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darnaguenUgh. My feet hurt and I'm bloody exhausted.
But I guess that's what you get for jumping and dancing like crazy for some three hours in a row and then going to work where you spend five hours in a row on your feet. And only sleeping like 2,5 hours in between.
Jumping and dancing was due to a Flogging Molly gig at Tavastia last night, and boy, let no one ever say the Irish can't throw a hella good party. If after a gig you're covered in sweat, Guinness and cranberry lonkero, your feet are sore and you have an ecstatic grin on your face, it's never a bad sign. :D
There is no doubt whatsoever that the Mollies live up to their reputation as an excellent live band. I don't think I've ever seen a Finnish audience go crazy like that, and in a good way. Dave King (the lead-man) said as much, something along the lines that he didn't think there can be a people as crazy as the Irish until he was introduced to the Finnish audiences. :D
It's that spiritual kinship again I guess, as the Irish are in a way like our rowdier, more lively cousins. Good thing, then, that they obviously like to play here. Because when Flogging Molly's in the house, the Finns momentarily lose their sullen cool and become a bit more lively and rowdy too, in the best way possible.
I wish we'd had time to grab a drink or two in Molly Malone's because I'm sure the atmosphere would have been amazing and perhaps even some of the band members would have showed up (although there was no lack of seeing them at Tavastia either, the guys casually walked around mingling with the crowd after the gig) as they have another Tavastia show tonight. But well, there are night buses to catch and work to do. *sigh*
I'm not sure yet if this eased the vague feeling of homesickness or only made it worse or more confusing. I'm still in progress of sorting out my thoughts on the whole subject, that's why I decided to not even try to explain it to anyone else before I can somehow explain it to myself. And that will probably take some time. *chuckle*
Lately I've been trying to find out everything I can about what happened between 1913-1923 in Ireland, and about people involved, to get clearest and most unbiased picture possible. But the thing is: I am biased and apparently can't help it.
In the train on our way to Helsinki me and Ella had a debate about the morality of revolutions, about the meaning of martyrdom and the justifications to the use of violence. And she did present some valid arguments.
Is it fair to kiss your kids and pregnant wife goodbye and go start a rebellion, knowing full well you won't walk out of it alive? No, probably not, even if they support your cause. But then again, equally (or more) unfair it would be to kiss your kids and pregnant wife goodbye and go join the great and terrible war the empire whose rule you are under is fighting, which could very well be the alternative.
Should you refrain from any radical maneuvers like, say, random revolutions, unless you are certain you have the support of the majority? Yeah, probably. Because even if you know you are doing it for their own good, they might not see it that way. Not at first, anyway.
How far would you be willing to go for freedom? Or for any cause you deem worth fighting for? There are no easy answers, really.
We can't possibly know for sure what would we do in such situations. Not even I, with all my fire to fight for freedom and die for it if I must. Heh, the more I think of it, the more certain I'm starting to become that once upon a time I used to be some zealous freedom fighter. *dry chuckle* Hell, maybe I was Patrick feckin' Pearse himself and that's why I'm so oddly fascinated with that guy. I don't know. I really don't know. *shakes head*
But in any case, even if it defies all logic, those people are my heroes. They fought a good fight, a clean fight (at least considering the overpowering odds they were against), for a good cause, and by nearly all accounts were a bunch of bloody good men (and women).
And if they weren't heroes, that brings up a question: who is?
But guess I should end my incoherent ramblings now and go get some sleep. G'night, kittens.
But I guess that's what you get for jumping and dancing like crazy for some three hours in a row and then going to work where you spend five hours in a row on your feet. And only sleeping like 2,5 hours in between.
Jumping and dancing was due to a Flogging Molly gig at Tavastia last night, and boy, let no one ever say the Irish can't throw a hella good party. If after a gig you're covered in sweat, Guinness and cranberry lonkero, your feet are sore and you have an ecstatic grin on your face, it's never a bad sign. :D
There is no doubt whatsoever that the Mollies live up to their reputation as an excellent live band. I don't think I've ever seen a Finnish audience go crazy like that, and in a good way. Dave King (the lead-man) said as much, something along the lines that he didn't think there can be a people as crazy as the Irish until he was introduced to the Finnish audiences. :D
It's that spiritual kinship again I guess, as the Irish are in a way like our rowdier, more lively cousins. Good thing, then, that they obviously like to play here. Because when Flogging Molly's in the house, the Finns momentarily lose their sullen cool and become a bit more lively and rowdy too, in the best way possible.
I wish we'd had time to grab a drink or two in Molly Malone's because I'm sure the atmosphere would have been amazing and perhaps even some of the band members would have showed up (although there was no lack of seeing them at Tavastia either, the guys casually walked around mingling with the crowd after the gig) as they have another Tavastia show tonight. But well, there are night buses to catch and work to do. *sigh*
I'm not sure yet if this eased the vague feeling of homesickness or only made it worse or more confusing. I'm still in progress of sorting out my thoughts on the whole subject, that's why I decided to not even try to explain it to anyone else before I can somehow explain it to myself. And that will probably take some time. *chuckle*
Lately I've been trying to find out everything I can about what happened between 1913-1923 in Ireland, and about people involved, to get clearest and most unbiased picture possible. But the thing is: I am biased and apparently can't help it.
In the train on our way to Helsinki me and Ella had a debate about the morality of revolutions, about the meaning of martyrdom and the justifications to the use of violence. And she did present some valid arguments.
Is it fair to kiss your kids and pregnant wife goodbye and go start a rebellion, knowing full well you won't walk out of it alive? No, probably not, even if they support your cause. But then again, equally (or more) unfair it would be to kiss your kids and pregnant wife goodbye and go join the great and terrible war the empire whose rule you are under is fighting, which could very well be the alternative.
Should you refrain from any radical maneuvers like, say, random revolutions, unless you are certain you have the support of the majority? Yeah, probably. Because even if you know you are doing it for their own good, they might not see it that way. Not at first, anyway.
How far would you be willing to go for freedom? Or for any cause you deem worth fighting for? There are no easy answers, really.
We can't possibly know for sure what would we do in such situations. Not even I, with all my fire to fight for freedom and die for it if I must. Heh, the more I think of it, the more certain I'm starting to become that once upon a time I used to be some zealous freedom fighter. *dry chuckle* Hell, maybe I was Patrick feckin' Pearse himself and that's why I'm so oddly fascinated with that guy. I don't know. I really don't know. *shakes head*
But in any case, even if it defies all logic, those people are my heroes. They fought a good fight, a clean fight (at least considering the overpowering odds they were against), for a good cause, and by nearly all accounts were a bunch of bloody good men (and women).
And if they weren't heroes, that brings up a question: who is?
But guess I should end my incoherent ramblings now and go get some sleep. G'night, kittens.
