My Next Cake...

Beautiful idea.  Blueberries as the blue cross...

Sausage! Makkara!

A girl asked me what makkara was.  I told her it was a sausage.  She asked what meat was in a sausage.  I told her sausage-y goodness.  What animal?  A magic animal.  I think it's chicken and pork.

Horse Shoe Throw

I am not playing, but apparently Finns like throwing shoes just as much as Americans. Who'd have thunk?

Tesla!

I think this might be the highlight of the trip...

Vocab Practice

I recently learned the words for bouncer, rascal, and shut your pie hole.  I intend to use them all tonight.

Enough Booze?

Probably not for the Finns.

Finnish Festivities of Fun

This weekend I'll be at Juhannus festivities in Sonoma.  I'll be live blogging all the action.

Egg Man is Adorable

So, I think this blog is quickly becoming a log of my youtube viewing of Finnish comedy videos, but this makes me laugh and giggle.  Riku Nieminen is a very hilarious Finnish sketch actor and plays the egg man.  If you don't speak Finnish but think funny voices are adorable, please enjoy.  Otherwise please feel free to skip.

Me vs Sam Brannan Park Volleyball Court

So this Thursday, in preparation for the work picnic, I will be raking up cat poop, used drug needles, and crack pipes so our offices can play volleyball against each other.  My sister told me to get good gloves, which I will.

What Not To Do on a Date

Last Saturday, I went on a first date with a girl who, as it turns out, is my college roommate's cousin(ish) and whose father sold my father life insurance.  Small world!
So, we went to the zoo and saw some pretty awesome animals.  I enjoyed the tiger exhibit and the chimpanzees.  On the way to drop her off, which took like forty minutes, I started feeling really sick, like eating rotten meat sick, which made the good-bye scene really awkward.  I basically said ok good-bye and hugged.  No let's do this again or I had a fun time.  I was so sick I had to just get out of there as soon as possible.  So I slept the next day and a half (not straight) and called her back to apologize.  She's a great girl, but based on her not calling me back, I think it was a Chad-fail.  Oh well.  At least I got this picture of me and this tiger.

Alaaf!

This past February I went to a German party that is toned-down version of Mardi Gras.  I might some nice German people, ate delicious German food, and danced a little with some sexy Fräulein.  Overall a good time and something I'd love to do next year.
Here are some pictures from the event that you might enjoy.  The average age of the room was over 60, which is sad because the kids don't like the traditions, which are awesome.  So if you meet any Germans in February, give them a good Alaaf! for me.

It's a Bird. It's a Plane. It's Seppo Ilmarinen!

This past March I was in a reader's theater production of the Kalevala, Finland's national epic.  I played the blacksmith Seppo, who defeated Väinämöinen.  Don't I look fearsome?

It's not Dog Poop. It's Mämmi!

For Easter, I made this delicious Finnish treat.  It's made of rye, molasses, orange peel, water, and salt.  You'll like it best with lots of sugar and cream.

Best. Grafitti. Ever.

This was near my sister's place in Fres-yes.  But the man took it down.

Devil Dogs Come in Cute Packages

My parents' dog Ginger.  So cute, yet so vicious.

Pranks 2

So, I'm bored at church and have to free up room on my phone's memory.  Here's another prank that my office and my co-workers and I threw together.  To welcome our boss, we filled seventy two balloons and used streamers to "trash" his cubicle.  These are the results (below).  I won't be pulling any more pranks at work for a while, at least nothing physical.

Pranks

So I've had a few good prank ideas lately at work.  I believe I blogged about the first prank, but I thought I'd tell you about the second prank. Unfortunately this will give you insight into my twisted mind.
So, we have a weird thing about a planner from HQ at work.  We paste pictures of him in people's cubicles and such.  You know, a good bit of bizarre humor.  In any case, I thought, jeez, it would be funny to multiply that by five hundred and put that picture in miniature in my boss's cubicle.
So, after some discussion with my co-workers, we decided to take a picture of my boss and put miniature pictures of him in his cubicle.  After some team effort, we came up with the scene below.  I think it was worth the hours of yelling and threats of firing.

Love is in the (Nordic) Air

Below is a picture of all the Nordic Prime Ministers, with Finland's Jyrki Katainen in the middle.  From left, there are the prime ministers of Iceland, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, and Norway.

But look at Mr. Katainen in the middle.  He's looking at someone with a smile on his face.  I'm speaking about you, Danish Prime Minister Ms Thorning-Schmidt.
But it looks like Mr. Katainen has some fierce competition.  Here's Norway's Stoltenberg in his modeling days:

Norway knows what it wants in a Prime Minister!

And for you Finnish speakers out there, here's an awesome video:

Hidden Message?

Jilted lover, or fashionable woman who either hates trees or needs a convenient place to put her high heel.  What do you think?

Just Dance!

I like it when my Canadian electrofunk duos only use analog synthasizers.  Enjoy the following Chromeo video if you dare.

Also, I think you might freak out over the following roller skating video.  I get dizzy just thinking about it.

Run for Your Life!

One day when I was a missionary in Finland, I went from door to door in the beautiful town of Nastola, just to the east of Lahti where I was working.  You may not know this, but in Finland you often enter a house from the backyard.  Observe the picture below:

One day, I went up to this one house.  The people at the house were enjoying the nice summer weather and drinking a 40 of liquor.  The man there said: "What's up guys?" and we replied "The usual".  I'd never met these people before.
With him at the table were two women who faces looked as if they'd been drinking and smoking (in confined spaces) for the past forty years.  One of them springs up, makes herself "presentable" (complies with legal standards of decency) and slaps the other woman palm-down in the face, yelling "I've got dibs!"
At this point my companion and I realize "Oh man, these women are crazy and are going after us!"  We both started running for our lives as they chased after us, shouting: "Come here, boys, come here boys" while shaking themselves suggestively.
Fortunately, they were in such poor health that they never got closer than thirty feet to us.  And we probably could have fended them off.  But the sight of the women shaking at me suggestively will remain with me forever, burned into my memory.

Fremdschämen Part II

So, in an effort to ruin any future chance I have of becoming a politician or noted public figure, I thought I'd continue my series on embarrassing things that I have done/have happened to me.  This installment takes me to the halcyon days of middle school...
I went to middle school in Fresno, where the District, in its infinite wisdom, made every middle schooler wear uniforms.  So, one day in March I was in the library before school, reading a Mary Higgins Clark mystery (yes, even then I had the reading tastes of a 60-year-old housewife) and rocking the polo/shorts combo.  The chair was a somewhat worn, decrepit wicker chair that had wood poking my butt.
Time for class came, and I went to computers and algebra.  I put my backpack in the locker in preparation for PE.  I walked down the hall, thinking I owned the place.
Then I heard laughing behind me.
And more laughing.
Like 30 or so people laughing at me.
A dude came up to me and said: "Hey Chad, your pants have a massive hole in the butt!  They can see your tighty whiteys."  So I did the smartest thing I could think of and ran down the hall with my hands covering my butt.  Unsuccessfully, of course. I think it just served to draw more attention to me.
I ran into an empty classroom (a sub was there watching things) and grabbed a sweater to cover my massive hole.  I then had to go to the office to get a replacement pair of shorts for the day.
What did I learn? Nothing other than to avoid ratty old wicker chairs as they might just ruin my day.
Was this tragic?  Yes, it probably scarred me for life.

An EPIC Excursion

To test the facilities, EPIC went to the site of the event.  Here are some of the highlights of the venue, taken by Tim Hart.
Me riding dirty on the horse.
Me trying to skate
Overall I think this will be a successful event.  We're having up to 64 people there.

All Dressed Up with Nowhere to Go

So, I came dressed up special for work because I had an important meeting I'd been preparing for during the last month.  I even wore my favorite ugly sweater.  Unfortunately, the meeting got cancelled and I got dressed up for nothing.  Oh well.  My boss and I have a deal that for every time I wear a shirt and tie, I get to wear a wife beater and sweat pants to work.

Fremdschaemen

In the German language, never short of words for embarrasment and humiliation, there's a word that means the feeling of shame that you feel for someone else who's doing something embarrassing and stupid.  It's called fremdschaemen, and it is one of my new favorite words.  It describes Michael Scott from the Office so well.  So, to celebrate my learning a new word, I thought I'd start a new series on my blog about moments where I'm sure in their heart of hearts others have felt Fremdscham (noun version) for me.
Yup, I'm going to tell you some of my most embarrassing stories because, well, I would like to kill any chance I have of being a politician or respectable private citizen.  Don't worry, though, as I'll post some of my favorite Youtube videos at the end of each post in this series.
So, for the first story...
One day, when I was eight or nine, my four siblings and I were watching a rerun of Who's the Boss? on television.  At one point, sassy grandma Mona yelled at the family, who were harassing her: "You're giving me PMS!"

Sassy Grandma Mona

So, sexually enlightened and educated child as was, I thought that this was a good phrase to use.  I mean, a hilarious woman on television used it, so why can't I?  So, soon thereafter - 20 minutes? - my wonderful siblings pushed my buttons because, well, my buttons were/are so easy to push.  Getting mad, I yelled at them: "Stop it! You're giving me PMS."  The older siblings among them started busting up laughing.  I think one of my siblings actually told my parents, who also started laughing.  Boy was I mad.  But fortunately, my siblings didn't bring this up again.  Maybe they had compassion.  Or grew tired of the joke.  Or they felt such a profound feeling of Fremdscham that they repressed it from their memories.
I'm guessing it was the latter.
And now for a wonderful Youtube video.  Please forgive the small bits of Finnish at the beginning:

Stache Attack!!

This Monday morning I cam to work sporting my shiny $5 haircut.  I had let it grow out for a few months because, frankly, I was too lazy and busy to get one (it certainly wasn't about the money).  One of my co-workers said quite honestly too me: "You look much better with the clean cut look.  You're head's small, and it looked kinda funny with the long hair."
Alas, my small, narrow head has shut the door on another fashion possibility: long hair.  My dream of joining an 80s hair band was crushed in one fell swoop.  He was right, though, but it hurt nonetheless.
Let me tell you of another male fashion accessory that is now closed to me: mustaches.  Yup, I can't grow a mustache.  Observe this photo from my long hair days (prior to the mullet):

As you can see, the beard is full, but the mustache is quite lacking.  I guess I'll never aspire to this man's mustachioed greatness:

That's candidate Ben Wirtschafter, running for judge in Yuba County, America's meth capital (we gotta be #1 in something).   Just look at the volume, the color, and the pizzazz of that mustache!  I can't grow anything that awesome.  And think of what I could do with a sucker like that: meet women at the local church ice cream social, serve sarsaparilla at the local tavern, sell used cars, and shine at the local discotheque.  No, I suppose I'm condemned to the life of a shaven upper lip.
I mean, Trebek looks fine without the stache, right?

Not Again!

I can't believe I missed this awesome opportunity to participate in a festival of epic proportions!  I mean, Old Town Clovis's Big Hat Days is the highlight of any Fresnan's social calendar.  Oh well, I guess there's always the asparagus festival later this month in Stockton.

Mobile Protest UPLOAD

A protest here in Sac.

Methville Blues

So the rest of the town may be a meth den, but this view is nice.

Some Questions

Some questions have come to mind lately as I've gone throughout my days planning highways.  Here are some of the most important ones:

1.  Since my grandfather was a professional jockey, does that give me horse-whispering powers?  I think this would be genetic, right?
2.  I know two people who are half-gypsy.  If they got together at the same time and cursed someone, would it be like being cursed by one gypsy?  If so, I think I have some uses for my connections.
3.  Is it really worth it to vote this November? I already know California's going for Obama and there ain't nothing I can do about it.
4.  Could I open up my own herbal medicine shop with products grown in my own garden?  I think there are a lot of suckers out there who would pay $15/lbs for organic catnip (for recreational or medicinal use).
5.  Is it weird that I want to go to Kansas this October to visit my brother see Oztoberfest (a festival dedicated to the Wizard of Oz) and the last remaining munchkins from the movie?  It's only less than a half hour from my brother's place...

Quote Unquote

An interesting article on Mormon history is found here, and I encourage you to read it.

From my great-great-great grandfather's history about having a family member arrested, imprisoned, and released for polygamy in the 1800s:
"May 18^th 1888 I was arrested at Ogden on the charge of Cohabitation with my wife.  The grand jury at Provo brough in an inditment against me Sept. 22^nd and on Oct. 9^th I pled Not Guilty but the questions put to the witnesses and the abuse they were put to induced me to change my plea to one of guilty, which I did on the 19^th of October, and I received my sentence on the 27^th to go to the Utah State Penetentiary for 75 days and pay the cost of the court which was $43.80.  I served out my term in the pen and my experience there was not all unpleasant, for I formed many aquaintences and renewed old friendship with others, for there was about150 of our breathern there, and Brother G.Q. Cannon amongst the rest, and he was so good to me, God bless him.  I shall never forget his many Acts of Kindness both to me and to others, I left the pen. On the 9 January 1889 and my family and Friends was indeed pleased to see me home again.  The Saints of Santaquin Ward, made two feast to welcome me home, and the Sunday School Children and teachers Came to the Depot with Songs to meet me, and even Strangers on the train wept, as they felt the Spirit of welcome given me by the children, more love and respect could not be shown to me than was Manifested by all the people of the town, and in the midst of all the joy and gladness..."


Unfortunately, this type of harassment is not limited to the 1800s.  My brother, who has a PhD in engineering from the #3 school in the US, was at a college for a job interview to be a professor there.  The professors asked all sorts of questions, but most of the time they focused on minutiae of Mormon doctrine.  Apparently, they saw the religion classes at BYU and started asking questions about it, most of which were biting and sarcastic.  Why they were dumb enough to do that (it was only a second-tier school with a mediocre reputation), is beyond me because it is plainly illegal to ask about one's religion in a job interview.


I really don't care about the presidential race and want to hear no more about it, but I hope that Romney's chances aren't hurt by his religion.  The Canadians, our friendly neighbors to the north, are confused by why it's an issue.  So, why is it an issue?

Maybe I Should Clean My Desk

What do you think?

Trail by Jury Selection

A couple weeks ago I was privileged to serve Sacramento County as a juror.  Not a rural juror, but a regular juror (insert 30 Rock comment here).  After an hour or so in a waiting room, I was selected to be one of the 30 jurors cattle-called into the court room.  What followed was 6 hours of waiting to see if I'd be on the jury of an attempted murder case.  It was nail-biting anxiety.

I tried thinking of ways to avoid jury duty.  Most of them involved saying or doing things that border on the ridiculous or the offensive: phrenology ("He had the temple and eyebrow slope of a killer, he did!"), comments about racial hygiene ("You know, as I was reading in My Struggle..."), twitching or shouting things uncontrollably, possibly in German or Finnish, or dressing up as a celebrity - I was thinking of (bondage) Princess Leia or David Bowie (anatomically correct from the Labyrinth movie).  In the end, after considering that my comments would be under oath and in public records, and after an unfortunate experience with a home waxing kit and prosthetics, I decided to go radical liberal and talk about Scandinavian prison sentences should they ask.  For example, you can't be charged with a crime until age 15 and they really won't throw you in prison until your early 20s.  Or that a life sentence is something around 12 years.  I figured that would get a prosecutor to "thank and excuse" me.

When it was all said and done, and I didn't get called to be on the jury, I thought it was an interesting experience.  I don't want to do it ever again, even if it were a B list celebrity as the defendant.  But now I can say I've done my civic duty and share the pain with others who get called up.  And write an awesome blog post, too.

If you don't talk to your Finnish child about crime, it doesn't really matter because they won't be criminally responsible until age 15.  Have fun, kids!

Of Scared Chads and Shivs

People often ask me what the key to surviving a European hostel is. Without hesitation, I tell them it is knowing how to make a good shiv. Am I crazy? Maybe. But two experiences this past summer confirm the need.

In late August, I was returning to Helsinki from a fun time in Berlin. I was a young, sexy traveler who just needed some sleep. So I checked into my hostel and started to fall asleep (if my noisy roommates would let me) in the dorm room with 12 others. I was luckily on the bottom bunk. At about 3:00 am this guy, most likely drunk (I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt) sits next to my bed and says, "You're in my bed." To which I responded: "No, I'm not." He then starts putting his arm next to my body and then starts to sit in bed with me, thinking that if he creeped me out I'd leave, so I had to shove him out of bed. Fortunately he was drunk and didn't put up much of a fight. A shiv would have been handy in case of a fight.

A few days later in Tampere, Finland, I was in a YMCA hostel and found that my roommate for the night was a very Chestery-looking 60+ man in tight boxers and a big beer belly hanging out. Super creepy, in other words. If there ever were a time when I thought I was going to be violated, it was this. He was polite enough to turn off his ipad at 11:30 pm, but just to be careful, I slept with my keys in hands so I could have a shiv to defend myself.

Now, you may think, "Chad, you're probably overreacting and should check yourself before you wreck yourself." You're probably right - going stabba-stabba on someone is bad. But when you're a little man with very little self-defense capabilities (my preferred fighting style is the "windmill" move - i.e., swinging my arms in a wild fashion), you've gotta use all tools at your disposal, even if it resorts to prison methods.

But as my old boss used to say: "She's so good with a shiv you'll hardly feel a thing."

Finnish Pop Sensation Jenni Vartiainen. A shiv might help her untie those knots.