The time has come, my brittle friends, to talk of other things. Possibly. Or to take a break from talking of things. I’ve been writing this blog for a year now and have lately found less and less time and enthusiasm to keep it up. I used to be delighted about the prospect of updating but have recently felt somehow obliged to do it. I’m often very tired and not exactly brimming with ideas either at the moment. So I guess there won’t be regular weekly updates in the near future. The leisure of these past winter months has given way to working full-time again, getting up on an unmentionably unearthly hour (i.e. very early indeed) and sacrificing my limited amount of daily energy on the Altar Of Dayjob instead of spending it tapping away on a keyboard and trying to come up with witty things to write about, after first having slept as late in the morning as I happened to feel like.

I shouldn’t complain. Too much free time tends to drive me up the wall too, as it occasionally did during my extended and mandatory winter holiday. So I’m reasonably content now, with enough work to keep me busy (and it’s the kind of work I actually get paid for, in actual money) but also enough work to keep me from reading and writing and researching obscure useless things as much as I’d like to. So, while waiting for some new thoughts to form I’ll look back on what I did during the past year.

I started this blog because I wanted to keep track of the books I read and of the wines I tasted (and mostly found not to my taste). The Sinisthra forum had dried up and it was getting tedious to keep posting there all the nonsense that passed through my head, especially since no one else bothered to post there anymore. The Pressure Valve-section at Sinisthra.com, where I used to feel sorry about myself as eloquently as I could, had also dried up because the particular fountain inside me where it stemmed from had dried up. And since the pages were about the band Sinisthra, and not about Me, I felt uncomfortable to talk so openly about my personal things anyway.

I’ve commented about some 20 books and 100 wines in this blog. I need to read more because 20 books in 12 months isn’t very much in my opinion. It seems I buy a lot more books than I find time to actually read, and this bothers me a bit. I didn’t drink the 100 bottles of wine alone, they were mostly shared with The Loved One so the quantity doesn’t bother me. I was properly drunk perhaps 3 or 4 times last year (”properly” meaning ”inebriation followed by hangover”) so my alcohol consumption is very moderate. I’m also only moderately interested in reviewing every single bottle I uncork at the moment. Most of the wines are always very forgettable and lacking of any kind of distinct character. I’ve found several white wines I liked very much, numerous cavas and maybe even a couple of decent red wines.

I don’t listen to music that much and when I do it’s mostly music I’m already familiar with. This is a sure sign of middle-age mentality creeping up on me (”When I was young we used to have quality music!”) but I can’t be bothered about that. I never was a heavy duty music fan anyway so my future comments about the albums I enjoy will most likely be as sparse as they have been up to now. I still enjoy being a part of a band though, and playing music. This will not change in the near future.

I’ve frequently fumed about Sinisthra not getting anywhere. I might fume about this in the future too, although now the band is finally reaching the anxiously awaited stage where we have a finished album in our hands, at long bloody last. I’ve also fumed about numerous other things, none of which I’m able to recall at the moment, and will probably continue to fume about them in my future postings as well. It’s been a good year and I’m glad I documented bits of it here. I’m sure the text will start flowing again once I get over this springtime slackness of body and mind.
"There there. He only said he might take a little break from writing this blog. He didn't say he'll never update it again."

RECENT BOOKS OF CHOICE:
”The Replay” by Ken Grimwood, recommended and handed on to me by my friend mr. Leinonen (who, I’m positive, will update his blog any day now). He occasionally gives me a book to read, usually a dauntingly thick one, falsely expecting me to possess as good a grasp on English and as long an attention span as he does, often resulting in me watching the book lying dormant on the bookshelf for a few months, in all its’ 500-page-or-more-glory, before returning it to him, with muttered explanations of not having enough time to get indulged in something of that scale. ”The Scar” by China Mieville I managed to read, superficially, and the small parts I was able to comprehend of its’ enormity, I enjoyed, but many an epos has remained untouched.

Not this one, though. The cover looked enticing, the blurb intriguing and the reasonable amount of pages invited me in, so I went and am happy I did. This is a lovely book, a timetravel story of sorts, but basically a love story, with characters who felt real and had enough depth in them to make me feel either sad or happy, depending on what they went through. Even the ending of the book was decent enough, although the pasted-on and useless epilogue gave it an unneeded cosmic flavour.

Here’s a link to some editorial reviews on Amazon.com, allowing me to focus on other things instead of trying to explain a plot in my ineffective and uninformative manner. But I recommend this beautifully written and touching book to anyone who enjoys reading a good book. People who like to obtain their reading enjoyment from bad books might want to look elsewhere.

Easter whooshed past and on Good Friday, irredeemably, unavoidably and in a way that certainly can not be described as ”good”, I turned 39. Kicking and screaming, I might add, but won’t, since I wasn’t. But a particularly uplifting experience it was not. I’m starting to show my age, with an ever-increasing amount of wrinkles on my face and newly developed saggy skin under my chin. And the numerous little aches and pains cropping up here and there, in novel and unexpected parts of my poor ravaged body. There’s also the challenge of tidily applying black hairdye on an unevenly receding hairline, and the discomfort of finally having reached the age when one needs to shave daily. Horribly, shit like ”age is only numbers” and ”you’re only as old as you feel” starts to make a bit more sense than it used to. Still, I’m reasonably comfortable with the inevitability of growing older and see no point in moping about it more than necessary. I’m happy and healthy and my body isn’t that ravaged. I have absolutely no wish to be 20 again but I might enter into negotiations if it was possible to be 30 again. Then again, to quoth Victor Hugo: ”Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.” I’ve had my fair share of this ”youth” and am content with the idea of moving on.

The last time I celebrated my birthday was at 35 so it was high time to either ”throw a party” or ”hold a reception” again. I don’t know which one it turned out to be but the end result was a kitchen full of relaxed people in various states of inebriation, just like it used to be practically every Saturday evening in the days of yore, and just like it has only very occasionally been for the past several years of decreased-personal-interest-in-getting-drunk-and-going-out. It was all very nice and cozy once things got underfoot and I successfully brought to mind how to behave adequently in situations like that. But at first it felt very awkward, just hanging around, talking toot and dipping into the punchbowl. So in that sense, and in my case, social drinking can’t be compared to, for example, riding a bicycle, because I’ve always been able to passably steer a bicycle, no matter how many years has passed, but tend to find social drinking-with-intent a bit problematic if it comes up all of a sudden. But I pulled it through. Phew.

The first of these pictures depicts me, earlier in the day, blowing the candles of my birthday cake, accompanied by my brothers’ two daughters. Later on, with the children having left the premises, I’m feeling relaxed and rejoicing the fact that it’s my birthday. And still later on, my elation somewhat withered by the realisation of yes it is my birthday and aargh it is my bloody 39th birthday. Merciless laughter at my expense is seen taking place in the background but some comfort is being provided by my dear friend mr. Mäkinen who’s already been there and survived 39. We’ve sure seen and been through a lot together, through thick and thin as some might say. In this case possibly meaning that I’ve been thicker and he’s been thinner. Nowadays I tend to have a bit more sense in my undertakings than I used to and he tends to be a bit more healthily well rounded figure than he used to be. So all is well. And the Dragon may try to devour the flower but all it’s plans will turn sour. Due to inexpert use of flour and miscalculation of power. While flying at 500 miles per hour.


Whoops, getting out of hand again with the rhymes. Moving on to the next, more sober part:

RECENT BOTTLES OF CHOICE:
Moët & Chandon Brut Impérial was the choice of bubbly beverage to sip on the sofa to acknowledge the starting of the weekend. It’s champagne and therefore impossible to regard coolly and without prejudice so I have nothing much to say of the way it tasted, or smelt like, or felt in the mouth. Except that it was very lovely. Personally I find it very hard to justify the price of something I clearly have no tools (or in this case, senses) fine-tuned enough to judge. I’m perfectly content with cavas that cost 75% less than this. In my opinion champagne needs to be reserved for special occasions and preferably not drank at all at home but in nice restaurants and dinnerparties.

Château Musar is a red wine from the somewhat unlikely winecountry of Lebanon and a good example of a bit finer wine to accompany a bit finer dinner. I would think twice before buying a bottle this expensive so it was very nice to get a chance to taste this at an Easter dinner me and The Loved One were invited to. Awesome is the best and not a very descriptive description I can come up with here. This wine certainly was full-bodied but not in a one-dimensional way. It constantly kept changing and evolving in the glass. The aftertaste was long and lingering, filling the mouth with countless amount of shades and nuances and it worked very well with the lamb it was served with. A truly enjoyable wine. Again I’m faced with the lack of proper tools to size this up with.

Castillo Murviedro is a red wine from Spain and from a totally opposite end of the scale compared to the previous one. I bought two 1,5 litre bottles of this, to make sangria for my birthday, and had a glass as a nightcap after returning from the Easter dinner. And there was nothing to complain. Of course it was quite tangy and cheap-tasting but that’s what I expected to get and that’s what I got so no disappoinment there. I have a soft spot for the distinct aroma of these low-end Tempranillos, bringing back memories of late night dinners out in the terrace of my future Father-in-laws’ house at Fuengirola where it’s impossible to purchase quality red wine from the corner shop but also quite pointless since wine of this kind somehow fits the picture just perfectly.

Williams & Humbert Collection Dry Oloroso Reserve 12 Years Old is sherry I got as a present. I’m very partial to sherries and eager to delve deeper into their complicated world where it’s crucial to make sure it’s dry and preferably clear, although this was amber coloured, which is alright as long as it’s not sweet. Sweet sherry swiftly conjures up images of grandmother sipping at a glass of sticky horrible room-temperatured liquid. I don’t know how accurate or truthful this impression is but it’s strong enough to make me want to avoid sweet sherries at any cost. But dry sherry is a different matter altogether, preferably clear like fino or manzanilla, but quite charming in an amber, whiskylike colour too, like this oloroso. The bouquet that hits the nose from the glass is really something else and almost capable of getting you intoxicated without actually drinking the stuff at all. The taste is exquisite and something to really savour, perhaps with some manchego cheese and marinated green olives like I did. It’s also very much an acquired taste and a thirst for sherry is usually quenched with a very small glass of it so it’s a good thing it’s sold in half-sized bottles. I liked this very much but a bonedry manzanilla remains my number one choice when it comes to sherries.

It’s the silent week so I choose to remain relatively silent. I’ll post several pictures instead, of me and The Loved One setting her paintings on display at the Kaisaniemi metro station. Some of her works can be seen on her webpage too.

Here’s me supervising the hanging up of the pictures and delighting the commuters and other passers-by with my unsurpassable impression of a retarded orangutan in an open glass cage. O how I laughed and o how everyone else pretended not to notice me at all.


RECENT BOOKS OF CHOICE:
”The Somnambulist” by Jonathan Barnes, a kind of a spy novel set in Victorian age London. I picked this up from a clearance sale in London, mainly because the cover looked enticing. It was a gripping read although now that I’ve finished it my feelings are very mixed and I can’t decide whether I really liked the book or just enjoyed the language. The plot certainly leaves a lot to be desired for, with an endless amount of loose ends left flapping about as the story progresses at an breathtaking pace. Virtually every character is introduced in a haphazard way and most of them remain very thin and one-dimensional. On the other hand, a lot of them die, refreshingly I might add, compared to the way many writers seem to cling on to every single character they create and never let them expire completely, or if they do, it’s all very sentimental and exaggerated.

But not here. Hastily outlined people keep popping up, making a brief and unconvincing spectacle of themselves before getting killed. The story goes here and there and twists unexpectedly and incredibly. The use of an unreliable narrator (explained interestingly and in depth here) is particularly clumsy and implausible once the identity of the narrator is revealed. Many ideas remain largely undeveloped, sometimes frustratingly and sometimes mercifully so, but the overall quirkiness and whimsicality make it all rather entertaining so the points I’ve made aren’t necessarily negative. And I learned some 50 new words while reading this book, or at least looked them up and then quickly forgot their meanings again.

It’s the authors’ debut novel so that might explain why it lacks its’ own voice at times and leans a bit too heavily towards Neil Gaiman´s “Neverwhere” and Alan Moore’s “The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen”.
All in all, it started very promising and went gradually downhill all the way to the lame ending but was worth reading anyway. A review in this blog sums it up much in a way I would if I were able to write as well and think as analytically as I’d like to.

As it happens, I accidentally stumbled upon the film “The Illusionist”, mentioned on the above blog, the other day on TV, watched it and enjoyed it enormously. I hardly ever watch any movies so I didn’t know this even existed but now I’m very glad it does since it is a wonderful film and a beautiful story. Here’s some background information of it. Sometimes it’s worth the trouble, taking your chances in front of a television. Usually not, though.

RECENT BOTTLES OF CHOICE:
Me and The Loved One have lately come to share a bottle of sparkling wine on Thursday evenings to mark the official beginning of a weekend in our household and this weeks’ choice was Lindauer Brut from New Zealand, recommended by the editor of a Finnish champagne magazine as a good substitute if you’re not prepared to buy actual champagne. It lacked the yeasty flavour some cavas have, which is a positive point, but it also somehow lacked in depth, lenght, the amount of bubbles and the indefinable spirit, the all-round and overall presence. So the general impression was one positive point and numerous negative points. The taste was smooth and quite pleasant and the effects of the wine were the lightness of head and increased quickness of tongue I associate with quality sparkling wines. Yet it still somehow failed to reach any kind of spectacularity in my books and won’t be purchased again.

Alamos Malbec is a very average red wine from Argentina. Overpriced in relation to its’ quality and overstated when described as extra full-bodied. It couldn’t keep up with a peppery filet mignon and oven-baked potatoes and it wasn’t very shattering with extra-dark chocolate. It was ok when sipped without food but the oppressing heaviness and thickness of it doesn’t make it an ideal choice to be drunk on its’ own either. Disappointing and won’t be bought again. There are lots and lots of better Malbecs around, some of them a lot more inexpensive too.

Dashwood Sauvignon Blanc is a white wine from New Zealand. I bought it from Oddbins London, mostly because the bottle looked nice but also because I wanted to taste a Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc and there aren’t many available in Finland. It was delicious, very crisp, fruity in an unidentified, maybe peachy kind of way, and vaguely green-tasting (probably the “freshly cut grass” given in its’ description). Went very well as an aperitif and with smoked salmon casserole. I even tried a little glass of it on midnight, after an act two people who are in love sometimes engage themselves in and it was ok but not excellent, in a way the Italian Lamberti Pinot Grigio was on similar occasion a while ago. But it’s still a very good wine and if it were available in Finland I might buy it again. But it isn’t and so I won’t.

Carrington Vintage Brut is sparkling wine from Australia, consumed in a somewhat compromised situation on a Saturday evening after having returned from a lenghty dinner in a nice restaurant. The Loved One said it was very good and better-tasting than the above-mentioned Lindauer but I found it quite unremarkable and run-of-the-mill. Then again, I’d already had champagne, red wine and sweet Tokaji at the dinner, all of them very nice, so it was all a bit compromised and maybe I should give Carrington another go at another time because it was promising and, well, the bottle looked quite fancy too.