So post modern
I am here, with my laptop in my lap. He is here, laptop in his lap. I am listening to surround music. He is watching a TV series, noise absorbent headphones on his ears. And we’re coordinating going out to eat Chinese over the chat.
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Black from Berlin
It’s one of those postings where I am not sure if I have done it before because I have been meaning to do it for too long now. And, surprise, it’s gonna have to actually wait for a later edit too.
Finally, LATER EDIT: back with me, and black, here they are, the Babushka phone case, the Jost leather bag and the baggy pants from Belleville.
Happy Chinese New Year
And welcome to the year of the Ox.
Dark Monday. And it was getting darker
But I haven’t told how I got stuck in the elevator, the other day!
How? That was pretty easy, but not that pretty.
Once upon a time there was the most depressing Monday of the year. People were committing suicides, help lines went red with cries for help, the shrinks’ couches were colapsing under the weight of patients. I was blisfully carrying on with my full day, totally unware, bless my ignorance. I was even laughing and talking too much to me, myself and you, over a cup of tea and a mug of beer. I suspect it was the mug that did it. A subway train or two later and following a brief crisp walk in the dark, I was pit-stopping at the famous corner, the one where you can only pay cash for your essentials and basic crap that one needs to wrestle with the power of the night. You know the likes of milk, bread, or beer, when you ran out of, you absent minded silly boy! Only I needed sour cream and yellow cheese to garnish my potatoes. I am telling you, I was drooling. Cash was exchanged for the goodies, and there I was carrying my heavy bag and soul back to my eight floor dwelling.
Now, my Monday was about to live to its full dementia and distress potential so well captured by the researchers across the world… Let me recap, I was acking to take a piss, hungry, tired, maybe a bit cold, but lookin forward to satisfying these basic Maslow needs. Let me rephrase that: I was looking forward to IMMEDIATELY satisfy these needs. And that was followed by my big eyes growing bigger when I noticed the elevator was being stuck at the ground floor. You must’ve noted above, I live at the eight. Long story short, blinded by urgency, I decide that I need at least try the elevator before climbing up the stairs, laptop on my shoulders, sour cream in one hand, and yellow cheese in the other. And so I did. I slammed the elevator door but it wouldn’t close. A little knob was sticking out in the frame, preventing the door to close. Ha! there was the clue to why the elevator was not working, I thought! Before thinking any better, I pressed that little fucker in, closing the door and now I was in.
A step by step process followed: closing the elevator inner doors, pressing the floor button, not moving at all. Repeat. Not moving at all. Yeap, at this point in time it actually occured to me there was a reason for the little fucker sticking out. Of course, in a civilized country, an explanatory note “Elevator out of business” would’ve rendered void the probability of those being able to read to actually be stuck inside the broken damn thing! without further mental processes.
Except for those occasions when I get terribly upset or plainly raving mad, I am a calm, rational and reasonable individual. Or at least I like to think so. The situation called for calm. I freed my hands, sticking the sour cream in one pocket of my overcoat, and the yellow cheese in the other, because fashion police was probably busy elsewhere. In reaching for my cellular I did not encountered any problem, but in dialing I did. My good friend and neighbour had both his phones off. My best friend did not pick up, he was later confirmed in a meeting. Another good friend who is living relatively close by was out partying, and she suggested I call a repair guy. Now, bless her soul, there was a mobile number plastered across the elevator, even engraved on the button dial. Not having anything else better to do I called, in little hope. After a long while, probably the longest possible before the connection would’ve automatically cut off my call, a heavily bored deep voice answered.
“Hello, you have reached the elevators’ repair shop”. Well, hurray, but wait, isn’t this too formal to be a human being? Was I possibly about to leave a message with a machine? The perspective of spending my night in the elevator, meters aways from my cozy place blitzzed and scared me pissless. But no, gods were watching over me. Their watch was more like a partial eclipse, but let’s get back on track with the story. “Hello, you have reached the elevators’ repair shop, oh, you got stuck, we’re sorry, it’s gonna take a while” were his words, although not word for word. Then, as I was pushing towards my minute-credit limit, he kindly explained what I should do to get out. OK, remove explain, insert repeat obsessively, with the exact same words. And that and the technical terms and the fact I was getting nowhere increased the level of my frustration, so I decided to hang up, free my hands and try my best. Which I did quite successfully.
And now, here’s the best part. As I was breathing heavily up the stairs I though let’s call guy, let him know I am out and thank him. “Hi, it’s me again, thanks for helping me, ’cause I wasn’t planning to spend the night in the elevator”, I said jokingly. To which he replied, seriously “Oh, that wouldn’t been the case at all. I live very closely, but I was just having dinner”.
The noise of my jaws hitting the floor was probably comparable only to the size of my eyes getting bigger, being totally baffled. And why you couldn’t say so? It was not like I was able to come chase your fat ass out of that chair to the fucking elevator that was broken holding me inside.
And there’s Romania for you! We’re nice and helpful when it doesn’t bother us at all.
And we don’t like explaining, because smart people don’t need explaining, they just get it.
Let me level with you
“You are so stupid, you’d be lucky I find you funny”, she said smilingly.
My mental reply was “Sure, you’re so full of shit because you’ve been eating and eating it since the beginning of times”.
The meeting was a success, all smiles and jokes.
Not the French fries!
If you know me even very remotely, then you must know by now I don’t cook. Furthermore, cooking is so big, such a big deal, than most probably when I am cooking I will be referring to it as “making food”.So today I have cooked. That would be French potatoes - no, not to be mistaken for French fries. And what, may I ask, were the reactions I got?!?My mom asked me “Are you short for cash?”, my boyfriend said “Are you going to die after you eat them potatoes” (he is the wonder cook between the two of us, but the potatoes have been lying around for a very long while), and my best friend said “…but I don’t like French potatoes” and that was as he was confessing he’d like to eat something and I invited him over.Oh, well.For the record, I like French potatoes, they are part of the nice memories. Dating back to dark communist times, I remember getting home from school and getting notes from my parents: ” There’s a pot, stick it in the oven, leave it for 20 minutes and eat”. And let me tell you, that sour cream was hard to come by during those times!So guess what am I having as we speak? 
Art is all around, between me and my friends we have covered the world
And, in fact, I just wanted to let you know I don’t trust a man with petite feet, nor one with a long nail on his pinkie. So this is another post that almost randomly associates images - from my head directly to yours.
Bad times are needed
Otherwise how would we judge the good times?
Accidentally my soundtrack is Amanda Lear’s I Am a Photograph: “I am better than the real thing!”
I always
I always know when my neighbors are having fish. I am firmly convinced they cook in the bathroom, too.
Don’t be fooled
It’s true that I have started with “Hi, how are you?”. But don’t, for a moment, be fooled into thinking more than a “Fine, thank you” is needed. Because it is really not. Not when I have pressing deadlines and when I need precious information from you. I know you too well, and you me. So I have let you know. Once more.
It’s amazing how many Romanians feel the need to go into details, when in fact, it’s not the case at all.
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