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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.