Kaupunki

I'm sorry, but any language that calls a city "kaupunki" has my vote.

Yeah.

Vote Helsinki 2017.

Scandisff panel worth listening to...

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Graham

A couple of good obituaries for a much-beloved teacher for CW '07:

UK and I09. 

As usual, other people say it well so I will keep quiet.  Tomorrow is 9/11.  As Graham said in the journal entry, life puts things in perspective, dunnit.  I learned something from that man, though.

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Night songs

We got free tickets to see Rosanne Cash last night.  She played at the  staid St. Kate's auditorium with a mellow but skilled band and really sounded good.  She played her new album in full and some old hits and country standards.

For some reason, a song about her family's home in the sunken land of Arkansas made me think about Minnesota poet James Wright.  His work is very rich and dark, so I guess that makes sense.  The poem I was thinking of is about a condemned man at his grave, but this is a good one too:  Yo, Minneapolis. (Not really the title.)

I'm reading Christopher Bram's biography of (male) gay writers of the 40s through 90s (approx.), Eminent Outlaws, and the section on Frank O'Hara reminded me of Wright too.  I had never seen the paintings of Wynn Chamberlain until I googled them upon reading about his portraits of O'Hara.  Wow:  This may disappear. This page has his The Barricade and a picture of Johnny Cash's childhood home, a little bit of synchronicity, as well as Jacob Lawrence and a lot of other amazing stuff: Crucified Land.

Bram's book is truly fascinating, a mishmash of biographies of writers like James Baldwin, Gore Vidal, Truman Capote, and Tennessee Williams for the 60s, and lots of backroom gossip and historic commentary such as a discussion of what led to Boys In the Band and what effect it had on media homophobia and on the atmosphere for gay literature.  The rise of gay publishers, magazines, and bookstores comes in the 70s, and Bram notes things like the key role of those back wall rack sales in propping up gay bookstores.  The demise of those bookstores is due to more than just online book sales; the internet moved the cruising and page viewing online too...

I'm only in the mid-70s right now, but expect it will continue to be interesting...  The footnotes are rich, too, with links to gems like James Baldwin videos on YouTube.  The idea that i can go online and view his debate with William F. Buckley or his talks on Malcolm X instead of just reading about them in books from dusty lower shelves in old bookstores still blows me away...

I also just finished Pissing In a River by Lorrie Sprecher (The Feminist Press, 2014).  It's an awesome exploration of classic punk music, direct action politics with a 90s British feminist edge, OCD, and the aftermath of rape in lesbian relationships and friendships/ communities.  She put the soundtrack in her head into mine, in a good way, which really enhanced the story.  There are a lot of words spent on lusting after guitars and classic guitar sounds, but I'm totally a rapt audience for that.  Last night, it was making me drool over the lead guy's oh so country Telecaster...  Pissing In a River kicks some a$$...

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Admitted

This made me laugh:  Esp. the comments. 

I did not post.  Wiscon went bust.  The world went boom.  I went traveling and turned slightly pink in the sun.  Saw sea turtles and neon fish and a little octopus up close.  Now I'm home and fall is closing in.

I read some good stuff.  Will have to write about it some time. Just finished a Swedish police procedural that was only ok.  Currently devouring Lorrie Sprecher's new novel after a looong time, Pissing In a River.  Yes, punk dykes and activism.  It's good.  More later...

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Flurry, and then a lull

Things have been a little crazy, in fits and starts, thanks to new dog and swollen red eyes in old dog. 

New dog solved her problem of not being able to separate from old dog by destroying a wire kennel.  Old dog is doing better with meds, and out running two miles as I speak.

I got drenched yesterday on my way to work, with an umbrella.  The pic does not convey the size and strength of the pillar of water coming off the roof of the library 50+ feet up.  Storms are headed in, but right now Teenage Kicks is on The Current and zucchini chocolate cake is demanding my attention while I cruise through Helsini White by James Thompson.

A lite noir is welcome after finishing Patti Smith's book about her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe, Just Kids.  I've been putting that off because it looked fluffy, but it was actually quite engrossing and had a lot of heft in terms of talking about artistic process and how different people work and what support they need and don't need. 

The anecdotes about various New York art and music scenesters and the era are not hoary but unique to Patti's birdseye view of the nexus between visual arts, poetry, and music in the 70s and early 80s. 

I learned a lot about other sides of Mapplethorpe I did not get from the big moment his work had in the early 90s, and actually gained more appreciation of his contributions and the thought he put into every aspect of his work including framing.  I took away a somewhat reductionist view of his work from the rw flap in Cincinatti andthe in-depth criticism of Kobena Mercer and others.  Now I want to go back and view his body of work with this memoir and that body of criticism both in mind...

Next I have to dig into Fire In the Belly, the David Wojnarowicz bio by Cynthia Carr.  I started it but it's too heavy to carry to and from work, and library books came available and had to be read.  The Smith memoir is a good wedge into the world Wojnarowicz lived in and his work.  I'm still working around a storyline set on the fringes of that whole scene, trying to soak up more of the fire and despair of the era to cut through today's filmy layer of... not sure what, but it obscures my vision of the past a little too much right now to really get the piece in full fighting trim.

An interesting take on what has changed in the world of rwc censorship pushes: from The Economist, of all places.  NYT with similar sentiments.  Oh the times (and Times) they change, tho notsomuch.

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Pride, or something

I had to stay home to do new dog things, and clean up after a shy bladder accident.  But I'm kinda over Pride this year anyway. 

Target is selling t-shirts with big rainbows.  Straight models preview Ragstock's Pridewear. Straight people predominate at lesbian music shows and clubs, and push us aside as they move up for a good view.  They write, and sell, more lgbtaiyeah characters than the hardcore queers do.  It's their pride at being so tolerant.  Our party got taken over by Coors fifteen years ago, anyway, when people were dying in the streets and they were reaping the benefits of homophobic sales practices.  I wax and wane each year between cynical and excited.  Yeah, I'm a sour old puss.

This year, I'll stay home, drink local brands, and read our herstory, Jeanna Cordova's rocking bio.  It did not rain for Pride, tho, despite stormy weather warnings.  God hates fags, does he?

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Popping back up

Betty

We had serious flooding.  More storms are supposedly headed this way, but there has been a little dry time. I have a new dog panting in the chair after running around my house hyperventilating for an hour and a half.  She is very skittish after being rescued from a hoarding situation.  I am reading a Finnish mystery that is so-so.

She calmed down and enjoyed walking in the quiet early morning and then with a dog friend, thankfully.  Resting quietly on the mat after many many treats.

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More than you ever wanted to know

About Finnish. Yes, that many cases.

Wiscon was, as they say here, interesting.  I'm gonna be the butch and keep my own counsel.for now. Have to think a little harder.  The Helsinki in 2017 party rocked, tho, and I hope my contribution led to one more person reading a good Finnish book.  And maybe fire.

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Yargle bargle

What happens if I commit to buying some books, feeling so self-satisfied about supporting local bookstore Uncle Hugo's?  Of course.  I must then stumble on cache upon cache of reviews of Books I Must Read Right Now. 

A  bio of Essex Hemphill and Michael Callen by Martin Duberman. Suddenly a million decent-sounding lesbian novels and poetry books.  A reprint of Cheryl Clarke.  A new Achy Obejas book, and it's poetry.   A biography of a founder of the Lesbian Avengers. Oh, man... THIS.  A bio of Donna Minkowitz that references Tolkein.  A  bio of Valerie Solanas that takes her seriously! Bio, bio, bio.  A new novel by Michael Nava!!  A ton of stuff I can't begin to link to or my wrist will fall off as it has been threatening to do... I feel like I made this post before, and in fact I did, about sff.

What is a butch to do but spend more time at work, racking up overtime, leaving less time to actually read these books.  Isn't it enough that I just started Hild, which weighs more than my cat, with five other books and a Finnish language CD set also in process?  Does it pay to fervently wish for a renaissance of lgbtaiqyaya... quiltbasgsoundstoomuchlikecarpetbaggerwhichwasgoodbutbadtooandanywayit'snotknownoutsidesffniches lit'r'ture? Of course not.  We can't actually afford to need new books, much as we crave them.  But nothing will stop us from devouring them, as soon as possible, nonetheless.  Nonesuch.  Nevermore.  Quack.  Quack.  Duck, Duck... Gray Duck!  Waaaaaaahhhh!!!!

Yes.  It is definitely spring.  At least there are (for now) free thrills, like Autostraddle... And Wiscon, which May showers usually bring.

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Not Before Sunset

A review of Troll: A Love Story (American title)/Not Before Sunset (British title, and apparently more literal translation) linked to this song with English subtitles , Päivänsäde ja Menninkäinen, sung by Tapio Rautavaara.  Something like the sunlight fairy and the goblin.  Here it is with  Finnish subtitles, so you can sing along.  This adds another layer to the book, as I prepare to reread.  The wordplay in the book is fantastic, even in translation, and the play on "fairy," natch. 

Really nice voice.  Sadly, seeing any video on youtube makes me want to hear "What Does The Fox Sing?". My niece has warped my brain forever.

I just finished Antti Tuomainen's The Healer, which was an interesting mix of detective thriller and realistic apocalyptic SF.  The novel reads as very poetic in the translation by Lola Rodgers, and apparently in the original Finnish, appropriately enough for the poet protagonist.  But it really moves along too.  Tapani is searching for his wife, a journalist who was investigating a serial murderer/environmental activist, who turns out to have ties to almost everyone Tapani turns to in his search.  I want to say more, but later, it's long after sunset and this goblin must crawl into the cave.

I'm working my way through the Lethe Press Wilde Stories anthologies, too, after seeing their pretty covers on the library shelf next to a book I was looking for.  So far some really good stories, even the Lovecraftian one.  (As far as I can tell, Lovecraftian.  Not my thing, and not always pulled off very well.  But with a light touch, yeah.)  Stories I had not read yet by Richard Bowes and Christopher Barzak, hard to resist. More later on those books as well...

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