Monday, July 25, 2011

no comment, just sayin'. [2]

here's the city of grand rapids, michigan, united states of america..

.. and here's the story:

in january, newsweek magazine published (allegedly copy-pasted from a top 10 of the "dying cities" in the u.s., and #10 in that top (in which one could find new orleans, pittsburgh, cleveland and detroit, "put your hands up for detroit") was the city of grand rapids, michigan.

now, the good people of grand rapids were not particularly happy with this unwanted fame, so they did this:

some warm figures: 5,000 people willingly took part in this clip, which was filmed in one day. the entire thing costed $40,000 (that's forty thousand dollars, a decent brand new car, less than a studio flat in bucharest), with the money coming from 28 sponsors, labeled "platinum", "gold", "silver" and "bronze". the entire shindig was put together by these guys:

This video was created as an official response to the Newsweek article calling Grand Rapids a "dying city." We disagreed strongly, and wanted to create a video that encompasses the passion and energy we all feel is growing exponentially, in this great city. We felt Don McLean's "American Pie," a song about death, was in the end, triumphant and filled to the brim with life and hope. - Rob Bliss, Director & Executive Producer

long story short: stars and stripes, music, cowboy hats, guitars, suits, marching bands, weddings, dresses, skin colours, cheerleaders, bridges, unity.. if you want to know about the spirit - the damn spirit! - of the united states of america, here it is, every last bit of it, in this viral for grand rapids, michigan.

Friday, July 22, 2011

four weeks..

.. of being barefoot.

i walked on: dirt, asphalt, cement, stones, grass, rubble, wood, brains, holes, sandstone, clothes, sea water, plastic, rubber, smiles, sunshine, flesh, textiles, people, graves, beds, gasoline, souls, schools, trees, birds, cliffs, food, letters, garbage, water, metal, pavement, mammals, sheets, fur, banks, oil, laughter, leaves, customs, rocks, diplomas, pubs, sand, porcelain, seaweed, mud, thistles, homes, restaurants, snow, wheat, time, mobile phones and their phone numbers, branches, glass, sharp, pointy and hard stuff, thin air, blood, sweat, tears and other bodily fluids, alcohol, shells, tissues, sleeping bags and smoke.

i only wore shoes at specific times: for about 4 hours, when there were 2.5 degrees celsius at about 2,050 metres altitude, with heavily icy snowing and everything; roughly 20 hours, when i had some events with some clients; 7 hours, when i passed my second license exam (i think i'll frame both diplomas and send them to my parents) and once, around 3-4 hours, when i entered my parents' house with other two shoe-wearing people.

i just like to walk around like that. my feet are fine, fewer and fewer things hurt them (none, most of the times). i started to look around more often and i see stuff. i'm (still) easily amused by the stun i inflict in people when they see me on the street or in a bar. oh, the looks on their faces. and that's all. i intend to do this until the end of the summer. my summer.


and, for my gay fans, here's a song where i don't really care much for the lyrics, but for the fact that hugh laurie and john malkovich are in the video (which they manage to turn into a movie).

Thursday, July 21, 2011

snape my bitch up. (spoiler alert, bitches.)

i heard there was a secret sword, that neville swung and it hurt the lord..

so, last night i went to see the last of them all: harry potter and the deathly hallows 2. it was sufficiently enjoyable for me to draw some conclusions:
  • emma watson looks more and more like an old friend of mine. 'lo there. how you doin'.
  • ralph fiennes is an actor. even without his usual external olfactive asset.
  • the predictability level hit the roof when i first saw the ukrainian ironbelly - i just knew the gang would leave the place flying on his back.
  • for that matter, i think there isn't a single thing that could fly that harry potter didn't use at some point, at its top level and top gea:. broomsticks, dragons, house elves, goblins, magical spells, teleportations, voldemorts, you name it.
  • snape should have his own line of t-shirts. or trench coats. rowling has described him as "a gift of a character", that should be reference enough.
  • voldemort got his ass kicked in the schoolyard, mano a mano, like a bully that he was.
  • luna rules. neville rules, too. i'd spin this thing off.
  • i want those 3d goggles at home.
  • i also want a slushy container. with a dedicated straw and everything.
  • i have no idea why those little poles were installed right before you get on and off the elevation stairs. they suck a dead yak's nailpolished hoof.
  • i have learned that there's a storm penciled in on every year's july the 20th.
  • a harry potter marathon would be very cool. 1,191 minutes of a story where the lead characters begin with these faces and end with these ones.
i mean, really. these guys had a very, very, very happy childhood. (source)

      Wednesday, July 20, 2011

      my driver's license is fake.

      today is ana's birthday. so, alice, răzvan and me kidnapped her last night, around one o'clock, blindfolded her and took her to a place where the sun didn't shine, because it was around one o'clock in the night, weren't you paying attention?

      we had a blast on the way there. with ana blindfolded, from time to time i was asking her if she knew where the hell were we and where the hell were we going. stopped for food (very interesting to see how a person eats when she's blindfolded), ate fries and crispy strips while driving (răzvan is a great copilot - dude, when i take up rally competitions, i want you there with me), drove around for about a half an hour just to confuse the hell out of the prisoner ('hey, guys, how're your ears? we've been ascending for a while. ana, are you ok?' 'yes, yes, they're popping a little, i can manage.' - and we were just on the city outskirts)..

      anyway, throughout the bursts of laughter, ana realised:

      'man, i'm turning 26! 26 lil' ol' years! weeeeeeeeeee! and i really can't feel a day over 20 right now!'
      'yes, honey, i know, i've been turning 19 for the last few years, as well', alice replied.
      'by the way, i promise you'll all be invited at my 18-year-old birthday party', i pitched in, while everybody laughed.

      .. with a voice oozing of disbelief, alice bullseyed the idea:

      'i really don't think we'll live long enough to see that day.'

      Sunday, July 17, 2011

      universe series.

      farscape watcher on one side, white collar watcher on the other.*

      laptop next to laptop, with each one watching their favourite series. dialogues intertwining, zhaan and mozzie speaking in the same time, you get the idea.

      the farscape watcher (A) pauses his episode and contemptuously glances in the other laptop's screen, then at the white collar watcher (B), then back to the screen and so on, for about a minute:

      A: 'i can't believe you're watching this crap.'
      B: 'well, i could say the same thing about you! at least my crap is anchored in reality.'
      A: 'yeah, all for the worse!'
      B: '.. i think you should be glad i don't watch robotzi.'
      A: 'you don't like that stuff either, huh.'

      the white collar watcher shudders. the farscape watcher gets back to his episode. all is good, crichton and caffrey go about their business, as usual.

      * these are just the currently-watched series, but both trends are generally followed by each of the two characters: the farscape watcher just finished battlestar galactica, likes star trek and finds philosophical, religious, historical and political references in the upper-mentioned series (as well as in all sci-fi series) to be very entertaining. the white collar watcher used to watch fringe and the mentalist. and that says it all.

      Wednesday, July 13, 2011

      summering bucharest.

      - at the traffic lights -

      on my left was a milk-coffee-coloured honda shadow, ridden by a man in blue jeans, blue t-shirt and a black backpack. right in front of him, in his lap, carefully protected by his arms, was his daughter: a five-year-old blonde girl with long curly hair, with her small black shiny chopper helmet, her doll, her flower dress and her flower girly backpack. all she was doing was curiously looking all around, then looking back to her father, not uttering a word. i felt young and stupid.

      - in the parking lot -

      i was getting something from the trunk and had just closed it, when i felt a tap on the shoulder. i turned around: a punk girl, probably not over 21, very pretty, small, thin, long-haired, black clothes, leather cut gloves, tattooes, piercings, with an overall scruffy appearance, started talking really fast, in a high-pitched voice: 'hi, please, i'm sorry, please, don't get mad, can i ask you something?' 'sure', i said, fully aware of what's coming. 'yes, well, i.. us, me and my friends, we're trying to get to the seaside, you know, and we need money, do you think you could spare some? i mean, we really want to get to the seaside, it's the first time for us this year, you know, vama veche..' icy glance from my side: 'i don't like vama veche.' the pretty punk girl stopped talking, goggled her eyes right into mine, and, in a second, turned around and scrammed. i felt old and wise, yet stupid.

      - in a populated square -

      i went to get an icecream from one of the (oh, so many) booths available. just as the icecream girl was handing it to me, three gypsy kids surrounded me, not saying anything. they were just moving their little bodies from one leg to another, anxiously googling their big, black eyes to me, then to my icecream. they were thin, dirty and not over nine. all three of them had used plastic bottles with water and detergent and a windshield wiper, so they were probably on a break. i stared at them, just to see what their reaction was. when they figured out that i wasn't going to get them any icecream, their skinny shoulders dropped in a relaxing stance, their eyelids came down and covered half their eyes, with their long, black, thick eyelashes covering the other half. i felt a little torn, so i didn't lay my mouth on the icecream for about 15 metres. it was so good.

      and this is the song i've got now.

      Monday, July 11, 2011

      no comment, just sayin'. [1]

      this is johnny hoogerland, dutch cyclist, one of the most valuable ones in the world. you may see some information about his activity and achievements here.

      on sunday, during a course from le tour de france, he and juan antonio flecha (spain) were hit and thrown off the course by a car driven by a french television crewmember.

      caught in full escape, hoogerland was projected directly in a barbed wire fence at a speed of 40 km/h, the fall resulting in the wounds you can see in the left.

      right after the accident, he got bandaged, got on his bike and pedalled to the finish, for another 36.5 kilometres, to be on the podium and get his polka dot jersey for the best climber.

      he needed 33 suture points.

      here's the accident:

      credits for the pictures: press on them and look at their addresses.

      Fortnight Music

      După cum anunţam şi pe Facebook, Natura Urbană se întoarce. Încă este vară, deci vor fi nişte ediţii mai dezordonate, mai laissez-faire, unele lipsă, altele din prisosinţă. Că aşa-i şi viaţa omului, câteodată ai de mâncat şi de băut, câteodată dai în cap la lume ca să-ţi faci loc de dormit.

      Spre exemplu, se dă săptămâna de faţă. Începând de azi, avem o luni (da, chiar azi), o marţi şi o miercuri în care am să vă pun ce muzică-mi trăzneşte prin cap. Joi am să fac o pauză, dar vine muzică pe pagina de Facebook a emisiunii de să vă iasă pe urechi. A propos, UnDa Verde a Mihaelei este încă în vacanţă săptămâna asta, deci am să intru pe tronsonul ei, de 1400 - 1600 zulu, urmând ca, de săptămâna viitoare sau de ailantă, să-mi iau hamul şi praştia obişnuite, de 1000 - 1300 zulu.

      Tot de când intru pe tronsonul meu am să intru şi pe subiecte ceva mai zdravene, adică discriminarea în România (unde vom vorbi, printre altele, şi despre cazul arhicunoscut al Laviniei Rausch din Timişoara), BAC-ul de anul acesta (unde ne vom lua cu mâinile de cap şi vom purcede la trântirea lui de toţi pereţii), cum mai arată sistemul sanitar acum, cu un an înainte de alegeri, ce se-ntâmplă cu turismul şi frunza sa ubicuă, cum merge ediţia a doua de la Let's Do It, Romania! (Liana Buzea & Co., I'm calling you out) şi multe, multe altele.

      Şi mi-a mai venit o idee. Care dă şi titlul postului, de altfel. Din 1 (update: 8) septembrie, minunata mea emisiune are să aibă, din două în două săptămâni, joi, o ediţie specială, pre numele ei Fortnight Music. Ce înseamnă asta: în trei ore vom merge prin istoria unei trupe sau a unui muzician, împreună cu piese exclusiv de-ale lor, la Radio Lynx.

      Şi aici interveniţi voi, că de-aia e Internet în toată ţara şi-n străinătate, să fim interactivi şi să ne buşim unii pe alţii în traficul online: aveţi pe Facebook, pe contul meu, o întrebare, un poll, o listă, un buletin de vot, cum vreţi voi să-i spuneţi, în care sunt nişte nume de omini şi de adunături de omini, toţi muzicali. Acolo-şa îi puteţi alege după cum vă pofteşte hirima, că merge şi de mai multe ori, şi pe mai mulţi, să fie la toată lumea. Şi, în funcţie de cum arată clasamentul la sfârşitul său (31 august), am să purced întocmai întru selectarea primilor artişti la ediţia de Fortnight Music de pe 1 (update: 8) septembrie. În listă am pus chestii vesele, pe care le ştie toată lumea, să n-avem discuţii. Acuma, să nu fiţi porci şi lacomi şi să votaţi toţi cu toţi, că n-am făcut nimic. Oricum, dacă mai aveţi idei, lăsaţi-le aici sau acolo, într-un comentariu, că le iau şi pe ele în considerare.

      P.S. Asta nu înseamnă că scăpaţi de ciudăţeniile mele muzicale. Doar că vă iert de ele, o dată la două săptămâni. Hai, ne-auzim.