The pussy willow has disappeared as suddenly as it came to the market, but it has been replaced by the first signs of berry season! The bounty of strawberries was in full abundance!
It seems a bit early for the full glory of the asparagus, but today both white and green varieties were spotted at multiple stalls.
And lettuce--- for the first time in like ever I found a fresh, crisp and dare I say glamorous head of red leaf lettuce (red leaf! not iceberg, not butter! red leaf!) calling my name.
I didn't have my camera out but I did come home to enjoy a lunch of coke and strawberries. Caffeine + fruity fix = yummy spring Saturday!
and hopefully this counter-acts the trauma of the Great Kettle Caper! Seriously, I have No Idea what was going through my head when I did that (see previous post). No idea.
25 April 2009
24 April 2009
This is what stress looks like
This is an electric kettle.
This is an electric kettle after I mistakenly placed it on the gas burner and turned it on instead of placing it on its' electric cradle on the counter.
This is what a burnt out kettle with its' melted plastic dripping all into the gas burner looks like once the fire was put out that would have created significant damage to the kitchen if I had gone to the loo rather than start washing dishes where I was at least in proximity to smell the burning plastic and see the roaring flames from said electric kettle accidentally placed on the gas stovetop.
Um, I don't quite know what else to say. It all sorta speaks for itself. Opps?
09 April 2009
This is an observatory...
in Zagreb!
I LOVE this humble effort at bringing a bit of space exploration, star gazing and cosmonauty to the region.
I don't know if you can tell the scale in this photo exactly (there was no one actually inside the museum, making proportionality not so easy to deduce), but this observatory, located inside the national Museum of Technology in Zagreb, is about the size of a really generous playhouse with a dome on top.
The museum itself is a wonderland of kitsch. Hard to know where to start. From the poorly groomed model horses demonstrating the horsey part of horse and buggy, to the extensive amount of space given to the Fire Extinguisher History exhibition (I couldn't make that one up), to the Tesla, Tesla, Tesla ! (read like 'Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!') vibe, it was a visual feast in gotcha museumology.
I don't mean to mock too hard (but certainly a little) because what would a glorious space like the Griffith Observatory or the Franklin Institute be were it not for efforts of countries with less investment in public science education, but with a history of massive contributions to the sciences (that they won't let you for get for one hot second)? And really, how boring would it be if all the museums of the world were well funded, I mean cookie cutters. Stumbling upon socialist era gems like this one that somehow manage to survive, if not thrive, is so much fun. On the other hand, it would be nice to think that all science and technology museums were awesome.
Until then, go learn a little something about the fire extinguisher. It may save your life one day you know.
Near death by automation
On my last train trip abroad, I almost fell out the back of the train. Seriously.
Borders stop trains in this land of EU meets Balkans. Paperwork is shared among passengers and police, contraband is searched for, train carriages disconnect and reconnect. This is the life of the rail in this region. Don't expect to get there on time. Don't expect there to be dining car. And don't take the overnight train from Budapest to Venice and think you will get sleep when you cross the borders with Croatia.
So it was not much of a surprise to emerge from the on-board toilet to notice that all the train cars behind me were no longer there. Likely left on the other side of whatever border we just crossed. Perhaps they left their passports at home. But what WAS a surprise was when I leaned towards the door to get a better look out at the big wide world of train tracks illuminated by the moonlight to find the automatic doors open up. As in, the doors at the back of the train that would typically open up so you could move about from carriage to carriage, just opened up to the great outdoors. Just like that. On a moving train. That was moving. I seriously had to take a fast step back cos if I leaned forward any further I would have found myself not on the wrong side of the tracks, but on top of the tracks. I swear I didn’t push a button or press eject or anything. I didn’t even touch the door. I just leeeeaned in. To take a look outside the window. Not jump out of it. Scared the crap out of me! I'm just not used to automated anything around here so much. I mean, the nice Hungarian train conductor's validate your ticket not by punching holes in it, or scanning it through anything, they actually just make a few squiggly lines on it. I recently deduced that these scribbles were in fact numbers, but I sorta had to laugh. Not that I'm complaining! I love the fact the low tech is truly low tech. I mean, is it necessary to have some fancy kit like the Austrians. No. A man, a moustache, a hat and a pen. That's all you really need to run a proper train service.
In any event, the pen is not mightier than the automatic back door.
And to think I had just been going pee complimenting this new Hungarian train carriage that actually had ac outlets for laptops and flushing toilets.
Borders stop trains in this land of EU meets Balkans. Paperwork is shared among passengers and police, contraband is searched for, train carriages disconnect and reconnect. This is the life of the rail in this region. Don't expect to get there on time. Don't expect there to be dining car. And don't take the overnight train from Budapest to Venice and think you will get sleep when you cross the borders with Croatia.
So it was not much of a surprise to emerge from the on-board toilet to notice that all the train cars behind me were no longer there. Likely left on the other side of whatever border we just crossed. Perhaps they left their passports at home. But what WAS a surprise was when I leaned towards the door to get a better look out at the big wide world of train tracks illuminated by the moonlight to find the automatic doors open up. As in, the doors at the back of the train that would typically open up so you could move about from carriage to carriage, just opened up to the great outdoors. Just like that. On a moving train. That was moving. I seriously had to take a fast step back cos if I leaned forward any further I would have found myself not on the wrong side of the tracks, but on top of the tracks. I swear I didn’t push a button or press eject or anything. I didn’t even touch the door. I just leeeeaned in. To take a look outside the window. Not jump out of it. Scared the crap out of me! I'm just not used to automated anything around here so much. I mean, the nice Hungarian train conductor's validate your ticket not by punching holes in it, or scanning it through anything, they actually just make a few squiggly lines on it. I recently deduced that these scribbles were in fact numbers, but I sorta had to laugh. Not that I'm complaining! I love the fact the low tech is truly low tech. I mean, is it necessary to have some fancy kit like the Austrians. No. A man, a moustache, a hat and a pen. That's all you really need to run a proper train service.
In any event, the pen is not mightier than the automatic back door.
And to think I had just been going pee complimenting this new Hungarian train carriage that actually had ac outlets for laptops and flushing toilets.
08 April 2009
Wanted: ability to follow orders while creating the perfect yet open-minded power point presentation
Perhaps among the more odd academic job postings I've come across, this one has some very particular prerequisites:
* Available, open-minded;
* Scientific rigor and motivation for research;
* Efficiency in the work and capacity to understand theoretical developments;
* Ability to follow orders;
* Excellent spoken and written English;
* Perfect knowledge of power point.
Should I mention the position was in France?
* Available, open-minded;
* Scientific rigor and motivation for research;
* Efficiency in the work and capacity to understand theoretical developments;
* Ability to follow orders;
* Excellent spoken and written English;
* Perfect knowledge of power point.
Should I mention the position was in France?
06 April 2009
Hiding hobbits...
in marzipan!
At the Marzipan Museum in Szentendre of course.
Apparently there is also a marzipan museum at the top of Castle Hill here in Budapest, but I think I may have gotten my fill of marzipan pop culture. Besides, I'm saving myself for the WWII Hospital in the Rocks below the castle...recreations of 1940s nurses in wax!
More photos...in marzipan!
Posh pigs
While I appreciate an article in the NY Times that is about both Hungary and pork, it reeks of a kind of unconscious classness that, while barely tolerable in the folksy tales for the educated class on Weekend Edition or All Things Considered, is more masked within the depths of foodieness with it's a touch of 'let them eat succulent pig!'
That said, it certainly was interesting to learn about the history of the most coiffed pigs ever. And it's a great story of man versus pork machine.
It's not just me who has one eyebrow up at the article - chew.hu, the English language foodie paradise enjoyed some snark at the article's expense. But even better is the completely fascinating exchange in the comments section between chew's editor and the author of the NY Times article. It gets so good / bad that the NYT guy even does a 'nya nya nya nya nya' to chew for not being, well, the New York Times. Er, um, yeah. It's a fun read!
(photo courtesy of NYT article!)
05 April 2009
Something in the langos ain't right
I took a couple of friends to one of the places in Budapest I'd been longing to go to but never quite managed to get to - the Escheri Flea Market.
I'd been looking forward to this excursion for some time now. Billed as the Best Flea Market in All of Central Eastern Europe, perhaps it was bound to disappoint. Just not in the ways I expected.
First thing to know is that it is way the fuck out of the city center. But located in such a spot to give one a real sense of how more Hungarians live than the ex pat life I am living. It's grim, desolate, communist era block flats mixed with dingy duplexes and lots of run down auto mechanic shops. It's the kind of down to earth urban reality that makes me so angry when I read articles like that in the recent Guardian weekend magazine on poverty chic. Poverty porn is bad enough, but no, um shabby chic decor and mix matched thrift store chairs does not bring one closer to 'the people'. Certainly not like a visit to Escehri does.
I happily enjoyed the chaos of the tat. The dusty stalls, the randomness of the objects. What I didn't enjoy was the copy of Mein Kampf for sale alongside a few other pieces of Nazi memorabilia. The items in question were on display along the main promenade, sitting alongside a reprint book by Lenin, hammer and sickle belt buckles and other communist kitsch being sold by a Chinese woman at this decidedly very Hungarian flea market. It was all just a bit too much. Given the location of the stall, it was as if Hitler himself was greeting us to the market, encouraging us to come in, have a looksee. Seriously, I felt like this stall was haunting me throughout my sojourn.
If that wasn't enough, it all just kind of fell together (or apart) when we hurriedly left (not because of Mein anything, but because some pervy busker creepily brushed himself against my friends' ample breasts whilst passing her in the cookery section), and found ourselves waiting for the bus along with some of the local yoots. The one in question was, on the surface, your run of the mill shaved head / bomber jacket 20 year old looking to bum a light. After my other friend helped in out, we both noticed his jacket sported the words "White Power". There is no mistaking the semiotics there. He was far more disturbing than Adolf's visage from a book jacket. We three just kind of looked at him after he walked off dumbfounded. In fact, I think if you look up the word 'dumbfounded' in a dictionary, there would be a picture of our faces (see also 'speechless' and 'what the fuck just happened').
Of course, when I tried to regale my story later to a Hungarian friend, something got lost in the translation and he kept asking me why would someone have on their jacket the words 'white powder'. After explaining to him that no, he was not in fact a distributor for Este Lauder, or a stagehand for a traveling French mime troupe, I decided that would be the new code word for, well, white powder.
I'd been looking forward to this excursion for some time now. Billed as the Best Flea Market in All of Central Eastern Europe, perhaps it was bound to disappoint. Just not in the ways I expected.
First thing to know is that it is way the fuck out of the city center. But located in such a spot to give one a real sense of how more Hungarians live than the ex pat life I am living. It's grim, desolate, communist era block flats mixed with dingy duplexes and lots of run down auto mechanic shops. It's the kind of down to earth urban reality that makes me so angry when I read articles like that in the recent Guardian weekend magazine on poverty chic. Poverty porn is bad enough, but no, um shabby chic decor and mix matched thrift store chairs does not bring one closer to 'the people'. Certainly not like a visit to Escehri does.
I happily enjoyed the chaos of the tat. The dusty stalls, the randomness of the objects. What I didn't enjoy was the copy of Mein Kampf for sale alongside a few other pieces of Nazi memorabilia. The items in question were on display along the main promenade, sitting alongside a reprint book by Lenin, hammer and sickle belt buckles and other communist kitsch being sold by a Chinese woman at this decidedly very Hungarian flea market. It was all just a bit too much. Given the location of the stall, it was as if Hitler himself was greeting us to the market, encouraging us to come in, have a looksee. Seriously, I felt like this stall was haunting me throughout my sojourn.
If that wasn't enough, it all just kind of fell together (or apart) when we hurriedly left (not because of Mein anything, but because some pervy busker creepily brushed himself against my friends' ample breasts whilst passing her in the cookery section), and found ourselves waiting for the bus along with some of the local yoots. The one in question was, on the surface, your run of the mill shaved head / bomber jacket 20 year old looking to bum a light. After my other friend helped in out, we both noticed his jacket sported the words "White Power". There is no mistaking the semiotics there. He was far more disturbing than Adolf's visage from a book jacket. We three just kind of looked at him after he walked off dumbfounded. In fact, I think if you look up the word 'dumbfounded' in a dictionary, there would be a picture of our faces (see also 'speechless' and 'what the fuck just happened').
Of course, when I tried to regale my story later to a Hungarian friend, something got lost in the translation and he kept asking me why would someone have on their jacket the words 'white powder'. After explaining to him that no, he was not in fact a distributor for Este Lauder, or a stagehand for a traveling French mime troupe, I decided that would be the new code word for, well, white powder.
alt.culture
On Friday, I went to a public lecture on alternative culture and urban spaces that was part of an alternative cultures project coordinated by the Open Society Archives, the most amazing archival resource that I just want to fall in to and get lost for about a month. The talk was held at one of the venerable Budapestian institutions - a semi-squatted courtyard complex in District VII, the old Jewish quarter.
Tűzraktér is a pretty great space. New to me, having opened last year around the time I was heading back to the states. And like many attempts to reclaim unused urban spaces, set for demolition by the end of the year.
This is, in fact, my favourite parts of Budapest. Not the demolition, but the way thoughtful groups come http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.giftogether to reclaim spaces, and in a way that makes them accessible to everyone. Like the pussy willows and daffodils, places and people spring up all over this city once the sun starts to come out in April. Nearly every available pitch of park or abandoned courtyard makes way for a cafe, bar or club in the spring and summer months. My favorite is Corvin teto, a rooftop bar atop an old socialist department store. An building that is a glorious monument to corrugated steel. And one slated for demolition some time next year.
This is also the story of cafe culture in Budapest: grab it while you can!
I should write more about the talk itself. In summary, there are a few key things I learned: 1) There are really interesting debates about urban space taking place in Slovenia including a former prison turned youth hostel that I actually stayed at once and how alternative is indeed a tricky, slippery and decidedly relative term; 2) always invite a Ukrainian because they travel with bottles of local vodka and like to share; 3) never let anarchists arrange something prior to that which is supposed to start on time.
Tűzraktér is a pretty great space. New to me, having opened last year around the time I was heading back to the states. And like many attempts to reclaim unused urban spaces, set for demolition by the end of the year.
This is, in fact, my favourite parts of Budapest. Not the demolition, but the way thoughtful groups come http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.giftogether to reclaim spaces, and in a way that makes them accessible to everyone. Like the pussy willows and daffodils, places and people spring up all over this city once the sun starts to come out in April. Nearly every available pitch of park or abandoned courtyard makes way for a cafe, bar or club in the spring and summer months. My favorite is Corvin teto, a rooftop bar atop an old socialist department store. An building that is a glorious monument to corrugated steel. And one slated for demolition some time next year.
This is also the story of cafe culture in Budapest: grab it while you can!
I should write more about the talk itself. In summary, there are a few key things I learned: 1) There are really interesting debates about urban space taking place in Slovenia including a former prison turned youth hostel that I actually stayed at once and how alternative is indeed a tricky, slippery and decidedly relative term; 2) always invite a Ukrainian because they travel with bottles of local vodka and like to share; 3) never let anarchists arrange something prior to that which is supposed to start on time.
A Nordic eve on the first weekend of spring
Budapest is most definitely a city where there is always something going on. At the risk of sounding like a Time Out Guidebook entry (btw, a new Time Out monthly has started here and it makes me happy! I am biased since I know people there, but it's still exciting for a certifiable ex pat like me, but I digress...).
The past week has seen both the 2 week long annual Titanic International Film Festival and the 3 day Budapest Fringe Festival overlap on the same weekend. While I question the timing convergence, it's sort of thrilling in an oh my god where should I go, what should I see kind of frenzy. And the city is small enough that you can pretty much count on no more than two options coinciding. And small enough that most of your friends are likely to, if not be at one or the other, be contemplating going to one or the other. And isn't contemplation just somewhere in between procrastination and mobilization?
In any event, I split my cultural allegiances. Last night was fringe. Didn't mobilize until 10pm so I missed the fire dancing (although after multiple Burning Man excursions, it's hard to get excited about urban fire dancing. If there aren't giant explosives, dirt, and a feeling that someone might actually get hurt, it's not really worth the effort). But I did catch a painfully mediocre band, an example of gut instinct being on the money. If I am to confess to my ability to make snap judgements on appearance only, I knew by their photo that they would be dull, earnest yet bland. I was right. But actually had to leave after the 'heartfelt' black clad, flowing lock second lead gave it his all with a wooden flute. Which came painfully close to bringing me back to that place where I must mock all things Peruvian Pan Flute. I'm sure if I ever make it to Peru and experience it in its natural habitat I will feel otherwise, but Hungarians and pan flutes are like poppy seed and ceviche. Which of course brings me to my other recent insight and that is that there are in fact Peruvian pan flutists EVERYWHERE. In the city park in Budapest, pan flutes. In the square with the Easter market. Is this globalization? Transnationalism? Glocalism? Or just an effort to make me resent woodwind instruments?
Ranting aside, after that, laura and I soldiered on and were rewarded with a completely amazing Klezmer band! Everything you want in a Klezmer band, including a totally cute butch clarinet player who brought the veritable house down.
Tonight, as the post's title implies, a range of Nordic film options filled with snowy backdrops to make one glad it's spring I guess. Eva and I are opting for "North", a film described as somewhere between The Straight Story and Into the Wild. How can you go wrong? Cheekily, I am also excited to pay my first visit to the national film theatre which looks like everything you want in a European national film theatre. All the glamour of an old movie house at central European prices!
Did I mention the whole three day Fringe festival is free?!
The past week has seen both the 2 week long annual Titanic International Film Festival and the 3 day Budapest Fringe Festival overlap on the same weekend. While I question the timing convergence, it's sort of thrilling in an oh my god where should I go, what should I see kind of frenzy. And the city is small enough that you can pretty much count on no more than two options coinciding. And small enough that most of your friends are likely to, if not be at one or the other, be contemplating going to one or the other. And isn't contemplation just somewhere in between procrastination and mobilization?
In any event, I split my cultural allegiances. Last night was fringe. Didn't mobilize until 10pm so I missed the fire dancing (although after multiple Burning Man excursions, it's hard to get excited about urban fire dancing. If there aren't giant explosives, dirt, and a feeling that someone might actually get hurt, it's not really worth the effort). But I did catch a painfully mediocre band, an example of gut instinct being on the money. If I am to confess to my ability to make snap judgements on appearance only, I knew by their photo that they would be dull, earnest yet bland. I was right. But actually had to leave after the 'heartfelt' black clad, flowing lock second lead gave it his all with a wooden flute. Which came painfully close to bringing me back to that place where I must mock all things Peruvian Pan Flute. I'm sure if I ever make it to Peru and experience it in its natural habitat I will feel otherwise, but Hungarians and pan flutes are like poppy seed and ceviche. Which of course brings me to my other recent insight and that is that there are in fact Peruvian pan flutists EVERYWHERE. In the city park in Budapest, pan flutes. In the square with the Easter market. Is this globalization? Transnationalism? Glocalism? Or just an effort to make me resent woodwind instruments?
Ranting aside, after that, laura and I soldiered on and were rewarded with a completely amazing Klezmer band! Everything you want in a Klezmer band, including a totally cute butch clarinet player who brought the veritable house down.
Tonight, as the post's title implies, a range of Nordic film options filled with snowy backdrops to make one glad it's spring I guess. Eva and I are opting for "North", a film described as somewhere between The Straight Story and Into the Wild. How can you go wrong? Cheekily, I am also excited to pay my first visit to the national film theatre which looks like everything you want in a European national film theatre. All the glamour of an old movie house at central European prices!
Did I mention the whole three day Fringe festival is free?!
Spring had sprung!
Today I bought pussy willows and daffodils form the market and put them in the same vase. Escandalo!
And by vase I mean emptied pickle jar.
12 March 2009
11 March 2009
Sexism starts at the reception desk *
I had an interesting conversation with a colleague today about the pink collar ghetto w both somehow managed to escape after many years of toil. Perhaps not coincidently, it took Europe and grad school to get us each on a different flight path.
But as I think about my own future, moving on from the luxury and security of a multi-year research fellowship at a prestigious and inspiring university, into the worse job market since (insert reference here). But I'm no stranger to entering job markets at the crappiest of times (1991 anyone?). For a hot second I was considered uber successful among my female friends after landing the coveted position of part-time receptionist at a commercial radio syndication company. This, after six weeks folding sweaters ala Janene Garafalo at the Express store in the Del Amo Mall. Doesn't get much more successful at 22 now does it?!
My point here is that no one ever taught me how to look for a job. Or think about the range of things I could do. I had a political science degree with a communication minor. I didn't understand the creative industries, the non-profit world, what it meant to work in politics, and lacked the chutzpa to take off and travel. I had somehow bought into my dad's notion of The Company, even though The Company I fell in with was more a product of National Lampoon than Wharton.
I was clever, industrious, and not lacking a terrible resume upon completing of my undergraduate degree, but the recession and the lack of vision beyond pink collars eluded me. Perhaps it was the six year history of crappy 'women's work' jobs I had fallen in with to pay the bills during college and high school. Either way, it took me a decade to break out of the common female administrative trajectory. And once you get on the train boys and girls, it's not easy to get off it! Which is fine if that's what you are looking to do. But I wasn't and my job history started to track me on a path I didn't want. I envy and am inspired by young woman packing a take no prisoners approach to their own destinies. Admittedly I am sometimes annoyed in a way that reeks of jealousy.
But not knowing how to use a switchboard isn't the worse thing. Although I stand by the view that it never pays off to be dismissive of the receptionist. Cos she may be the next coordinator. And you just might need something from her someday.
(* Susan gets full credit for that sage line)
But as I think about my own future, moving on from the luxury and security of a multi-year research fellowship at a prestigious and inspiring university, into the worse job market since (insert reference here). But I'm no stranger to entering job markets at the crappiest of times (1991 anyone?). For a hot second I was considered uber successful among my female friends after landing the coveted position of part-time receptionist at a commercial radio syndication company. This, after six weeks folding sweaters ala Janene Garafalo at the Express store in the Del Amo Mall. Doesn't get much more successful at 22 now does it?!
My point here is that no one ever taught me how to look for a job. Or think about the range of things I could do. I had a political science degree with a communication minor. I didn't understand the creative industries, the non-profit world, what it meant to work in politics, and lacked the chutzpa to take off and travel. I had somehow bought into my dad's notion of The Company, even though The Company I fell in with was more a product of National Lampoon than Wharton.
I was clever, industrious, and not lacking a terrible resume upon completing of my undergraduate degree, but the recession and the lack of vision beyond pink collars eluded me. Perhaps it was the six year history of crappy 'women's work' jobs I had fallen in with to pay the bills during college and high school. Either way, it took me a decade to break out of the common female administrative trajectory. And once you get on the train boys and girls, it's not easy to get off it! Which is fine if that's what you are looking to do. But I wasn't and my job history started to track me on a path I didn't want. I envy and am inspired by young woman packing a take no prisoners approach to their own destinies. Admittedly I am sometimes annoyed in a way that reeks of jealousy.
But not knowing how to use a switchboard isn't the worse thing. Although I stand by the view that it never pays off to be dismissive of the receptionist. Cos she may be the next coordinator. And you just might need something from her someday.
(* Susan gets full credit for that sage line)
10 March 2009
"I'm a Roma Woman"
Decade of Roma Inclusion on International Women's Day! (even if I'm two days late...)
From the press statement:
For International Women's Day 2009, the Budapest-based Romedia Foundation and Amnesty International, with the support of Duna Televizio, created a video campaign about Roma women. The four-minute "I'm a Roma Woman" public service announcement includes statement by five Roma human rights activists along with footage from Roma settlements across Europe. At a time when extremism and violence threaten Roma in Hungary and elsewhere, the campaign urges the public to respect Roma in all their complexity. A 30-second version of this video is being screened on hundreds of public screens in Hungary from March 6 to 10.
Are you there god, it's me...hello?
America less Christian...that is until people stop praying at the alter of Walmart and start getting up earlier on a Sunday morning!
I feel vindicated that this article connects the decline of those identifying as Christian might actually have something to do with the Republican party's co-option of Christianity. Are you with us or against us, god and 'merica? I turned in my Catholic id card after Prop 8. Well I would if I had one that is. I spent about twenty minutes one evening in November researching how one can excommunicate oneself from the Catholic Church and it's not easy. Or necessary, really. I can either take the deeply radical route of, er, stop going to church (I clearly left in junior high then) or I can write a letter to my parish and have myself removed from the books. Except since I don't have a parish I can write a letter to the Cardinal and tell him how I feel. I'm sure he would be personally devastated as soon as he returned from mentoring his West Hollywood flock.
But I digress.
Second point is that if they are trying to assess the rise of non-Christian religions, polling in English and Spanish will only get you so far. Clearly they haven't spent much time in Alhambra.
I feel vindicated that this article connects the decline of those identifying as Christian might actually have something to do with the Republican party's co-option of Christianity. Are you with us or against us, god and 'merica? I turned in my Catholic id card after Prop 8. Well I would if I had one that is. I spent about twenty minutes one evening in November researching how one can excommunicate oneself from the Catholic Church and it's not easy. Or necessary, really. I can either take the deeply radical route of, er, stop going to church (I clearly left in junior high then) or I can write a letter to my parish and have myself removed from the books. Except since I don't have a parish I can write a letter to the Cardinal and tell him how I feel. I'm sure he would be personally devastated as soon as he returned from mentoring his West Hollywood flock.
But I digress.
Second point is that if they are trying to assess the rise of non-Christian religions, polling in English and Spanish will only get you so far. Clearly they haven't spent much time in Alhambra.
09 March 2009
More argh than ARRRRR
Who needs a Renn Faire when you can get your own lancing courtesy of the Hungarian health system for only $65??
I went in for a minor eye surgery today to have an infected gland removed from my lid (yum!. I was secretly looking forward to the eye patch I'd be sporting afterwards, reckoning I could really work the pirate theme for a day. What I didn't realise is that I would look more like an extra from the Red Badge of Courage than Pippi Longstocking. What a waste of a patch. The more ridiculous thing is that I was planning to go teach afterwards. I actually had to cancel class. I had no idea I would look so, so injured. Thankfully, I look far more damaged than I am.
However, it was strange coming home because apparently a patch on the eye doesn't elevate you to disabled or elderly status. Not that I am arguing it should, but I am embarrassed to say I was a little disappointed in the lack of a reaction I got. I mean come on, how many patchy-eyed foreigns are running around on a daily basis??! I wanted to feel like I got something in return for having my festering eyelid flipped upside down and sliced in to! No one offered me a seat on the crowded metro. When I blindingly bumped into someone, I got the requisite dirty look without even a hint of sympathy. The check out lady at the market where I stopped in didn't even look at me in an awkward way - no side eye, just like any old foreigner who happened to fancy some yogurt and had to lean all the way in to the register to read the total amount due. Like I said, it's not like I am injured, but it's not every day you get to walk around with a monster eye patch and I just wanted something - anything - to make me feel special! I know they've had it rough here what with the Soviet socialism and the wrong side of two world wars but it felt like the whole of Budapest just flat out refused to give me what I was looking for today. Instead, it told me Suck it up. It could be worse!
PS - did I mention it was only $65 for the whole thing?? My co-pay in the US would be more than that for outpatient surgery...starting with $20 for the primary care visit for the referral, (ouch, there is something in my eye!), $20 the initial visit for the specialist to say yes! there is something in your eye!, $20 for the tests to determine that indeed yes, there is something in my eye!, and as much as $75 for the outpatient surgery where they get the thing that took the GP in the ground floor of my university three minutes to examine and send me to the eye specialist who took one minute to identify the very common and clearly inflamed gland and another 15 minutes to fix it right then and there. I (heart) Hungarian health care today. Yes, the office was in a building whose exterior screamed with neglect and age and a broken window or two, but you just have to learn to look past the facades and embrace what is inside, which was a perfectly normal and nice, new interior of the office suite!
Next stop on the Hungarian healthcare highway, dentistry!
06 March 2009
monks, lamplighters and economic collapse
So many ramblings to report on, so little focus! In the past two weeks, I've experienced Austrian Monks and their wine, exhibitions on Hitlers' artistic designs, to Burning Man Swiss-style if Burning Man took place rather in a medieval Swiss town and involved villages donning pagan garb and fire safety helmets, and instead of a singular man to burn, they all carried bundles of burning wood over their shoulder and ran through the center of town whist the onlookers cheered. I couldn't make this up.
In any event, in the meantime, as I've been adventuring across the Germanic world for work (industrial East Germany next weekend! Holla for Halle!), the Hungarian economy has been in a freefall, http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifor what that fear-mongering publication the New York Times refers to as "a state of near meltdown." It's an awkward feeling as foreigner because their downward spiral and rapid devaluation of the Hungarian forint means that the whole city has one big 25% off sign attached to it for people like me. It's sort of like showing up to the craps table and betting on the "Don't Pass" line. Cos what's good for Kate is bad for Hungary.
So in effect, I just got a pay raise because I earn dollars which is for now a stable currency and actually doing quite well internationally despite our own domestic downward spiral (figure that one out? The world is at the "pass" line and it's only Rush Limbaugh and his ilk gunning for 'merica to fail. Nice one, Rush.
In any event, in the meantime, as I've been adventuring across the Germanic world for work (industrial East Germany next weekend! Holla for Halle!), the Hungarian economy has been in a freefall, http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifor what that fear-mongering publication the New York Times refers to as "a state of near meltdown." It's an awkward feeling as foreigner because their downward spiral and rapid devaluation of the Hungarian forint means that the whole city has one big 25% off sign attached to it for people like me. It's sort of like showing up to the craps table and betting on the "Don't Pass" line. Cos what's good for Kate is bad for Hungary.
So in effect, I just got a pay raise because I earn dollars which is for now a stable currency and actually doing quite well internationally despite our own domestic downward spiral (figure that one out? The world is at the "pass" line and it's only Rush Limbaugh and his ilk gunning for 'merica to fail. Nice one, Rush.
05 March 2009
19 February 2009
Pet Shop Boys! Brit Awards! Yeah good pop music!
Seriously, I can't think of the US equivalent of an electropop band that would get a) high honors at a (televised) awards show and b) a ten minute medley on said live tv programme! Three cheers for the eighties!
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