Mogosoaia, March 2005
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A different angle
I used to park my car on the right hand sidewalk, hence passing over the collapsing road, but I started avoiding the place all together for fear of becoming the guy with the red car at the five o’clock news.
Road to hell, or at least closer
Downtown Bucharest one of the little holes gets deeper after a car-size portion of a main boulevard actually sank some centimeters a day everyday for a week until last night it collapsed. My only regret is I don’t have a picture aux naturelle. As such, it looks like the excavator dug it. In a similar case, a street at the periphery has also been known to actually safari-trap a fireman vehicle some time ago.
Igloo and Cluj
A sort of a
preview. Actually the spread layout looks totally different. But hey, this is all I have now. Oh, there is nothing online just yet, and I don’t know if they plan it will ever be.
Then Pinocchio called to say my Vava poster is all over the walls in Cluj. OK, I thought.
And, in an attack of self-adoration, I have nominated myself at
Photobloggies. Not in all categories. Maybe I should’ve nominated
Chad and
Desolation Angel, but I was too blinded. Well, at least I have not nominated myself at all the categories…
I am done with errors, I am done, with errors
Spring is here. I feel like running away. For a while. Two projects keep me at work with lots to do. I have been to
Omara Portuondo’s concert the other day but didn’t find the time to post about it. I do now: fantastic. St. Patrick’s concert last night, followed by a reception at the Hilton.
Somebody had a crush on my.
I had a weird dream.
Thinking to start writing. Again.
Cold
This winter relapse really gets me down.
Old byline
I too like to think I stay crunchy in milk, but I have never tried it because basically I suspect the milk gets kinda sticky after a while.
The others
I was wondering why the others are not publishing, forgetting I have not published in rather a long time. But I don’t see much worth talking about. Extraordinary things happen to others. When they happen to me I am either too tired or too bitter over them. Maybe it’s time I gave up that idea of me the great writer and went to the gym already. Just practising lies 
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