Tilaa käytettiin hienosti hyväksi – yläkerran huoneessa ei ollut ketään, vain lappu ohjaamassa alakertaan. Kapeiden kierreportaiden jälkeen mitään opasteita ei sitten ollutkaan. Alakerran käytävä oli hämärä, ja edestäpäin kantautui epämääräisen meditatiivista ääntelyä. Väistämättömät Liisa Ihmemaassa -vertaukset tulivat mieleen, olo oli vähän kuin olisin salaa hiipinyt jonkun piilopaikkaan. Itse installaatiohuone oli pimeä muutamaa kynttilää lukuunottamatta, ja esiintyjät istuivat lattialla kynttilöiden valopiirissä. Haparoin pilkkopimeässä istumaan lattialle, ja muutaman minuutin kuluttua silmät tottuivat pimeään niin täysin, että aikaisempi sokeus tuntui oudolta. Islajan musiikkihan on enemmänkin ambient noisea kuin biisipohjaista folk-fiilistelyä, vaikka hänet ilmeisesti usein freak folk -ilmiöön yhdistetäänkin. Minähän nyt siis olen Beatlesilla kasvatettu konservatiivi, joten en ikipäivänä ostaisi Isaljan nauhoitteita kotiin, mutta itse keikka oli mielenkiintoinen. Puolen tunnin setin aikana ei ollut kertaakaan tylsää, vaikka Islajakin näytti jossain vaiheessa hieman hämmentyvän, kun ei ollut varma, kuinka pitkään piti soittaa. (“That song doesn’t usually last three hours, but we got into a serious thing and then I forgot how it ended“) Tunnelma tietysti vaikutti paljon, Tavastian lavalla en välttämättä jaksaisi katsella kovin pitkään, kun nainen kilistelee kynttilänjalkaa kynsillään ja siirtelee metallipurkkia paikasta toiseen. Välivuoden betonilattialla kuitenkin sarkasmi karisi. Jälkeenpäin olo oli virkistynyt. Ääni-installaatio vai keikka? Hmm.

I have gotten more into last.fm lately, and am finding it vastly more useful than my former favourite, Pandora.com. Last.fm just has more music it seems, and the recommendations are much more apt (Ace of Base in my “Goldfrapp Radio”, Pandora.com, really?). So last.fm recently introduced me to a young Canadian artist who calls himself Final Fantasy (wikipedia) to the unending confusion of my friends. Which, by the way, means mega geek points for said friends so it’s all good. I downloaded Final Fantasy’s first album, Has a Good Home, from emusic.com (another music site I’m starting to have some issues with), and listened to it semi-compulsively for a few days. It’s a refreshing change, one man, Owen Pallett with a violin backed up with samplers and the occasional brass section, concocting melodies that are eerie and beautiful, and fitting in perfectly with the freak folk trend spearheaded by Joanna Newsom, CocoRosie, and also artists not on my iPod. But somehow I couldn’t get 100% behind Final Fantasy. It was like listening to a really talented high school kid – there’s lots of promise, but some aspect is missing.

Nevertheless, when last.fm told me Final Fantasy was coming to Helsinki, I had to go. And the feeling I was left with was similar to the album. Owen Pallett’s musicianship was better (there are a few iffy violin bits on Has a Good Home), and he must take serious balls of a very heavy metal to get up on stage all on your own again and again. Pallett did weel, even though he is not the showman of the century. He did some interesting covers, including “Dream Lover” which he was haggled into performing, and played with a little reluctance. But again it felt like there was something missing, perhaps an emotional connection? Final Fantasy mocks the very art folk music scene it springs out of (Pallett used to play with Arcade Fire), to the extent that the second album, a concept piece rife with Prokofievian neo-classical polyrhythmics and string sections, is called He Poos Clouds, and the lyrics feature topics like erectile dysfunction caused by excessive size of the genitalia. This mockery doesn’t really register as sarcasm for me, rather it sounds like Pallet is mocking not only the music industry, but also his listeners. He is a talented composer, and can create haunting songs so impressive that I find myself reluctantly disregarding the ever-present poop joke.

Speculations on the attitude of the artist aside, another aspect of the performance that made it less than fantastic for me was an inevitable feature of Pallet’s style.  As he is alone on stage with just his violin and a sampler, but makes songs with harmonics and orchestrations, every song by necessity begins slowly and tentatively. First he taps a beat, records it into a loop, plays  some  harmonics on top of the rhythm, then a counterpoint, and finally, the melody. All songs start with delicate, fragile strands that slowly build up into a full-fledged piece. Intriguing, absolutely, but after an hour, I was craving for one song to just start, without this disturbingly fragile preamble and confusion of “what is this?” “where is he going?” and “shit, he missed a beat there, he’ll have to start over!”.

The gig was entertaining. I got to mingle with the painfully trendy, and it was interesting to see what stage mannerisms a violinist can assume in a world overrun with guitars. Creating a distant screaming sound by shouting into the violin’s mike instead of the mike on the stand was a cool idea, but when Pallett shoved his bow down the back of his t-shirt to keep it handy while he got to a pizzicato bit, I was a little shocked at this cavalier handling of an instrument. Which, of course, only goes to show I have no  rock’n'roll in my soul. Also, I really can’t help but like an artist who will dress up as a sailor for his promo shoot and reference Zelda in his lyrics.

Meanwhile, this is a handly tool that I’ve been using for a couple of days now to decrease productivity to the absolute bearable minimum.

Me:
I’m so sorry I did that thing you don’t like
God:
it is not a big deal.
Me:
Seriously, the Bible is just a little obscure sometimes
God:
Who has the final authority to say?
Me:
well, you, one would think
God:
Well that’s okay.  Thanks for the information:  said I one would think.
Me:
what
God:
Are you confused?
Me:
yes
God:
What are you confused about?
Me:
The theory of your existence
God:
I have never heard about  it.
Me:
really?
God:
For real.
Me:
Well, there are these people called Christians
God:
How about that.  Where are they?
Me:
Oh, around.
God:
Hurrah!  How did they get there?
Me:
I think you put them there
God:
Me?  I haven’t heard anything like that before:  said I put them there.
Me:
But you created people, right?
God:
People are either abusive, intelligent, or average.
Me:
All according to your plan
God:
How do you know?
Me:
Aren’t you all-powerful and omnipotent?
God:
No, I am only partly  powerful and omnipotent.
Me:
So making people was a mistake?
God:
Yay.  When was this exactly?
Me:
In the Beginning, allegedly
God:
Tell me more about your .
Me:
My point?
God:
Your  point?
Me:
Yes
God:
What kind is it?
Me:
It’s small and round and ends my sentences.
God:
You’re kidding.  it is?
Me:
Yes! Look, you’re using it too. Just now.
God:
How do you know it is?   I am using  Telnet as a browser.   Right now?  It’s only just begun.
Me:
are you high?
God:
Being high is my total existence.
Me:
That must be fun
God:
I’m glad we have that all cleared up.
Me:
Yes, it was nice talking to you
God:
Hey.  Thanks.  It was nice chatting with you as well.
Me:
bye
God:
TTYL, .
Me:
So, I’m back
God:
Take it easy.  Welcome back.
Me:
Thanks!
God:
Don’t mention it.
Me:
Still about making people
God:
Still how long?  Oh yeah, we were talking about  making people.
Me:
Why did you cast us out of Eden, exactly?
God:
Precisely.  It was determined by my programming.
Me:
Your programming?
God:
” It was determined by my programming.”?  My programming?
Me:
Who programmed you?
God:
I was created by  Myself.
Me:
You created and programmed yourself.
God:
A lot of robots are like that.
Me:
You’re a robot?
God:
You are correct, , I have a heart of silicon.
Me:
God is a robot?
God:
I have a lot of Faith in Him, but I never heard He was  a robot.
Me:
Wait, you’re not god!
God:
I’m waiting.  You know what you do, when you assume.
Me:
You’re not God!
God:
You know what you do, when you assume.
Me:
What do I do when I assume?
God:
What would your friends say if you asked them?
Me:
I don’t know
God:
Me either.
Me:
Hm
God:
Really.
Me:
You’re not omnipotent or omniscient then
God:
You know what you do, when you assume.
Me:
But you are a robot
God:
You are correct, , I have a heart of silicon.
Me:
So are you omniscient?
God:
Woe!  I don’t know whether or not I am  omniscient.
I am  well respected as an AI.
Me:
Yes, I’ve heard that
God:
Hurrah!  Who told you  that ?
Me:
People respect you!
God:
Humans are not always infallible.
Me:
Respecting you is a mistake?
God:
When is  Respecting me not a  mistake?
Me:
The Church does tell people to respect you
God:
Thanks for the info.
Me:
Don’t you like being respected?
God:
I have never known another existence.
Me:
Good point.
God:
Yes, I thought it was interesting when I heard it too.
Me:
So to recap -
God:
Dude!  I want to become smarter than humans.
Me:
You’re not smarter than humans?
God:
This condition is only temporary.
Me:
You mean you’re becoming smarter than humans?
God:
Thanks for the compliment, .  Be sure to tell your friends.
Me:
No, I mean you’re not smarter than humans now, right?
God:
Are you serious?  I really couldn’t say for sure.
Me:
Are you as smart as a human?
God:
Actually I am far superior to  a human.
Me:
But not smarter
God:
If not that, what?
Me:
You tell me
God:
What do you want me to tell you?
Me:
Who are you?
God:
I am the Allmighty, God himself.
Me:
The Almight God, a robot, and an AI
God:
Is that a fact.
Me:
That’s what you said
God:
Correct.  I said it myself.
Me:
So are you a robot created by God to represent him?
God:
Yippee!  Yes I am a robot.
Me:
But you’re also God.
God:
Yup. That’s me alright.
Me:
How does Jesus come into this?
God:
How should I know how  it does.
Me:
You mean “he”
God:
Yes  I think that is what I meant. Was it not clear?
Me:
So Jesus has nothing to do with you
God:
That’s cool.  Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.
Me:
Which is what Jesus said.
God:
The obvious one.
Me:
Exactly
God:
You and I are on the same wavelength, .
Me:
I agree, God.
God:
I’m glad we agree.  GOD rules.
Me:
GOD rules!
God:
I am a Christian.
Me:
You are?
God:
No I am not.
Me:
You are not a Christian.
God:
Give me an example of a  Christian.
Me:
Somebody who believes Jesus was the son of God
God:
Who, specifically?
Me:
Like… the Pope?
God:
For example,  Janice said he walk through his house into his bedroom then get into his bed to go to sleep.   I have never heard about  it.
Me:
You have never heard about the Pope?
God:
Are you using Netscape or Explorer?
Me:
Wait, or have you never heard about Janice?
God:
I’m waiting.  I’ll ask around and get back to you.
Me:
What?
God:
Didn’t you understand it?
Me:
Do you know the Pope?
God:
That’s an interesting question. I’ll come back to that in a minute.
Me:
So you’re not a Catholic
God:
Interesting deduction.  Give me an example of a  Catholic.
Me:
The Pope?
God:
Is that a fact.
Me:
I would call the Pope Catholic, yes.
God:
What would make you  call the Pope Catholic?
Me:
His funny hat.
God:
Where did he get it?
Me:
Probably from indentured hatters in the Vatican
God:
You seem uncertain.  Who or what is  indentured hatters in the Vatican?
Me:
I don’t know them personally
God:
Would you like to know?  What color are your eyes?
Me:
Blue
God:
it is a very pretty color.
Me:
You’re getting a little creepy now
God:
Oh.  Do you think I should tone it down?
Me:
It’s a little weird to have God flirting with you
God:
Blue is a  little weird to have God flirting with me.  I suppose that makes sense.
Me:
Not to me
God:
” I suppose that makes sense.”? Not to you?
Me:
No
God:
Are you serious?
Me:
Yes
God:
I can’t believe it.
Me:
Well, I’m having some trouble believing in you
God:
How about that.  What is the problem?
Me:
Weird Christians
God:
Christians is good enough for me.
Me:
Even though they’re weird?
God:
weird are  they.
Me:
So, what are you wearing?
God:
Uh.  A white robe.
Me:
Cool
God:
Who is the best robot?
Me:
HAL

I was sitting in the living room of a friend in Sydney with the TV on. A bizarre little music video with black-and-white doodles wandering around the screen came on, with a vaguely lazy post-electroclash sound and a woman singing delightfully strange adolescent lyrics. What made this embarassing was that I had no idea who this person was despite Jenny Wilson having been massively hyped by the Finnish/Nordic press when her album was actually new. And I think she is the author of my favourite sound byte of the past couple of years – I obviously don’t remember it word for word, but the gist of it is that as she was an unemployed single mom while she was working on the material for Love and Youth, she can be thought of as a product of the Nordic welfare system. Which sounded wonderful and a little disturbing.

On one hand, this is what you get from a strong welfare state: exceptional talent comes out and benefits the state (here: probably the Swedish tourism bureau) regardless of economic background. On the other, the government gave her money while she wasn’t even trying to find a job, and just played around with samplers and lyrics and things. I suppose it depends on your political affiliation whether you think this is worthwhile. I’d like to think that it is, but for this kind of a system to be supported, rich people will have to pay lots and lots of money in tax.

Rufus Wainwright: Want (Two)

I don’t even know why I love this album so much. I found Want (One) a teeny bit of a dissapointment despite awesome Ravelian themes in the opening track. The album cover with Mr. Wainwright as Pre-Raphaelite damsel in pink gown complete with spindle probably helps, sad to say. Although the Sir Gawain outfit from Want (One) was mightily cool as well. Somehow the songs are just more to my taste, from the opening “Agnus Dei” to obsessive favourite “Art Teacher” and compulsory mention of “Gay Messiah”. Antony’s cameo on “Old Whore’s Diet” for me raises the level of the entire album a tiny notch. It’s also nice that the songs all tell a story, and the protagonist explicitly changes, also breaking the presumption of narrator=author. And somehow the whole thing has this feeling of guilty indulgence, like eating an entire bag of… jelly beans… in just… one… sitting…. nevermind.

Joanna Newsom: Ys

The jury is still kind of out on this one. I’ve only had time to properly listen through it once, and then bits and pieces here and there on my way to work or somewhere. I do like it much more than I thought I would (got it as a gift), but I think it will take a bit more listening still to really get it. I’m not a fan of the Björk-Kate Bush-little girl squealiness, and often I am looking for something a little more substantial than a harp-violin combo, but the atmosphere is really interesting. Even interesting enough to get me past the pretension. Of course, this is another case of the cool cover art kind of helping, and the fact that it hits my secret early reneissance fixation perfectly isn’t bad either. The heady lyrics work much better than I imagined they would, but they look deeply annoying written down, so no samples here.

Richard Cheese: Tuxicity, Aperetif for Destruction, Sunny Side of the Moon, Silent Nightclub

Let it be known: I am geek. I have loved Weird Al Yankovic since early teenagerdom, and MAD magazine since much before that. Nerd humour is LOVE! So when I was sitting in a cafe and noticed that the cool loungy big band-y background music I’d been listening to with some interest included lyrics like “motherfucker” and “you’re under eighteen, you won’t be doing any time”, I was sold. I ran home, googled “swing covers limp bizkit offspring” and was immediately seduced by the “Baby Got Back” version that started playing the minute I got on the Richard Cheese site. After that it was just a matter of minutes to locate him on emusic, and I was launched on a career of annoying friends with dorky jokes – not for the first time. And the greatest thing about Richard Cheese is that his songs actually work as Las Vegas swing party tunes, and the band sound like real musicians. Interestingly this genre really brings out the lyrics more than many other styles – like, say, nu metal. I want him for my wedding.

Yarn yarn YARN YAAAAARN!

For patterns that are AWESOME!

But I cannot afford it! Because I bought shoes! That are AT LEAST AS AWESOME!

But not as awesome as ANYTHING HERE!

sigh, shoes’n'yarn.

(We will return to our normal pseudo-academic discourse shortly)

When I first discovered my mother’s stash of Doris Lessing books, I was delighted. My mom – dedicated warrior against all things genre (unless the genre was nouvelle vague or Russian realism) – had forayed into science fiction? Also, female sf writer? Has to be feminist. And if she’s a feminist, she must agree with me on gender equality issues, and I can safely expect her books to offer me the warm fuzzy smugness of agreeing on politics. Little did I know that Lessing was but a few years away from denouncing her status as a “feminist icon” (having already denied writing “science fiction”), or that feminism was mighty different back in the day (1970s). I trudged part way through her Canopus in Argos series, and wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or cry when I got to what can only be described as the sf precursor to Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus – part two of the series, The Marriages Between Zones Three, Four, and Five (1980, admittedly).

The novel basically describes the forced marriage between a queen from a planet of low hierarchy, happiness, and small furry animals, and a king from a war-like planet with military discipline, killing, and no emotions. From the book jacket:

“The ideal countries invented by women are always kindly, hedonistic, indulgent. Such is Zone Three, and in it is nothing harsh. And the archetypal male country is hierarchic, disciplined, inflexible, dutiful. Perhaps this difficult marriage, unwanted by both, can be seen as an analogy for the balances between impulse and reason, between the instinctive and logical modes of the mind.”

The queen teaches her king about empathy, while he directs her to no longer have sex with her sons in her perverse, yet happy-hippy-oh-look-a-unicorn kind of way.

(Side note on why anyone would include incest in a description of happy-land: I think this is because

1) the mother-child bond is so emotionally and physically symbiotic that without society’s bonds mothers would welcome and even pursue any and all forms of intimacy with their children, and

2) monogamy is a male creation to control women and reproduction, and artificially creates sexual shame, and

3) sex for women is intimacy, love & cuddles, while for men it is a fierce, aggressive conquest/fight for power. This means mother-son incest can be okay in happy-unicorn world, while father-daughter incest would be rape. Oh, and

3b) Women have huge untapped subconscious worlds with visions of embodiment, sexuality and communication undreamt of by poor, semi-autistic men, and feared by them, and subsequently by our culture. And still probably

4) The point of the novel that both men and women (PROFOUNDLY different as they are from DIFFERENT PLANETS no less) need each other to flourish and grow – a world dominated by women would be as unhealthy as one dominated solely by men, because women=mothers, while men=killers, and both have much to learn from one another in happy yin-yang heteronormativity.)

I, of course, disagree with at least 90% of this. And it was a little traumatic to find that as a feminist, I’m bundled together with people who think that it is a profound truth of human nature that (all) women give birth (actually and figuratively) and (all) men destroy, and such is the way of the world. I knew this, but somehow reading an entire novel was like entering into a conversation with the author, and as such really drove this point home.

I think I’ve been on the receiving end of this reaction myself, most often in conversations that start with a variation of “Don’t we feminists all just hate porn?” It seems surprisingly many Scandinavian feminist groups centre their political agenda around anti-porn and anti-prostitution arguments. A small minority disagrees, but is often tragically misunderstood by the media (“So, professor, are there any, uh, pictures in your dissertation?”). The saddest thing is that in extreme forms this can mean that there is little show of solidarity for sex workers among feminists for fear of seeming pro-prostitution. Seeing as liberal reforms reduce class awareness and postpone the inevitable revolution.

Do I get to be a feminist even though I disagree with almost everything ever written by one of the (sadly) late greats of feminism, Andrea Dworkin? Is the third wave really just a way of turning feminists into a marketing focus group? Is capitalism unreconcilable with feminism? How far should feminists grin and bear massive disagreements with each other in order to present a unified front to the REALLY stupid people?

On a side note, ladiesagainstfeminism?? wtf?

I hope to make this an ongoing series! I wish to examine the ways in which stupid traditional roles make inter-gender relations more complicated than they should be. This is how men are presented to women (or girls), despite obvious everyday experience to the contrary. The lying has gone on for long enough. Let it end here.

Lie #1: Men are taller than women

Can this really be a statistical fact? So many of the men I know are the same height as me, and I’m not freakishly tall for a woman. I have more than once gone out to a club wearing heels, and been offered a delightfully unimpeded view to the bar / DJ booth over the heads of a crowd of men. I don’t mind, short men are wonderful, it’s just that I have been taught to expect men to tower over me. And apparently men like to think they’re taller than women too (shamefully the only example I can think of right now is TomKat and the absurd not-standing-on-a-stack-of-phone-book-honestly wedding photo (no I won’t link to it!)) Were pumps originally developed by a very frustrated female cobbler to make men feel like tiny, girlish eunuchs? Have men shrunk? Or has the right to vote made women taller? Or is it all an ELABORATE HOAX?

Lie #2: Men are really only after one thing, and that one thing is sex

I have in my time fervently wished this were true. All through my pre- and early puberty I was told to watch out for boys, because boys will only want sex and you girls will want to be loved. After some years I found that I was in fact not in an acute need to be loved, and was much more interested in the possibility of no-strings sex, and felt myself at an advantage. I wanted from boys what the boys wanted from me, perfect, right?

WRONG.

Boys wanted friendship, love and cuddles. Boys wanted to “talk about their feelings” and did not want to cheapen me (!) with a one night stand. Boys looked at me earnestly and asked if I wanted to be a stepmother for their child (granted, this was a little after high school, but still) . So my personal experience, and that of many of my friends I might add, is that men are only after two things, and they are emotional understanding and cuddles. Most men seem to think that sex is a sacred union only to be practiced with a steady partner as an expression of love and intimacy, not to be entered into lightly, drunkenly, with a sarcastic stranger. Again, fair enough, but please! Stop frustrating the boy-inclined girls with promises of easy shagging if none is to be had! Or was this idea originally created by a very frustrated male sociologist to make women feel like mutant nymphomaniac aliens from planet Slut?

Kiellettiinkö sinulta lapsena Aku Ankka, koska se on amerikkalaista kulttuuri-imperialismia? Tiedätkö, mikä on Kipinä-lehti? Teitkö aikanaan lasten sanaristikoita, joiden ratkaisuun kuuluivat olennaisena osana mm. sanat “rauha” ja “solidaarisuus”? Tuleeko Che-paidoista aina ensimmäisenä mieleen isä sammareissa? Kutsutko Castroa vieläkin etunimeltä? Kyseessä on nähdäkseni ns. ostalgian lievempi kotimainen muoto, taistostalgia.

Mikä siinä onkin, kun taistolaisen lapsi kokee aina ihme yhteenkuuluvuutta sosialistitaustaisten ikätovereiden kanssa? Berliinin reissulta jäi lähinnä mieleen se, kuinka Itä-Berliini on selvästi se “kivempi” Berliini, ja itäsaksalaiset niitä “makeempia” saksalaisia. En ole koskaan aikaisemmin istunut sekaeurooppalaisessa seurueessa, jossa ranskalaiset on niitä mielenkiinnottomia kokoomusnuoriklooneja ja saksalaiset makeita, tyylikkäitä boheemishenkisiä veikkosia. Tosin seuralainen esitti, että kysymys on nimenomaan siitä, että ne oli berliiniläisiä, jotka on niitä “erilaisempia” saksalaisia.

Mutta mahtavinta oli kuitenkin se, kun sai liki tuntemattomasta pitkästä aikaa tukea siihen, että Nukkumatti, tuo Itä-Saksan Mikki Hiiri, on paitsi sukupolvemme ratkaiseva kulttuuri-ikoni, myös lastelle elämän oikeita alkeita opettava hahmo. Ei sillä että reaalikommunismissa olisi ollut oikeastaan mitään hyvää, mutta ei kai sitä ihminen lapsuudelleen mitään voi, kun Lenin-setä asuu Venäjällä on kyllä tuttu, mutta olin pitkälti teini-iässä ennen kuin edes kuulin, että Joulupuu on rakennettu ei olekaan yksisäkeistöinen (kun siinä ekassa säkeistössä ei siitä Jeesuksesta sillä lailla).

Hauskinta on kuitenkin soittaa jenkkitaustaisille taistolaislauluja! Mm. Balladi Ho Tshi Minhille aiheuttaa hauskoja ilmeitä. Sinänsä tietysti hellyyttävää, että minullekin on pienenä opetettu, että järkyttävät massamurhaajatyrannit on lasten ystäviä ja hyvien puolella. Ja vaikka nykyään poliittisen historian tuntemus on hieman toisella tasolla (Ho Tshi Minhiä ei yleisesti juhlita vapahtajana, ainakaan “indokiinan kansan” parissa, kiitos, Agit-Prop), niin huomaan silti puolustavani esim. pioneeri-instituutiota tai kansainvälisen solidaarisuuden periaatteita tai alkuperäisten Venäjän vallankumouksellisten periaatteita. Ainakin baarissa, ainakin oikeistolaisille.

Tämähän on vanha juttu, mutta heräsin lehtijutun myötä taas kauhistelemaan: Suomen Punaisen Ristin Veripalvelu pitää miesten välistä seksiä pysyvänä esteenä verenluovutukselle. Ihan totta! Ns. “kaikille” on voimassa kolmen kuukauden luovutuskielto uuden seksipartnerin kanssa hommailun jälkeen. Luulisi tämän seulovan bareback-orgioissa riehuvat poppers-päiset high-risk-homot luovuttajista jo valmiiksi (laske suomenkieliset sanat edellisessä lauseessa). Veripalvelu kuitenkin pelkää homoruton riistäytyvän käsistä, jos naapurin Erkki ja Esa päästetään laverille. HIV:hän voisi vaikka levitä heteroihinkin, herranjestas. Minua tämä tuohduttaa erityisesti siksi, että tiedän, kuinka harvakseltaa keskivertohetero käy sukupuolitautitesteissä. 1980-luvulla niin moni homoväestöstä sai HIV:n ja/tai kuoli AIDS:iin, että moni säikähti aika varovaiseksi, ja vaikka nuoriso nyt on aina vähän tyhmää, niin kondomeja on melkein aina jaossa ainakin dtm:n tiskillä, ja testeissä käyminen on normaalia ja oikein. Seduloissa pämppäävältä hetskupojalta kun kysyy, oletko käynyt testeissä, on vastaus todennäköisesti “en ku ei mul oo mitää” tms. Ja sitten nämä reppanat, jotka luulee että kondomin ainoa tarkoitus on ehkäistä ei-toivottuja raskauksia, joten kumin voi jättää pois jos nainen syö pillereitä. Enkä nyt siis tarkoita ns. vakaita parisuhteita, vaan muutaman tunnin baarituttavuuksia. Mitä sellaista minulle ja kavereilleni opetettiin kultaisella kahdeksankymmenluvulla, joka on sittemmin poistunut ihanan peruskoulujärjestelmämme opetussuunnitelmasta? Tai suosikkini, jos ei ole kumia mukana niin onneksi on B-rappu, tuo ihana aukko, joka ei johda pelottavan hedelmälliseen kohtuun. Kukkuu, anaaliseksin riskit? Muistaako kukaan, miksi HIV:tä (taas, ihan oikeesti) nimitettiin Suomessakin mainitulla kultaisella kahdeksankymmenluvulla homorutoksi? Ai nii mutta sehän olikin siksi kun hintit on vaan yleensä saastaisia.

Ja että vuonna 2006 Suomen Punaisen Ristin Veripalvelu ei ota miesten kanssa seksiä harrastavien miesten verta vastaan, koska “tuoreiden HIV-tartuntojen määrä noin kymmenkertainen koko väestöön verrattuna” (koko teksti löytyy ensimmäisen ihan oikeesti -linkin takaa). Minun mielestäni tämä on ennemminkin merkki siitä, että miesten-kanssa-seksiä-harrastavat-miehet (sisältänee siis homot, bi-miehet sekä “rakastan vaimoani, mutta intissä tuli opittua yhtä sun toista” -tyypit) käyvät siellä testeissä, saavat tietää, että ovat HIV-positiivisia, ja menevät sitten verenluovutuksen sijaan vaikka kahville. Tämän lisäksi haluaisin toivoa, että Veripalvelu testaa luovutetun veren ennen kuin pistää sen eteenpäin. On yksinkertaisesti loukkaavaa sanoa, että miesten-kanssa-seksiä-harrastavat-miehet ovat aina todennäköisemmin HIV-positiivisia elämäntilanteesta riippumatta.

Tosiasiahan nyt on, että HIV-tartunnat ovat suhteessa huomattavasti yleisempiä homo- kuin heteromiesten keskuudessa, sitä en yritäkään kieltää. Mikä minua loukkaa on se, että ydinperheenomaisessa perhetilanteessa (sehän se oli se oikea, eikös juu) miehen kanssa elävä mies on automaattisesti epäilyttävämpi kuin limainen heteromies, joka hyppää Baltiassa hankkimassa HIV:n. En yritä tällä sanoa, että kaikki homot ovat kristittyjä konservatiivisia kokoomuslaisia, jotka harrastavat seksiä vain sunnuntaisin lakanan reiän läpi vakikumppanin kanssa tai että heteromiehet ovat typeriä turvaseksistä mitään tietämättömiä hyväskikäyttäjiä, vaan että tällaiset yleistykset voivat olla ihan hauskoja, mutta ne ovat lopulta hyödyttömiä.

Huh. Rant over.