons in the closet? These – females, these – women , they are all just dumb sumbitches, aren’t they? I mean I will be here till the end of time, and am right to be here, just like there are righteous, good men in the Klan, and these righteous, God-fearing good white men are right to fight for their power! I mean our job is to oversee the goings-on of the land of our fathers, and make sure it doesn’t accidentally fall prey to a bunch of ninnies and cry-babies and lesbians. Emphasis on the job, Lizzie. I mean it isn’t proper, it just is not proper for some insufferable cunt to appear out of nowhere to start laying these accusations so thick a man can’t breathe. She reduced ole Biffy-boy here to tears. To tears ! And now, let’s examine the situation with a cool head, since I am the best and most level-headed man I know to examine the situation, and no Federal investigation should really be needed here, come on now! I ...

A friend of mine started a challenge on Instagram. It has to do with our everyday green acts, the little things we can all do and should do to ease the burden of this pretty plane of ours so that our legacy to the next generations won’t be a re-enactment of the Nebuchadnezzar ride outside the Matrix. An old workmate of mine, back from when I was working in another town, was, and still is, an eco-terrorist, as he himself liked to describe himself back then, and concern over ecological matters was a mutual thing for us. Nearing some election or another, when discussing parties and who to vote, I still remember what he said in the conversation as we were all hanging out behind the counter because of the five p.m. lull. “The thing is, if the planet goes, no one is going to be left standing to argue with anybody about anything.” For some reason, perhaps because we both tend to vote for the same party, the line has stuck with me, and there may have even been an occasion where I myself...

I ordered Reese Witherspoon’s brand-new book, a recipe and lifestyle opus Whiskey in a Teacup, as soon as it hit the Internet bookstands. I had been a dedicated follower of many a recipe and lifestyle account on Instagram for quite a while already, not to mention fashion, (here’s to you fellow Kinks fans, I just know you were dying for it) and naturally, being a woman in the arts and a movie and a book fan and just simply a fan of the fabulousness that is Reese Witherspoon, I had all three of her accounts on Follow. Therefore, I was long aware of her book coming out before it did and was an easy target for her marketing campaign. Christ, I even had the date of the appearance of the book marked in my calendar; it is one of three major book premieres of my personal fall season of new books – what the other two are, stay tuned! My journey with Reese started without really realizing it had. She was one of those pretty new faces in late Nineties cinema, your basic Southern belle w...

Olen luonasi silloinkin kun sataa kun on aikainen aamu ja olen vihainen sinulle tai kun minulla on kiire enkä oikein ehtisi tai kun kirjoitan tiedät kuinka vihaan keskeytyksiä Jack Nicholson Hohdossa sitten näen sinut eteisen oviaukossa menossa vessaan minä istun keittiössä muistikirja auki ja romaani luen ja juon teetä sitä mitä ostimme Porvoosta kulkiessasi ohi vilkaiset minuun ja hymyilet en ehdi vastata olet jo mennyt katson ikkunasta variksia ja kuusen latvaa hymyilen se on sinulle vaikka et näe sitä. (Sormiharjoitelma runoksi/Finger poetry.)

Mirabelle felt her head expand with air, as the laughter, the hysterics, made way to deep embarrassment that was not without a spiteful undertone. She hadn’t been guilty of stealing Miriam’s precious necklace, no, Mamie had lost the heavy silver and green thing all by herself in a drunken stupor on the night of her big opening. But the waiter had given it to Miri, saying he seemed to remember the beautiful woman in their group wearing it when they were last there, as if Mirabelle did not fit into that category and wasn’t beautiful at all, and that comment, somehow, paired with Mamie’s rude commentary on the blue collar workers and never ever wanting to sink so low as to have a job as a waitress, in total disregard of Miri belonging to that exact class and in fact doing exactly that for a living, despite her writing habit, oh, Mamie made her feel like a rank dilettante, a half-assed amateur, an embarrassing country sibling not to be taken seriously at all, and all that eye-rolling to ...