Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Of life and lemons

As for some of my other posts, this one must begin with a disclaimer:  I do not have anything against lemons.  Quite the contrary.  I enjoy their tart taste, their bright colour, and the fresh zest they provide.  I've even been known to bite into them as if they were the more popular orange.

But onwards.  The fact is, lemons have gotten a bad rap.  They are the ugly duckling of the citrus family.  The orange reigns supreme.  The grapefruit is less popular, but its vaunted cholesterol-lowering virtues and sheer girth have attracted it a similarly sizeable following.  Limes are the cocktail-maker's best friends, and wow with their exotic taste, eye-catching bright green colour and the aforementioned association with liquor (not least with tequila).

But what of the lemon?  The best it can hope for is the status of home remedy.  To ward off a cold, for a bit of vitamin C.  And to top it all off, to be in the saying:
"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
Isn't that just great.  Just plum.  But let's stick to the fruit-du-jour.  Who would want to be a lemon?  It means sour faces, shoddy equipment, and general unhappiness.  Sour grapes for all.  Uh, but let's get back to the main fruit.

The lemon has been maligned for far too long.  It represents the very foundation of western capitalist society.  So make that lemonade.  Set up that lemonade stand.  Proudly hock that lemon's watered down sweetened juice for 25 cents a glass.  Heck, make it 50, these are tough economic times and with the threat of swine flu, you can work the vitamin C angle.

And remember:  when life gives you lemons, squeeze every last drop out of them - after all, nature provided it for free.  It's a lesson that'll get you far.

Just ask the Chinese.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Calling the Moderate Majority

We're out there.  And yes, we ARE moderate (and not just in Canada!)

And we are REASONABLY moral, as well as Morally reasonable.

The concept of the so-called moral majority is an utter distortion.  The vast majority of people are both moral, and reasonable.  Without sharing in the brainwashing and hogwashing of bible-thumping, bombastic windbags.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

From Poland with ser (polish for cheese)



What a lovely country.  And the food!  Well, I seem to say that everywhere.  Though I always mean it, and I DO know good food.  This time I had a special treat though.  I was the president's neighbour!  Me!  Imagine!  No, seriously, check out the pics.  To the right, my hotel.  The big palace-looking building in the background.  Note the short white building beneath it...



Which is a wing of the presidential palace!  Though, to be fair, I didn't much care for the neighbours.  The area's really nice though!  And check out a few more pics after the jump!

Monday, November 16, 2009

From Warsaw's Primrose Meridian Hotel

Which, I have to say, is up there as far as the fanciest places I've stayed at goes.  Of course, it's all small potatoes compared to hotles that exist out there, but still!  The best part?  It's reasonably priced, and is the most practical place for me to stay short of the conference site itself (which was fully booked).

For the first time in my short stint as an interpreter, this hotel offers bathrobes!  BATHROBES!  I know, I know, it's not that big a deal, but it's comfy.

More on this misty city later!

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Of latvians and jewish grandpas

Such very funny and scientific!.. Ya?
As heard from a wizened latvian gentleman at a conference a few weeks back.  He had such an adorable accent, I wanted to adopt him!  I guess the stereotypical eastern european accent is a generational thing.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Sleeping in other people's beds

... a how-to guide.

It seems like over the last month or two, I haven't slept in the same bed for more than a week in a row, if that.  It's required some adjusting.  Now before you gutter-minded people jump to tawdry conclusions, let me state for the record:  while it's true these beds were not mine, neither were they currently occupied by anyone else.  So there.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Bilbao update

Well, I haven't had any luck yet understanding why there are so many X-es around.  Other than that, this place is shopping heaven!  Clothes are a fraction of the price of Paris - though I still don't regret my swedish undies.  Speaking of which, I couldn't help myself.  On my second trip to Stockholm (last week), I bought another pair.  This time, they're not only Bjorn Borgs.  They're (get this) Lucky Underwear.  According to the package, Bjorn Borg guarantees that if I slip them on, somebody else will take them off.  Which sounded great, until a friend mentioned it might be a nurse.  Ah well.

Basque-ing in the sunny weather

Well folks, I'm in Bilbao, for what looks like my last scheduled mission.  It's been a zany few weeks!  I shuttled between Paris, Stockholm, Brussels, and now here, in Spain.  And it's pretty grand!

I wonder what Bilbao has in store for me.  I'm not really sure what to expect, but the Basques certainly like their X-es.  The language is chock full of 'em.  I will strive to discover why!

Meanwhile, work has me staying in a 5-star hotel in the very heart of the city.  We passed the Guggenheim on the bus into town.  It looks like a shiny, silvery snail.  Pretty though.  From tomorrow I'll be staying at a slightly less fancy, mere 4-star hotel.  I don't know how I'll manage.  I love traveling outside of high season, the prices are just so much better!

Now then, off to luch!  Let's see what this place has to offer!

Thursday, October 22, 2009

A good sim with text!

Huzzah!  And on with the conference!

... and thank goodness for internet access during breaks :)

Friday, October 16, 2009

As seen in Stockholm (in my new underwear!)

Become a swedish export

Swedish Exports are ordinary people, transformed by the power of underwear. They roam the globe, wearing nothing else but their shining underwear and sparkling personalities. Are you a Swedish Export? Send us a picture of you being you, in a pair of Bjorn Borg's. Every month, the most outrageous picture is awarded with an underwear collection.


And on the other side...

Have you discovered the internet?

Yes, unknown to most of us is this parallel world, filled with extraordinary experiences. It's called the World Weird Web. Now, Bjorn Borg is ready to take you to this amazing new place. To get there you need to power up your computer, start this program called web browser and write BJORNBORG.COM into the text field. To not completely blow you away, here is a sneak preview of what's to come.


So... yeah. All I can say is, Stockholm is fantastic, but it's a bit of another world... and they worship Bjorn Borg and Abba.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Misadventures in Rome - pt 3

FINALLY, IN THE PLANE ON ROUTE TO PARIS! (BUT BACK TO THE EVENTS AS THEY UNFOLDED)

Finally, the exhausted-looking manager, frazzled and seemingly at wit’s end tells us that as we’re the last, and they haven’t managed to find any other hotels to accommodate us, we’ll be staying at the most luxurious one of the lot, and that the bus will be here “shortly”. He looks like he’s about to cry, and in his over-sized suit he looks like he’s literally been shrinking under the stress. The man probably lost a few pounds that evening. Before, however, the bus shows up, a couple of Italian carabinieri mosey on over. It seems they’re unhappy. One of the poor wretched forgotten souls decided he refused to sit on the floor (nor on the hard metal bars of the carry-on measuring stand) and grabbed a chair from behind a check-in desk. By this point, everyone was ready to lynch the carabinieri. Which I dare say they suddenly understood, when they tried to growl at us and were met by a wall of steely, sullen stares. At this point we were nearly ready to piss them off further, just to find a place to sleep for the night.

Misadventures in Rome - pt 2

BANG – SMASH – CRASH – INTERLUDE – 12 hours pass…

And here I am, once again, at Rome’s Ciampino airport. Slightly wearier, more frumpy, with a mere 5 hours of sleep and a full day ahead of me. No grappa to power me through this time! Then again, it’s not even noon… on the other hand, this type of spirit is really more of a medicine, ask the locals!
No, no grappa. And as I sit on the floor of the line-up for Easyjet’s make-up flight to Paris, my mind wanders bemusedly once more over the last few days. Sunday – two days ago now – I thoroughly enjoyed taking in Rome, but at an Italian expresso pace, not that of a tourist’s ladle. Starting to learn about la dolce vita, or so I thought. Taking it easy, buying good raw ham from the supermarket like the locals, local cheese, Italian tomatoes, a panino bun. Sitting in a park eating and resting. Not rushing around town trying to fit in as many monuments as possible. Meeting my friend at a leisurely, utterly civilized hour – 5 pm – and going shopping on the Italian fashion high-streets. And, amazingly, finding the right pair of black leather shoes on the first try! Incredible! It didn’t even take an hour! Then a little leisurely sight-seeing. The Spanish steps are over-rated and crowded. You can hardly see them for the tourists. The Traian column, the Pantheon and especially the Trevi fountain on the other hand are lovely, despite the waves of tourists milling around, their ebb and flow almost a force of nature. Finally, after a minor bus issue – the bus won’t start, another leaves without us, finally we have to get off and switch as the power goes out on it entirely. But then, a lovely dinner with friends, old and new, a nice mojito at a cute little bar in Trastevere. And back to the hotel – the Elysee hotel, no less! How perfect for a Parisian!

Misadventures in Rome - pt 1


I sit in Ciampino airport, with all the time I need to wallow and wail at my own ineptitude. The flies stare at me, crawl over me, taunt me as I try to frighten them away. But flies are stalwart, daring, enterprising. Ciampino airport is an awful place. There are flies everywhere. This must be close to hell – or a garbage heap. On the bright side – there is always a bright side, even in the bright orange glow of hellfire – I am pleasantly drunk off an extremely inexpensive but mostly generous portion of grappa. B less Italians for inventing grappa. And bless the serving girl who so kindly kept on pouring when common sense and fiscal responsibility were screaming for her to stop. And curse my utter idiocy and uselessness. The blond Italian mother beside me is feeding her children sandwiches. Prosciutto Cotto. Grandissimo. Meanwhile, I have the minor consolation that I packed enough food to feed a family of four. And provolone is excellent with grappa. And dry Italian buns are better with good – I guess, the grappa may be in … and now the blond Italian sandwich-eating child beside me is speaking to me. In Italian. And now so is his grandmother. How lovely! So, food. Italian tomatoes – which are juicy and taste like tomato juice in an environmentally friendly, biodegradable container. Here the boy goes again, asking “why do you speak English?” in Italian, of course. Such existential questions from a 6 year-old. Tomatoes and provolone, Italian bread and grappa. So many diversions from dwelling on my complete and total stupidity. And now the p.a. is announcing something incromprehensible that might be for me. .. nope, Berlin. And I’m heading to Paris. Fully 3 hours too late, and from the wrong airport. I will soon find out whether my fate is to remain in Rome. Only 20 minutes til the Easyjet plane is scheduled to take off. And still no sign of a call to board. The previous flight, leaving from FUCK OFF YOU FLY! SHOO! GET THE HELL OFF OF ME! the same queue has yet to board. Hope is a fragile thing on such a day as this.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Nice...

The sign says: "Memorial of the deportation". In the very heart of Paris. Yes, it's a port-o-potty.

Hungarian tourist in Paris


Paris via Velib is wunderbar. I managed to ride past Louis Kossuth square, and up through Ferenc Liszt square. In the process, I also saw yet another contender for the title of "The world's most posh McDonalds" and a bus full of a military brass band, getting off, one at a time (imagine a clown car), holding up traffic for a few kilometers.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Le Jet-lag reborn

So... plane food sucks, this is a well-known fact. But what about plane drink? I set out to find out. The brief summary:

1. Ow, my head hurts.
2. I can't remember much about what I drank.
3. I see my wallet is empty.
4. It doesn't help with jet-lag.
5. And yet I remember the cute steward serving the drinks.

So, in conclusion, alcohol on planes is like alcohol on not-so-dry land. Overpriced, of uncertain quality, but if it comes with a hot server who cares?

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A little poetry

The Little Rock

One day there lay a little rock
Up high upon a hill,
So far it saw from its high nest,
It thought it was a bird at rest,
And every day it took to say
'One day I'll fly, I will!'

The days went by, the suns and moons,
And still the rock lay still,
Determined with a sure resolve
To one day soar uphill.
The rains came down, the thunder struck,
The rock it bore it all,
Until that is a boulder rolled,
It rolled downhill, and smashed, and smote,
And crushed it in its fall.

The rock then knew itself no more,
For dust it had become,
Yet blown aloft by winds galore,
It met the heaven's call.

In production...

A hit new musical show will begin production over the next months. The title of the new musical is still under wraps, but a call has been put out for some user content. Websurfers are invited to write their own lyrics for a song titled:

"If you were on facebook..."

Sign me up!
Or put lyrics in the comments!

Saturday, August 29, 2009

What does it all mean?

"[There's the] bad attitude and burly chest. But it's not just pecs and scruff that endears [him] ... it's all about something strange and unusual happening to you at puberty that ostracizes you from your friends. Then you find a close network of like-minded people who create a safe haven where you can be yourself and exercise your special powers."

This quote can refer to:

a) Twighlight
b) Wolverine/the X-men/heroic comic books in general
c) Me and this blog
d) The Terminator franchise
e) open to suggestions (in the comments, if you please)

Hint: you know the people who say it's always C? They're wrong.

Beer, wine and spirits

I want to put this out there now. I am not a wine snob. The world is richer for the fantastic wealth of beers and ales, as well as stronger spirits, that are out there.

A good frothy pint helps a tired soul beer the burdens of life.

A crisp glass of red can let you unwind (un-wine-d).

A smooth shot of the strong stuff can raise the weariest spirits - and put some hair on your chest (and hairy chests are coming back into fashion, lads, so get to it!)

I don't think I'm terribly clever - I haven't had enough to drink yet. But I'm working on it.

Dim Sum, lose some



An ode to chicken feet (just one of the many delicacies you can sample at this brunch-timed meal).

Oh thou clawed fowl's appendage,
Thou bathed in peppers and steamed,
The spoiled North American in me shudders at your very mention,
And yet you are sweet and tasty.

Maybe later I'll write another one about fried bean curd/tofu.

Friday, August 28, 2009

A punny for your thoughts

To beer is human, to forgive, the wine.

I'm not too proud to sink to these depths. Not even close.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

I want my bed back

It's the happiest place on earth.

The real one.

WHY do perfectly free days force you out of bed at ungodly hours? WHY can't you get more than a few measly hours of unconsciousness when you KNOW that you could have so many more? If you prick me, do I not mumble something unintelligible, swat you away and roll over?

Do I not eat wine, drink wine, sweat wine, bleed wine? Am I not a man? Am I a mere wine-soaked wretch to be toyed with and jerked about on my puppet strings? Then why do you offer me wine in Your house, as Your blood? Is it not for redemption? If so, the answer must lie therein.

Questions that matter.
I'm gonna go get me another glass of whine. And I'm going back to bed.

Insufficiently Addled Discourse (IADs)

Yes folks, there it is. NATO high command has issued a statement that has been applauded by the CIA and the White House, along with the international intelligence community. According to this statement, world peace is threatened by a surge in the number of IADs over the past decade. Steps will have to be taken quickly to turn this situation around. There is much hope that this can be done before the global climate change summit to be held in Copenhagen.

In order to bring about effective, positive changes around the globe recent research within NATO has shown that more alcohol needs to be consumed by world leaders. This is particularly but not exclusively the case before, during and after major summits such as the G8, G20 and the like. There is little doubt by those in the know that with increased consumption of alcohol, as well as other mild depressants (which should be re-cast as Negotiation-Facilitating Goods [NFGs]) contentious issues in global affairs would see far swifter, more satisfying resolutions.

The Kremlin and the French and Italian governments have already expressed strong support for further research to back up these findings, and have volunteered manpower and resources for the task.

As a responsible global citizen, I feel that it is therefore my duty, nay, my privilege, to go pour myself a glass of chateau des charmes cabernet-merlot.

Off I go. For the future!

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I am so psyched

I just spoke with a friend I'd lost touch with from high school. It's been ten years. I should feel old saying that, but I'm still slightly drunk off the gewurtztraminer.

The conversation lasted maybe fifteen minutes. It goes beyond hearing a familiar voice, but seeing him in my mind and sharing memories, and most of all, not settling for merely living in the past. Finding that there may be good times to come in the future. Realizing that you can renew ties and share interests and happiness. That strangers and friends can be the same people. No matter how much time has passed.

Joy! Onto the cabernet-merlot!

Le first blog

This blog was born out of the the dregs of a bottle of gewurtztraminer. Which is perhaps the best way for a blog to be born.

I will probably not write much, as I am inconstant.

And I don't drink enough to write regularly.

And I usually don't even reply to emails for waaaaay too long.

But what the hell, what's another couple of bites on a Google server somewhere?

Am I right?