tipsy baby.

a couple of nights ago, i heard a house/dance remix of this song. roughly, it was played ten times that night. it was that sort of night with house/dance music (that i think it's an utter and complete waste of sound), but the people present were fun. they all danced and sang and made funny faces. probably the reason of why i misheard the lyrics, just like in the title.

well, here's the original version. dance now.

 and here's another one of her latest clips, directed by the same guy, tarik saleh.

Li Lykke Timotej Zachrisson (born 18 March 1986), better known by her stage name Lykke Li (Swedish pronounciation: [ˈlʏ.ˈkɛ ˈliː]), is a Swedish singer-songwriter. Her music often blends elements of pop, indie rock and electronic; various instruments can also be found in her songs, including violins, synthesizers, tambourines, trumpets, saxophones and cellos. Her debut album, Youth Novels, was released in 2008.

Zachrisson was born in Ystad, Skåne; her mother is a photographer, and her father is a musician. The family moved to Stockholm when Zachrisson was a toddler and when she was six moved to a mountaintop in Portugal where they lived for five years. The family also spent time in Lisbon and Morocco, and winters in Nepal and India. She moved to the neighborhood of Bushwick, Brooklyn in New York for three months when she was 19. She returned when she was 21 to record her album.

(source: the almighty wikipedia.)

oh, and captain obvious called, he told me that she's also very, very pretty.

p.s. i still don't like this sort of music (that's why i always keep some jimi hendrix in the car, for example), although i've developed a considerably higher tolerance for it. but i'm intrigued of how she chose to deal with her father issues, considering the clips and the lyrics. the sea's not that deep, it seems.

da' noi de ce n-avem.

ăştia sunt nişte micuţi care au fost condamnaţi într-un proces cu juraţi, în marea britanie. ei fiind nişte "beizadele" care au părinţi cu mulţi bani, cu prieteni şi cunoştinţe sus-puse şi care trag nişte sfori zdravăn împletite.

mă-ntreb: noi de ce n-avem procese cu juraţi, ci doar cu magistraţi? şi mă mai întreb dacă un astfel de procedeu juridic ar funcţiona la noi în ţară.

nu ştiu prea multe despre tehnicalităţile sistemului judiciar românesc, iar, din punctul ăsta de vedere, şi mai puţin. pe la sfârşitul secolului nouăsprezece, începutul secolului douăzeci - la "începuturile statului modern român", se pare că existau procese de genul ăsta. acum cică funcţionăm pe modelul sovietic, spre deosebire de statele unite, europa şi japonia, unde funcţionează curţile cu juraţi.

acum, mai e o chestie: juraţii ăştia, unde activează ei, doar în procesele penale? dacă da, în care? probabil alea mai grave, or fi nişte filtre. nu cred că poţi să chemi doisprezece inşi pentru orice sătean care şi-a croit vecinul cu parul, că l-a prins la nevastă-sa.

şi mai e chestia aia cu eficienţa. sunt nenumărate dosare întârziate, "pierdute", uitate sau înghiţite la ordinele celor mai obscure şi mai luminate personaje (de multe ori, simultan). dacă justiţia noastră e zobită de corupţie, cu avocaţi, procurori, judecători - toţi luaţi de-a valma, deopotrivă, de câte un dos de tentacul, oare juraţii ar face treabă mai bună în astfel de cazuri? oare procesele penale autohtone, cu inculpaţi similari celor patru de mai sus, s-ar soluţiona corect şi repede, cu doisprezece juraţi desemnaţi să stabilească vinovăţia? într-o ţară în care poţi afla în cinci minute numele, adresa şi rudele apropiate ale oricui, iar în alte zece poţi trimite pe cineva să-i viziteze, nu-s sigur că influenţarea juraţilor n-ar fi totală. probabil, în momentul în care s-ar cunoaşte juraţii dintr-un proces cu nişte inculpaţi beizadele sau interlopi, ei şi familiile lor ar trebui introduşi într-un program de protecţie cam pe toată viaţa. ceea ce sună ca din filme.

lămuriţi-m-aţi.

places to go, people to meet.

so, internet, right? largest place on earth. larger than the pacific ocean, larger than everest, larger than life. basically, you see stuff. you also hear stuff and read stuff, but the seeing part is the main part. jaw-dropping oglery - let's be honest, that's what everybody's looking for. your eyes plugged into your brains and your brains running around naked, screaming: "my hair is on fire, my hair is on fire!". that, if you have hairy brains. and i know for a fact that some of you do. you know who you are.

just to throw you some dry wood, here's two see links from two guys. the comments under the first three pictures are mine, the other four are the author's titles.

Adrian Petrisor - Photography - never met the guy. exchanged a couple of courtesy lines over the almighty facebook (good morning, slut, still topstorying, i see), and that was all. but, man, can he push one's buttons with his pictures. i like his work so much, it annoys the hell out of me. i'm not a quick liker, but, when i first entered his blog, i didn't stand a chance. anyway, enough said. here's some of his latest updates. country of choice: england.

toothless, some day you and i will take this trip.

at dawn, we live.

i'll have that medula oblongata blown now, thank you very much.

.. excuse me, i went out for a couple of minutes, to get some fresh air.

now, for the other dude: Travis D. Hendrix (it's his facebook page; for some unbeknown reason, his website's down.) taking the big hint from his name, i bet you already figured out he's not romanian; actually, he's the most interesting australian i've ever met. and i met quite a few. when i first saw him, i took him for a british dude, but i came around pretty fast when he started playing "my brown-eyed girl" on my guitar in a bohemian livingroom i used to, well, live: never heard an englishman singing a song composed by a northern irishman. but, despite his last name, music is not travis' prime talent. the man paints and draws and sketches. with coffee. yes, he also uses classic "ammo", like canvas, paper, ink, watercolours, oil.. you know, what regular, boring artists use, but, damnit, he paints with coffee. he makes both internal and external use of that substance, and he does it brilliantly. i give you some of my favourite works of his.

The Hummock Machine

The Soiree

World

Aunt Helen's Kitchen

(hey, travis! you remember that drawing you did, in that livingroom? i'm going to hold on to it, and sell it for 2,000,000 bucks - just a ballpark figure - in a couple of years. then, i'm going to steal it back, because i like it too much.)

p.s. i was planning on writing another "no comment, just sayin'" article, about the troy davis execution. but, as you can see, i'm really not in the mood for that. maybe another day.

yo, facebook, you trollop.

you suck a dead elk's hoof. what's the deal with top stories, subscribers, keep an eye on what your friends are doing? i stay on the "recent news" for a reason, you dimwitted crack: and that is to see, in (as) real time (as possible), what people (that are still not hidden) write, chrono-fucking-logically. now i can't even do that, with your "top stories" in "recent news" - what's the "top news" section, then? lounge area? you already had all of that! i don't need you to tell me what i think it's interesting, thank you very much! and you know what the worst thing is, you stalking harlot? it's the fact that you change my privacy options without even telling me.

we've had some good times, we've had some bad times. i've dedicated you hours of my life, you know some real parts of me. and i've always been understanding. i never beated you (unless you asked for it, whilst bent over). i've put up with your tramp advertising; i mean, hey, you're a working girl, right?, but this is too much. you added buttons and options that do nothing new or useful. it's like you've surgically implanted five more plastic boobs, another mouth and a sixpack of fake clits - you don't need them, i don't need them, you feel nothing new, i feel i have to uselessly work more to get to the same thing and you look like a monster that's not even a monster i'd like to sleep with - which is pretty far to reach in my book. yes, you went too far, just as far as the keanu reeves impersonation by pablo francisco. and now, keanu is a sad keanu.

yes, yes, your idea is that, albeit people are reluctant to change, i'll come around, blah blah. you also think that, if you know where i live and what i do, you're also entitled to decide what i like and what i should eat for breakfast, dinner and lunch. (and second breakfast and elevensies, if i were a hobbit. which i'm not, although i usually am barefoot.)

well, i got news for you, bitch: there's a new chick in town, her name is google+. she's hot, easy-going, user-friendly - what more could you want in a chick - and doesn't talk back. plus, she's very well educated. in comparison, you're the whore that slept with everyone, never shuts up and always talks (loud) about the same bloody things. well, fuck you! remember myspace, that girl you put out of business because you got bigger tits and longer legs? well, g+ (cool name, i know) is 10 times hotter than you. remember hi5? yes, i know, you can hardly call it "street woman", "sewer woman" would be a more accurate term. well, better get your act together, you overconfident slut, because that's where you're heading: the sewer.

p.s. you know where this text is going, right? g+, twitter, my y!m status and your sorry ass.

no pics, but it did happen.

the brazen wind makes a lot of noise in my head. dozens of thoughts rushing and innumerable voices of way-too-definite genders buzzing around my temples and trying to nest in my ears. black clouds over the next peak, silver rays over the valley of lost time. my toes and heels develop roots in the elastic mattress that some people heidi-like call "alpine pasture". i lay down in the grass and, in a second, everything goes quiet. there is no wind "down" there. as i look up at (.. to?) the fuzzy image, my brain needs a few moments to realize what's going on: there's a cloud passing from my feet to my head, about four metres above the ground. there is everything happening there, yet absolutely no sound. not even music. nothing. the biggest stampede ever is mute. billions of water drops travelling light, like they have a better place to be, and i believe them.

Daily Cotcodac la Natura Urbană.

Am cedat în cele din urmă insistenţelor lui Julius Constantinescu (pentru cititorii obişnuiţi: Julius este trollul neoficial al Daily Cotcodac, dacă vreţi să învăţaţi cum se scriu articole din care nimeni nu înţel..

Nu aşa.

Treaba-i simplă: astăzi, de la 17:00, ora Kuweitului, Natura Urbană are onoarea de a-l găzdui pe Julius Constantinescu, eminenţa cu paiete cenuşii a site-ului de mare succes Daily Cotcodac (puteţi citi şi admira pagina de web site de pe Internet http://www.dailycotcodac.ro/).

Cum v-am obişnuit, subiectele se vor învârti în jurul zonei Euro, şomajului, camionagiului şi Roşiei Montane - puteţi afla totul despre astea dacă uit microfonul deschis în pauze. Altfel, aşteptaţi-vă la muzici d-alea din care nimeni nu înţelege nimic (uite că tot am ajuns la asta) şi la trei ore de priviri lungi şi fixe între cei doi indivizi prezenţi în studioul Radio Lynx, în care ne-ntrebăm în sinea noastră "ce caut eu aici" şi "oare, dacă-i crăp capul, face microfonie?". Desigur, aceste gânduri au să fie activate cu rândul de cei doi protagonişti, pentru a evita dialogurile fără sens pe care le auziţi la anumite posturi de radio din FM.

Oricum, Julius, la ce trafic ai tu, n-ar fi exclus să ne trezim intraţi cel puţin pe unde medii, chipurile din greşeală.

Cartonaşul roşu este pentru cei care nu ne-ascultă.

P.S. Puteţi să luaţi legătura cu noi pe trei părţi: ori intraţi pe pagina de Facebook a emisiunii (caseta din dreapta textului s-ar putea să vă ajute), ori intraţi pe chatul Radio Lynx (îl găsiţi pe www.radiolynx.ro), ori sunaţi la 0372.924.288, să-l întrebaţi pe mogul când vă dă banii.

P.P.S. Înregistrarea emisiunii are să fie disponibilă tuturor la scurt timp după încheierea acesteia, dar e mult mai mişto să o auziţi live.

what ever happened to good ol' spam.

so, i get this e-mail, right:

from Noraini Osman ******@centurylink.net
reply-to Noraini Osman

i was going through profiles and came across yours and i felt like contacting you cos my dad is from Malaysia and that's make it my home country lol..I don't mind if we can be friends? write back and let me have your email address so we can get to know more about ourselves.have a nice day.
Awaiting your email.. salam

..?!???!

first thought: malaysia. wow. if it isn't the worst spamming ever. i mean, even those filthy rich kings, queens, emperors and princes of nigeria had better targetting. or, the idea is that i'd fall for it because her name is noraini osman, she's allegedly muslim, her dad is from malaysia and, hey, i might get some exotic muslim asian tail, because she clearly doesn't understand english, anyway.

then, i did what i usually do when spam like this eludes my filters and gets in my inbox: googled the sender's "name", just for laughs. well, ladies and gentlemen, be prepared for this: miss noraini osman.

..!!!!?!!

i entered centurylink.net (hello, orlando, fl! i know, cloudy weather, but be thankful the hurricane season is over, go make me a turkey sandwich or something), i poked around and i said to myself: well, that wayn.com looks a lot more promising.

so. either this wayn.com ("wayn" is the acronym of "where are you now") is a badass, mindblowing spamming device, especially created for paranoid skeptics who just won't believe that there are muslim asian women roaming the internet in search for the right man, or it's for real.

if it's bogus, well, congrats: you got a damn fine thing going on over there, facebook application and all, people from all over the world chipping in their seeds of truth in your lying watermelon. waydago, wayn.com!

if it's for real.. then, miss osman, noraini, honey, by all accounts, i understand that you wish to be close to a man that you trust and love - i mean, who wouldn't, right? - and i completely agree that you should visit your dad's country, the far, far away kingdom of malaysia, so you can get in touch with your roots and everything. i'm just wondering - and i hope you won't take this the wrong way, although i have no idea what the right way is here: where did you get my e-mail address and what in the sacred name of yang di-pertuan agong sultan mizan zainal abidin of terengganu do i have to do with all of this?

please respond as soon as possible.

fancomic "Mîţa cu î din i".

nu prea am avut nici chef, nici timp, nici ce să vă scriu.

e, hai că mint oleacă, ce să vă scriu am. dar timpul şi cheful, aceşti lolek şi bolek din prokrastinovo, mi-au zvârlit cu pietre ascuţite-n galoşi, că s-au prins că am reînceput, sporadic, să mă încalţ.

după cum ştiţi, acum câteva zile a fost ziua lu' sergiu v. vasile, un domn care stă la baza a cel puţin 30% din buvigneta mea, cea pe un an de zile, şi a multor hlizeli complet neromâneşti în schelă. şi m-am gândit că e cazul să-i fac un cadou, la care să bea el o bere, singur sau împreună; că e clar că noi doi nu existăm, de fapt, şi că nu avem să ne vedem niciodată albul ochilor.

aşadar, i-am făcut un fancomic la "mîţa cu î din i", uşurel, de vară, aniversar:

why hasn't this joke been made yet?

.. there i was, wondering. so i looked it up online (and i have le search skills) - nothing. not even a remote idea.

therefore, i did it.

and here you can find it officially: http://9gag.com/gag/246891

p.s. for all you fans out there, yes, i loathe "the doors", i think they sucked. before the hatemail, please, consider the fact that i made an angel out of jimmy boy, even if i did it for the sake of the joke.

giulius are nevoie de noi.

pentru că, în afară de o ditamai eclipsa solară, de un embargo arăbesc de petrol şi de despărţirea trupei "the doors", nimic notabil nu începea în lume la ora aia, prin vara lui '73 se năştea, timid, giulius constantinescu. datorită acestui fapt, oraşul său de baştină, cernavodă, a devenit între timp un loc vizitat de sute de mii, ce zic eu, milioane de oameni din ţară şi de peste hotare, care îi mulţumesc în gând lui giulius că a pus oraşul ăsta pe hartă, altfel ocoleau tocmai prin drajna, feteşti sau giurgeni - vadu oii.

de acord, poate că acest post ar fi fost mai nimerit de ziua lui, dar ce vreau eu de fapt să spun este că nu poţi să citeşti un asemenea articol şi să te prefaci că nu-ţi pasă. dragă giulius. tu nu munceşti cu apartamente, nici cu muieri, şi nici măcar cu maşini. tu munceşti cu scrisul, fie el de mână, de picior sau de camionagiu. aşa că doresc a-ţi ilustra cum arată lucrurile din lumina asta.

iată cam cum s-au descurcat şi alţi scriitori, în timpul propriilor crize ale vârstei mijlocii: shakespeare a întârziat-o oleacă, aşa era pe vremea aia, şi a scris "the tempest" şi "the winter's tale", hemingway a băgat-o pe-aia cu "for whom the bell tolls" (vezi că mai ai vreo doi-trei ani), mark twain a publicat "mark twain's (burlesque) autobiography and first romance" (cică era ficţiune, auzi), iar oscar wilde a trântit un "the portrait of dorian gray" de nici acum nu ştii pe ce lume eşti, după ce-l termini de citit.

adevărul e că dante şi dostoievski au fost singurii mai normali în perioada aia: primul a scris nişte aberaţii despre cum bănănăia el printr-o pădure întunecată, n-ajunsese la filosofia de viaţă a divinei comedii; iar al doilea probabil c-a băut de-a rupt şi de-aia n-a scris aproape nimic.

a, tre' să vin cu o concluzie!

.. da, giulius, ai un ghinion incredibil, dar sper că nu la fel de incredibil ca al lui boris vian. mai vorbim la anu'.

V for Vicodin.

nobody sober on the 3rd of october.

The Cadillac Black - Down To The River
   

"mihai, ştefan, corvine"

motto: să curgă traficu'! (julius constantinescu, 2011)

update 2032 zulu: acum am văzut şi articolul ăsta din prosport, cu ăia de la bgs care te obligă să-ţi arunci la pubelă drapelul adus de-acasă. aşa, frate. "ce atâta drapel şi imn, păi unde vă treziţi. vă dăm drapelurile făcute de noi şi imnul făcut de noi. vă convine - bine, nu - la revedere." vedea-v-aş la temperatura camerei mortuare.


deci

cum găsim noi de dimineaţă o modalitate de a ne răcori după o calificare dusă dracului, de râpă (asta la propriu): asmuţim uraganul patrina pe humpty dumpty ăsta de marcel pavel, care, în consecvenţa-i paricopitată, a găsit de cuviinţă să explice raţiunea pentru care aseară am avut alt imn de stat: nu a dorit să se interpreteze politic.

după ce ne liniştim cu nervii şi ocolim viitura de lături din comentariile de pe site (din care extragem, totuşi, un diamant: "Si daca NU a cantat versul nu se interpreteaza politic?"), e cazul să ne gândim la ce catastrofă s-ar fi ajuns dacă marceluş ar fi mers cu textul până pe la prenumele alea din titlu. ce s-ar mai fi interpretat! nici nu vreau să mă gândesc la cum ar fi fost implicat mihai ghimpu, a doua zi presa ar fi vuit de "basarabia, pământ românesc - VEZI FOTO cu glia străbună de pe national arena". sau ştiri care-l răstignesc pe infamul sebastian lăzăroiu, de fapt, adevărata ţintă a prenumelui "ştefan". sau "corvin".. avem vreun corvin prin viaţa politică autohtonă? (dacă la "ştefan" am dat-o cotită, la "corvin" chiar că nu găsesc legătură.)

în sfârşit. dacă am fost în stare să-l avem pe ouleaţă ăsta manelist de marcel pavel care cântă imnul cu alte versuri, parcă mai avem şi-un drapel cu portocaliu pe undeva prin ţară, cred că om găsi şi-o altă hartă a româniei, care seamănă cu sudanul. şi cred că ne descurcăm şi cu limba oficială, s-o schimbăm în urdu. şi-s convins că ştiţi clipul ăsta, de-acum ceva vreme (de la 4'52'' e chiar pe subiect):

la sfârşit, iată o teorie a conspiraţiei. urmăriţi-o, că-i simplă:

marceluş chiar s-a încurcat de emoţie. văzând acestea, serviciile secrete pdl-iste au luat nişte bani din bugetul special alocat situaţiilor ieşite din comun (normal, banii ăştia ar fi trebuit să ajungă la sănătate/agricultură/pensii etc.), s-au îmbrăcat în galben şi albastru şi s-au dus la vocea româniei:

- marcele, fii atent, ce noroc pe capul tău! ho, ce te sperii aşa, un' te duci, vino-ncoace, stai şi-ascultă. noi suntem de la prietenii tăi, usl. aşa. şi zi, ai stâlcit-o rău aseară, ă? hăhă. ce moacă de (b)ou ai. ascultă-ncoa' la noi, avem o variantă să te scoatem din şanţ şi să te plimbăm prin toată presa, să te mai vadă şi pe tine ţara asta, că merită. da, mă, ai să fii şi la măruţă, ce dracu', ne ştim cu omu'. deci, vezi că azi are să te sune o jurnalistă d-alea deştepte şi are să te-ntrebe o chestie de genu' "aţi greşit imnul, cum vă simţiţi în acest moment", ştii tu, cât să-ţi ridice mingea la fileu. în momentul ăla, tu trebuie să fii natural şi spontan: îi bagi faza asta cu "n-am vrut să se interpreteze politic" şi "alţii m-au pus" - cum ar veni, eşti şi politically correct, eşti şi anti-băsescu, şi nu e nici vina ta - ieşi bine pe toate planurile. alo, un' te uiţi, ai înţeles? să vezi tu cum pierde pdl-ul şi băsescu voturi dacă zici chestia asta cu interpretatul! să vezi ce-au să te mai felicite oprescu, ponta şi antonescu! hai, du-te sănătos şi ia şi plicul ăsta, pune-l în cutia ta poştală, că eşti îmbrăcat adecvat.

acum, la cât e de bou marcel pavel, mi se pare o teorie absolut validă. dar ce mi se pare ge-ni-al este faptul că traian băsescu este, în momentul de faţă, cel mai mare troll al ţării: imnul naţional a fost schimbat din cauza prenumelui preşedintelui în exerciţiu.

p.s. am zis-o pe facebook, pe site-ul "realităţii", o zic şi-aici: ce elegant ar fi fost, din partea lui marcel pavel, un "îmi cer scuze, orice artist mai are emoţii. a fost prima dată când am cântat un cântec atât de important, în faţa unui public atât de numeros. dacă mi se mai oferă o asemenea şansă, promit ca data viitoare să mă descurc mai bine" - or something like that.

p.p.s. iată şi un mesaj de ultimă oră, venit pe messenger: "Lekutsix: faptul ca astia de la stadion fac curat pe unbreak my heart spune multe :))"

car stories.

*** present day, 1326 zulu ***

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-BANG-BANG

'what the hell are you doing? there are people waiting! move!' the old man stood in a bit of shock right outside the window, prudently goggling inside through his thick glasses, as the almighty summer sun shrouded his ruffled white hair in an almost saintlike aura. his words reached my brain with a delay of at least a second and a decreasingly muffled volume, while his knuckles repeatedly and tempestuously touched the windshield.

i jolted in the driver's seat and pinned a bloodshot glance in his eyes, as he unwillingly went two steps back in the crowded crossroad. i was probably looking like the worst junkie (still) alive, and i bet that a sight of me wearing nothing but a wavy goa silk skirt, my head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth opened was not one of the sights one could easily forget.

i looked at the stoplights: they had just turned back to red. i opened the window to get some air, a gesture that convinced the old man to quickly return to his car, mumbling something about the country's "sick drunk junkies". to my right, my workmate was still sleeping like a bearded baby, with his seat tilted back and transformed into a bed.

i quivered a bit and decided to stay awake until i get out of the city, then pull over and have some real sleep. which i did, right in the parking lot of one dr. puşcă.

*** one day before, 0710 zulu ***

'hey, dude, this is going to be a good one. we got kayaks, bikes, beach volleyball, football, we'll have a blast!' my workmate was grinning at the thought of all the hot chicks that'll be on the beach that day. as a mountain man, always climbing and setting ropes and strings, this event was more like a holiday for him.

'yep, i'm looking forward to it, myself. though i didn't sleep at all yesterday and last night (as you might have noticed), i sure as hell won't be sleepy today, with all this.'

*** one day before, 2139 zulu ***

'dude, what're we going to do tonight? how does that trip to 2 mai's little gulf sound?' my workmate's eyes were glittering with anticipation. having fun during the event was one thing, but having fun while on a real holiday was absolutely amazing and definitely not to be missed.

'sure, what the heck. let me put on the skirt, first. now let's call the chicks and the dudes and we're good to go. actually, why don't we do it from the car.'

*** present day, 0355 zulu ***

'that's awesome! dude, she's playing mike and the mechanics' "over my shoulder"! on the freaking guitar! i'm gonna get another bottle of wine. gods, gods!' i then took the said guitar and started playing, as well.

*** present day, 0832 zulu ***

'.. look, really, it's ok, i don't want to sleep in a tent, i think i'll try and sleep on the beach, back in 2 mai.' i could feel my five-day shadow ripping through my cheekbones from the outside. i wanted fresh air.

*** present day, 1230 zulu ***

'dude, i can't sleep. i've finished this book, it was pretty good, and i really can't sleep. so what do you say we get our butts in the car and go home.'

i uttered those words with a bit of defeat in my voice. i was already functioning on slow-motion, walking up and down the small beach, eyes below the horizon, trying to wake my brain up for one more day. my workmate agreed, also asking me if i really don't feel like going somewhere with shade and trying to take a nap. i refused, thinking that i'll probably wake up after the sun will have set. which didn't strike me as a particularly good idea.

*** present day, 1324 zulu ***

with some loud rock in the speakers, i managed to get first in line at the traffic lights in constanţa, thinking: 'man, why do they have these 90'' stoplights? is there a ship coming or something?'

p.s. true story.

încă trei semne de exclamare.

natura urbană durează tot trei ore!

şi bannerul e la fel!

post-mortem.

i was just thinking about the (extreme) ways things are going in romania, concerning people that should be mentioned in the national anthem, as tens of thousands of proud romanians carry flags with those people's faces as the flags' arms.

we like to brag with those people. hell, every country likes to do that: have a guy that has discovered penicillin? one of the medschool's wings gets his name. a guy flew for the first time around the world in his home-made flying machine? he's boosted to colonel honoris causa after he dies, so the family can be proud. a guy defended his position in the second world war, saved 19 comrades and killed 26 enemies? throw one of those purple hearts at that bastard. and, of course, all these guys have statues and streets named after them in a gazillion of cities throughout the entire country.

or, better, for all the guys that were successful in their lifetimes (presidents/emperors/kings, mainly): strap their faces on the money. because that's what the world generally accepts as the supreme form of success: money. however, romania is not one of these countries: our banknotes currently host a historian, a musician, an aviator, two poets, a theatre play writer and a painter. definitely, a proof that we're a country that hates its political leaders for quite some time. after 1989, we briefly had a sculptor, but he didn't last, probably because that douchebag used to live in france.

but why really stop here. why letting the population acknowledge (subconsciously, most of the time) who these men/women are after they usually die. and why so trivial, so undermining. nowadays, presidents are under the habit of decorating such men and women, many times post-mortem. the order of barney the dinosaur, the star of han solo, the heart of neverland, we got 'em all. also, we suck in the very essence of sucking when building acknowledgement pedestals: we turn our national prides into generals and colonels, although they're civilians to the bone, as they have always been. not to mention that, for many, becoming part of the army is on the brazing edge of offending their entire life's work, with respect to what peace means to art, science and sports.

anyway.

two days ago, alexandru pesamosca, one of romania's greatest surgeons, pediatricians and a man among men, died of old age. during his professional activity, he probably saved tens of thousands of lives (around 50 years of practice, about 45,000 operations - do the math). he was never rich (he actually struggled through a life of poverty), he used to live in the hospital he was working and he dedicated his entire life to helping others. he was also a devoted christian and, in almost all accounts, i think the orthodox church may as well canonize him - that might help with the public relations. and i can just feel a post-mortem decoration creeping up on his corpse.

one of the best is gone, but we still have doctors, scientists, artists and so on that are very much alive and that deserve full acknowledgement. and, speaking from a strictly selfish point of view (because that's how i best function), i feel that we, the people, do not fully benefit from their genius while they are still alive. i consider myself lucky to be contemporary with one romanian raed arafat, for example. or with alexandru bălănescu. but these are just two people. i can't even begin to imagine the number of romanian people that perform at the highest level in their professional domains, and i don't even know who they are. 15 years ago, we had that "15,000 specialists" idea shoved down our throats, and everybody made fun of it. well, the way things are going (congratulations, new highschool graduates, by the way), we'll run out of those imaginary 15,000 specialists in a matter of years. so, we might as well get a handful of real ones while we still can.

so, for all the guys that still lead and for all the guys that will lead us: if you want your faces to appear on our money, some day, do yourselves a favour and get all these people together; your far-reaching contacts and database should spot them immediately. also, the elite-intelligent young ones: they need financial support. they're so few - give it to them. ask them about their work, about their domains of activity. ask them what do they think about it, what are some better ways in which things should go in those fields. take their advice into consideration. act accordingly. don't give them responsibilities, they already have more than you could possibly imagine. and don't even think about rallying them into a party, let them be independent, so their word can be trustworthy. yes, there will be tons of mud thrown at them, but you have the means to shield them, even by keeping them perfectly hidden, anonymous to the public and under a tenure. these are some of the few people that provide the means of existence to other tens of thousands. don't let them slip away, use them, that's why they're there, that's why they studied, worked and excelled. statues, streets, decorations - not really helping, unless you're playing "caesar 3".

we're so proficient in regretting and evoking good people after they die that we find no reason in supporting them while they're alive. and that's one of the (silver) bullets in a dead nation's curriculum vitae.

this just came in: breaking newsflash.

după cum prea bine ştiţi, vara asta m-am ţinut mai mult de acronimul de la natura urbană, în ceea ce priveşte mult stimata emisiune. şi, venind toamna, venind multe emisiuni noi la radio lynx, venind şi grilă nouă, m-am gândit să le-o iau înainte cu nişte chestii, având şi-un mentor pe măsură, pe directorul de programe de la radio, mihaela luca, de-mi ţiuia ceafa când ieşeam din birou şi nici nu vreţi să vă spun cum mă izbeam cu capul de pragul de sus când intram. (acum ştiu: pragul ăla e făcut special la un metru şi treizeci de centimetri înălţime.)

aşadar. are să se întâmple, de-acum, săptămânal, şi anume joi. şi se mută după-masa, de la 17:00 la 19:00, ca să nu vă mai bag în chichioane cu tot felul de interviuri şi de alte lucruri la 10 dimineaţa, că nici voi nu ştiţi pe ce lume sunteţi atunci, dar'mite eu.

am muncit mult pentru un generic şi nişte semnale noi. am muncit atât de mult încât nici acum n-am clar în cap cum naiba vreau să sune, iar mircea elisei, omul de la butoanele şi microfonul din producţie, şi-a dat de mult seama că "vine el când îl arde, nici nu mă doare capul până atunci". ceea ce e corect. dar, până la genericul şi semnalele noi, am făcut un banner nou, care e deja pe pagina de facebook a emisiunii şi are să intre, cât de curând, şi pe site-ul radioului:

neavând nici o legătură cu nimic, bannerul ăsta are, în schimb, un aspect foarte important de reţinut: fotografia cu mine delfinând îi aparţine maltezei, adică alinei prodănescu, o fiinţă care a avut lipsa de inspiraţie să-mi zică într-o bună zi "frate-meu", şi, ghinionul ei, am luat-o-n serios pentru 5 secunde, secunde care se repetă periodic şi pe nepregătite.

în rest, vă amintesc că săptămâna viitoare, joi, de la 17:00, avem prima ediţie de fortnight music a naturii urbane, care are să dureze trei ore, nu două (adică, da, până la 20:00) în care vi i-am pregătit pe cei de la red hot chili peppers, conform voturilor. pentru ediţia de fortnight music de pe 22 septembrie puteţi vota în continuare pe facebook. favorit este sting, urmat la scurtă distanţă de queen şi ac/dc. oricum, e vreme destulă pentru răsturnări de situaţii.

search and you shall finland.

.. cam aşa ajung pe-aici nişte cititori periferici, cărora aş dori să le răspund pe scurt.

pastile de cap - în faţa balconului lui giulius, nu la mine.
adidasi cougar - ai un strat de prostie mai mult ca ăla care caută "adidaşi puma".
ai fost bestial - cât de mişto e să ştii că internetul te bagă la-naintare la faze d-astea.
maxime de bunaciuni antr-un club - "hăăă", "ihihihi", "fatăăăîîînngh", "ce p*la mea". evident, o gramatică uşor superioară.
ma frige ceafa - e de la mama zmeilor.
vreau sa scriu cu 13 in times new roman - unii vor să fie cosmonauţi, bă.
cum arata universul - domnule hawkins, dumneavoastră sunteţi un cititor fidel de câţiva ani, vă mulţumesc.
cum fac sa incui oamenii - în conversaţii, foloseşte doar cuvintele "restaurant", "dement", "armament", "patent", "miting", "carp", "stâlp".
fac baie in gudron - îţi recomand seria "toxic avenger". aşa vei afla că, de fapt, eşti adoptat.
filme porno cu tataroaice - nu ştiu unde găseşti filmele, dar ştiu unde se fac.
gagici cu numele roxana din tariverde - aşa cum şi edwin van der sar e unul singur, probabil nici familia din tariverde nu prea are multe roxane.
jocuri sa fac oameni - din câte ştiu, au un sticker cu 16+, dar nu prea se ţine cont de el. oricum, F.E.A.R. e mişto.
ne`am pupacit toata seara - felicitări, acum sunteţi gata de jocurile să faceţi oameni.
nu te mai vreau o luna sau doua - ştiu, depinde de cât stai la dezintoxicare.
nunta aminda - când?!
descuiat usa matiz - acum treci la level 2: uşa poiatei.
locuri pentru hipsteri - ardeal. ei au fost acolo înaintea românilor care au fost înaintea maghiarilor care au venit doar că era trendy.
programu cu ciocanu de facipraf ecranu - până şi tu eşti conştient că n-ar trebui să ai calculator.
ventuze bdsm - tocmai le-am dat pe ultimele 15, dar am nişte ţepuşe goth care produc acelaşi efect.