Monday, May 21, 2007

Halt! Deserted town ahead!

I'm taking a leave of absence until the beginning of July, I expect. The all mighty BAC is approaching. Help!

Friday, May 18, 2007

The white canvas

Ah, la pureté ! La vérité! L'absolu!

A white rose, an innocent smile, a brand new day, a clean slate and a white canvas. Great stuff. We all seem to love purity.

Why are people generally so fascinated by innocence and untainted things?

Case and point : relationships.

Is it a form of high aspiration? A lot of guys want their wife to have been a virgin. At heart, if not body. Most won't admit to it, but let's face it. Even if you're a girl, you don't want your guy to have had several long-term relationships before you came along. It spoils all the fun. He might still be comparing you to his ex. He might have some kind of hidden trauma that you'll only find out about 2 years into your marriage. And the worst fear of all : he's handsome, charming, spoils you and seems to be your dream man... but what if he's out for revenge on the female specie because of some twisted lady he met before you? These are all things that you don't necessarily think about when you hook up with someone, but we've all asked such questions at some point.

And still it's just not fair. What about the helpful experience of a former relationship? All that wisdom! What about not making the same beginner-like mistakes? And what about wine that's better with time?!

They just don't seem to matter as much, do they?...

Monday, May 7, 2007

'The U.S. and A'

First photo on US soil. Some hint, huh?
And that's a library. I kid not. (UCLA)
Seen some big stars' stars.

Damn! And we only missed the Oscars by a bit! :))

So we went capitalist...

Bit of fun in the sun.

Not nervous... nope.. just unable to swallow or breathe. Oh come on! What gave me away?

Nope, definitely not nervous. The humongous screen doesn't frighten me at all.

Window shopping is a lot of fun. Santa Monica Promenade

Nightfall near Santa Monica Pier

Bye bye now!

No turbulence, just awe.

Ungodly beautiful dawn over the Pacific.

Gotta love plane food.

Well it was fun while it lasted. Bit disappointed in the people and amazed at the amount of useless junk Americans buy. But a great experience nonetheless.
(July 2006)

Friday, May 4, 2007

Guns don't kill people. People kill people.

So communism doesn't dehumanize people. People dehumanize people.

What do those two examples have in common?

Well first of all they both started out as good intentions. Guns are meant to protect their owners. One gun per family should do it. The patriarch has it and will shoot any thief and rapist that tries to break into his house and harm his family. Fair enough.
Then communism started out as a means of making the very poor less poor. Bear with me, I'm talking theory here. It was generally meant to create a happy, pleasant, care-free society. It did the trick, for a few decades and for the large majority of people.

But, of course, both of them got out of hand because of the risks involved in giving so much power to... undeserving people, really. I don't see how you can expect the vast majority of untrained citizens to be responsible with guns. Translation : any moron can just up and shoot you. He has that kind of power. That's pretty scary if you ask me. When you think of what communism degenerated into, it's pretty much the same thing. The power of decision was given to individuals that were generally not prepared to deal with it, but that just happened to agree with the theory of the regime. Or, in worse cases, that just wanted a quick rise and would do anything to anyone.
And thus, two little mistakes developed into two major disasters.

The point of the above parallel was that it's not the invention of the gun or Marx's fault that things went bad.

So why the hell is everyone in Romania continuously blaming communism for everything that's wrong in this country? Sure, the circumstances weren't ideal for the blooming of such values as equality, generosity and civilized behaviour. But it was all a question of choice. And I'll give you the perfect example : the Transylvanian society was affected to a far lesser extent than the one in Bucharest and the Southern parts. I won't comment on the reasons to not offend anyone, but the fact remains. How did that happen if 'there was no choice in the matter'? There is always a choice and people choose whether to make it or not.

I'm so sick of constantly hearing the urban ultra-trendy uber-cool blaming the past for every nasty behaviour they encounter. Not to mention the fact that not taking any responsibility by the older generation is seriously dangerous at this point. First of all, it results in saying "yeah, so this is it. I can't do anything to fix the past, so that means I can't do anything to change things in the present". No, you can't, but you can change them for the future, you ignorant bastard. Starting by not throwing garbage on the streets, not pushing your way into a bus, not shouting curses everywhere and ultimately NOT referring to your country as Rromania (land of gypsies) or to the people as uncivilized. It's so infuriating seeing how no one will do anything, yet everyone expect things to change over night.

If you don't like it here, leave. If you won't leave, but still don't like it, then fucking take responsibility for your actions, stop worshiping western countries, do something to change things and start referring to yourself as what you really are : a Romanian.

Requiem for a culture


"Near a low foothill
At Heaven’s doorsill,
Where the trail’s descending
To the plain and ending,
Here three shepherds keep
Their three flocks of sheep,
One, Moldavian,
One, Transylvanian
And one, Vrancean.
Now, the Vrancean
And the Transylvanian
In their thoughts, conniving,
Have laid plans, contriving
At the close of day
To ambush and slay
The Moldavian;
He, the wealthier one,
Had more flocks to keep,
Handsome, long-horned sheep,
Horses, trained and sound,
And the fiercest hounds.
One small ewe-lamb, though,
Dappled gray as tow,
While three full days passed
Bleated loud and fast;
Would not touch the grass.
”Ewe-lamb, dapple-gray,
Muzzled black and gray,
While three full days passed
You bleat loud and fast;
Don’t you like this grass?
Are you too sick to eat,
Little lamb so sweet?”
”Oh my master dear,
Drive the flock out near
That field, dark to view,
Where the grass grows new,
Where there’s shade for you.
”Master, master dear,
Call a large hound near,
A fierce one and fearless,
Strong, loyal and peerless.
The Transylvanian
And the Vrancean
When the daylight’s through
Mean to murder you.”
”Lamb, my little ewe,
If this omen’s true,
If I’m doomed to death
On this tract of heath,
Tell the Vrancean
And Transylvanian
To let my bones lie
Somewhere here close by,
By the sheepfold here
So my flocks are near,
Back of my hut’s grounds
So I’ll hear my hounds.
Tell them what I say:
There, beside me lay
One small pipe of beech

Whith its soft, sweet speech,
One small pipe of bone
Whit its loving tone,
One of elderwood,
Fiery-tongued and good.
Then the winds that blow
Would play on them so
All my listening sheep
Would draw near and weep
Tears, no blood so deep.
How I met my death,
Tell them not a breath;
Say I could not tarry,
I have gone to marry
A princess – my bride
Is the whole world’s pride.
At my wedding, tell
How a bright star fell,
Sun and moon came down
To hold my bridal crown,
Firs and maple trees
Were my guests; my priests
Were the mountains high;
Fiddlers, birds that fly,
All birds of the sky;
Torchlights, stars on high.
But if you see there,
Should you meet somewhere,
My old mother, little,
With her white wool girdle,
Eyes with their tears flowing,
Over the plains going,
Asking one and all,
Saying to them all,
’Who has ever known,
Who has seen my own
Shepherd fine to see,
Slim as a willow tree,
With his dear face, bright
As the milk-foam, white,
His small moustache, right
As the young wheat’s ear,
With his hair so dear,
Like plumes of the crow
Little eyes that glow
Like the ripe black sloe?’
Ewe-lamb, small and pretty,
For her sake have pity,
Let it just be said
I have gone to wed
A princess most noble
There on Heaven’s doorsill.
To that mother, old,
Let it not be told
That a star fell, bright,
For my bridal night;
Firs and maple trees
Were my guests, priests
Were the mountains high;
Fiddlers, birds that fly,
All birds of the sky;
Torchlights, stars on high.”

If you didn't read that, you're more than forgiven. I only know a handful of people who know what it stands for, anyway.