About nine years and eight months ago, I received an email from a pretty, young lady. The subject of the email was, “I hope you visit this site every day”, with the appropriate link attached to the body of the message.
The link took me to a site which I obviously hadn’t ever visited – the Hunger Site which helps to feed the hungry in Africa – but which I just as obviously visited right then.
It’s become painfully obvious to everybody that I am no handyman. I’m not somebody whose idea of having a great time is to disappear into the garage and fix stuff. My idea of a good time is to hang around that person and talk and maybe play ball.
There’s this friend of mine. Let’s call him “Alec”, and let’s assume that it’s not his real name. It’s just a random name, with no hidden meanings, no Latin roots, or witty anagrams baked in. It’s just code for this friend of mine.
“Alec” may or may not be Finnish, and he may or may not live in Finland. He could be 20, or he might be 45. Or neither. He’s not one of the Baldwin brothers. Who he is, is not the point.
I once saw Ringo Starr up close. I was walking down the street in Rome with my wife, when Mr. Starr came out of a building and crossed the street right in front of us.
Very surprising. I’m not the biggest Beatles fan in the world but I knew that beard, that nose, that look.
The place where I sit and write this
Is the place where the washing machines used to be
When Dad was the manager of the store
And I always tagged along, like I did when I was four
Or, to be sure, this is where the window used to be
I once decorated it in a christmas theme, with cotton snow and all
I knew those things, I knew what was cool
because I had just got home from the business school
The place where I sit and write this
Is the place where Dad’s buddy stood with a video camera on his shoulder
And shot me and my schoolmates (and I was the Phantom, waving to the crowd)
As we drove around the city, at least four times, all mighty and proud.
The place where I sit and write this
Is where I made my best mixed tapes
And where good old Mr Grön picked me up for my first driving lession
Then proceeded to have his own afternoon napping session
The place where I sit and write this
Is where I gave my first interview
“A star was born, he’s got potential,” they said, I think
And they asked what the star liked to eat and drink
The place where I sit and write this
Is the place where the washing machines used to be
When Dad was the manager of the store
But, I’m sure you guessed it by now: the store is no more
The place where I sit and write this
Is now another coffeeshop, with cookies and latte
There’s a new building, new business where my life used to be
But they do have wireless internet, and they let me use it for free
I can think of at least five meetings I’ve been invited to sit in just because I am Finnish. Not that I didn’t enjoy sitting in – I’m pretty fond of the Swedish meeting culture with the coffee and the bullar, the cinnamon buns – and not that I took it as an insult or so, I just thought it was pretty obvious to everybody that I was there just so our company could show the prospective (Finnish) client that we had intimite knowledge of Finland, and Finns. We had one sitting right there in the office. Me.
I just bought a new bike, and realized, again, how much fun riding a bike is, but then I read Christopher McDougall’s “Born to Run,” and I think – I think – that even though I have said (many times) in the past that “Running Is The Devil“, I may give running one more chance, just because I also like the idea of running barefoot.
After all, I ran barefoot to school and back, ten kilometers, uphill, each way, through the snow, when I was a kid.
Good times.
Sweden is many things to many people. In the last couple of centuries, Sweden has given the world dynamite, a internationally renowned prizes (that sometimes get misspelled in Hollywood movies), cheap furniture, meatballs, pop music, more pop music, a car that has ignition on the floor, three-point seatbelts, refrigerator, and according to an old client of mine, color.
I think he was trying to say that some Swede had invented a color printer, a color TV, or maybe something even more basic color technology, but the way he said it made it sound like people had been living in black and white – and not just in the Dark Ages – until that Swede invented color.
Anyway, Swedes are an industrious people and the world has a lot to thank them for.
Official announcement from the office of Risto Pakarinen: I am the new new renaissance man of the 21st century, the kind who can’t do anything. By “do” I mean fix things, plant anything, or make any visible – constructive, literally – changes in my surroundings.
But I can play ball.
Being the President of Finland still seems to have some pull. Yesterday, H, the boy genius – both self-proclaimed and encouraged by parents – surprised me right in the middle of a nice bike ride to the grocery store.
