Beware, I'm going theatrical again

We started rehearsing our spring production yesterday, Jean Genet's Maids (I am Solange). The play is based on a true story - two pious little maids went berserk in France in the 1930s, and got rid of their employers in a fairly graphic manner. Given my habit of in-character face-pulling actions when reading/going over my lines in public, I hate to think what this'll make me look like. Glad I won't have to sit next to me on the bus this Spring. (If you do follow that link, be warned, it's really rather harrowing.)

Afterwards saw Ville Valo in the pub. I nearly asked him for his autograph (for my son, I hasten to add - I know about his handshake, remember!) but then bottled out. An endearing side to Finland is how our big celebs and politicians actually drink & shop with us plebs. Of the four presidents we've had in my lifetime (one was in forever, hence so few) I have seen three amongst his/her subjects, pretty much casually minding their own business. I once saw the current pres Halonen shopping at my local grocery shop, with one female minder only. Apparently Halonen also goes to the same belly-dance lessons as my friend Arabella.

More shame tolerance, closely followed by lick et stick

One of my first blog entries was on the topic of shame tolerance. A fine topic, worth returning to from time to time:

My cousin (of the pink-flamingo fame) gave me a pipo for my birthday present. A pipo, if you are not familiar with this phenomenon, is a certain type of knitted or crocheted hat, which the youth of today mistakenly think cool (as championed by Finland's very own Ville Valo, of whom more later) but which people my age would not be seen dead in, at least not when we were young. It was one of those items of clothing your mum would force you to wear when the temperatures dropped to -20 C, which, incidentally, makes your ears fall off unless you cover them. We would remove our pipos the latest when we got to the front door. Anyway...

My cousin gave me a pipo. The attached card said it was for "ensuring the continuation of your everlasting teens". I wear it. It's gone really, really cold. In a matter of days, we have gone from a glorious Indian summer to balls-off-a-brass-monkey weather. I wear my pipo, but make no mistake. Some young people may think a pipo makes them look like rock stars. I know it makes me look like a bag lady. Shame tolerance is the word of the day, dear hearts. At least I get to keep my ears.

Tonight, I intend to lick & stick. This means putting our Winter's Tale flyers & publicity letters in envelopes, licking them shut & sticking stamps on them. (Yes, I am sneakily using my blog as a publicity forum, too.) After that, I intend to watch telly and knit. Licking, sticking, telly & knitting. Doesn't that illustrate my thoroughly rock'n'roll lifestyle?

(Oh, and about Ville Valo. If anyone out there thinks he's hot, or cute, or whatever - don't bother. I was introduced to him a few years ago at a memorial gig for a band whose (long since dead) singer used to be my teenyears boyfriend. Ville has a limp, damp handshake. Ew.)