Eșec

... sau nu.

Nu cred că există eșec.

Există 'nu s-a putut', și știi că nu a fost din cauza ta,

'nu acum, și poate ține de tine intr-un anumit fel,

'niciodată', când e chiar la latitudinea tuturor,

'poate', adică nu,

dar mai există și 'vreau".

Dacă vreau pot, este acum și nu există cale de întoarcere.

Eșecul vine din 'nu pot".

Zelda, Myself and I

Well

There are times in your life...

when everything seems to crumble.

It really crumbles. And there is no way you can re-build anything,

the worst case scenario.

What would Zelda do?

She would take the crumbles and make a pie. A post-Shabbat pie. With all the rancour and the meaningful knowledge from the ancestors. And with the ”we fight, we argue, we shout at each others, we cry and then we eat”

That's the way the cookie crumbles.

Whatever you do, have Pride!

Asta este reclama la o bere englezească. Nu, nu îmi place brand-ul respectiv, e slăbuț, deși mi-a fost recomandat cu căldură de colindătorii de pub-uri locale.

Mie îmi place mesajul. E simplu și ajunge exact unde trebuie. Se compleetază foarte bine cu versurile cântecului ”The White Cliffs of Dover”, pe care acum vreo 9 ani îl cântam cu mare plăcere pe plajele din România, până la punctul de a primi nisip în ochi de la cei care nu apreciau talentul meu artistic, la a primi invitații să înregistrez un disc.

Bottom line, Have Pride and „merely survived because of my pride” dau bine.

Numai să îmi intre și mie mesajul ăsta în sânge, odată, și încă o dată, și încă o dată.

Whatever you do, have Pride. A ta mai bine decât London Pride.

Dușul emoțional și cascada cervicală

De câteva săptămâni tot aud la radio, nu spui la care, o reclama.

Reclama probabil este pentru un centru de... sănătate (?).

Oricum, nu înțeleg: ce e un ”duș emoțional”, ce e o ”cascadă cervicală”.

Poate mă lămurește și pe mine cineva.

A, ce calificare trebuie să aibă, să-i spun așa, conducătorul de cascadă cervicală? Dar aplicatorul de duș emoțional?

Am și eu niște dileme, probabil prea mult spațiu mental, ce să zic...

Being an Eastern European

... Not by choice, but by being subject to the EU regulatory mechanisms of allocating each country to a region within Europe. The "late bloomers" such as Romania were pushed in the "Eastern" pile, even though geographically speaking Romania belongs to Central Europe. Well, apparently the historical argument has the magical power to modify geological structures, I would like to learn that magic too.

Anyway, it is "exotic" to be an Eastern European (EE) person living in - let's say - Manchester.

You have to continuously explain that Romania is a member of the European Union. That as an European citizen no, you don't need to carry your passport with you at all times, yes, Easterners such myself are... white??? (doh!), and yeah, we do live in nice cities, we do have apparently more advanced home appliances than the UK citizens... and yes, lucky us, we speak more foreign languages than Brits do.

I certainly did not emerge from a hut/cave/grotto and yes, Eastern European women are more elegant than the ones living in these parts of the world.

And, if an EE person such as I enrols in a Doctoral programme, no, she doesn't do it in order to later work as a cleaning lady for a blob monster of an incapable Brit woman and her spawns of Hell.

I may sound aggressive, but I have honestly and sincerely resented a certain article in the Marie Claire UK magazine, which stated that PhD EE women are good for cleaning ladies. I am certainly not working my butt out and investing money in such a Programme just for later to be allowed to clean the bathroom of such ignorant individuals such as those who may read and approve of such an inept article.

... does not mean that you are a "second-hand" citizen. Maybe other Europeans should study more about the ... civilizations surrounding them, otherwise they will find themselves stormed out of their natural environment without a two-week's notice.

I rest my case, I am proud of being an EE individual, more exactly a CE one. Because, as opposed to other individuals, we do look different one from the others, and we do work more to prove our abilities and skills, but once we do it we prove to be more capable than the carbon-copies who believe that Romania, for example, is situated in the Middle-East.

Destination Buxton

Welcome to Buxton!

Don't ask me the location, I am still struggling to make the difference between the surroundings of Manchester and Derbyshire (hope I am not mistaken). Anyway, lovely, as Brits say.

Fresh air,a traditional town, not much to be seen, but the surroundings and the forest make it quite pleasant.

I had the chance to to visit a cave for the first time in my life, pretty interesting, although I would have expected it to be larger.

Above you will see some photos from this location and the town. Please notice the bookshop, a piece of fairy-tale scenery, and what I like to call "walking bird flu" (everybody's got some fixed ideas).

Ok,back in Manchester I went to a pretty French restaurant.Of course, there were some French people in it.OK, just one girl, on her first date with a bloke who spoke French pretty well, but with a strange accent. It's not very important for this stiry.

The important aspects were the following:

- she was fat, highly unlikely compared to the impression that Brits have with regards to French (that women are quite classy and thin)

- he was fishing for a ... shag

- she was flirty, he was... just a blabber-mouth

- he received the bill from the waiter, and without her seeing threw it on the floor; then, with not that subtle movements of his feet he began pushing the bill towards her, while talking loudly so she wouldn't notice his intentions

- eventually she realized the bill was on the floor, picked it up and drew out her card, to pay it

- he didn't make any move to stop her from paying, even though it was obvious for everybody around it was their first date.

Well, folks, what can I say? I am an old-fashioned Eastern European woman. The man has to pay on a first date (on a second one etc :)). The only thing I could put up with would be to split the bill, but only under special circumstances. But, maybe I am just being out-dated and do not understand how the modern world works.

Bottom line, the day was a success, I highly recommend a day out in Buxton and the food at Cafe Rouge in Manchester (so what if it is a franchise? the food is better than in some London restaurants who claim to be creme de la creme)

Mancunian Soup

This is an enticing recipe for a dazzling broth:

- take one late-twenties gall

- add four spices from India, Nigeria, Liverpool and China

- pour a hint of misery (from being away from home)

- stir well (daily debates over whom should have a certain shelf in the fridge)

- boil to an acceptable standard (eating in your room, washing the crockery in your room... due to heavy slime in the kitchen, yummy)

- season well with sour cream, butter and some houmus (Eastern europeans can deal with everything, and overcome foreign adversity. The shelf is MINE).

Deee-licious!!

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