Äänestäkääpä Haavistoa. Haavisto on hieno mies.
Tässä kaikki.
Computers, photos, vegan food, existential angst, linguistics, all things queer.
24.1.2012
19.1.2012
Perinneruoat
<@Zet> lortto on semmonen sana, että alkaa aina
naurattaa kontekstista riippumatta
<@A> tulee mieleen joku itäsuomalainen ruoka
<@A> ehkä lörtsyn takia
<@B> römpsä kuulostaa kanssa joltain
perinneruualta
<@Zet> minu äet' se ol' kyläm parraeta
römpsänviäntäjiä
<@C> :D
<@C> <3
<@Zet> äetim muikkurömpsee kävi kirkolta asti
väkeä maestamassa
<@Zet> siinä mäni heleposti koko laovvantae kun
äet' sen römpsän iäressä rupes hiäreemään
<@B> :DD
<@Zet> reseptijä en muesta kokoonnaan, mutta sen
tiijän jotta voeta laetto reelusti
<@C> :'D
1.12.2011
NRJ
Olen ihmetellyt 90-luvulta asti, miksi radiokanava NRJ:n nimi on niin kummallinen. Kanava itse ääntää nimensä suunnilleen [ˈɛnərʤi], mikä viittaa englannin sanaan energy. Mutta kirjainsarja NRJ ääntyisi englanniksi ['ɛnərʤei].
Tänään opin, että NRJ onkin ranskalainen radiokanava! Niinpä nimi ääntyykin [enɛʁʒi].
Tänään opin, että NRJ onkin ranskalainen radiokanava! Niinpä nimi ääntyykin [enɛʁʒi].
15.11.2011
Miesliikkeestä toisaalla
Tämä on juuri se teksti, jota olen ollut kirjoittamaisillani jo pari vuotta, mutten ole saanut aikaiseksi. Tuo tyyppi onnistuikin paljon paremmin, kuin minä olisin osannut.
Jälkijättöistä jupinaa: Mikä "miesliikkeessä" on vikana?
Jälkijättöistä jupinaa: Mikä "miesliikkeessä" on vikana?
10.10.2011
Chiac
Tänään opin, että Kanadassa New Brunswickin alueella puhutaan hyvin hauskan kuuloista kontaktikieltä. Chiac on ymmärtääkseni lähinnä Quebecin ranskan tyyppistä kieltä, jossa on paljon leksikaalisia lainoja englannista. Lainat taipuvat kuitenkin ihan luontevasti ranskan kieliopin mukaan.
Tässä kielinäyte videolla. En tajunnut juuri mitään, vaikka osaan englantia hyvin ja ranskaa jonkin verran.
Seuraava pätkä vahvistaa myös hypoteesini, jonka mukaan sellaista kieltä ei olekaan, jolla ei ole olemassa räppiä.
- Yeah mes parents freak-ont right out après moi souvent.
- Worry pas!
- C'est fermé down.
Tässä kielinäyte videolla. En tajunnut juuri mitään, vaikka osaan englantia hyvin ja ranskaa jonkin verran.
Seuraava pätkä vahvistaa myös hypoteesini, jonka mukaan sellaista kieltä ei olekaan, jolla ei ole olemassa räppiä.
5.10.2011
Anonyymi kannanotto
Genetz oli oikeesti parempi kuin Setälä!Lähde: Päärakennuksen kolmannen kerroksen miestenvessa.
19.9.2011
Pall-bearing
I was just reading this on Reddit, and the comment thread rekindled my thoughts on being a pall-bearer. Specifically being a pall-bearer who does not identify as a straight cis male.
For the record, a pall-bearer is one of usually six people (men) who carry the casket at a funeral.
I have been pall-bearer four times, at four out of six funerals I have attended in my adult life. It is a very demanding task, emotionally, socially as well as physically. It always gives me enormous performance anxiety. You are required to carry out a fairly precisely coordinated and delicate ritual in front of your entire family. And it is one of those things which you cannot really decline doing if asked.
Funerals are one of the very few occasions in which I have worn a men's suit in the past eightish years. This alone puts me squarely outside my comfort zone.
Another thing is that I am not a large person. Carrying a casket – even though there are six people sharing a load – is a formidable exercise. Let's say a person weighs 80 kg and the casket maybe at least 60, you are looking at a ballpark figure of 25 kg of load per pall-bearer, although it is never evenly distributed. (I think I may be underestimating the weight of a casket, but whatever.) Further complications: you are wearing the worst fitting shoes you have ever owned, the carrying method with that line over the shoulder is incredible awkward, and all chapel doorways ever built are too damn narrow.
Being asked to be pall-bearer fucks with me a lot. I feel like it protracts my mourning period because I stress so much over the task beforehand (and after sometimes). It is a cold, hard reminder of my perceived maleness and how it completely seems to override every other facet of my being; it does not matter that I am small and frail – as long as I am male to everyone, I'm good to go. But I don't want to turn down the request either, because it feels good to be held in high regard by someone, to be asked to do it. It would be an arrogant and disrespectful thing to do to turn it down.
I think there should be a feminist discussion about the institution of pall-bearers. It has been treated as an exclusively-male responsibility for who knows how long, and as touchy a subject as funerals are, I believe it is a subject worth talking about. Just don't bring it up only at or during the planning of a funeral. I have had the "gender of pall-bearers" discussion twice; once with my father and once with a feminist-identified friend. Both had essentially the exact same response: "It's just a male job, end of story."
My gender dysphoria adds another layer to funerals. The way mourning people dress is often very beautiful to me. I will never forget the dress, hat and gloves my grandmother wore to her husband's funeral (where I was pall-bearer for the first time). Whenever there is a funeral, I think about all the black, tasteful, beautiful, delicate dresses, heels, hats and accessories I would like to wear. But as of late, I have usually been on pall-bearer duty, and doing that in heels, a veil and a feminine hat just would not be very practical, at least not with my motor skills. Funerals are also occasions where you do not want to be experimenting, flaunting or just generally going against the grain of everything a big bunch of old people stand for.
So, in my opinion being a non-male pall-bearer boils down to a few things: convince the (other) next of kin of the viability of the concept per se; make sure you are able to handle the physical aspect of actually picking up a dead old fat relative in a heavy wooden box, hauling them from the chapel to the gravesite and very god damn solemnly lowering them down to the grave; and manage to wear something practical enough to accomplish the former but traditional enough to not incur the wrath of half your extended family (while of course taking into account your personal ideas of what you wish to wear [which, incidentally, is something cis males have exactly zero say over... god damn black tie uniform...]).
For the record, a pall-bearer is one of usually six people (men) who carry the casket at a funeral.
I have been pall-bearer four times, at four out of six funerals I have attended in my adult life. It is a very demanding task, emotionally, socially as well as physically. It always gives me enormous performance anxiety. You are required to carry out a fairly precisely coordinated and delicate ritual in front of your entire family. And it is one of those things which you cannot really decline doing if asked.
Funerals are one of the very few occasions in which I have worn a men's suit in the past eightish years. This alone puts me squarely outside my comfort zone.
Another thing is that I am not a large person. Carrying a casket – even though there are six people sharing a load – is a formidable exercise. Let's say a person weighs 80 kg and the casket maybe at least 60, you are looking at a ballpark figure of 25 kg of load per pall-bearer, although it is never evenly distributed. (I think I may be underestimating the weight of a casket, but whatever.) Further complications: you are wearing the worst fitting shoes you have ever owned, the carrying method with that line over the shoulder is incredible awkward, and all chapel doorways ever built are too damn narrow.
Being asked to be pall-bearer fucks with me a lot. I feel like it protracts my mourning period because I stress so much over the task beforehand (and after sometimes). It is a cold, hard reminder of my perceived maleness and how it completely seems to override every other facet of my being; it does not matter that I am small and frail – as long as I am male to everyone, I'm good to go. But I don't want to turn down the request either, because it feels good to be held in high regard by someone, to be asked to do it. It would be an arrogant and disrespectful thing to do to turn it down.
I think there should be a feminist discussion about the institution of pall-bearers. It has been treated as an exclusively-male responsibility for who knows how long, and as touchy a subject as funerals are, I believe it is a subject worth talking about. Just don't bring it up only at or during the planning of a funeral. I have had the "gender of pall-bearers" discussion twice; once with my father and once with a feminist-identified friend. Both had essentially the exact same response: "It's just a male job, end of story."
My gender dysphoria adds another layer to funerals. The way mourning people dress is often very beautiful to me. I will never forget the dress, hat and gloves my grandmother wore to her husband's funeral (where I was pall-bearer for the first time). Whenever there is a funeral, I think about all the black, tasteful, beautiful, delicate dresses, heels, hats and accessories I would like to wear. But as of late, I have usually been on pall-bearer duty, and doing that in heels, a veil and a feminine hat just would not be very practical, at least not with my motor skills. Funerals are also occasions where you do not want to be experimenting, flaunting or just generally going against the grain of everything a big bunch of old people stand for.
So, in my opinion being a non-male pall-bearer boils down to a few things: convince the (other) next of kin of the viability of the concept per se; make sure you are able to handle the physical aspect of actually picking up a dead old fat relative in a heavy wooden box, hauling them from the chapel to the gravesite and very god damn solemnly lowering them down to the grave; and manage to wear something practical enough to accomplish the former but traditional enough to not incur the wrath of half your extended family (while of course taking into account your personal ideas of what you wish to wear [which, incidentally, is something cis males have exactly zero say over... god damn black tie uniform...]).
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