Friday, 14 September 2007
Rugger bugger
Looking at PAM’s latest instalment there and Bedrich’s follow-up, I realise that unless I act quickly I’m going to lose the sporting agenda on this blog. I’ve been terribly remiss in not reporting back on the World Cup sporting event that is taking place NOW and in which Scotland have already qualified for the fifth time in a row. Of course, they’ll get metaphorically crucified in their upcoming match against the All Blacks, since they’ve never beaten them in their entire rugby-playing history, but they do have the chance from time to time to make it through to the quarter-finals or even semi-finals – something that’ll never happen at a football world cup…A Scotsman is even the leading points-scorer for all Rugby World Cups (Gavin Hastings).
Thursday, 13 September 2007
The Scottish thistle pricked the French cocks tonight...
Stoji za to...
I thought this little joke was quite good. Courtesy of Agnes in London:
Přijde chlap do baru, kde obsluhuje barman - robot. Natočí mu perfektní pivo a zeptá se ho, jaké má IQ. Chlápek odpoví, že někde kolem 150. Barman se s ním plynně začne bavit o kvantové fyzice, globálním oteplování, makroekonomice a tak podobně.
Chlap je z toho celý vedle, tak si říká, že ho vyzkouší. Jde domů, převlékne se a vrátí se do baru. Barman mu opět natočí perfektní pivo a ptá se na IQ. Chlápek řekne, že má kolem stovky. Robot s ním začne kecat o ženských, o fotbale, o autech...
Chlapovi se to hrozně líbí, tak jde zase domů, převlékne se a vrátí se do baru. Obdrží opět perfektní pivo a obvyklý dotaz. Tentokrát řekne robotovi, že má IQ 50. Na to se barman nakloní až k němu a pomalu, ale skutečně pomalu říká: "Poslyš, příteli, ale ten Paroubek je fakt dobrej, že jo?"
Přijde chlap do baru, kde obsluhuje barman - robot. Natočí mu perfektní pivo a zeptá se ho, jaké má IQ. Chlápek odpoví, že někde kolem 150. Barman se s ním plynně začne bavit o kvantové fyzice, globálním oteplování, makroekonomice a tak podobně.
Chlap je z toho celý vedle, tak si říká, že ho vyzkouší. Jde domů, převlékne se a vrátí se do baru. Barman mu opět natočí perfektní pivo a ptá se na IQ. Chlápek řekne, že má kolem stovky. Robot s ním začne kecat o ženských, o fotbale, o autech...
Chlapovi se to hrozně líbí, tak jde zase domů, převlékne se a vrátí se do baru. Obdrží opět perfektní pivo a obvyklý dotaz. Tentokrát řekne robotovi, že má IQ 50. Na to se barman nakloní až k němu a pomalu, ale skutečně pomalu říká: "Poslyš, příteli, ale ten Paroubek je fakt dobrej, že jo?"
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Latest fantasy
Note the little housewifery clean-up job I did on your last post there, tvc? Good to see you. Have been out of action the last few days trying to bust a cap into the Churchillian nigrescent canine that had its teeth sunk into my jugular. It's loosened it's grip enough to get back into posting mode. I was going to send something in from the cubicle this afternoon, but I had been volunteered to deliver a presentation on an outcome evaluation framework and its accompanying intervention logic, so I felt compelled to find out what the fuck it's supposed to be about. My delivery was about as dry as the subject matter.
I perked up slightly when I received a missive from the missus explaining that she was on the verge of resigning her job. That was a cue for me to suggest that we do it in tandem and fuck off immediately to another country. Her exasperation wasn't as acute as I'd hoped however. Besides, the final assignment on agricultural sustainability is due in just a few weeks, so I may as well get it over and done with. I handed in my 'performance agreement' the other day, whose review coincidentally falls due on March 13, which is likely to be my last day. I know you guys think I'm barking mad for wanting to return to CZ, but believe me, you'd understand if you lived here. It's not that I'm completely enamoured with Cechy - I got over the romantic illusions a long time ago - it's just that it's not NZ, and given that I don't speak any other languages, the missus is Czech, I know people there and it's wonderfully centrally located, then it makes absolute perfect sense to be there. I could travel as much I wanted, within financial reason, without combusting kerosene in the troposphere, and I reckon I could live as close to 'off-grid' as I possibly could without forgoing all luxuries.
This is my latest little fantasy: ditch the flat in Zlicin and use the proceeds to purchase some 18th century forester's hut in Moravia and unleash my myriad DIY skills upon it. Preferably it would be on fertile soil where I could cultivate a vegetable patch, and have a few plum trees and/or grape vines for some mandatory homemade slivovice/vino. There would be a wonderful bucolic pub close by and a burcak festival held in the locality each year. I reckon if you could purchase the deed to such a house outright, then you'd need bugger all cash to survive thereafter. I could even do a Peter Mayle on the place, as nauseous as his stuff is, but someone's gonna do it sooner rather than later...Michael Palin's latest TV series apparently sings the praises of Moravia...As I say, just another fantasy.
Hey Rotten, I enjoyed your Rotten Log, but I reckon I can up you in the embarrassing vacuity stakes for youthful diary entries. I kept something myself from my first days in Czechoslovakia and it's exquisitely cringe-worthy. Will see what I can dredge up...
I perked up slightly when I received a missive from the missus explaining that she was on the verge of resigning her job. That was a cue for me to suggest that we do it in tandem and fuck off immediately to another country. Her exasperation wasn't as acute as I'd hoped however. Besides, the final assignment on agricultural sustainability is due in just a few weeks, so I may as well get it over and done with. I handed in my 'performance agreement' the other day, whose review coincidentally falls due on March 13, which is likely to be my last day. I know you guys think I'm barking mad for wanting to return to CZ, but believe me, you'd understand if you lived here. It's not that I'm completely enamoured with Cechy - I got over the romantic illusions a long time ago - it's just that it's not NZ, and given that I don't speak any other languages, the missus is Czech, I know people there and it's wonderfully centrally located, then it makes absolute perfect sense to be there. I could travel as much I wanted, within financial reason, without combusting kerosene in the troposphere, and I reckon I could live as close to 'off-grid' as I possibly could without forgoing all luxuries.
This is my latest little fantasy: ditch the flat in Zlicin and use the proceeds to purchase some 18th century forester's hut in Moravia and unleash my myriad DIY skills upon it. Preferably it would be on fertile soil where I could cultivate a vegetable patch, and have a few plum trees and/or grape vines for some mandatory homemade slivovice/vino. There would be a wonderful bucolic pub close by and a burcak festival held in the locality each year. I reckon if you could purchase the deed to such a house outright, then you'd need bugger all cash to survive thereafter. I could even do a Peter Mayle on the place, as nauseous as his stuff is, but someone's gonna do it sooner rather than later...Michael Palin's latest TV series apparently sings the praises of Moravia...As I say, just another fantasy.
Hey Rotten, I enjoyed your Rotten Log, but I reckon I can up you in the embarrassing vacuity stakes for youthful diary entries. I kept something myself from my first days in Czechoslovakia and it's exquisitely cringe-worthy. Will see what I can dredge up...
Monday, 10 September 2007
Odessa Nights
Greetings, been I while since I checked this space, glad to see Kivak still amuses us with his Oriental adventures of 15 years ago and pictures of him with hair. Liked the Rotten Log too, keep it coming. I know this blog is primarily devoted to Liberec and related nostalgia (plus Kivak's fits of work rage & wacky political opinions), however in this short contribution I'd like to focus on something in the present and a lot more fun. Mainly 2 weeks of studying Russian in Odessa. Flew out there right after a two week holiday in Italy, hit the 1.1 million Black Sea port in 35 degree heat and kept running for two weeks. Seamy, gritty, dirty, heaving, seedy, disfunctional, hilarious, incredibly fun: That is how I would describe Odessa. Was lucky to stay in a private house with a nice garden and hang out with mostly nice people from all over Europe (a surprising number older than me).
Russian classes in the morning, homework on the beach in the afternoon accompanied by beers or martinis a few of us would mix in plastic bottles on the beach and pass around. Sounds a little alky, but there really was no other way there. The Russian women (Odessa is a largely Russian-speaking city and region ) entertained endlessly with their taste for skimpy, blingy fashions. Here's a picture from the beach:
If you look really closely at the green bikini, you'll see the words say "Fruity & Juicy". Indeed.
Found some good restaurants too. For some funny English check out Steakhouse, http://www.steak.od.ua/ There are also pictures (more) of a tradition they have there of bikini-clad girls "washing" the plastic cow standing outside the restaurant on the city's main drag, Deribasovskaya ul. Sit on the verandah and you won't miss the show. Fridays we'd go to any number of pretentious clubs down by the beaches and just people watch and drink till dawn. Then hit the beach for a swim with the sun rising.
Kivak, you're jealous already, right? Personally it took me back a little to the Liberec years, I felt about 25 again.
Anyway, that's over (though I might go again next year) and now it's back to the fall grind.
I leave you with a sunrise over the Black Sea, taken after too many vodka tonics at the Itaka beach disco:
Russian classes in the morning, homework on the beach in the afternoon accompanied by beers or martinis a few of us would mix in plastic bottles on the beach and pass around. Sounds a little alky, but there really was no other way there. The Russian women (Odessa is a largely Russian-speaking city and region ) entertained endlessly with their taste for skimpy, blingy fashions. Here's a picture from the beach:
If you look really closely at the green bikini, you'll see the words say "Fruity & Juicy". Indeed.
Found some good restaurants too. For some funny English check out Steakhouse, http://www.steak.od.ua/ There are also pictures (more) of a tradition they have there of bikini-clad girls "washing" the plastic cow standing outside the restaurant on the city's main drag, Deribasovskaya ul. Sit on the verandah and you won't miss the show. Fridays we'd go to any number of pretentious clubs down by the beaches and just people watch and drink till dawn. Then hit the beach for a swim with the sun rising.
Kivak, you're jealous already, right? Personally it took me back a little to the Liberec years, I felt about 25 again.
Anyway, that's over (though I might go again next year) and now it's back to the fall grind.
I leave you with a sunrise over the Black Sea, taken after too many vodka tonics at the Itaka beach disco:
Thursday, 6 September 2007
The Rotten Log I
Well done with the Turkish stuff, Kivak. One bad turn deserves another…
As BA may recall, I was quite the little diarist during my time in Liberec. I took great joy in filling page after page of exercise books with my Deep Thoughts and Incise Observations. I was sure that one day I would turn to these journals and relish the wit and brio with which I had recorded the events of those momentous days.
Recently I went back and read them.
Oh. My. God.
After waiting the several hours it took for my armpits to stop smoking from embarrassment, I cowboyed up and undertook the distasteful work of picking through these callow, adolescent and generally fucked-up observations in order to cull at least a few scraps that might be of passing interest to my fellow Liberec veterans.
With your indulgence, I would like to post some excerpts. On or around the first of every month I intend to put up a few bits of vintage “Liberazzia” recorded in that month during those years. But this will not be an embarrassing “tell all”. I was far too chickenshit to record any of the really damaging stuff so no one needs to worry. Those seeking anything more than mild titillation will be disappointed.
When fellow Liberazzi are written about, I use their blogger nicknames to identify them. Other expats will go by the first letter of their first names. Czechs are identified by first name and maybe a second initial. I believe that the preponderance of Honzas, Martinas, Jiris, etc. in the general population will be protection enough for the privacy of the unwitting natives who were drawn into the events of this degenerate chronicle…
For the maiden month of September the notebooks (the “Rotten Logs”) are rather thin on entries. They paint September as a deadish time when the old hands were drifting back into town and the new folks were attempting to adjust to The Life. The only (just barely) excerpt-worthy entries I could find amid the pages ‘o crap were written in 1997, exactly ten years ago, my last September in Liberec. It’s fairly tame stuff, with the young Rotten apparently attempting to develop a completely original literary genre: Hangover Writing.
I would also like to thank Kivak for creating the motivation for me to go back through and copy elsewhere the few items that are of value in the Rotten Logs. It will allow me to finally burn them.
The Rotten Log for September:
18.9.97
“Yesterday was a fucking horror show. A fucking low point like I haven’t seen in a long time. I spent maybe forty-five minutes in the office, sitting in the Napmaster [the infamous sleep-inducing armchair that passed from generation to generation of Pedagogy Faculty teachers], staring at the wall, completely fucking out of it. A finally rousted me out so he could fuck around with my email account. He tried a bunch of shit with it but couldn’t find what he wanted, so I got on and tried to write email. What a fucking mess. A lot of three word sentences…all I can do is transmit indecipherable horseshit over the internet...Jet-lag, one no-sleep night, booze and a hangover have caught me by the balls…
“After I fouled the internet I wandered around town like some kind of handicap…I drank two espressos at the Hotel Praha in a feeble attempt to smooth out my brain…I ran into Dirt and then Bedrich and they didn’t have a hard time talking me into going for a few jars down at the Drug Garden. I was supposed to have a few with Jiri N. but after I got home and had dinner I just fucking crashed out. It was about seven o’clock…”
19.9.97
“Brutal fucker this morning. Grumpy and down for no reason. Quiet time alone with too many thoughts is not good. I didn’t feel back up to the battle until I listened to ‘Gimme Back My Bullets’ [Classic Lynyrd Skynyrd song] on the way to work. Last night Bedrich, Jiri N. and I busted down a few at the Menza pub. It’s hard to have a conversation about anything without bitching about something. T.U.L. is at the top of the list. Bedrich thinks one more year after this one is a possibility, but only under the most bastard circumstances. He’s super pessimistic about getting private [non-teaching] work. Jiri N. seems to think it wouldn’t be that big a deal, as long as it’s in Prague…
“The FNGs [Fucking New Guys] are just making me antsier to beat feet out of this motherfucker…B from across the hall informed me today that a ‘cleaning party’ is afoot for ‘one of these Saturdays while we’re all around anyway’. Hey pal, you got a problem with the condition of the third floor common room, clean the fucker…fucking gooney bird wants to wash the windows and all that shit. I don’t do windows. This isn’t helping my ‘Decrease the Mean-Ons and Malice’ program…”
23.9.97
“BA’s due back late tonight…Bedrich had the good (?) idea to waylay him at the bus station and force him into an immediate elbow-bending session…”
25.9.97
“Yesterday I rolled in at noon and got busted down a day’s wage for being so late. Fuckin fuck all that shit. Made me uptight. Deserved? Sure. But a symptom of the disease. I wouldn’t roll in here three hours late if I felt there was enough of importance to do to get me in at 9 bright ‘n early…”
ROTTEN OUT.
As BA may recall, I was quite the little diarist during my time in Liberec. I took great joy in filling page after page of exercise books with my Deep Thoughts and Incise Observations. I was sure that one day I would turn to these journals and relish the wit and brio with which I had recorded the events of those momentous days.
Recently I went back and read them.
Oh. My. God.
After waiting the several hours it took for my armpits to stop smoking from embarrassment, I cowboyed up and undertook the distasteful work of picking through these callow, adolescent and generally fucked-up observations in order to cull at least a few scraps that might be of passing interest to my fellow Liberec veterans.
With your indulgence, I would like to post some excerpts. On or around the first of every month I intend to put up a few bits of vintage “Liberazzia” recorded in that month during those years. But this will not be an embarrassing “tell all”. I was far too chickenshit to record any of the really damaging stuff so no one needs to worry. Those seeking anything more than mild titillation will be disappointed.
When fellow Liberazzi are written about, I use their blogger nicknames to identify them. Other expats will go by the first letter of their first names. Czechs are identified by first name and maybe a second initial. I believe that the preponderance of Honzas, Martinas, Jiris, etc. in the general population will be protection enough for the privacy of the unwitting natives who were drawn into the events of this degenerate chronicle…
For the maiden month of September the notebooks (the “Rotten Logs”) are rather thin on entries. They paint September as a deadish time when the old hands were drifting back into town and the new folks were attempting to adjust to The Life. The only (just barely) excerpt-worthy entries I could find amid the pages ‘o crap were written in 1997, exactly ten years ago, my last September in Liberec. It’s fairly tame stuff, with the young Rotten apparently attempting to develop a completely original literary genre: Hangover Writing.
I would also like to thank Kivak for creating the motivation for me to go back through and copy elsewhere the few items that are of value in the Rotten Logs. It will allow me to finally burn them.
The Rotten Log for September:
18.9.97
“Yesterday was a fucking horror show. A fucking low point like I haven’t seen in a long time. I spent maybe forty-five minutes in the office, sitting in the Napmaster [the infamous sleep-inducing armchair that passed from generation to generation of Pedagogy Faculty teachers], staring at the wall, completely fucking out of it. A finally rousted me out so he could fuck around with my email account. He tried a bunch of shit with it but couldn’t find what he wanted, so I got on and tried to write email. What a fucking mess. A lot of three word sentences…all I can do is transmit indecipherable horseshit over the internet...Jet-lag, one no-sleep night, booze and a hangover have caught me by the balls…
“After I fouled the internet I wandered around town like some kind of handicap…I drank two espressos at the Hotel Praha in a feeble attempt to smooth out my brain…I ran into Dirt and then Bedrich and they didn’t have a hard time talking me into going for a few jars down at the Drug Garden. I was supposed to have a few with Jiri N. but after I got home and had dinner I just fucking crashed out. It was about seven o’clock…”
19.9.97
“Brutal fucker this morning. Grumpy and down for no reason. Quiet time alone with too many thoughts is not good. I didn’t feel back up to the battle until I listened to ‘Gimme Back My Bullets’ [Classic Lynyrd Skynyrd song] on the way to work. Last night Bedrich, Jiri N. and I busted down a few at the Menza pub. It’s hard to have a conversation about anything without bitching about something. T.U.L. is at the top of the list. Bedrich thinks one more year after this one is a possibility, but only under the most bastard circumstances. He’s super pessimistic about getting private [non-teaching] work. Jiri N. seems to think it wouldn’t be that big a deal, as long as it’s in Prague…
“The FNGs [Fucking New Guys] are just making me antsier to beat feet out of this motherfucker…B from across the hall informed me today that a ‘cleaning party’ is afoot for ‘one of these Saturdays while we’re all around anyway’. Hey pal, you got a problem with the condition of the third floor common room, clean the fucker…fucking gooney bird wants to wash the windows and all that shit. I don’t do windows. This isn’t helping my ‘Decrease the Mean-Ons and Malice’ program…”
23.9.97
“BA’s due back late tonight…Bedrich had the good (?) idea to waylay him at the bus station and force him into an immediate elbow-bending session…”
25.9.97
“Yesterday I rolled in at noon and got busted down a day’s wage for being so late. Fuckin fuck all that shit. Made me uptight. Deserved? Sure. But a symptom of the disease. I wouldn’t roll in here three hours late if I felt there was enough of importance to do to get me in at 9 bright ‘n early…”
ROTTEN OUT.
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
One of those days to remember
Sorry, Kivak, I know you're not seeing a lot of action at the moment, but I've been pouring my literary energy into another wee project of late. I'll try to brighten up your sad little days with some more blog therapy, but methinks it might come in fits and starts for the next short while before the ABs get into their stride or one of us is unshackled and let out of the country. In the meantime you'll have to make do with still more anecdotes from travels gone by.
...The day eventually came when the Turkish residency permit was ever so gratefully received and the tatty old backpack was finally stuffed of all the totally useless crap I used to cart around the world in those days. William and Fyodor has to be abandoned unfortunately, although I found replacements for them a few years down the track. I left a large bill at the school canteen, but I skipped the country without my last pay packet, so that should just about have covered it. I surely wasn't flavour of the month once my escape had been uncovered, but I haven't stepped back inside the country at any stage in the intervening 15 years. I'm sure the guards at the Iranian border crossing in Sero won't be overly concerned looking for repayment for a few kebabs from 1992 in any case.
To be continued...
...The day eventually came when the Turkish residency permit was ever so gratefully received and the tatty old backpack was finally stuffed of all the totally useless crap I used to cart around the world in those days. William and Fyodor has to be abandoned unfortunately, although I found replacements for them a few years down the track. I left a large bill at the school canteen, but I skipped the country without my last pay packet, so that should just about have covered it. I surely wasn't flavour of the month once my escape had been uncovered, but I haven't stepped back inside the country at any stage in the intervening 15 years. I'm sure the guards at the Iranian border crossing in Sero won't be overly concerned looking for repayment for a few kebabs from 1992 in any case.
To be continued...
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