Four candles on the cake

Boris is four

Four years ago on November 18 it was a beautiful, sunny day, although I couldn't appreciate it that much, being strapped to an intravenous drip and all kinds of measuring devices all day in the delivery room. I will always remember it as very long day, although it is fair to say that we spent a good chunk of it playing UNO cards (Todd's birthday gift), listening to radio and eating smelly pizza. At the end of it--literally, as it was three minutes to midnight--Boris finally appeared, to everyone's relief (especially mine).

Up until now he was pretty unexcited about his birthdays, not quite comprehending what the fuss is all about. This year he actually started asking about a good month before, inspired, no doubt, by his best friend Lance's special day in October: "When is my party going to be? Is there going to be cake?"

He is a real party guy, enjoying the hustle and bustle of big gatherings. It's not even about gifts--when grandma asked what he wanted for his birthday, he said "nothing." Although he did ask me for a teddy bear, to complete his collection of bed companions (currently consisting of a lion, a tiger, a dog, and a small cushion with stars on it).

And while his party is scheduled for the coming Saturday, last night we took him and Andrej to a farewell gathering at Isabelle's, Ruslan's colleague who is leaving REC. They totally enjoyed themselves and the birthday boy did some crazy dancing, in between eating all the snacks they could lay their hands on. When we left about 21:30 they were still full of energy and would have loved to go on (especially while the snacks last). So, all in all, a great day for Boris, and a good rehearsal for Saturday celebrations!

Things That Exist No More (BG)

Да отидеш до телевизорa и да го включиш от копчето на стабилизатора.
Да поставиш игличката на грамофона точно там, където започва новото парче.
Да върнеш бурканчетата от кисело мляко и бутилките от олио в магазина.
Да си оставиш ключа под изтривалката, когато излизаш.
Да пишеш писма на руско другарче.
Да идеш на градска баня.
Да носиш лентите във фотото да ти ги проявяват и после да чакаш да си в земеш снимките, за да ги видиш за пръв път.
Да позвъниш на съседката в неделя сутрин с молба да ти услужи с чаша захар, понеже магазинът не работи, а после в знак на благодарност да й занесеш 3-4 парчета кекс.
Да си оплетеш блуза по образец от списание Бурда.
Да бързаш да се прибереш, защото ще ти "звъннат".
Да отидеш на сладкарница и да ти налеят от кранчето една от шест.
Да вариш п рясното мляко след като го купиш, защото ще вкисне.
Да отключвиш с ключа, както ти е на врата.
"На ти две лукчета, че нямам да ти върна."
Да събираш салфетки и станиоли от шоколадови яйца.
Да си абониран за Славейче, Пламъче, Мурзилка, Веселые картинки, Космос, Паралели, Септемврийче…
Да се качиш в асансьора, да дръпнеш решетката и след това да пуснеш монетка 1 стотинка, за да тръгB Dе.
Да сложиш индиго м/у два листа и да напишеш доклад по биология в 2 екземпляра.
Да влезеш в детската градина и да видиш всичките деца облечени в сини или червени пресилки и шорти под тях, на ситни или едри квадратчета, тип " голям пипит".
Да пушиш в самолет.
Да пиеш кафе смляно лично от теб с ръчна кафемелачка.
Да се вълнуваш, когато "пуснат" нещо в магазина.
Да имаш да пишеш дома шно и да отидеш в читалнята да търсиш материали, защото няма Гугъл.
Да си разменяте подаръци в училище за Нова година – старателно надписани книги и грамофонни плочи.
Да свириш от балкона на детето да се прибира за вечеря, а не защото е тъмно или страшно.
Да ходиш до "Домашни потреби" за тиган, до "Плод-зелечук" за чушки и домати, до "Млад техник" за детски играчки, до "Битовия комб нат" за …
Да си купуваш плочи с музика.
Да сменяш ремъка на касетофона.
Да бъркаш нескафе със захар и лъжичка докато направи пяна, за да стане фрапе.
Да играеш на криеница, стражари и апаши и пътни знаци. Да играеш на ръбче /без да мине никаква кола покрай теб/.
Да звъниш на вратата на някоя бабичка и да тичаш да се скриеш.
Да си дадеш чорапогащника на 'ловим бримки'.
Да си вариш Dомашна кола-маска.
Да хвърляш яйца от балкона върху неприятелите си.
Да гледаш на черно-бял телевизор "Студио Х" всяка събота, след 23.30 часа.
Да скачаш на ластик на улицата пред блока.
Да участваш в Ленински съботник.
Да гледаш в неделя сутрин "Бързи, смели, сръчни".
Да познаваш мириса на "Кореком".
Да цъкаш пред величието на новия Москвич.
Да се съберете родата на копане или бране на царевица или грозде.
Да печеш чушки на чушкопек на терасата и да се питате с приятелката ти от 2 етаж коя колко има още да пече.
Най-големият магазин, който си виждал да са централните хали.
Да разлистваш Некерман и да му се взираш с влажни очи.
Да си правиш захарна вода за косата, вместо гел.
Да се подредите всички от семейството за банани на Нова Година и да се правите, че Dе се познавате.
Да си шиеш разни дрехи, когато те поканят на сватба, банкет или друго събитие, за да си по-модерен.
Да си боядисваш дъвката с магданоз в зелено.
Да се състезаваш с другарчетата за най-бърза подредба на кубчето на Рубик.
Да събираш лайка, мащерка, други билки и кестени за чавдарско поръчение през лятото.
Да те гледат кисели продавачки, а ти да се отнасяш с тях кат=D 0 с богини.
Да имаш уокмен и за да не му се изхабят батериите, да въртиш касетата на химикал/молив.
Да си мечтаеш за "ходеща кукла" от СССР.
Да отидеш на истинско изпращане на войник.
Да чакаш с нетърпение Дядо Мраз на Нова година, да се чудиш какво ще ти донесе и още преди да е дошъл, да откриеш подаръка в гардероба, прилежно скрит из дрехите.
Да се возиш в автобуса с билетче от 6 с тотинки.
Да купуваш бира и да вдигаш всяка бутилка, за да провериш дали няма утайка, като избираш само зелени ил само кафеви бутилки.
Да носиш пръстенчета, направени от обвиката на бонбони Лакта.
Да си опечеш филийка на печка с дърва или на котлона, вместо на тостер.
Да увиваш чужда книга, взета назаем, с вестникарска хартия, за да не се повреди.
Да влезеш в супера, а там да има20само сол и оцет.
Да стоите до тъмно с децата на вън и да си разказвате страшни истории за извънземни. След това се изпращате взаимно, защото си умирате от страх.
Да звъниш на телефон 177, предшественик на чатрумовете. Включваш се в конферентен разговор с още n на брой хора, ако някой ти допадне - разменяте си телефоните и си звъните.
Да заминеш на море с руло тоалетна хартия в багаD0а.
Bсеки възрастен, познат или не, да може да ти плесне един зад врата или да ти издърпа ухото, ако си направил нещо нередно, а майка ти не само няма да се възмути, че някой е пипнал безценното й чадо, което се държи като диване, ами и ще им благодари и после сама ще ти плесне един зад врата и ще ти издърпа ушите…
Да си купиш половинка хляб за 15 ст.
Преди филмите да има преглед със сериозен чичко, който да ти обясни какво ще видиш и как трябва да го разбереш.
Да ядеш луканка по празници.
Да си носиш стотинките в кожено портмоненце на врата.
Да си прибираш ключа на връв под блузата, за да не ти го снимат от самолет и после да влязат у вас.
Да слушаш всеки следобед нивото на река Дунав в сантиметри.
Да нямаш видео, да слушаш филма, преразказан от приятел, коjто го е чул от приятел, а после да го преразкажеш толкова подробно и цветно на друг, все едно си го видял сам.
Да идеш в чужбина точно след падането на режима и всичко, което да можеш да напишеш в картичката до близките да е 'Тук магазините са пълни!', от което майка ти да умре от срам.
Майка ти да донесе огромен чувал със соц дамски превръзки, на които лепилото не им държи даже прeдпазната лента, и вкъщи да настъпи небивала веселба, защото сте три жени, а лигнинът е неудобна работа.
Да има само два канала на телевизията: Първа програма - работи от сутринта до 12, завършва с химна; Втора програма - работи от 5 следобяд до 9-10 вечерта.
Да си "дежурен" до вратата на класната стая и да викаш "Клас стани! Клас мирно!"
Да си простират съседите от първите етажи прането н0 онези простори, дето бяха поставени пред всеки блок. Гащи, чорапи, гащи, чорапи, потник.
Да си купиш еспадрили и да им слагаш подметки при обущаря.
Да се прибереш вечер и ако вашите ги няма, да тръгнеш да си търсиш в съседите, ако не ги намериш, да ги изчакаш у тях.

Christmas shopping coming to town

Already two weeks ago my local supermarket started offering Christmas-themed chocolate and candy, marking the official beginning of the (dreaded) Xmas shopping season. Just why would someone want to by Santa Claus-decorated sweets more than a month before the actual holiday is beyond me, but surely the supermarkets know what they are doing.

Of course, this is just a humble prologue to the full-fledged "festive season" kitsch that is soon to hit all the stores: the glitter, the omnipresent Santa, the over-decorated plastic Christmas trees... And the worst offender of all: the music! The same old, wretched, half a dozen songs with some kind of a Christmas motive that we are going to be hearing on an on, from now until December 25. If I were Santa, I'd be puking all the way from Lapland.

I don't know what's the deal: are the tunes supposed to work subliminaly, creating a cozy atmosphere (making you more predisposed to shop) or is it supposed to be a blatant reminder (omg, only X shopping days left, have to buy, buy, buy!)? Neither way is working with me. When you hear those songs once or twice it is actually ok, and some of the tunes are nice, so it does make you feel a bit... Christmas-y, I guess. But when it is hammered into your head for weeks on end, it's a major turn off.

That said, 'tis time to start making Christmas shopping lists (those of us anal-retentive types who can't shop otherwise), and I'm adding ear plugs to mine.

Heroic Acts

Recently I came upon a very touching moment in Khaled Hosseini's novel 'The Kite Runner'. The story teller (the hero), his father and a group of other Afghani were trying to escape to Pakistan from Russia-occupied Afghanistan in the early 80s. At one point their truck was stopped by a Russian guard who was on drugs. A recently married Afghani couple was a part of the group and the Russian guard decided to have some fun with the woman as a price for letting them go. Everyone froze. Then Baba - the story teller's father and a courageous man in general - stood up, objected and told him that the soldier would have to shoot him before doing that. It was more than certain that this would happen when, miraculously, the guard's superior came, apologized himself for the soldier's bad manners and let the group go. The girl husband went and kissed Baba's hand.

I was very touched by this and I was a bit surprised by that as I thought I had heroism immunity having lived through some socialist times in the 80s when heroic acts were mainly committed by Russians and were closely linked to literature on the WWII. This made them very suspicious of course.

But I realized, when reading, that it is a bit unfortunate that nowadays and especially in the type of lives that we live, there are never acts of heroism, acts that even vaguely remind you of the above episode .

Of course, it depends on how we define heroism. If Hero was a Greek demigod - half human, half god - we quickly get to the notion of sacrifice, i.e. a heroic act is when the hero acts against his/her interest, even life, in order to defend a moral stand. And I can't remember anybody now that sacrificed a lot to defend the higher good.

We somehow live in a culture of moral relativism and even if we see that someone or someone's deeds seriously suck we are ready to negotiate, to make peace to explain this somebody's acts with the complex situation, with a multitude of factors etc. And even if we understand and we fully disagree, then we leave because a serious fight would endanger us and our families seriously. And this is not an atmosphere where heroic acts are born.

Sometimes I think of the times when people invited each other to duels just like that, for entirely prosaic reasons from todays's point of view. Well, I don't call that heroism but somehow, I guess, heroic actions would rather be born then.

If you read that by any chance and if you disagree with me and think you know of acts around us which are worthy of the adjective 'heroic' and which truly involve a big degree of sacrifice, please let me know.

P.S. When searching for literature on the topic I came upon these six lecures by Thomas Carlyle who described 6 categories of heros: the Hero as Divinity, the Hero as Prophet, the Hero as Prophet, the Hero as Priest, the Hero as a Man of Letters and the Hero as King.

Andrej and Boris having lunch

The Farewell Letter Genre

I am not a collectioner by nature but I regret one thing and this is not having collected the dozens of farewell letters of all the colleagues who left REC during my 7 years there. I think it would have made such a great treatise on the psychology of leaving. Don't you think that it tells so much about people?

I have to admit that as much as I hate the fact that my friends and colleagues are leaving, I am a farewell letter junkie and I open each one with unhidden emotion in search of originality. Somehow, subconsciously, I wish everyone left the next coming week so that I could read everyone's farewell messages including mine. There I look for pictures, old names, good poems, hidden messages, diplomatic and less diplomatic criticisms, brevity, details and what not.

What a treasure these letters. I remember that Erzsebet told me she was composing her letter for a year under the shower (sorry, if I am exaggerating). Isn't it amazing? Here, I can recollect several masterpieces like Robert's sailing related images, Steven Stec's Herman Hesse's poem, etc. I still remember Miroslav Chodak's message where he said that he didn't agree with the management approach and then said 'If you want to know how I see REC's development, go here and here and consult this file'.

Well, enough on that. I just wanted to say what I am missing in almost all these letters, after the 'thank yous' and the 'it's been so great', is an uncensored, undiplomatic, unpoetical and non-metaphoric account on why a person leaves in reality. This must be extremely difficult and I am sure I will not do it either. However, if I were a director of an organization, I would kindly ask all the employees to write their true reasons for leaving and this would be one of my inspirations for management.

Obama

It was last Wednesday and I woke up in the Skopje Desire hotel early in the morning after going to bed long after midnight, having travelled from Copenhagen late in the evening. I grabbed the remote control immediately and a minute later - oh relief - Obama had won.

I had never thought I would be so excited about the news and I am not ashamed to admit that tears came to me eyes when I was walking from the hotel to the office. These might be naive tears and heaven will certainly not come on Earth but they show the relief I feel at the end of the most unpleasant, uninspiring, regressive, aesthetically challenged political era in my conscious life. (My God, people just hated America these eight years, its moral authority totally collapsed.)

My excitement also shows how happy I am about all my American friends. I couldn't agree more with my friend Kristin who said that Obama is simply the good side of America. It's stupid to say but I started wondering some time ago how is it possible for this nation, so inspiring at times, to end up in such a political situation. I started questioning my knowledge and perception about America. I am also happy for myself and now I know that my adolescence fascination with Kerouac, Salinger, Saroyan, Steinbeck - to name but a few - is not an illusion. And.....what is more Obama seems such a cool and INSPIRING guy. I am deeply convinced that Europe and the US have one major vocation on Earth and this is to inspire the rest of the world. Finance, military, politics come second.

Constantine Cavafy revisited

I was so nicely surprised to see that the New York Review of Books published an article on a poet that I have liked for many years - Constantine Cavafy. Many years ago, when I was in high school, my father picked his volume from the hundreds of poetry books at our place in Sliven and ever since I treasure him. I knew almost nothing about him besides the fact that he was a part of the Greek diaspora in Alexandria (nowadays Egypt) and he led an entirely inconspicuous life having been recognized only in his late age. I will not retell facts from his life but only want to draw the attention to a fact that sometimes we forget that the banality of our externally visible life can be in stark contrast with the dynamics of the internal life.

There are a couple of poems that I would like to point to like the beautiful Ithaka exploitng the myth of Odyssey. It is a great and encouraging metaphor of life far from the home place and a reminder that this life is, after all, defined by this home place: 'Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now.'

I also want to single out another poem - Myris, Alexandria in 340 AD - which takes us to a long forgotten perion in the 4th c. Alexandria AD at the time of the suppression of the pre-Christian gods, namely Serapis, when the worship temples - Serapeums - were slowly replaced with Christian churches. However, this poem is about tolerance, humanity and sublimation of religious hatred.

Constantin Cavafy around 1900

Budapest not so women-friendly?

Even though I've been living in Budapest for six years I didn't realise--until yesterday--that this city was not women-friendly at all. At least, that is what the "experts" from the local Social Research Institute are saying, as reported by Caboodle:

"At present women's perspectives are not represented either in Budapest's urban development strategy, in service planning, or crime prevention."

After this shocking revelation, the experts propose the following solutions to make Budapest a better place for ladies:

"Parking spaces designated for women, streets named after prominent women and public institutions with facilities for mothers with babies are among proposals seeking to make Budapest more women-friendly, Nepszabadsag daily said on Thursday."

So, another thing I learned yesterday (very productive day!)--that there is such a thing as a special parking for women. Perhaps this is my non-driver's perspective, but this sounds a bit condescending to me, implying, as it does, that women are less able to park properly and need special conditions. I'm sure a lot of women would be offended by the idea; as for guys, although they would probably agree that women have crappy parking skills, I'm not sure they would appreciate preferential treatment for women, given the dearth of parking spaces in downtown Budapest.

And how would you prevent guys from grabbing these spaces anyway? Well, you could paint them pink and surround them by flowers, as they do in Bern, Switzerland, where they believe that "the average male driver will be too embarrassed to use the pink parking spaces."

Fortunately for all, this eye-opening piece of research and its recommendations are probably going to be tossed on the dusty shelves of some local administrative office and quickly forgotten. How about tackling some real problems, instead? For example, making Budapest a more cycling-friendly city? Or more wheelchair-accessible? Or more green?