punk doll

Sure’s cool when there is enough hair on the bopping mop to make a mohawk! Say, is that the new member of the New York Dolls?

“Coz I’m a punkrocker, yes I am!”

o summer, where did you go

You blink, and the leaves are yellow. But you can always delve and dive inside your brain to find the sunshine again. Yes, ooh there, that’s a good spot…

The beginning of my vacation was the opposite of what I had been expecting; a combination of a wet slap in my face and a deep stab in my back – but begone, it went all beautiful from there.
My little family of three had the loveliest-dovliest time in the glittering archipelago. The very best friends have come and gone, we’ve travelled, we’ve partied, we’ve picked blueberries in the forest underneath the seagulls that go ka-kaa, ka-kaa. We’ve smoked a lot of fish, we’ve sweated in the sauna, we’ve been swimming and surfing and disappearing along the twisty roads to the thrum of the Ducati twin and the rush of the wind. Oh, so long sweet summer, sorely missed already in September.

September schmeptember. Let’s party like it’s June and July. Here’s Scarlett. She might be growing as fast as Jimmy The Giant, and singing as loud as Maria Callas, and crawling at the speed of Usain Bolt, but she still fits into a tiny tub of water.

And the same from a bird’s – or dad’s – perspective. Ho ho hoo. I must smile. Because I love my little troll.

Verily, verily, verily. So long sweet summer, sorely missed already in September.

on duck and mouse

There are always two – not three or more – sorts of people: dog and cat people, Elvis and Beatles people… and Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse people.

I’m Donald Duck people.

Go to Disneyland in the States, and you will notice that Donald is just another character among the others, while Mickey towers above the rest. USA is Mickey Mouse country, Finland is all Donald Duck.
Obviously, the Americans love a winner; the mouse is irritatingly cheery, always optimistic, and superclever. He stands for pioneering spirits, small but fearless, quick on his feet, ever-adapting as detective, journalist, explorer, adventurer.
Donald, on the other hand, well, he’s forever on the brink of success, but eternally eluded. Just when he’s about to win big and get rich quick, he blows it. The duck is plagued by bad luck – no one ever bit the dust like Donald. That’s why we like him in Finland, that’s why I’m the defender of the luckless one. He is just like me and you – and mostly like me.

See, Mickey gets into mysteries straight away, but always comes out on top. The end is always happy. Mickey is never down and depressed. Hey, Mickey does not know life. As a hero, he’s one-dimensional, thin.
Donald, he’s full of attitude, a brilliant braggart, with the biggest of egos. That is also why Disney must bring him down to the ground. He has to be humiliated, because he is a loser and his personality is flawed. What most Americans don’t understand is that those flaws are the reason as to why he continues to fascinate me in glorious fashion. Compared to Mickey, Donald is real as rye bread. In my book, he wins when he loses.

Americans automatically distance themselves from losers. They also don’t come to terms with the fact that Huey, Dewey and Louie can be more resourceful than an adult authority.

And don’t you just hate the way Mickey steamrolls over Goofy with his superior intellect? Come on – Goofy exists only to confirm – and to show off – how bloody smart that little mouse is.
Besides, Mickey is incredibly violent. I bet he has brass knuckles underneath his gloves, because he can beat the shit out of much larger guys. In the war against terrorism, Mickey is the role model. Mickey is Obama. They are both black, and won’t back down.
Donald, well, he shouts and screams, but his shotgun will always explode in his face. After which he will fall off a steep cliff. Full body cast in the last scene.

I love Donald. We both go through life. I mean, through. We don’t glide on top of the surface of it like the mouse. To have something to say, you need to fall off a cliff once in awhile. You gotta curse and brag and be full of it. Without salt, life is a straitjacket.

Since 1980, Donald has visited me every week. He’s the link to the little boy in me, without which the world would be a considerably less memorable place. Here’s to you, Mr Duck. Your most loyal student still considers it an honor and privilege to follow your school of bad behaviour.

I owe you all, Walt.

I hope my daughter Scarlett will see the same magic I’ve always seen. She is only 6 months now, but the comics already appear in the mailbox in her own fair name…


Från mjölkbutiken, klockan fem
ett litet mumintroll gick hem.
En kanna full med mjölk han bar
och vägen lång och kuslig var
och vinden suckade och ven
i skogens alla mörka trän –
det var ej långt från skymingen.

The legend of Tove Jansson, in transfer. She loves it.

gone with the wind II

When Hollywood starts screening for lovely actors to star in the role of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind II, the belle below will be a shoo-in. The rest of you ladies might as well pack it up and go home.

She has the charm. I don’t know how she does it, but when she turns it on, she causes global warming.

She has the fire. Should you not please her exactly as she demands, she will make sure you suffer like the little fool you are.

She has the looks. From the eyes of this beholder, she’s practically identical to Vivien Leigh. Her eyes are bottomless, and just look at the shape of that mouth!

She is Scarlett.

baby in bathtub

Scarlett loves taking a bath. When she was small… I mean, smaller than 3 months, small as in 3 weeks, she used to close her eyes, stay completely still, and just let the warm water embrace her. A baby may not have many memories at that age, but the warm water no doubt took her back.

Now, it is another story alltogether. She rolls and splashes and tries to taste the water. It is all you can do to keep the little riot afloat. Soon, the bathtub will be the driest place in the house, I imagine.

One thing has not changed since the beginning, though. It is the way she will knurl her tiny toes around your finger like she was a little monkey trying to climb up a tree. Or out of a pink bathtub.

I drive a lot these days, from one business negotiation to another. But somehow, I can’t even feel the miles. Do you know why? I think about those tiny toes trying to get a hold of my fingers… and the miles just turn into smiles.