Halloween Special (Always Wanted to Do One)

I have always wanted to run around the streets in a cardboard-meets-tinfoil robot suit with a raygun. Why haven't I fulfilled this perfectly sensible childhood dream then? Simple. Halloween does not exist in Finland. Fortunately, it does in the United States of America, and more specifically, in Madison, WI. "Madtown" is the home of the annual meeting of all kinds of weirdos, which is, quite aptly, called Freakfest. Freakfest turns a central street in Madison into an event of bands, bars, restaurants and, of course, mindblowing costumes.

 People going bonkers listening to crappy pop-punk by All Time Low.

Stores, especially the ones dedicated to selling party decorations, are filled from floor to roof with Halloween costumes and accessories. Curiously enough, men get covered up in gorilla costumes while women only get a pair of bunny ears and very little else. I'll let everyone draw their own conclusion on that, and instead focus on drawing something on me.

I did not want to buy a costume because I am a creative, artistic and talented individual, who naturally create their own - and, uhm, because I had a massive cardboard box lying around in the corner.

Quite a beauty.

To fulfil my childhood dream of creating my own indestructible robot armour I grabbed a pair of scissors, tape, and roll of tinfoil and got to business (thanks people for letting me "borrow" all this stuff). The process wasn't all that easy and apparently you'd better be an engineer of some sort to create a functional and comfortable creation out of cardboard. Well, I decided to go awkward and unconfortable (imagine me sitting in a shuttle from the hotel to downtown. Or simply imagine me sitting anywhere in a cardboard box).

Not enough shine. Yet.

The process took me hours and hours and the effort of squeezing myself into a cardboard box for dozens of times. After all my sweating in and outside of the box, I was finally ready for the showdown. Winning a dance battle, being slapped on the rear flap and kicked in the stomach made my efforts completely worth it!

"Take me to your leader!"

Sadly, after a night of bumping into people and all kinds of weird creatures it came time say goodbye to my life with robotic tunnel vision.

RIP. Recharge for next year. We had good times.

Good times.

Commercialism vs. Manure

Two places. Both call themselves farms, but are completely different in character.

The first farm I visited on our happy-happy farm day last Saturday was called Elegant Farmer - A Wonderful Shopping Experience™. I could stop writing here and you'd still get an idea of what I'm talking about. But, I'm too tempted to go on.

Do I even need to what this is. Probably not.

On the Elegant Farmer - A Wonderful Shopping Experience™ -farm you could get hayride pulled by a tracktor after queuing for half an hour (3 bucks), pick your own apples and pumpkins ($ bucks), eat "Jumbo Fresh Fruit Muffins, Fruit Crisps & Pies, Fresh Fruit Breads and Old Fashioned Jumbo Cookies to deli specials including CiderBaked Ham®, Pulled Pork, Gourmet Popcorn, Blue Ribbon Cheeses and Fruity Applesauces" ($$$ bucks), or even buy the haystack you're sitting on for 6 bucks. Basically, everything and anything is for sale. So, instead of manure, I couldn't help to smell raw commercialism.

The place looked more like festival grounds than a farm with a parking lot filled with dozens and dozens of cars and long queues of people waiting to get tickets or food. Only Kanye West and U2 were missing to complete the festival feeling, since they even had the blue bathroom booths. 

Welcome to the Glastonbu... the farm.

The other farm we visited was a quiet family farm with a couple of horses and nothing for sale. We were offered fresh outdoor-oven-baked pizza (free), pumpkin carving (free), stories (free), and a variety of delicious desserts (free). The people were nice and I smelled honest manure instead of commercialism.

Pumpkin carving was so bloody fun. (Pun intended)

Some might say that it is completely unfair to compare these two farms, but I just did it, didn't I. If they both call themselves farms I might as well compare them even if they have nothing in common. Not even the smell.

PS. I heard that the paper-bag-baked apple pie is pretty good at the Elegant Farmer - A Wonderful Shopping Experience™ but I didn't try it so I wouldn't know.

My pumpkin chillin' and enjoyin' lyfe.

(source: http://www.elegantfarmer.com/about.html)

American Hospitality

I'd heard about Southern hospitality but since I wasn't headed to the South I didn't know what to expect. Apparantly, massive burgers, cold beer and honest jokes.

 Around-There-Somewhere-If-You-Look-at-the-Map-Close-Enough, Oregon.


The first time I went to an American family in Around-There-Somewhere, OR, I made a mistake. After shaking hands, I mentioned that I was starving. You should never say that to an American family, not that they'll get angry or anything, but since they will stuff you with burgers with half-a-pound patties and countless fries (yummmmm, burgers). After my body survived from the shock I noticed that I was already sitting on the couch, watching (American) football, drinking beer and listening to stories. And there were plenty. It took no time for the people to feel like good friends or relatives that I just hadn't met in a long time. They didn't feel like strangers at all even though the stories and jokes were a bit weird - in a good way. "...and then she was dancing on the table. In the gradution party. And she's fifty and you could see her..." I have probably never felt so much at home after such a short time.

Once in a lifetime, I though. Not going to happen again.

Wrong.

Last weekend it happened again. I went to an American friend's parents' house. Burgers, beer and ice-breaking stories in the darkening evening accompanied by a firepit, s'mores (cracker + chocolate + toasted marshmallow) and laughter. It really seems that Americans really are friendly, really. Maybe I was wrong but atleast I did not whine about being hungry this time.

Chilling outside in the warm October night. (Which part of that sentence didn't make any sense?)

Living

It's weird I didn't mention this before, but I actually have to live somewhere during my semester. Not just somewhere - somewhere exotic. Dorms.

Wells East Hall, my home for the semester.

This semester is probably my once-in-a-life-time-experience of living in dorms since back home sharing an apartment with someone is considered horrible, let alone a room. Way to get isolated. Here, isolation is the least of my problems. I share my tiny room with a roommate. I Share the bathroom and showers with dozens of other people. I share the kitchen with the whole tower building.

 Welcome to Wells East. This is not a prison.

Luckily, I came prepared. I've seen the movies and read College Humor enough to know what to expect - and I haven't been disappointed. Girls puking out whatever-the-American-crap-double-cheese-burger-with-bacon-and-fries that they've eaten on the right. Bunch of guys who just made it out of their parents' house, blasting some bullshit music, playing NFL on Playstation and shouting "Dude, dude, watch this dudebrodude!" on the left. At 2 a.m.. And this is actually what I hear inside my room. Outside, it's a different story.

This is my refuge in all the madness that is called "college lyfe lol":

You can pretty much see all my earthly possession in this picture.

It will be weird not to hear the constantly thumbing bass drum when I go to bed back home.