09 February 2009
Did I forget to leave the house today?
After two years living on and off in Central Europe, I have bangs, I tweeze my eyebrows, and there is always salami in my refrigerator. But spending Sunday as a shut in cos it's raining? I may as well have been drawing my eyebrows in with a sharpie cos there's just no excuse for that!
Trade you!
Have Car, Need Briefs? In Russia, Barter Is Back
What frightens me about this NYT story is while I appreciate a barter economy as much as the rest of the grey market world, the future of the Hungarian airline supposedly rests in the hands of Russian investment. So what will I have to trade to get a better price or an aisle seat on Malev??!
05 February 2009
Things you do in foreign countries that you don't do at home
1. Visit museums!
Sure I go to see special exhibitions. I like museums in general. But it's different to have, say, 90 minutes between meetings and go pop into some super random space for a looksee when in places with modest collections like Zagreb. When in Vienna or London or Paris you go for the big stuff. The Great Museums of the World stuff. But when in Croatia, skip the national art gallery's Raphael show and go to the decidedly quaint - and empty - Croatian Museum of Naive Art. (photo to follow...see previous post as to why not here now...but I don't want to spoil the then-Yugoslavnain interpretation of the Jonestown Massacre...in naive art style. creepy and amazing).
When you are done there, head back down the hill to the Technical Museum with its timeless tribute to the fire extinguisher and planetarium that seriously looks like a high school science project made of dry wall and leftover timber from the last tree house project. Yeah, Griffith may have its fancy observatory and telescopes that you can actual see Stars and Planets and Spacey Things through, but do they have this:
1.5 Experience environments in which OSHA doesn't exist
Also at the Technical Museum is all things Tesla! Where you get to watch the curator demonstrate their Tesla Coil without benefit of safety glass and sound proofing (who knew they were so loud?! well, I know someone who might), and place an audience member inside a metal cage whilst pounding said cage with Tesla coil currents which amounts to a whole lot of electricity ala Dr MegaVolt at Burning Man!!! Take THAT Griffith!
2. Eat alone at restaurants!
One of life's weirdly enjoyable pleasures, but only when out of town. And better when you can't really communicate your needs and wants but it doesn't matter cos you are a women dining alone, indulging in an array of idiosyncratic dining behaviour and writing in a journal. Eavesdropping on everyone around you!
3. Write in cafes!
I can only manage to do this productively when in foreign cities. I'd like to think I'm the kind of person who can stroll on into a cafe, laptop in tow, and write like Carrie on Sex and the City. But it never happens. I have tried, but I fuss, I procrastinate, I over order. And I have to get up and pee so much more then if at home where the security of my possessions is assured. I tried writing at the downtown Los Angeles library but something about the pipped in air being the antithesis of the pro-oxygen pickmeup in Vegas that I actually curled under the desk with my laptop and took a nap. I was in the DIY engineering and automotive section I think.
4. Watch tv in bed!
Oh this is by far my favourite hotel activity! I often lament that I am out and about so much when traveling that I don't get to enjoy this ultimate pleasure. And you learn a lot about a place from it's tv offerings. Der, I study the media! Don't bother me, I'm working! In Jordan, I learned that the Arab satellite space is filled with on demand video channels with racy, largely Egyptian pop music videos with all the women in hot pants one could ask for. In Ghana, I learned that the best way around low budget public affairs show production is not to pretend to be something you are not. I fully appreciate that the talk show sets had much more of an African flavor than as if they were trying to recreate the staid backdrop of the NBC nightly news. In Croatia, I learned that soft core is alive and well on terrestrial tv in the Balkans. The first thing I get when I turned it on was Kalifornication. David Duchovney and Charlotte's bald husband from Sex and the City talking about getting fingered up the ass (their words, not mine!). I was actually a bit taken back. It seemed all shades of wrong but mostly because that show sucks and seeing it with Croatian subtitles didn't make it any more entertaining. Oh, I also learned that while Hungary, Spain, Greece and most of Europe love the dubbing, Croatians are clearly a far more sophisticated (or cheap) people and actually have written subtitles. Which is like tv heaven for me here.
5. Order unfamiliar liquors! Go to the same restaurant two nights in a row!
I'm of the 'try it!' variety when it comes to food and drink when traveling. And the homemade honey schnapps I had one night is a taste I will not soon forget. Yum! At the same time, I am also of the 'if you find something you like, why not get it again?' cos really, the search for the perfect restaurant gets a bit old. And I really wanted those incredibly affordable grilled squid just one more time! Hungary doesnt' have much seafood except for a few lake fish on their menus. I think it reminds them of the ocean view they once had.
Sure I go to see special exhibitions. I like museums in general. But it's different to have, say, 90 minutes between meetings and go pop into some super random space for a looksee when in places with modest collections like Zagreb. When in Vienna or London or Paris you go for the big stuff. The Great Museums of the World stuff. But when in Croatia, skip the national art gallery's Raphael show and go to the decidedly quaint - and empty - Croatian Museum of Naive Art. (photo to follow...see previous post as to why not here now...but I don't want to spoil the then-Yugoslavnain interpretation of the Jonestown Massacre...in naive art style. creepy and amazing).
When you are done there, head back down the hill to the Technical Museum with its timeless tribute to the fire extinguisher and planetarium that seriously looks like a high school science project made of dry wall and leftover timber from the last tree house project. Yeah, Griffith may have its fancy observatory and telescopes that you can actual see Stars and Planets and Spacey Things through, but do they have this:
1.5 Experience environments in which OSHA doesn't exist
Also at the Technical Museum is all things Tesla! Where you get to watch the curator demonstrate their Tesla Coil without benefit of safety glass and sound proofing (who knew they were so loud?! well, I know someone who might), and place an audience member inside a metal cage whilst pounding said cage with Tesla coil currents which amounts to a whole lot of electricity ala Dr MegaVolt at Burning Man!!! Take THAT Griffith!
2. Eat alone at restaurants!
One of life's weirdly enjoyable pleasures, but only when out of town. And better when you can't really communicate your needs and wants but it doesn't matter cos you are a women dining alone, indulging in an array of idiosyncratic dining behaviour and writing in a journal. Eavesdropping on everyone around you!
3. Write in cafes!
I can only manage to do this productively when in foreign cities. I'd like to think I'm the kind of person who can stroll on into a cafe, laptop in tow, and write like Carrie on Sex and the City. But it never happens. I have tried, but I fuss, I procrastinate, I over order. And I have to get up and pee so much more then if at home where the security of my possessions is assured. I tried writing at the downtown Los Angeles library but something about the pipped in air being the antithesis of the pro-oxygen pickmeup in Vegas that I actually curled under the desk with my laptop and took a nap. I was in the DIY engineering and automotive section I think.
4. Watch tv in bed!
Oh this is by far my favourite hotel activity! I often lament that I am out and about so much when traveling that I don't get to enjoy this ultimate pleasure. And you learn a lot about a place from it's tv offerings. Der, I study the media! Don't bother me, I'm working! In Jordan, I learned that the Arab satellite space is filled with on demand video channels with racy, largely Egyptian pop music videos with all the women in hot pants one could ask for. In Ghana, I learned that the best way around low budget public affairs show production is not to pretend to be something you are not. I fully appreciate that the talk show sets had much more of an African flavor than as if they were trying to recreate the staid backdrop of the NBC nightly news. In Croatia, I learned that soft core is alive and well on terrestrial tv in the Balkans. The first thing I get when I turned it on was Kalifornication. David Duchovney and Charlotte's bald husband from Sex and the City talking about getting fingered up the ass (their words, not mine!). I was actually a bit taken back. It seemed all shades of wrong but mostly because that show sucks and seeing it with Croatian subtitles didn't make it any more entertaining. Oh, I also learned that while Hungary, Spain, Greece and most of Europe love the dubbing, Croatians are clearly a far more sophisticated (or cheap) people and actually have written subtitles. Which is like tv heaven for me here.
5. Order unfamiliar liquors! Go to the same restaurant two nights in a row!
I'm of the 'try it!' variety when it comes to food and drink when traveling. And the homemade honey schnapps I had one night is a taste I will not soon forget. Yum! At the same time, I am also of the 'if you find something you like, why not get it again?' cos really, the search for the perfect restaurant gets a bit old. And I really wanted those incredibly affordable grilled squid just one more time! Hungary doesnt' have much seafood except for a few lake fish on their menus. I think it reminds them of the ocean view they once had.
03 February 2009
Handball? Seriously? Handball?
I arrived to Zagreb to find out that I would be here for one of the most exciting evenings of sport in the region - the night of the World Championships in Handball. The exciting thing was that it was being played in Zagreb. And that Croatia made it to the finals to play reigning champs France. I enjoy championship sports regardless of the actual type. I like that there is something at stake. Outcome unpredictable. Live, semi-unscripted television. A media event. A final outcome. Winners and losers. Blah blah blah. But getting excited about handball, which I erroneously imaged as a team sport involving a backboard or jai alai court, is a bit of a stretch, even for me. Ergo the challenge that led me to stand outside in a crowded city square in sub-freezing temperatures to watch this final match alongside Croatian youth
A few things I learned:
1. Celebrate the victories along the way.
Following the semi-final game that catapulted Croatia to the finals, the main city center square erupted in fireworks, and not such a modest display either - perfectly respectable fireworks like those I witnessed every summer night from my kitchen window when I lived across the bay from Sea World in San Diego. I digress. Perhaps it was the thrill of this victory, perhaps a foreboding that this might be the last night they got to celebrate a win in this tournament. Either way, I fully appreciate the sensibility of embracing the victories along the way! With such a 'winner take all' mentality pervading American events, this struck me as quite profound an appreciation for making it this far. That, and the fact that they just knew the French were a damn good team and why waste a bunch of nice fireworks?
2. You can tell more about a people in how they lose then in how they win.
It's true! I arrived at just before half time to the central square to find a lively, and robust atmosphere of flag waving, cheering and upbeat crowds, complete with a live band on stage to keep the crowd festive during the break in action. The score was tied. With about 10 minutes left to play, things sort of went belly up for the Croatian side and defeat seemed the only plausible outcome. With the square packed I asked my local friend if we should leave before the game ended so as not to get caught in any post defeat chaos. She assured me that the fans would be an unhappy but non violent group. She was right! Sociologically speaking it was far more interesting to witness the loss, although I sure was rooting for the home side! So game end, the band immediately striking up to drown out the sound of the post game commentary on the not so jumbotrons, fans bursting into heartfelt renditions of national pride songs, the 'handball anthem' (yes there is a handball anthem!), and other singalongs. Flags waving in the air, complaints abounding about the crap referee (isn't there always one?), and the slow dispersal of sad faced fans who could still walk away head held high cos they had made it to the finals at least! In any event, the predictable post-game firecrackers on the ground, though carrying a different tone then in victory, were still not wasted in defeat.
3. Handball is sort of like basketball for short white people. Aka Europeans. I jest, but it's kinda true (save for the French team, thankfully). It moves fast, they dribble, the have a court that they run back and forth on, but instead of a large ball with tall baskets, it's a palm-sized ball and you throw it in more of a hockey net. I had never seen anything like it and am frankly, in shock that when some Euro friends would poo poo my interest in basketball as a totally boring American sport that these same people failed to mention they have a half-assed version of the same thing. without any of the slam dunks, lay ups, and all net shots and, well, tall people. I give Europe (and the rest of the world) the win on soccer v (real) football. But handball v basketball? Please.
4. Who knew sports fans could be so malleable when it comes to the church?
Apparently, each team is annointed with a nickname, I suppose to give the fans a sort of mascot to rally around and some constructed macho image for the players to method act in. For example, the football team is "the boys made of fire". The handball team was "the boys form hell", but the powerful Catholic Church here decided that was not gonna happen so they changed it to "the cowboys". BORing. I found this story out cos in the post-game images of the commentators on the screen they were all wearing really goofy cowboy hats that in no way inspired menace and a sense that their eye was on the tiger. Instead they looked more like half-hearted frat boys at a fancy dress party.
p.s. - I have photos but I cant find my battery charger for the camera to get them off! Check this space!!
pps. apologies for the sporty ramble...did i mention the entire team came to the square to greet their fans after they lost? I thought that was pretty darn cool...even tho I was already in the bar warming my frozen fingers with some schnapps...
A few things I learned:
1. Celebrate the victories along the way.
Following the semi-final game that catapulted Croatia to the finals, the main city center square erupted in fireworks, and not such a modest display either - perfectly respectable fireworks like those I witnessed every summer night from my kitchen window when I lived across the bay from Sea World in San Diego. I digress. Perhaps it was the thrill of this victory, perhaps a foreboding that this might be the last night they got to celebrate a win in this tournament. Either way, I fully appreciate the sensibility of embracing the victories along the way! With such a 'winner take all' mentality pervading American events, this struck me as quite profound an appreciation for making it this far. That, and the fact that they just knew the French were a damn good team and why waste a bunch of nice fireworks?
2. You can tell more about a people in how they lose then in how they win.
It's true! I arrived at just before half time to the central square to find a lively, and robust atmosphere of flag waving, cheering and upbeat crowds, complete with a live band on stage to keep the crowd festive during the break in action. The score was tied. With about 10 minutes left to play, things sort of went belly up for the Croatian side and defeat seemed the only plausible outcome. With the square packed I asked my local friend if we should leave before the game ended so as not to get caught in any post defeat chaos. She assured me that the fans would be an unhappy but non violent group. She was right! Sociologically speaking it was far more interesting to witness the loss, although I sure was rooting for the home side! So game end, the band immediately striking up to drown out the sound of the post game commentary on the not so jumbotrons, fans bursting into heartfelt renditions of national pride songs, the 'handball anthem' (yes there is a handball anthem!), and other singalongs. Flags waving in the air, complaints abounding about the crap referee (isn't there always one?), and the slow dispersal of sad faced fans who could still walk away head held high cos they had made it to the finals at least! In any event, the predictable post-game firecrackers on the ground, though carrying a different tone then in victory, were still not wasted in defeat.
3. Handball is sort of like basketball for short white people. Aka Europeans. I jest, but it's kinda true (save for the French team, thankfully). It moves fast, they dribble, the have a court that they run back and forth on, but instead of a large ball with tall baskets, it's a palm-sized ball and you throw it in more of a hockey net. I had never seen anything like it and am frankly, in shock that when some Euro friends would poo poo my interest in basketball as a totally boring American sport that these same people failed to mention they have a half-assed version of the same thing. without any of the slam dunks, lay ups, and all net shots and, well, tall people. I give Europe (and the rest of the world) the win on soccer v (real) football. But handball v basketball? Please.
4. Who knew sports fans could be so malleable when it comes to the church?
Apparently, each team is annointed with a nickname, I suppose to give the fans a sort of mascot to rally around and some constructed macho image for the players to method act in. For example, the football team is "the boys made of fire". The handball team was "the boys form hell", but the powerful Catholic Church here decided that was not gonna happen so they changed it to "the cowboys". BORing. I found this story out cos in the post-game images of the commentators on the screen they were all wearing really goofy cowboy hats that in no way inspired menace and a sense that their eye was on the tiger. Instead they looked more like half-hearted frat boys at a fancy dress party.
p.s. - I have photos but I cant find my battery charger for the camera to get them off! Check this space!!
pps. apologies for the sporty ramble...did i mention the entire team came to the square to greet their fans after they lost? I thought that was pretty darn cool...even tho I was already in the bar warming my frozen fingers with some schnapps...
02 February 2009
Hungarian schadenfreude
Still smarting from Laszlo Cseh's three silver swimming medals to Michael Phelp's yellow ones, even the Hungarian press are going crazy for this story:
Papers? I don't need no stinkin' papers!
Er, yes you do if you are trying to go to Croatia by Hungary.
Sounds fairly obvious, right? Leave one country, go to another neighboring country, bring your passport. Ok, so we used to be able to go to Canada and Mexico with a drivers license (can you still do that to Canadia?). But still. You think about the appropriate documentation one might need. Ticket? Bank card? Passport? So imagine my horror when I was on the train to Zagreb from Budapest only to realise about 30 minutes in to the 6 hour trip that I had indeed left my passport at home. But not 'left at home' as in shit it's on the kitchen counter next to the recycling I forgot to take out. But, oh my god the thought never even occurred to me to bring it. Seriously. Yes I CAN be that stupid sometimes.
It's actually quite remarkable that I didn't even think about it. I mean, from forint to kuna, what about that screams Euro?? On one hand, it's the casualness of the train trip. You pack sort of like a car trip, toss in the pbj fixings for the road, no thought about shampoo and toothpaste cos it's all just one big carry on. But the reality is that it's the downside of emigrating from a country so big you can sit on an airplane for 5 hours and only just make it from one end to the next (did I say emigrate?!). Six hours on a train and I'm in Boston from Philly - not exactly passing though rolling countryside and aggressive border police (unless you count the people in the quiet car). There is a joke that the trains are slow in Hungary not because of lack of governments investment in rail, but to make the Hungarians feel like their country is bigger than it is.
So I finally arrived 8 hours later to this small conference than I had planned to and was able to entertain the others as the resident town fool / silly American for leaving the country without her papers. Classic. And truly an accomplishment only American could pull off.
The best part of my folly is that I got to spend some quality time waiting for my return train back to Budapest on the Go get the Passport Express in a little town I like to call bumfuckhungary. Others call it Szekesfehervar. Any way you call it, it is a town with no cohesive plan for clarifying what track has which train to where. I take it they don't get much non-local action there. But even worse is that I asked a number of people for help and got a different answers each time. And it's not due to my lack of proper magyarol because the question is simple- look like a pathetic traveler with your modest suitcase and ask "Budapest?" It's sort of either yes or no. The question is in the question mark. The one train conductor guy said to me by way of response: "Eger". So I thought oh, ok, not my train, this one goes to Eger. But uon further reflexion I thought hmmm, isn't Eger on the other side of Budapest as in you pass through the capital to get there? So I ask someone else who gave me a long, complicated answer in Hungarian, not of which encouraged me to climb aboard this same alleged Eger train he was on. So I sit some more. Then a young, blond women is getting on and I ask her the controversial question: 'Budpest?' She simply smiles and nods her head. That's all I needed. And yes, it was the same train I had been staring at, the same Eger train and 'blah blah magyarol blah blah' train. The thing that was confounding me is that it's not like I was trying to go somewhere obscure. Or that I was very far away from. Budapest - ever heard of it?!
Anyhow, this began as well-eared self mockery for not understanding travel 101 and turned into a rant against my fellow travelers. Hungary 1, Kate 0. And the Croatian border? Priceless!
P.S. there does now exist safe passage (aka paperless travel) from Hungary to The West since Hungary has joined the Shengan Agreement. But er, seeing as Croatia is not EU, um yeah. Keep the passport handy!
Sounds fairly obvious, right? Leave one country, go to another neighboring country, bring your passport. Ok, so we used to be able to go to Canada and Mexico with a drivers license (can you still do that to Canadia?). But still. You think about the appropriate documentation one might need. Ticket? Bank card? Passport? So imagine my horror when I was on the train to Zagreb from Budapest only to realise about 30 minutes in to the 6 hour trip that I had indeed left my passport at home. But not 'left at home' as in shit it's on the kitchen counter next to the recycling I forgot to take out. But, oh my god the thought never even occurred to me to bring it. Seriously. Yes I CAN be that stupid sometimes.
It's actually quite remarkable that I didn't even think about it. I mean, from forint to kuna, what about that screams Euro?? On one hand, it's the casualness of the train trip. You pack sort of like a car trip, toss in the pbj fixings for the road, no thought about shampoo and toothpaste cos it's all just one big carry on. But the reality is that it's the downside of emigrating from a country so big you can sit on an airplane for 5 hours and only just make it from one end to the next (did I say emigrate?!). Six hours on a train and I'm in Boston from Philly - not exactly passing though rolling countryside and aggressive border police (unless you count the people in the quiet car). There is a joke that the trains are slow in Hungary not because of lack of governments investment in rail, but to make the Hungarians feel like their country is bigger than it is.
So I finally arrived 8 hours later to this small conference than I had planned to and was able to entertain the others as the resident town fool / silly American for leaving the country without her papers. Classic. And truly an accomplishment only American could pull off.
The best part of my folly is that I got to spend some quality time waiting for my return train back to Budapest on the Go get the Passport Express in a little town I like to call bumfuckhungary. Others call it Szekesfehervar. Any way you call it, it is a town with no cohesive plan for clarifying what track has which train to where. I take it they don't get much non-local action there. But even worse is that I asked a number of people for help and got a different answers each time. And it's not due to my lack of proper magyarol because the question is simple- look like a pathetic traveler with your modest suitcase and ask "Budapest?" It's sort of either yes or no. The question is in the question mark. The one train conductor guy said to me by way of response: "Eger". So I thought oh, ok, not my train, this one goes to Eger. But uon further reflexion I thought hmmm, isn't Eger on the other side of Budapest as in you pass through the capital to get there? So I ask someone else who gave me a long, complicated answer in Hungarian, not of which encouraged me to climb aboard this same alleged Eger train he was on. So I sit some more. Then a young, blond women is getting on and I ask her the controversial question: 'Budpest?' She simply smiles and nods her head. That's all I needed. And yes, it was the same train I had been staring at, the same Eger train and 'blah blah magyarol blah blah' train. The thing that was confounding me is that it's not like I was trying to go somewhere obscure. Or that I was very far away from. Budapest - ever heard of it?!
Anyhow, this began as well-eared self mockery for not understanding travel 101 and turned into a rant against my fellow travelers. Hungary 1, Kate 0. And the Croatian border? Priceless!
P.S. there does now exist safe passage (aka paperless travel) from Hungary to The West since Hungary has joined the Shengan Agreement. But er, seeing as Croatia is not EU, um yeah. Keep the passport handy!
29 January 2009
28 January 2009
When is it not okay to eat peanut butter on celery for dinner?
This past weekend I treated myself to what I both lovingly and facetiously call the ex pat market. Basically, it's like Whole Foods if the organic products were all replaced with name brand, everyday products from everywhere but Hungary and with the occasional box mix of Betty Crocker Brownies. But similar in that the average person cannot afford to go there for every day shopping. Suffice to say there few Hungarian nationals (and few ex pats) who can afford a $7 chocolate bar, even if it is Swiss. But nothing spells living large and abroad like plunking down $5 for a bag of tortilla chips. It's like a rich stoners paradise. Everything the munchies imply can be found even if at a premium. I was in full faculty during said spending spree, but here you see what sentimentality and $90 can get you at Culinaris:
It made me think about the phenomenon of ostalgia, the nostalgia, or longing for of certain aspects that had been part of every day life and culture in the former East Germany - the things that disappeared after reunification and were swept away in the immediate transition as ancient symbols of the old communist system that were best left in the past. While the term can also refer to a longing for systematic aspects of the socialist system for people who held on to the belief in the socialist ideal, and even for those who, a decade or so later, longed for what they remembered as a simpler time when housing and health were taken care of by the state and provided for, for the majority of people, it is connected with a nostalgia for certain products. Like pickles, for example. Or in Hungary, Traubi soda. Coke was the product of imperialism but what kid doesn't enjoy a carbonated sugary beverage? Ergo Traubi soda, which tastes sort of like if cream soda, ginger ale and Fresca had a fight and Fanta won. It's delicious!
So in the fervor to rid the bad memory of separation, and recognize the so-called victory of the west, these products of daily life were quickly cast aside and put out of production. But is the Cold War the fault of the Trabant car or the Spreewald pickle? Imagine if suddenly our most everyday items were take from us, wouldn't Mother's Cookies, for example, suddenly take on retro-chic status if we had to find them online. Oh shit! That one already happened! Ok, how about Zima for those of us who wanted to move beyond Bud Lite and Cactus Coolers in 1986? Damn! They got that one too! You get the idea. Jello pudding? French's mustard? Vlasik pickles?
And then imagine you are not thinking in terms of the politicization of your food preferences and are on the surface merely driven by your desire for tarter sauce or green chili salsa? You shop upscale. You go to the most expensive - and to many - gourmet - shop in Hungary and load up on peanut butter (but not Skippy, cos even you won't pay $9 for heaven in a jar but will pay $6 for some Dutch offbrand that is damn good.
Communist kitsch also includes uniforms, flags, the now forbidden symbols. In Hungary, you can experience the kitsch at Marxim Bar where you can order your "Snow White and the Seven Small Proletariat" pizza or "Comrade Master and the Margheritta" (sic). And in East Germany, be sure to pay a not so retro price to drive around the neighborhoods in a Trabant on what is now called a "Trabi Safari". Don't all snap a photo of the sleeping cheetah at once! Maybe in LA we can start to offer guided tours in your choice of a Toyota Celica or Country Squire station wagon.
Oh, and this is best captured in the excellent film Good Bye Lenin!. At the same time, there exists a backlash from the German west, articles like this one eager to see the East-stalgia come to a close and the critical look at the communist past reclaim center stage. However, I think being dismissive of what is scoffed at as misguided sentimentality betrays a profound lack of understanding on the culture of every day life. There must be a better way to reconcile pickles, politics and philosophy.
It made me think about the phenomenon of ostalgia, the nostalgia, or longing for of certain aspects that had been part of every day life and culture in the former East Germany - the things that disappeared after reunification and were swept away in the immediate transition as ancient symbols of the old communist system that were best left in the past. While the term can also refer to a longing for systematic aspects of the socialist system for people who held on to the belief in the socialist ideal, and even for those who, a decade or so later, longed for what they remembered as a simpler time when housing and health were taken care of by the state and provided for, for the majority of people, it is connected with a nostalgia for certain products. Like pickles, for example. Or in Hungary, Traubi soda. Coke was the product of imperialism but what kid doesn't enjoy a carbonated sugary beverage? Ergo Traubi soda, which tastes sort of like if cream soda, ginger ale and Fresca had a fight and Fanta won. It's delicious!
So in the fervor to rid the bad memory of separation, and recognize the so-called victory of the west, these products of daily life were quickly cast aside and put out of production. But is the Cold War the fault of the Trabant car or the Spreewald pickle? Imagine if suddenly our most everyday items were take from us, wouldn't Mother's Cookies, for example, suddenly take on retro-chic status if we had to find them online. Oh shit! That one already happened! Ok, how about Zima for those of us who wanted to move beyond Bud Lite and Cactus Coolers in 1986? Damn! They got that one too! You get the idea. Jello pudding? French's mustard? Vlasik pickles?
And then imagine you are not thinking in terms of the politicization of your food preferences and are on the surface merely driven by your desire for tarter sauce or green chili salsa? You shop upscale. You go to the most expensive - and to many - gourmet - shop in Hungary and load up on peanut butter (but not Skippy, cos even you won't pay $9 for heaven in a jar but will pay $6 for some Dutch offbrand that is damn good.
Communist kitsch also includes uniforms, flags, the now forbidden symbols. In Hungary, you can experience the kitsch at Marxim Bar where you can order your "Snow White and the Seven Small Proletariat" pizza or "Comrade Master and the Margheritta" (sic). And in East Germany, be sure to pay a not so retro price to drive around the neighborhoods in a Trabant on what is now called a "Trabi Safari". Don't all snap a photo of the sleeping cheetah at once! Maybe in LA we can start to offer guided tours in your choice of a Toyota Celica or Country Squire station wagon.
Oh, and this is best captured in the excellent film Good Bye Lenin!. At the same time, there exists a backlash from the German west, articles like this one eager to see the East-stalgia come to a close and the critical look at the communist past reclaim center stage. However, I think being dismissive of what is scoffed at as misguided sentimentality betrays a profound lack of understanding on the culture of every day life. There must be a better way to reconcile pickles, politics and philosophy.
In Honor of Data Protection Day
I aspire to bite the hand that feeds. Or at least nibble a little less at the teat of the source of a lot of services I use but sort of hate myself for.
ideals + google - spare time = self loathing.
In any event, this article is disheartening to say the least. It sort of out big brother's Big Brother. And this from London, the city of surveillance cameras.
We are constantly wrestling with profound concerns about the future of public space and privacy - very real and very scary debates related to data collection and retention, surveillance and privacy infringements on a scale once only the stuff of science fiction and dystopian novels. To quote a character from the film Strange Days, the question is not if you are paranoid, but if you are paranoid enough. So we fight against the abuses of data capturing and infringements on our right to privacy, and yet sometimes still have to struggle with where we draw the line. Because on one hand we get Google trucks with video cameras and denials for health insurance or jobs based on faceless information, and on the other hand, we sometimes get this:
Hazzah! sayeth the knights as they fight against unnecessary and unwanted invasions into our personal lives, profiling, and data collection and retention.
ideals + google - spare time = self loathing.
In any event, this article is disheartening to say the least. It sort of out big brother's Big Brother. And this from London, the city of surveillance cameras.
We are constantly wrestling with profound concerns about the future of public space and privacy - very real and very scary debates related to data collection and retention, surveillance and privacy infringements on a scale once only the stuff of science fiction and dystopian novels. To quote a character from the film Strange Days, the question is not if you are paranoid, but if you are paranoid enough. So we fight against the abuses of data capturing and infringements on our right to privacy, and yet sometimes still have to struggle with where we draw the line. Because on one hand we get Google trucks with video cameras and denials for health insurance or jobs based on faceless information, and on the other hand, we sometimes get this:
Hazzah! sayeth the knights as they fight against unnecessary and unwanted invasions into our personal lives, profiling, and data collection and retention.
We are pork products
This better than the week New Model Army and Chumbawumba both played in Budapest!
Thanks David!
Papal deniability
So while the British are loosening their ties on the whole catholic v protestant thing that's plagued them for centuries, the current Pope decides to reward a holocaust denier. Nice one.
A nation without Stains for a whole afternoon!
I love this graph because it is not easy to visualise what it looks like when an entire country looses internet access for a few hours. What do you show - a close up of some frustrated would be browser pounding at their keyboard rebooting Firefox for the 3rd time with that really heinous and oh so familiar WTF expression that is one keystroke from full blown meltdown? The expression that, come to think of it, is not so different from that of Stains.
Point is, the mothership went down here in Hungary on Sunday afternoon, as evidenced by the big drop in internet usage round about noon. According to Index, it was sabotage! Someone cut the veritable cable. Not sure why or how cos, well, that would require greater depth of Hungarian. But crazy that we are one snip away from connectivity!
Sham dog cupcake turtle like?
I am awash in a flurry of memes.
My sleuthing inadvertently led me to the derivation of Zombie Boy, aka, World's Greatest Turtle Fan, or something like that. I also find that I am completely transfixed with Stains the cupcake craving dog. Totally kicks spaghetti cat's ass. Any four legged feline can sit and look cute in a chair with a plate of naked noodles in front of it, but the pathos, the barely - just barely - contained rage morphed with the process of suppressing desire, the heart so nakedly competing with the mind, the dog that just wants a damn cupcake.
And yes, Stains speaks to me. If only.
I am just one rickroll away from Shamwow. Who by the way, is fighting the good fight one shammy at a time. Read that article in the last link. My Aunt Nancy swore by those shammies. They really work!
What is wrong with these people?
No, I am not talking about the viewers or the makers of music videos. Or even that channel that has lost all stink of every having played music videos cos we all really need a realty show from Whitney Port, a name I may never be able to forgive myself for actually knowing. I am talking about the damn fool who pretends to be a journalist and the public broadcast network that pretends to have editorial integrity. Look carefully at the photo here (yes, I should get off blogger and on to a real blogging for losers who cant be arsed to learn html where I could make big photos). Ok, so get a magnifying glass and look reeeeal careful and you will see the following disclaimer:
"Correction: An earlier Web version of this story incorrectly identified Martin Scorsese as the director of the "Thriller" video. In fact, the director was John Landis."
A) who in their right mind could confuse Martin Scorsese with John Landis and B) oh my god I am old cos who over 35 doesn't know the fabled tale of the Making Of Thriller, aka The Best Music Video of All Time if You Were Born Long Enough Ago to Remember Having Seen a Music Video on MTV? WTF NPR!
Of course I jest. Last week a Russian journalist is killed. And here I am pathetically wallowing in the fact that I am officially on the wrong side of core demographics.
sombitch
I am so weak this, er week. I am just posting some random links that I have enjoyed. Too much time on the internets is bad for your health! Unless you make this recipe for the bounty of brussel sprouts lurking in your fridge!
I have a growing backlog of a few other things but I may just let my internet stick do the walking and catch up on Friday when I am on a six hour train ride. In the meantime, Reddit and David suggest you listed to the second sound sample. Merriam-Webster go gangsta?
I have a growing backlog of a few other things but I may just let my internet stick do the walking and catch up on Friday when I am on a six hour train ride. In the meantime, Reddit and David suggest you listed to the second sound sample. Merriam-Webster go gangsta?
24 January 2009
jesus was a race car driver!
From lowering the bar.net:
A driver who rammed another car at high speed outside San Antonio last week told police that Jesus had told him to do so because the other motorist was not "driving like a Christian."
In my experience, He is usually satisfied if you just give a lousy driver the finger, but in this case I guess that wouldn't have gotten the message across.
According to a news release from the county sheriff's office, the driver told first responders that the driver of the other vehicle "was not driving like a Christian and it was Jesus' will for him to punish the car." He similarly told a policeman that "God said she wasn't driving right, and she needed to be taken off the road." The Lord does work in mysterious ways.
Read the rest here
A driver who rammed another car at high speed outside San Antonio last week told police that Jesus had told him to do so because the other motorist was not "driving like a Christian."
In my experience, He is usually satisfied if you just give a lousy driver the finger, but in this case I guess that wouldn't have gotten the message across.
According to a news release from the county sheriff's office, the driver told first responders that the driver of the other vehicle "was not driving like a Christian and it was Jesus' will for him to punish the car." He similarly told a policeman that "God said she wasn't driving right, and she needed to be taken off the road." The Lord does work in mysterious ways.
Read the rest here
Waffle bike!
I may be hopelessly out of date on the 'you gotta see this website' parade, but I love this!
Thanks David!
Thanks David!
'Polite' Britons died on Titanic"
article excerpt from the BBC:
"More British passengers died on the Titanic because they queued politely for lifeboats, researchers believe.
A behavioural economist says data suggests Britons in that era were more inclined to be "gentlemanly" while Americans were more "individualist".
Women with children had a 70% better chance of survival than men in such an environment, he told the BBC.
The Titanic sank during its maiden voyage in 1912 after hitting an iceberg, with the loss of 1,500 lives.
David Savage, from Queenland University of Technology, studied the disaster to look at how people react in life and death situations.
He said that in testimonies from inquiries in America and Britain just after the event, there were a lot of statements from women saying their husbands put them on lifeboats.
The American culture was... a more individualist culture and the British culture was more about the gentlemanly behaviour David Savage, Queensland University of Technology
They then "went to the back of the boat to have a cigar, to stand around and be chummy, while basically the boat went down."
Mr Savage said: "There was one gentleman who was rather wealthy... who went back downstairs after he put his wife on the [life] boat... put on his tuxedo...went back upstairs and smoked... with the idea that if I am going die, I may as well die as a gentleman and well-dressed." ...(see link for the rest of the story)
14 January 2009
Protocol
Should the ability of one's residents to stand on the right and walk to the left on an escalator be a requirement for membership into the EU?
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