T-man

Hard brake broke a heart

2010-06-13T23:54:00.002+03:00

It is too hot to do anything, even to go to a concert. So, I missed the chances to watch a bored Eric Clapton and Sir Elton John, during one weekend. It was like the promotions offered by Carrefour, in an attempt to sell out stocks before they expire; buy one-get one free…I heard that Eric Clapton didn't offer what he used to be, but Sir John impressed everyone.

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The crisis talks are all over us, from TV news to pub-chats, a normal phenomenon as the financial difficulties hit all of us profoundly. But the good part of each crisis is that they pass as fast as they hit, without giving any lesson to any of us, leaving only memories.

1998 Asian crisis turned into a Russia-led Eastern Europe crisis (There were the same talks about the future of Europe, Japan, banks and financial systems etc etc…And I was happily living in Moscow then)

One year after the crisis, we were supposed to have our first Board meeting, trying to persuade our superiors that we should start the engines for growth and we should increase our risk appetite. We wanted to ask an increased budget for expenses, that we deemed highly necessary for the infrastructure of our company.

Especially on the information technologies side, we were stuck with an old core application, which was impossible to improve, so we needed to purchase and implement a new one, meaning a six zeros investment. Several departments prepared their reports, to justify the need for the new application and we were supposed to sing our song in harmony as a chorus in front of our bosses.

When the business doesn’t move in the desired direction, these meetings resemble excerpts from a Hitchcock movie, everything moving rapidly slow in a loud silence… Everybody suspects the horror waiting on the next page and nobody wants to be the first one looking at it…

One after another we have presented our case, defended it successfully and finally it was up to our Internal Audit Manager to touch the ball to score the goal.

Although a good professional and experienced auditor, she lacked the necessary level of English. Adding the tiredness and the degree of tension, once she recognized the importance of her presentation, she forgot all the rehearsed text of speech and started mumbling a verbal puzzle.

She needed to indicate that the complexity and the slow speed of the system led to manual interventions and inputs for financial reporting, which undermined the reliability of the outcomes (and of the decisions taken based on these outcomes). With continuously increased reporting requests in different formats from upper management, the reliability and historical tracking of the data was crucial for the institution and any human intervention should have been limited to avoid errors.

After 5 minutes of unintended humiliation of English as a foreign language, she paused and said,

“Our colleagues are forced to provide a lot of hand-jobs to satisfy the managements' needs. At the current level of activity, they have time to do it, but still, we should avoid doing it often, not several times each day.” ... ... ... ... ... ...

A silence of 5 seconds offered sufficient time to everyone for imaginary thinking, cut by a burst of laughter. We obtained the approval…

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This one is a global one, it involves several economies and sectors but at the end it will become a textbook reference and in few years we will restart doing the same mistakes.

Warrior Princess Xena

2010-06-10T20:22:00.002+03:00

I am trying to avoid glossy magazines. Page by page they try to convince me how ugly, poor and unfashionable I am as compared to the ones presented throughout the pages. However, few days ago I have received a digital copy of The One magazine by e-mail (thumbs-up for the lay-out) and clicked on a link, revealing an ugly truth; what men don’t like women to wear?

The 5-item list included my 2 all time favorites; gladiator sandals and baggy trousers.

This summer arrived with a stronger heat wave and humidity, so everyone has right to dress light and comfortable to resist. But why the Xena feet with Shrek pants? Especially when you don’t have the sex appeal of comic book Amazonian warrior princesses, who in the middle of the jungle could manage to get breast implants and Farah Fawcett hairdos, while having regular wax jobs and nail treatment during the fights with wild animals and men clans, all happening in the family jungle. Or at least when you don’t have Shrek’s sense of humor…

Most men don’t like to see a little toe fighting for independence. Also most men don’t like to see you carrying environmental friendly discharge bags between your legs (ever had a ride with a horse buggy? Remember the bags hang down under the horsetails to keep the dirt from falling?)

Nevermind…

I am still old-fashioned, also thinking “if you’re not Jesus, don’t wear sandals” for my own gender.

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Having trouble in choosing where to go for a walk and then eating well? Go to Lipscani and try

Mes Amis http://www.gustos.ro/restaurante/mes-amis-bistro.html, successful French cuisine at decent prices or,

Dinette www.dinette.ro (Amsterdam Café with new owners), or,

The Divan www.thedivan.ro (at the end a Romanian entrepreneur managed to open a decent Turkish Restaurant

it's complicated

2010-02-18T21:48:00.000+02:00

It is almost a week of dating her, already few thresholds have been passed (i.e. Gardens of Eden conquered) and the burst of happiness is burning your brain. You feel like Emperor Caesar, nothing can stand on your way… While driving, you try to overcome the urge of smiling.

She is sitting next to you but didn’t make a sound since entering the car. Her head is up and inclined to the other side, as if making a passport photo, the nose tip indicating the sky at the horizon. You should have done something, forgot to do something, but you can’t recall. Sticking to the “communication is the key to a solid relationship” principle you ask, “Babe, anything wrong?”

“Ii-iih..nope…not really…nothing important…” . The face muscles that you were trying to control not to smile, progress into the mimics of panic.

Not really? Nothing important? Shit. You have done it… You were wrong… but where? How? Any clues? You are ready to punish yourself but need the reason to proceed. “Babe, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“I said, it is not important… at least not for you...”

“C’moooon…” you can be cute and collaborative at the same time…

“You didn’t change your profile at Facebook… you are still listed as “single”, I don’t know why? “

The panic look is swiftly replaced by an expression of constipation…you do not have any answer for that…you cannot provide any reasonable reply… you are just an emperor penguin…

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I have seen some people profiling themselves, as “it’s complicated”… WTF?!? What does this really mean?

Possible meanings;

- I don’t know how to get rid of him/her. It seems that I am stuck with this relationship

- I am desperate but he/she doesn’t even like me

- I am single but I better don’t mention it

- I have multiple partners and Facebook doesn’t list the option of “In few relationships”

- My partner is my horse/dog/cushion

- The rest of the world is too dumb to understand if I would try explaining

You can add more…but most probably it is an implicit message to someone, or a hidden requiem, to come and grab you…

Why there is no listing as “it’s rather simple”? (What is not complicated in one’s life?)

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Bucharest is under the siege of Mother Nature, the crater lakes left after snow bombs eating our cars. Municipality is expecting the city to self-regenerate itself, spending time with talking, rather than repairing few things around. Shall we call for international aid?

To many question marks for a day, I am done here…

Doggy style

2010-01-14T01:17:00.001+02:00

As if the 2 members of four-legged species were not enough in our habitat, we have involuntarily adopted (again) a stray dog. Actually he infiltrated consecutively through the bars of garden gate and terrace door one evening, appearing suddenly with an asylum demand in the living room. The shock of meeting an unknown walking creature in one’s own house leads to a mixture of panic and anger. With a confused mind and defensive instincts, we have managed to convince the animal to go back to his planet and blocked the garden gate against further attempts.

However, the small and skinny pal, with a pink tag on his right ear as a courtesy of Municipality, has decided to try his chance at the stairs leading to the main door. Few days he just stayed under the stairs, ignoring our existence, as if we have built the house around him. Then he started emitting friendly gestures with his tail upon our arrival home. Finally, one evening, he was sleeping on the doormat, leaning at the door to absorb any heat leaking out of the house.

We already had 2 of his kind, one male golden retriever that was bought when he was 3 months 6 years ago and a kind of collie, looking like the underdeveloped, psychologically challenged, rape-victim sister of Lassie, which we have adopted from www.cutu-cutu.ro. Both of the resident animals are real life versions of Tasmanian Monster, eating every plant and flower, digging the grass, chewing any wood including their own cottages and producing sizeable amounts of fertilizer in an expired banana format, which they evenly distribute throughout the garden. Since their very first day…I love animals…Dogs are the men’s best friends….

After a few days on the doormat, the 3^rd dog was also recruited and promoted with a job description of security guard. He got also improved fringe benefits, having access to dry dog food instead of digging our garbage for daily nutrition. All he had to do was to extend his ass on the doormat, occasionally bark on trespassers (or neighbors) and avoid pissing at a visible distance.

Unfortunately, the rapid increase of his life standards changed him. He is spending all his time by making extension exercises, licking own balls (ref. men’s best friend) and sleeping. He seems not to bother to bark at anyone (including that bastard driving a brand new Jaguar) unless that person steps on him. We have corrupted the small dark bastard…Probably we threw the first seeds of a global crisis in Dogs’ World…

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These days reading “The Darkness” comics series, strongly recommend…

"The" Country for Old Men

2009-12-30T00:33:00.003+02:00

It has been a while…. Few days far from the office charged my thinking parts, so I am kicking again.

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A month ago, one evening at home, watching “In Bruges” on HBO quietly and visiting Bruges has been voted as our Xmas plan, by her (The voting process has been similar to the last presidential vote, lost by a narrow (!!) margin)…

A 2.5 hours flight throws you to Brussels from Bucharest and you may reach Bruges by a 1-hour drive mixing with a flow of French, Belgian, Dutch and German speed maniacs. The city, as also mentioned several times during the film, is the best conserved medieval town in Europe. Here “to conserve” has been utilized excessively, the city itself is a historical pickle.

Hotel Prinsenhof, on Prinsenhof Street, is a boutique hotel owned and managed by a local family. The luxury of reception hall and the stylish architecture of the building is turning into a sour smile, when you enter the room and see that the toilet is separate from the bathroom. It seems that during 1800’s Belgians didn’t need to turn on water to envelop undesirable sounds, or they even didn’t need to wash their hands after.

When the nature calls (and after 5 hours of driving, waiting, flying, waiting and driving, it definitely called), you have to enter a small cabinet, as big as a phone boot and once seated, your nose touches the door (I have a proportional and small nose, for your reference). The place might have been handy for Superman, but not comfortable for OrdinaryMan in need.

After unloading biologically processed Romanian food on Belgian soil and unpacking the luggage of 4 days filled personally with enough clothes to open up a store, we took the narrow roads in search for a restaurant.

A line of 3-4 floor buildings, each looking like a colored and fresh cake, surrounds “The Markt”, the main square. We have chosen one of the places and entered; the greeting has been “Buna Ziua! Bine ati venit! (Good Morrow! Welcome!)” by Virgil (from Certeze).. We were back at home…Virgil was kind of a supervisor, monitoring the waiters, talking to the guests and serving the bills; perfect job for the man of Balkans. Staying since 1993 in Belgium changed his accent towards French but he was very talkative.

While he was asking about Romania and current events, one of the waiters, a young, tall, blond, athletic type, left the menu on the table and turned to missus,

“Mademoiselle, I have very good muscles; you wanna try?”, smiling kinky.

I was caught unprepared by the approach of this local Adonis, looking desperately to Virgil for a sign of disapproval but he was also shaking his head in agreement and saying “yes, really good muscles, good muscles. Pleasure...”

OK, we arrived to the land of free minds… The final blow came from the missus herself, “Aaaaa, I really want to try, would you like to give it a shot also?”

I just wanted to cry loud, a romantic trip to Flanders turning into an orgy…

The question marks blinking on my face alerted the waiter, he rushed to the next table showing a full bowl of mussels…”YES! Yes!” I shouted, exhaling strongly, I wanted to eat mussels, we all wanted to eat mussels, no?

A quick charge of food helped with blood sugar, relieved and in peace we have decided to visit some points of interest of the city; Chocolate Museum, Fries Museum (yep, they have a museum for French fries), The Burg, Beer Market, Linen Market… The freaky thing about the city is that except tourists’ kids, you do not see much of children, teens or youngsters around; as if the population under 20 years is used as slave labor to produce beer, chocolate and linens behind hidden doors… All café’s, restaurants, shops are filled with retirement age senior citizens, happily enjoying beer and fries. Even the cue in front of McDonalds stalls looks like a casting line for Benjamin Buttons (Can I have one Cardio Meal Menu please?)…

Too much fries and chocolate makes one hungry, so we entered another food-hole early evening. The place was fully packed and waiters were obviously tired. One of them threw two menu sheets to the table and passed by. Another one came to ask about the drinks but while we were searching the beverage section on the menu, she decided that beer is a fine choice for everyone. Once she left, a third waiter approached the table,

“We, Monsieur?”

You what? Again the missus saves the moment, the waiter was saying “Oui? (Yes?)”, as an indicative remark for us to order and to order fast… I wasn’t ready for this speed test and asked, “What do you recommend?”

“Maybe some poisons for you, Monsieur?”pushing his French accent on every English word.

Should each encounter with a waiter be a challenge here? I might be slow but not suicidal. But still, we are in a foreign country and I do not want to have anyone filing an aggression complaint against me, so I took it as a joke, polite and jolly “Haha, anything that would keep me alive until tomorrow morning?”

“Our portions are standard, but I can get two poisons at once for you”. The celebrity chef Harry Potter should be working in their kitchen.

In order to hide my anger, I looked down to the menu and saw a section of “Poisson”, catching the word “Tuna” I got the point. He was recommending fish (“Poisson” in French) … I had the fish, two fishes on a plate….

The first day in Bruges, marked by offers of sex and death by waiters, ended silently on the comfortable bed of Prinsenhof mansion…

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More to come about Bruges… watch the movie (In Bruges) and you will understand…

Waltz with Bashir

2009-12-08T23:19:00.004+02:00

Romania has been the stage of a clash of two evils, where one tricked the other one better and beat to death. The only hope remaining for us is that the lesser of the 2 evils shall give way to a new Devils’ Board, as quickly as possible. Otherwise the ordinary people will feel more heartburn during 2010.

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Recently started hanging out with our champion guys, joining them for Thursday football and beer. The sorrow of current events probably led me to find a shelter among them, feeling back the team spirit and family atmosphere. While being cursed by several former colleagues, the guys still seem to enjoy my companion.

After only two training sessions, I was considered fit for the SuperCup game to be played against French Oysters last Friday. Actually I was only mentally fit to join the team but they were kind enough to show solidarity and insist on my presence.

The day before the big game, on Thursday, we were having another training session. Decided to equip myself as a real player and went to the Nike Store at Plaza Romania (13 installments with CardAvantaj, kidding?). Following a quick analysis of measures and curves, I have moved towards the shop assistant of my choice. She was surprisingly interested in promoting the products, providing minuscule details about each material and model.

Having chosen a black pair of football boots, 2 pairs of socks, black shorts, a T-shirt and a zipper jacket, routed myself to the cashier and realized that I did not have my credit card with me. A big hit on the charisma, after showing off with a dark grey business suit and an air of a club-owner at the store, I had to count coins to pay. The cash in my pocket, RON 120, was only enough to buy a pair of light blue boots, which looked like I have earned them from Kinder Surprise.

When I appeared on the field of Calea Floreasca Hall next evening, wearing my new shiny sugar blue boots, with a revolutionary belly in the black jersey-set of our team, all the kids of my colleagues thought their parents brought Teddy Bear to entertain them during the game and circled me. It was embarrassing…never mind….

First half 3-0 and 2 more goals within the first 5 minutes of second half, the team was ready to bear the Teddy Bear Beckham (Victoria Bear was also watching the game). I was already tired from last night (and from last 36 years); besides, the warning of the referee to take off my glasses hasn’t been encouraging at all…The strong spotlights of the Hall, low battery warning in my brain, the crowd expecting to curse or to chant, with limited optic capacity I possessed, dried the last drops of self-confidence.

I was in the middle of the field, trying to catch a glimpse of the ball by following the tides of moving players. Only my neck was dynamically active, turning my head 180 degrees fast forward; I was looking like a paranoid intruder, looking left and right at 2 seconds intervals, asking “What? Where? Who? Why?”… At such an instance, when I found myself in front of the goal of the counterparts, the ball met my feet. With an inexplicable move that I would never be able to repeat, I passed by their goalkeeper and shoot the ball towards the empty 6 square meters from 1-meter distance… and missed it…asked myself out…

After the game, when the Cup was sitting in the middle of our table between beer bottles, one of the guys mentioned that I have “deviated” excellently bypassing the goalkeeper but hurried at the shot. What? Whatiated? I was just trying to balance myself, not to fall down while running and hoping the ball will pass through the goalkeeper itself. Maybe for some, the visual wave created by the bounces of my belly could be accepted as a deviation… I am not sure if I really wanted to shoot or just aimed at defending my feet from the unidentified flying object but the intercourse between the ball and my feet has been a peaceful event from my point of view.

We won 8-3, as a strong believer of fair play I would rather refrain from mentioning any further comments (especially the ones we made right after the game). Je suis désolée.

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Watch “Waltz with Bashir” or “Dead Fish” , you will not regret.

Romanian Rhapsody

2009-12-02T21:52:00.005+02:00

In case we are not facebookies;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGlTzt24Izw

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There is a new bookstore, Anthony Frost, on Calea Victorie nr 45 (former Living Store). The shop is open even on Sunday but the entrepreneurs seem to be either shy to promote or greedy to give up the books. Both options did not suit me, so I have organized a guerilla attack and kidnapped some of the paperbacks (they have a decent comics section also). Drink one less Grande Latte and hydrate your brain with ink at the same expense.

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I am not in the mood to explain the story of the paper ships I destroyed. Really cannot bother myself to tell you in details the day when our newly built head office, state-of-art office space, has been flooded by the first autumn rains of 2002.

When I entered the building, ground floor, Main Branch, was already under siege. The cashiers were brushing water out from their cages with the help of solid aluminum digit-bars of exchange rates' indicator. Branch Manager was explaining to someone the benefits of plasticized banknotes. Few clients, looking like wet ducklings, lost in the ocean, holding invoices, cash, ID's in their hands were staring around confusedly, were trying to choose whether to help the staff or to cry out loud. As an educated economist, I decided to allocate the scarce resources of the bank, thus myself, to more efficient activities and moved on, ignoring the scene. Do I look like the financier descendant of Noah?

A security guard slid one of the wheeled office chairs towards me and offered me a dry lift of 6 meters until the stairs. King Julian..

Climbing to the first floor, I realized that our colleagues did not waste any time; the little lakes throughout the corridor were occupied by a few dozen samples of navigation origami of all sizes. It was too early for me to be able to process in my mind the possibility of a crowd, otherwise dead-meat in the morning, producing so many ships from paper, seating page5 beauty of Libertatea on the board and even coloring flags. All of the ships had names... They were waiting for this, they were ready for this, scary... We have had recruited 300 adults of both genders, from lost childhoods.

The entrance of my office was after two sharp left turns at the corridor. Nervous with the water dropping on my neck through the shirt and with the unnecessary productivity of staff, I took the first turn left fast and slid.. Caution, wet floor!!!! Step-dancing to balance myself, I managed to reach the second turn, with one foot up, the other one almost off the floor. I have seen two colleagues from my department kneeled down, right after the corner, occupying every possible point where I could put one foot, any foot, safely down.

The next second was the one that I regretted not joining the ballet class in the primary school, which could have granted a more artistic landing instead of crashing my bullocks and head simultaneously on the wet floor. I managed to splash big drops of water on the praying devils.

While I was checking my own pulse and ribs, two bastards stood up and left whining, "Bai, If he wouldn't spoil it, mine would have been first", "Huh, yours couldn't even move a bit, kidding?"...

I helped myself up, with a desire to whack them and with a pain to hinder any such aggressiveness. Patting my own back to clean, I have grabbed two flattened sheets of paper; one from my buttock, one from my shoulder. Their ships...Racing Arks... A third colleague, watching the event peacefully until then, stood up and started shouting "Gabi's boat was stuck on his shoulder, so he was ahead, he won!!".. A burst of joy and celebration... I did not exist....

At least they could have treated me with respect, as Godzilla....

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Spank you!

El Classico

2009-11-29T21:44:00.003+02:00

Watching El Classico, the Barcelona-Real Madrid game, helps to understand how a simple game of 22 men could be an artistic and sportive show. After this kind of games, Spanish or British derbies, I don’t feel like watching Dinamo Bukkarezt or Gazsaray Izdanbul…

Romania is trying to choose between the lesser of two evils. Next Sunday will be not just an election day, but also a light Armageddon (or Armageddon Zero?), deciding the possible outcomes of 2010… The country is in crisis, jobless rate climbing, pensioners marching the streets; New Year preparations have a rather sad tone despite the glowing sun at the end of November.

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I haven’t been out at a club for a while. During the week spoke to a few pals and agreed to meet at Brothelli on Saturday night.

The club is expected to be packed as stiff as a city tram during early morning hours; I have sent an SMS to D, as our participation ticket to table-lottery. In an hour or so, I received his reply, the table and thus our status at higher social ranks has been granted. We were going to watch down and be looked up.

Days spent home contributed to the diameter of my lower body so I am having difficulties in entering the black jeans I used to wear last year. With few jumps and swift pulls, the encounter has been accomplished- although I might not be able button up. Wearing nothing but the jeans, at a quick look at the dressing room mirror I met the Michelin man posing for Levi’s. Freeing myself from the jeans has taken more effort, I almost fainted.

Grabbed the last pair of jeans bought recently, fitted in and picked a black shirt. The supposedly black shirt lost its color and turned into a shiny grey; after serving as the training base of our cleaning lady for the World Armwrestling Series. Hoping that the dim light of the club will hide the rays of light I will be transmitting, I put it on. As long as I would not sit down, the shirt was still good. However any inclination forward or temptation for sitting may generate a belly vagina between two lower buttons of the shirt, just over the belt buckle…Still fine, slim fit, do not breathe…

Greasing my 1.5cm cut hair with hair gel (to hide the whites), getting into a pair of comfortable white sneakers and I am good to go. (While I was fighting with two pairs of jeans and a shirt, missus has taken shower, dried and reshaped her hair, dressed up, put on make-up, smoked two cigarettes and had a phone conversation with missus Sr.)

Reaching the crowded parking lot we are greeted by customs officers behind an iron bar. One of them leaned towards my window with a disproving gaze but recognized me and asked his mates to let us in; not only me but also my car has VIP treatment, having its own reserved place. Parked the car, walked past a cue of long legged species, guided by the welcoming faces of guards and we are in.

While I am following the waiter to our table I realized that the service personnel had white Nike’s, blue jeans and black shirts; the only difference between me and them was that they seemed comfortable in what they were wearing while I was breathing economically.

Two ladies are waving to me. I would enjoy the moment on my way to the toilets later in the evening but now I wasn’t alone. The girls seem to insist and even move to catch me; one of them shouts, “Could you please bring an ashtray?”

Landed at the table, meeting friends and their friends, ordering drinks. The music is a painful mixture of electronic house, alternative, rock, hip-hop and heavy metal. Adjusting our booty shaking and arm trembling according to the rhythm, occasionally smiling to indicate the joy we are having and the belly exercise I have been applying for the last hour or so create a prostatic pressure; the nature calls.

The walk to the toilets (“Men’s Room” sounds gay) is like swimming against the ocean waves; the crowd extends and dips in harmony but you can never find a straight route. Once seeing the lights of restrooms, you feel like the plane crash survivor regaining his confidence to move on.

With increased testosterone level pumped by the beverage consumption and visibly excessive female flesh, none of the guys aim at high precision targeting but they prefer long distance random shooting; so there is no dry spot around. I make my own contribution to the liquidity discharge and left the warzone, back to the table. On my way, took few orders of beer, cigarettes, was asked for the bill and a cocktail (She didn’t know which cocktail or what kind of alcohol but wanted to pose with one, one with many colors)

Another round of shaking, trembling and while leaving the place at around 3am in the morning, the crowd doesn’t seem to diminish at all.

We had fun, huh?

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I happen to travel a lot around the country and within Bucharest; entering streets and neighborhoods where many local friends wouldn’t deem necessary to go or even couldn’t dare to pass by.

There are several industrial parks randomly left to rot, everywhere. One can easily believe that Romania partially served as filming platform for Mad Max series. After the revolution, probably in a hurry to spell-check, the hub for “steel industry” has been understood as “steal thy industry” by the politicians and those giant work plants has become the scrap yards for Transformers…

And all we are interested in is whether a candidate hit a boy, 5 years ago, or not... Nobody mentions social/economic solutions and plans but a slap... C'mmon... I suppose we all need a good slap to make a step for the required change.

H8 M8

2009-11-23T23:17:00.002+02:00

An idiot, who deprived himself of a banking career due to own personal shortcomings, began writing about banks in his blog. From French Banking system to Romanian financial sector nothing stays on his way. His credit card application is rejected? Burn them… His friend’s company couldn’t get a loan? Kill some… He couldn’t pay his leasing and didn’t obtain rescheduling? Spit on those…

Throwing accusations and generating stories, he considers himself the Braveheart, but the only part he comes close to the story of Mark Wallace is the scene when MW taps his own ass…

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A friend of mine moved to Romania and rented an apartment in a building, just on the corner of Stefan Cel Mare Blv intersection with Calea Dorobanti (a.k.a. Perla).

One Thursday afternoon he received a call, urging him to rush to the airport, to catch the evening flight to Istanbul. On his way to the airport he sent me an SMS "O., I had a leakage at home, at my kitchen sink; left the keys to the driver, could you please go and check if there is any further problems?!? Sorry.”

2 hours later the driver came back with the keys, asking whether he should go to check, instead of me. The grin on his face created flashbacks of few dirty bastards having a party in the apartment, finishing all the available booze (and me not being invited); so I decided to pass on his kind offer and go to check myself.

There is a big parking lot in front of the building, facing Stefan Cel Mare Blv. From a distant look, it seemed to be filled with cars parked by a group of anti-symmetry propagandists or by philosophy students trying to disprove the existence of parallel universes (Just for the record, I do refrain from commenting about female parking habits). Actually the small hills of sand and cement, as accessories for a pavement reconstruction, were blocking the space and offering an off-road experience to the residents.

Found a parkable place, landing my shiny black RR Supercharged through a cloud of dust. Waited a bit, until the dust was inhaled by cohabitants and jumped out of the car. Presenting the urban version of Swan Lake in the name of walking not to fall in a municipal-hole, I remembered about the bag I left in the car, the wallet in the bag and the cash & cards in the wallet. I even couldn’t recall locking the car. RR Supercharged is locked by an unusual sound of metal clinching, as a sign of prosperity of the guy holding the key (though you could push the remote button even in your pocket, the ritual of keeping it in the air makes you feel good). As I couldn’t remember any female attention for the last 2 minutes, I couldn’t have had locked the door, so I started rewinding my ballet course back to the car.

When I was approaching the car, from a distance of 15 meters, I realized that there was a guy climbing to the driver seat, holding a mobile phone on his ear and leaning towards the rear seats (where my bag was hiding as obvious as possible). The guy was dressed with Romanian National Football Team’s zipper and training trousers, the white sneakers and white baseball cap completing the car-smuggler uniform. I was, as in all panic situations, trying to process all information and possibilities without any real thinking. He could be a professional in his line of business, carrying a small cutter or knife. Also the taste for clothing indicated sportiveness which I never would trade for my belly.

I had to act fast… Like Bruce Lee…in a costume and tie…how was it? “Fly like a butterfly and bite like a bee”…Not Bruce Lee? Bruce Willis? Aha, Mohammed Ali...

I have held the half open door of the car, grabbed the dangerous criminal from his shoulder and pulled him down, out of the car, on to the sand bed. I caught him unprepared, unexpected and also he hit his head to the door while falling. That was my time for action; before he could take out any possible weapon he might be carrying. Threw consecutive punches on his face, neck and belly. Kicked his feet like a sewing machine.. Yiiieeehaaa, I am the Bruce Willis of Dorobanti (Brus de la Dorobanti?)

I grabbed his throat with a hand and showing a threatening punch with the other hand, heard him screeching. He sounded as if he just had an helium injection so decided to release my hand a bit. There were few spectators, none intending to save me from the criminal mind (his mind, not mine). Suddenly a group of shadows appeared behind me. I had to think that these dickheads never attack alone, but it was too late. My only option was to stand up, to seize the enemy and to run. Fast…

Slowly lifting myself from the patriotic thief, turned back to the group, trying to look cool. There was a guy in his 50’s, dressed in a better stitched costume as compared to mine, a similar aged-also neatly dressed lady holding his arm, and 2 more teenagers. I started shouting about catching the bastard while stealing from my car or even my car itself, attacking me and getting rid of the knife he was waving. The guy approached me and the thiefie, pulled him up. With a disproving look while cleaning his clothes by tapping with hands, he asked me “Why did you need to do this, Sir?”. His tone and words were too civilized for the mood I was in and I started shouting the story again.

Seeing his face, I also realized that the “thief” was an 15-16 years old, clean looking, baby faced, Dorobanti-type-teen guy. He was trembling and crying holding the elder lady’s arm, with his face having few fresh potatoes that I have recently cultivated .

The story turned sad; the older guy, his father, had also a black RR Supercharged, sent the guy to take the shopping bags from the car, the kiddo pushed the remote and by mistake entered my car, the car that I left open, instead of daddy-mobil while checking whether any girls are watching him.

I was sinking to zero from hero and he had a fight story to tell the next day to his friends. I still feel sorry.

And it really did happen…Thanks A., for reminding me to write it.

---- ---- ---- ----

Long before the webchats, we had the dealing screens in the Treasury Departments. Trying to act fast, to smack the counterpart immediately, we were using shortcuts, metaphors and amalgams of letters and numbers.

“M” and “8” stood for “Mate (Pal/Friend)"; the other one stands for you, my blogger-journalist-financial&social expert friend. Try to be someone but not everyone.

Obo

2009-11-18T21:59:00.006+02:00

Yesterday I heard from an old friend working at CitiGroup that Anan Dickshit is still with Citi but now riding bigger horses.. Glad for him, and for the crowds who might be meeting him, letting him introduce himself...

---- ---- ---- ----

From the "to-do"list, I didn't manage even to start any of the items yet but good intentions prevail

---- --- ---- ----

Journal of the Broken Heart

20.20pm
I showed her clearly who is the boss around and said honestly my opinion about the way she does things. The fact that she couldn't understand and accept the reality is another proof of her inability to self-improve (I have told this also, honesty is the key in a relationship)

20.25pm
I should have taken a photo of her face when I was talking, to show to the guys tomorrow. Her eyes were blocked as if her brain was run by Windows Vista. I am done with her and she is sooooo done with any sign of further humanly life.

20.30pm
Driving home, checking the mobile if she has send any message of apology. She must be crying in agony with tears and couldn't sum herself up for texting.

20.40pm
Still no calls or messages. I check her Facebook page on my mobile, no status update (hope she didn't commit suicide)

20.45pm
I check her Facebook page again at home and saw the wall-messages from her friends, the sluts seem to be going out tonight. They were always a bad example for her any case.

20.57pm
I am afraid she will do something stupid for consolation and end up as the breakfast of a bastard.

21.00pm
She still didn't call for a decent apology. I call her to make sure that her phone is functional and she is alive. She answered but the wind blowing at the background makes it impossible to communicate. What? Hairdryer??? She is really going out...Bitch..

21.10pm
She should have called back already. Probably now at the make-up stage... Make up... we make it up......no?

21.25pm
I am ringing her again, to tell her that I do not understand how she could be ready that quickly to hit the night, while she has just been dumped... Dumped by me.
She answered, quite relaxed, asked why I am calling her every five minutes now, when I didn't even answer her calls during the day. Said that she has to find her boots and hang off. Boots? High Heels?

21.32pm
She was right, I didn't show her the attention she deserved lately. And now a two-days bearded Hulk will get her into his bed with a quick smart talk...

21.47pm
I should have been more attentive and I shouldn't have forgotten the reasons for which I was attracted to her. I loved her for who she was and who she is, why to change?

21.53pm
I want to call her and ask for an apology for the rude talk, it wasn't honesty but aggressiveness. She didn't deserve those groundless accusations.

22.00pm
and I love her. But tonight I am going to lose her, because of my stupid macho behavior. Decided to catch her and her lovely friends at the bar, started dressing up quickly. Huh, she likes that shirt.

22.15pm
The door bell rings. I do not have time for a neighbor or dropping by friend. Looking for the jeans she liked me to wear.

22.18pm
The doorbell is still ringing and I need to open the door to let myself out; so the encounter with the alien is inevitable.

22.19pm
Opened the door, forcing myself, aiming to rush and but met her. She passed me by, entering the living room she asked where I am heading to, as I was dressed with my Fratelli uniform. Speaking with a tone and a speed stopping me to interfere, mentioned that she is sorry that she didn't listen to what I said at the cafe, she was thinking about the girls going out tonight and she needed a reasonable excuse not to join but to spend the evening with me, she didn't want to piss me off but I shouldn't have left the table in such a girlish manner. She was ready to listen now carefully.
Unfcknbelievable....
I started "Look, you are suffocating me, tonight we were supposed to spend with our friends...."

---- ---- ---- ----

Do not forget, Sunday we will be going to vote!!! no other plans!!!

0-800

2009-11-13T22:56:00.004+02:00

Thanks to the new tech, we do everything by phone or Internet; talking, selling, shopping, getting aroused, learning and even sometimes listening to someone or something.

The door-to-door salesmen of 80’s become the young agents of call centers. Few kids with headsets know what we need, when we need and they even know our mother’s maiden name.

---- ---- ---- ----

A very hectic day in the office; 189 e-mails boldly waiting to be read; 2 mobiles and the office phone competing to ring; couple of meetings overlapping; few colleagues back from holidays and frequenting my office in need of reminding me about their existence; an angry client threatening to file complaints to Consumer Protection, parliament, authorities and even to send a letter to Mecca.

When I hang off the last phone, two more colleagues attempted to enter , each holding a white page but I stop them at the doorstep with a hand, like a talented traffic police, showing the ringing phone with the other hand. I am decided to have a looooong conversation with whoever is calling. The line of numbers starting with double zeros indicates an international call.

“Hello, is this Mister Teppich?” I am asked, by a velvet voice of a young girl. Under normal circumstances I would get angry and correct the spelling of my surname loud but now I need this conversation, to hide behind. Also her voice is so soft, I am ready to be her “carpet” (though I am sure she doesn’t mean or speak anything in German).

“Yeah, but I recently rebranded myself as Tetik, T-E-T-I-K, Darling!” I can’t stop myself.

“Aaash, Mr. Tea Tick, Sorry for my mistake, but my records indicates as Teppich”. I couldn’t dare to challenge your records and please you do not challenge my patience.

“Mr. Tea Tick, I am sixteen and I have an offer that you cannot refuse”.

Honey, I'm not sure whether to be honored that my reputation is beyond borders but you are 2 years below the legal age to offer me what I cannot refuse. Still I would rather check your local legislation and might ask for a photo before my final answer.

“Sorry?” I said, “What is your name, M’am?”

“I am sixteen, Mr. Tea Tick”

“Sure, I got it and I am 36. But, your name please? Where are you calling from?” I just wanted to add if her mother knows the international call she makes.

“No, Mr. Tea Tick, my name is S-I-S-T-I-N-E, Sistine; and I am calling you from Chamberlain & Wyman International ”

Upppsss, I did it again.

“So, Mr. Tea Tick, you are the Head of Treasury And Financial Institutions in your company?” Nope, I am the liver of retail banking and it is not my company, I just work here.

“No, Mademoiselle, I used to be… Until a few years ago”, regretting the days when I was bothered only by the beeps of dealing screens in trading room. No human touch, just graphs and numbers…

“Ooo, excuse me Mr. Tea Tick, I was referred to you by Mr. D. We have an exclusive event in September in Prague, for a limited number of 20 bankers, as regard to the effects of Global Warming on Commodity Prices and US dollar indexes. We have an unexpected availability only for one more attendant and we thought you would be the right person”

Yes, with 6 faces impatiently staring at me through the glass office walls, I am the right person for you to talk now, keep on explaining. And of course when remembering about Global Warming and Commodities, I am the 21^st person coming to anyone’s mind.

Though, I am wondering the mimics I could activate on my boss’s face, by bringing a 5,000 EUR protocol expense request, only for the participation fee. I would at least feel a local warming, if not a global one.

I let her talk, about program, subjects, participants, sponsors, prices until everyone got pissed off and left my visibility. Once my horizon has been cleared, I cut her sales pitch “Thanks Honey, for all the information provided. When exactly would be the event? Which dates?”

“6-9 September, Mr. Tea Tick”

“Ahhh, now I am really sorry but exactly on those dates, I will be joining Al Gore at a Panda Hunt in Mexico. Unfortunately I am in a position to refuse your kind invitation”

When I am hanging off, I hear her asking about references to be called.

---- ---- ---- ----

I joined CitiBank Bourse Game in 1996 in Istanbul and my deskmate was a very kind & polite Indian, named Anan Dikshit. He was running the Call Center located in India, covering East Europe. The poor guy couldn't introduce himself to anyone during the courses without an explosion of laughter.

---- ---- ---- ----

Spending more time on the phone with friends, apologizing for not being able to call earlier instead of straightforward chatting with them. Once I finish the unread e-mails, I will call a friend.

the bank job... b-job...

2009-11-11T23:57:00.003+02:00

I was searching wikipedia for Romanian profanity. And found “a da la nutella”… I adore Nutella; at least adored it… For someone thinking that liquored chocolates are ultimate perversity, the meaning in English was disgusting… WTF “a da la nutella / to hit the nutella” means to have anal sex???????

One cannot have a decent breakfast these days…

---- ---- ---- ----

Year 2000 again; Y2K. The year that was supposed to crash all systems in the world but just did crash mine; I moved to Romania and started to blink syntax error….

End of May, less than 6 months in Romania; knew few places and few words. I had an abscess in my mouth, my dental presence being felt on each nerve. The dentist said that it was too late for me and I had to wait until the abscess was fully treated by itself (Yep, it was late because then I was considering “Stomatology” related to stomach and wondering why the Romanian population had such a wide-extent digestion issue)

I couldn’t eat anything for days as I couldn’t chew, with my face resembling the elephant man, having a pumped up left side. I had to feed myself, before the stomach attacked kidneys or liver in despair…

There is (or was) an unfashionably cousy Italian restaurant, vis-à-vis Opera House, named after the Opera House by the genius Italian patrons. They served semi-fresh soups and I was close to the place.

Parked the car in front of the restaurant, under the envying looks of neighborhood ladies (I had a brand new VW Bora, metallic pistachio green, huh) and entered the place.

The pain was controlling all my body and I was leaping instead of walking straight. With the new shape of my head and folded moves, I was the grandson of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The mixture of old-dirty foreign man and young-excessively painted ladies greeted me with estranged sights.

Seated by a waitress to a table in the corner and given the menu. No need to think, I ordered a chicken soup.

The soup, ready for the last 2 days and boiling, has been served immediately. I had to aromatize the taste, with some lemon juice, few drops.

Called the waitress but she didn’t hear. Called again waiving my hands as supporting indicators. She was still in chat with another waitress.

I shouted, “Could I have some lemon juice?” in Romanian. She turned while staring at me from a distance of 10 meters with an ultimate hate. I shouted again, “Juice, M’am”…

Few clients turned back to me also, throwing question marks. I had to use this chance of attention to tell again my wish; “Lemon, juice?”

Now all clients from all tables are looking at me, and sure they seem to be angry. Meanwhile one of the waitresses, an Oldie-but-Goldie, brought the small bottle of limejuice to my table, laughing hysterically and saying, “Maybe later Cutie, come after midnight”.

It took me few weeks to understand, while learning new words from colleagues.

With my mouth half open, lips squeezed and teeth closed in pain, what I asked sounded as if I was shouting for “Sugi (suck)?” instead of “suc (juice)” at first call. Moreover, I insisted politely on having “la mu.e (blowjob)” while trying to ask for “lamaie (lemon)”

---- ---- ----

Do not try to speak a foreign language until you learn all of its slang and profanity. At least do not speak when you cannot control your teeth and lips for whatever is the reason.

---- ---- ---- ----

That’s not a story but a memory. One from the many again.

But still. your musical education is my main concern, so just click on the link

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhHhKIa8jbo

When you get the taste of lime from your life, just don't be lame. Suck it!

missing in action

2009-11-10T00:03:00.002+02:00

Too tired these days; didn't accomplish anything yet from "to-do" list. But managed to get 4 more kilo's during last Istanbul trip... now installing the new iLife and SnowLeopard, as the installer claims "less than 17 hours left to finish".

---- ---- ---- ----

Coming back tomorrow -hopefully- with a new story, for the moment "under construction"

---- ---- ---- ----

I am going to change my mobile number this weekend. So, if you can't reach me next week by mobile, please get my point :)

Real Bucharest

2009-11-03T20:55:00.003+02:00

I became comment-addicted. Checking the blog every hour to see if anyone posted a comment...
Few colleagues and friends insist on asking whether the stories are real, whether they are my memories. Mostly, yes. What is funnier than reality any case?
All of the following are true and I will try to exaggerate modestly;

- After a terrible 3 weeks in a room at Gastinitsya Mezhdunarodnaya (World Trade Center) in Moscow, I found my apartment. A shithole of 40 square meters on Kitai Gorod (China Town), at the first floor of a smelly, crowded 6 floor building (and just for 2,000 USD per month). The apartments on that block were modified from "kommunalkas", small living rooms for each family (converted into bedroom at night) sharing a common kitchen/bathroom for each 20-25 households. I was asked to pay 3 months' rent in advance, 1 month rent as deposit - for the damage I could do (there was nothing I could possible add further to the smell and misery) and a month's rent as agency commission. I had 10,000 USD in my bag, riding with a cab to my new residence. (The dollar cash in circulation in Russia is 3 times higher than of in United States)
When the car entered the street, I opened my bag to take out my wallet and the green shine of dollars at the bag pocket enlightened the face of the Azerbaijani driver. He grabbed my arm and said few words that I didn't understand but seemingly threatening. Opened the door with the free arm, hit his face to release the other arm and jumped out to run. The real estate agent girl and landlady were waiting outside on the street, they saw the scene and started running after the driver who was following my city marathon...The driver caught me, the ladies caught us. I was saved, he was beaten bad. Stayed 6 months at that apartment until moving to Noviy Arbat (New Labor) street, where my car was stolen happily 3 times, by the same guys.

---- ---- ---- ----

- The management of the bank rented a "business suit" at Gastinitsya Mezhdunarodnaya, a duplex apartment of which the upper floor was serving as a guest house for new arrivals like me, until they found an apartment. First floor was the "Head Office". I was staying together with my future manager, as we both arrived to Moscow on the same day and were searching for residence.
Each night, at around 10pm, the chain-action of door-to-door sales was starting. Few knocks at the door, opening it you would meet every kind of white meat, always in a combination of 2 pieces, with short skirts and excessive make-up, asking "Want?" and giggling. They were so used and torn, "Do not want"was the only human answer. It kept going on with 20 minutes frequency until 6am in the morning.
It is funny for the first 3 times of the first night but after few weeks of sleeping disorder, one would get nervous. So did my boss... He was a person of comfort, hardly affording the first impressions of Moscow. About to go to sleep, brushing his teeth, dressed only with his Calvin Klein boxer shorts, the 10th knock on the door acted as a sprint shot for him. He rushed downstairs to open the door; to swear at the ladies. He forgot the luggages on the hall and trembled over, went down a dozen stairs on his head. I ran downstairs in panic and found him with blood dripping from his forehead, toothpaste foaming off his mouth, but conscious and nervous. Opened the door to get rid of the Knocking Birds and to call for help. The ladies started shouting by the scene. In less that 30 seconds security guards arrived, picked my boss and me as criminals by the arms and brought to the closest police section (downstairs at the hotel's groundfloor). After few questions in Russian and our answers in English, Turkish or German, we were allowed to call the lawyer of the bank, who got us released early morning. Only after a year learned the version that bastard lawyer told to the rest of our colleagues; two horny Turks called in the girls but the dispute to share the girls resulted in a bloody fight, the guys were so aggressive and excited, their mouths were splashing off.
I wouldn't let my dog to screw those meatbags but had established a decent reputation by the staff...

---- ---- ---- ----

IMF will disburse the 3rd tranche, EUR 1.5 billion. They cannot afford to have a red dot in Europe, possibly causing a regional catastrophe. It is much easier to throw EUR 1.5 billion to Romania and keep the engine running, instead of spending EUR 20-30 billion to save Turkey, Hungary and Czech Republic affected by the negative sentiment after. However, the IMF officials are executing now an humanitarian effort, trying to straighten political life in Bucharest. "Money talks, bullshit walks".

Breakfast in Budapest

2009-11-02T22:27:00.003+02:00

Spring of 2001; two guys at late 20’s, feeling as Patrick Bateman & Co were packed to kill, on their way to Budapest. Me and my friend G were proud tourists of male pleasure, full of self-confidence and “in case of emergency” cash, boarding Malev flight from Bucharest. We both have been in Russia for 3 years before arriving to Romania in 1999 and had few terabytes of visual memories that we would never be able to share with our beloved ones or with our grandkids. (Our “World War LXIX” or to be more explicit, our “Call of Duty: Easterners on Flames” hasn’t been as sad as the stories we were told by the Oldies. We did not wait long queues for our daily share of Jack Daniels’ and Red Bull)

We were lucky that Malev does not charge for excess libido and quickly took our seats. The pleasant weather, very smooth flight and surprisingly delicious catering were all indicating a nice long-weekend.

G, already in the mood for a quick win, decided to fancy the stewardesses (now they are called “flight-attendants” and if you dare to call one as “stewardess” you risk to die of thirst during the flight). He pushed the red button to call one of the ladies and when she arrived to our row he asked, “Hi honey, how do you say “Thank you”?”

She squeezed her eyebrows and answered “Sank yu!” Probably she wasn’t delighted that her conduct of English being tested by two Gollum heads. But actually we were trying to learn saying “Köszönöm”. Sink-sank-sunk in the seats…

Easy landing, fast trip with a taxi to the hotel that we have arranged through an agency in Bucharest and considering what was supposed to be expecting us we have mentioned several times our choice of 2 rooms with French-beds.

The receptionist, a middle aged gentle male, announced us deliriously that they could offer us the Executive Suit, with a 3-meters by 3-meters waterbed instead of two separate rooms, also for the half of the total price. He was so excited about his own offer; we had to cut him short to request 2 separate rooms before he had an orgasm on the reception desk. Moved to the rooms, unpacked, quick shower and... Budapest, here we come…

When passing by the reception on our way out, the receptionist shouted a restaurant’s name for us to try out. It was already on the list we have gathered through internet, so decided to give it a shot. Arcade was one of the cousy looking but cool places where you normally couldn’t enter without a days-earlier reservation. Thick wood stools and tables, few mediaeval weapons hanging from the ceiling together with Starck design lamps, drinks served in geometry-forcing glasses. The emergency cash stack helped us to find a decent table on the spot. The waitresses were chosen from the remains of the last Victoria’s Secret show, each of them proving the existence of God. We were hardly talking but staring at the female aurora serving our food and drinks. Great food, great spirits and great sprits ended up with a bill below 100 EUR and we decided that it was the place to come again. I followed the girl who served our table while she was walking to the kitchen, she suddenly turned back at dazzling me “Very nice, can I have the phone number…” Before I was able to say “the phone number of the restaurant to make a reservation for another day?” she started shouting at me “Do you think that I needed to serve food to smocks like you if I dated each tourist coming to Budapest?” I presume they never had same client twice, thanks to her.

We left for a walk on the crowded streets. The streets were full of same gender competitors; probably the after-match crowd of a football derby had had caught us. Instead of forcing through the crowd, we entered a pub on our way. While sipping our drinks, a kiddo came, confusedly offering a red rose to one of us, he couldn’t decide to whom, we ignored and he left. Few minutes later a violinist came, with a large grin on his face, playing a futurist version of Love Story…The bar was also packed with a dozen guys, the only single girl was the barmaid and she seemed to belong to one of the bouncers, keeping an eye on him regularly. Decided to hit the road again, maybe the first night was just a warm-up curse.

I was running up the few stairs from the bar’s exit to the street, G remained behind checking the local tourist guides and brochures on the shelves. I was hoping that he could discover a decent club to go where another 100 EUR could make wonders but he started shouting as if a boa bit him,

“Shit!! Shit!!!, Shiiiiittt!!”

“What happened? What happened?” I was panicked thinking that his wallet or passport has been stolen.

He threw one of the booklets to me; I couldn’t grab it and skipped on the floor. On the cover there was toothpaste commercial, I was quite surprised that the dental hygiene concerned him so much and wanted to assure him that I am ready to lend my toothpaste. After 10 years of brotherhood…He was kicking the tiles, waving his head disapprovingly and showing me to turn the page. I did so and faced the soar truth. With large pink letters reading “Budapest Spring Gayfest-2001”… We had chosen the weekend for YMCA’s happy nation…

Rest of our trip? Hungarians do have very interesting movie channels on satellite.

---- ---- ---- ----

Patrick Bateman: I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip.

(Don’t watch the movie but do read “American Psycho”)

---- ---- ---- ----

Nouriel Roubini, the economist who forecasted the current crisis and thus being named as Dr Doom, has announced the second wave of the global crisis is on its way to our doorsteps and it will have deeper socio-economic impacts, even on the world peace. Don’t forget your umbrellas when leaving home then…

High... ways...

2009-11-01T21:03:00.002+02:00

Jean Baptiste Say was a French economist with liberal views in favor free trade and fair competition. He is well known by the economics students with his doctrine of “Supply creates its own demand”. I am not sure if he simply meant the economic activity at the neighboring bordellos but I still consider he was misunderstood.

As Wikipedia quotes, Say's Law does not claim that supply automatically brings demand, but that the foundation for effective demand is constituted in a former source of supply. That it is always supply that we consume and that you cannot consume what does not exist.

Say's law says, “The supply (sale) of X creates the demand (purchase) of Y”. This law can be shown by business-cycle statistics. When downturns start, production is always first to decline, ahead of demand. When the economy recovers, production recovers ahead of demand.

---- ---- ---- ----

Being a fresh but devoted citizen, I have decided to contribute to the discussions of liberalization of prostitution & natural drugs and had a weekend trip to Amsterdam to analyze the benefits.

Considering the main problems of Romania, such as poor educational system, poor health care and poor infrastructure; there are enormous advantages we could obtain from the ingenious proposal of the 28-year-old leader.

First of all, the excessive use of drugs will put stupid smiles on our faces increasing the level of urban politeness and diminishing the performance diminutive effects of stress. Without stress we all be more productive and efficient… or it will seem so…

People on the street would not dream about biting a piece of simple bread but they would start painting their own bread on canvas.

In order to ship larger quantities of weed at faster speed, we would all go to Bricostore, grab few tools and start building our own highways... There should be many ways to be high…

Liberalization of prostitution will also have positive effects on the economy. We will stop spending money on luxury goods, fancy cars and designer brand clothing to get laid but just pay for it straightforward. (While generating taxable incomes.) Diminishing consumer spending and increasing fiscal revenues; as IMF dictates to us, huh?

The circulation of STDs will help us to get rid of the unhealthy population without any cost; so the healthy population percentages will skyrocket.

If we would also offer weed wrapping lectures and courtesan guidelines at the schools, we will be solving the lack of educational materials.

---- ---- ---- ----

It was a nice weekend but with a sour pain in the stomach; Amsterdam residents are selling the concept of their way of living through tulips, cacophony of music, coffee-shops, Red-Light district, open winter terraces, waffles, Van Gogh, bicycles, water channels and boat trips… Clean dressed, smiling, attentive, literate peple from all ages are walking, running and cycling without disturbing each other, without discriminating or criticizing each other. Could we become them just by inhaling weed?

She banks, she banks...

2009-10-29T21:49:00.005+02:00

“ Hi O, how are you maaaaan?” Why do we think that we become friendlier if we pronounce the gender in a gayish manner each time?

“I am fine” was my reply, holding the mobile phone close enough to hear but also distant enough to ignore him. Last time we met, at a fancy restaurant, he didn’t dare to stand up to shake my hand, but waved his head to indicate his recognition about my presence. He was surrounded by few celebrities then. (Most of the “celebrities” showing off at that place on a daily basis are just tabloid puppets and they earn as much as a bus driver, limiting their glamour to the dress they are in). He didn’t know, he was feeling important… Talking loud about the article he read on Walk (?) Street Journal.

“Hey maaan, long time no see; you are OK? The bank is well?”

Nope dumpy, I was just about to call you, to save me and the bank from the boredom we suffer.

“Yes, yes; the bank is fine”. And actually I enjoyed that "long time" with “no see”.

“You know O, I wanted to call you earlier, about.. eehhmm… about…”

“About what?”

“I have this friend of mine, a very good friend, like a brother to me. A perfect gentleman, an important businessman with good contacts.”

And he wants to marry me?

“He is a very reliable person, trustworthy and a good potential as a client for you”. Yes, sure, almost all prophets have accounts with us, just he was missing. We offer sins in installments.

“And he is looking where to deposit his money?” I am mocking at him.

“No man, you know the situation these days, very difficult to find a business oriented banker, a reasonable financial specialist”. So I was worth to be found. Please wipe after licking, I prefer my seating parts dry…

“He, my friend, has a well thought business plan, already settled to start. But he needs a bank to support him”

Ahhh my friend, my maaan friend, so he needs a bank to screw? Thanks for flying with us.

Cannot bear similar conversations anymore, I want to cut it short and interrupt “How much he needs? For how long? What is the business?”

“You know, it is just EUR 300.000, for the beginning of course. He wants to pay it back immediately, in a year or so, but you better arrange it for 15 years, you know. And starting with the second year he may need an additional EUR 500.000, also for short term” Another short 15 years, the time passes like a lightning when you are a banker.

Also he gave some brief details about the “business”: it sounded like selling palm leaves to cover the rooftops of the coffee-shops' terraces, which will be built adjacent to the suspended highways, future highways…export-import, you know… Good contacts at the Ministry of…You know…

I already have my script ready for this act “What kind of collateral could he bring?”

“Yeah, that’s the issue man, he had some trouble in the recent past. His partners fooled him and he lost almost everything to a bank” Nope, the bank has recovered part of the loans granted, with the assets financed by this or another loan.

“I see, if he applies as an individual client and if he has the necessary incomes to pay the monthly installments, we may arrange something’

“I am not sure if he could apply himself as an individual. You know, he had some headache in the 90’s”

“What kind of headaches?” I feel like the cashier lady at SensiBlu, do you have a fidelity card? Algocalmin?

“Aaghh, he was helping some Swiss families to adopt kids, poor kids without families, from Romania. Everybody was better-off, kids were fine but not the police, man.”

“Did he do also drugs?” , I was just kidding.

“Just for fun, few times. They were wrong when he was caught with the load of his friends, claiming that he is a dealer, huh. You know the media here. He is clean, man.” He wasn’t kidding..

“What about his family”

“They are no use, man. They were upset when he gave the parents’ house as collateral to some gypsy. The bastard threw them out"

"His wife? Is he married?"

"Sure he is, he is a family man, but right now his wife is also not in good waters with him, after catching him with this TV moderator - a fantastic woman, you know”

“His wife?”

“No, man, the TV puss…whatever…”

“Ok, so he’s like a brother to you, so you don’t mind being guarantor and giving us some promissory notes signed by you, no?”

“C’mon, maaan. I cannot do this. Why to risk my reputation?”

You just did my friend. Probably you ruined your reputation when you were a glimpse in your father’s eye; but with me, you did now.

I said, “Give him my number and ask him to call me”, I will answer just for the first time, once, and then save the number to block it.

---- ---- ---- ----

I said already, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!! This is the third trophy of our team at the Bankers’ Cup. I have my own medal, given by a player-colleague of mine, for being the loudest supporter.

Kinder Joy

2009-10-27T00:12:00.002+02:00

Another day of corporate joy and solidarity; our guys won the semifinal game against RBS 4-2… The final is on Wednesday.

Few banker-beings, while sweating after a head-size ball, were also presenting their deep knowledge of alternative dictionary. All the P-words have been used with utmost efficiency and high frequency… 15 colleagues from all ranks of the organizational hierarchy were fighting shoulder to shoulder, without hesitating to remind each other about parents’ genitals after every mistake.

The game itself could summarize the real meaning of teamwork. It is not about collaborating, co-operating, synergy and sharing (at least not only), but about each member trying to give his/her best for the common good. They did…

---- ---- ---- ----

The elections are coming; hopefully a sizeable majority will go to vote, sacrificing few hours from their weekend leisure time. Otherwise “the regulators” will continue “regulating” all of us. (Isn’t it funny that Romanian slang uses “to regulate” as a substitute for “to f.ck”?)

When worldwide politicians, bureaucrats, technocrats and international media was talking about severe measures, fiscal policies and executive actions to shorten the lifespan of so called crisis, we were discussing to liberalize prostitution and dope in the parliament, on TV and at home.

---- ---- ---- ----

The crisis becomes part of our daily life, doesn’t make the news any more that often. But the urban wisdom of blaming bankers is so contagious, even the bankers started cursing themselves. This weekend the famous General Manager of the local branch of a foreign bank was mentioning the irrationality of a bank director earning EUR 10,000 per month (and he earns three times the same amount but he is the Almighty, he deserves it. How much those golf clubs cost you, Pal?)

---- ---- ---- ----

Don’t watch the movie “Surrogate”, Bruce Willis became the 12^th monkey himself. Search for “Black Books” on YouTube, watch some episodes. Read “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga. And have a nice day!

Soccer or Socrates?

2009-10-24T23:09:00.005+03:00

There are some questions with no reasonable answers, like “do you love your mother or your father more?” where the answer is either “I love them both” or “I hate them both”, depending on the aftershocks of your blooming.

It was a similar awkward situation for me when Dinamo Bucharest and Galatasaray fell into the same Euro League Group. The first duel was last Thursday in Istanbul; at the end my team has won and lost 4-1…

---- ---- ---- ----

The tickets for the game and the overnight hosting has been arranged by a multinational company, also a supplier and client for us.

The trip with Tarom has been quite comfortable, except the sandwich-alike looking chewing gums. The PA (personal assistant) of the host has arranged the transfers to/from the hotel, tickets and rooms through an agency in Istanbul. She was “well informed” by the agency that our plane will land at 17.40pm; we will reach the hotel at 18.30pm (same day?) and will have enough time for a 3 course dinner before the game (which starts at 22pm)… Hah! Darling, I should have told you that we might be landing on time at 17.40pm and we will be on the way to hotel for the next 2 hours; welcome to Istanbul, here the traffic doesn’t flow!

Of course we didn’t have time for the dinner, but to be polite, we did a food triathlon of 3 courses in 7 minutes, washed down with a cold beer (Efes Pilsen).

Ali Sami Yen is an old stadium, in the middle of the city’s financial district; to get in the stadium requires great effort and patience, which the Turks do not posses (otherwise Ottomans would have entered Vienna few hundred years ago but they couldn’t wait; Balkan girls were more interesting and my grand-grand-grand-grand father decided to withdraw. Now, I am exactly at the same place where he wanted to be then)

We have entered protocol tribunes exactly at the same time with the guests from Romania, around 150 spectators. The male “spectators” were not in the shape to watch anything but they had to be watched. During their female partners’ daylight shopping and also at the hotel lobbies, they tried to consume all available alcoholic beverages. Probably they aimed at helping the team, by terminating all spirits in the hotel, to assure Dinamo players will arrive sober.

One of the supporters was hugging an obviously unhappy policeman and shouting “Arkaddaj, arkaddajj, I love Turkey…yeaaaa” Another one was asking to a security agent “where ijj ze toiletzza? I want to pishu before zje game” The ladies were still sharing shopping feedback, showing their fake designer bags to each other.

I was trying to conversate both with few semi-drunk Romanians and another Turkish friend when someone tapped my shoulder. Returned and saw a policeman grinning to me “You? Speaking? Turkish?”

“Yes. I, speaking, Turkish…”

He asked again “How did you learn?”

It was evidently too late for me to say my origins and replied, “By reading, I am fascinated by your culture”. My Turkish friend was on the floor, laughing...

He grabbed my shoulder, turned aside and shouted to another policeman “ Hey, Hamit, this bastard speaks Turkish better than you do”. Yes, I do… No, I am not.

The game resembled a cat-rat fight, Dinamo tried to resist in vain. At the halftime, our drink-drank-drunk friends were chatting with Galatasaray supporters “Djinamo hadj few occasjions; if we would shcore, ooohooo…” . Sure mate, if my aunt had a dick, I would call her “uncle”…

But nevermind, the score is another reason to drink; together with the players…We go to Reina…

---- ---- ---- ----

“Once made equal to man, woman becomes his superior”… Socrates knew stuff…”I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing”.. He really knew…"Beauty is the bait which with delight allures man to enlarge his kind"... Kinky Socrates, kinky...

it's over

2009-10-20T22:24:00.003+03:00

Missus is back, decided to eat out for the evening, drove to Baneasa Shopping City.. A deserted city actually, because of the crisis..
Walking towards favorite steak house, Argentine, she asks "wanna eat some chinese?" and I answer with a backhand using the cliche "sure, there are a billion and a half of them.. whoooaahhaahaha..."
The chinese restaurant has been named She She, for the memory of lesbian Pekinese. Seated ourselves at the entrance, greeted by an agitated waiter. I don't know why he was a "waiter" as he was there to be waited for; didn't have time for the clients. He threw two menus to the table and disappeared for the next 20 minutes. It was 20 minutes of listening and looking genuinely interested, so time passed by as a... turtle...
Mr Waiter arrived back.
"Will the cooking take as much time as ordering?"
He replied, "I am alone!". Yes, I am here with missus, to listen to your personal frustrations and relationship status... Post it on Facebook, axxhole!
Reverted back to him, "sorry but that's not our fault, huh?"
"I am alone" he repeats... I am terrified, it seems that soon we will be eating some sexually harassed chicken...

Gave the order; few spring rolls with chicken, sesame meatballs and crispy duck. Another 20 minutes of being gentle and finally our food arrives. We have spring rolls with vegetables (which probably could be eaten by a hen and then convert into a chicken, so the cook just had a Benjamin Button approach), sesame balls with a smell of meat and 2 portions of veteran ducks, which should have died of malnutrition after Second World War.. Sniffed, ate, paid, left.

What kind of a business mind opens a restaurant at an expensive location with affluent client potential and at the rush hour keeps a single annoyed waiter to serve the clients? The same mind who charges 79 RON for a half grandmother duck... If you are on a diet, go to She She..

Phase Book

2009-10-19T21:07:00.004+03:00

It was quite a cold day. Nothing much to do or no mood for what is to do. Staying at home and watching EdTV on HBO.
Actually we are all trying to become "Ed"s, writing blogs, posting thoughts and photos on Facebook; at least I am getting there :)

to do list for this winter:
- go to ski every weekend possible
- get 2 tattoos, one with the signature of Ataturk, one with a crying clown
- start to learn playing guitar or kanun (an oriental harp)
- take a lot of photos, mostly in b&w
- run every two days for 5 km
- watch all the good new movies (at Multiplex, pay with CardAvantaj)

---- ---- ---- ----

Flashbacks continue; The first car that marked my present

Year 1993, Ankara. I am one the few guys without a car in the faculty, hindering my chances to increase my chick-index (The chick-index is a statistical the trend of the correlation between the personal choice of females and the approximity of the encounters with those of the choice. Keeping the data of your first score as =100. Alcohol and age are main rate diminishing factors, while a table in a nightclub or fancy car are supportive elements)

I had to get a car, a vehicle with 4 wheels, functional and drivable. A friend's father used to have a junkyard and was participating to all kinds of auctions to buy junk metals and ironically, there was an upcoming auction, organized for the embassies of several countries where the diplomatic metal garbage was dumped. Romanian Embassy was going to sell a Dacia Coupe. When I heard "coupe" I was already feeling a sports car, almost tuned to perfection. Didn't have Google to check it out.

I asked the dad of the dude to join and bid for me, with starting price 200 US dollars. Probably my curse helped and for 300 bucks I had a yellow painted East European wonder in front of the faculty's dorms. "The coupe" was an upside down pressed Renault 12 TL, with slightly more engine sound and stunt-wise exhaust fume. The car had a perfectly functioning radio, but the rest seemed more of a wheeled penetrator. It was trembling so strong, I was keeping the steering wheel in order not to fall down the seat or to jump out of the car.

But, it had a character, it didn't like to be managed. It was the only car moving diagonally straight ahead. With the dirty yellow color, it was looking like the promoter machine for a baclava producer... That was the first time when my chick-index was hitting historical lows, going to negative area; even my guys did not want to hang out with me.

Once, when I gathered more hitchhikers than the fingers on one hand, police stopped me. He was supervising the car like a bomb squad, trying to avoid any public harm. Keeping the steering wheel, I was shaking as if I was doped and doing an electric buggy on the seat, while the others in the car were getting to know each other, trembling on each others laps. Perfect machine for kidney stone discharge.

The policeman asked something, didn't understand.. He asked again.. Couldn't hear, my brain was buzzed. He shouted at me to stop the engine. I turned the ignition key off, the engine didn't stop. I took the key off, the engine still running... We all left the car, the police driving us back to the dorms. He was laughing with tears. After 1.5 hours when I returned back with a service truck, the car was still alive and kicking.

I sold the car later on that year for 350 bucks. I was said that the commodity prices were rising in international markets and my yellow piece of metal baclava was worth more money as a bulk of junk then...commodity? prices?

---- --- - ----- -----

Hope I will finish my to-do list this year.

Hats Off / Jos Palariile!

2009-10-18T16:43:00.003+03:00

When the idea of a “ business retreat” came to my mind, I was thinking about a trip to a 4-5 star hotel, on Prahova Valley, somewhere near Brasov. Few colleagues suggested (and then insisted on) Fratii Jderi (Marten Brothers), which seemed like a lot of effort for only a 2 days trip. (Google “marten”)

It had been a long while since our last teambuilding (and I was considering that an efficient teambuilding stands for S.C.R.E.W. - Staff Can Recreate, Entertain and Work)

As a courtesy of Premium Auto, my trip, individually, has been a climax, testing the new Range Rover Supercharged, with a 510 horsepower engine and anything (or everything) you may fantasize about fitting in a car. As an iPod fetishist, the on-board management of the music and the sound systems’ performance was well beyond the expectations. (If it wasn’t above100k EUR, just for the iPod connection I could buy this car. Still waiting for an iPod compatible woman, with touch-screen and small memory space; I will upgrade her on a daily basis)

Fratii Jderi is a “must go” in Romania, in a large group or as a couple (don’t go alone, you will risk remaining there). Unfortunately the website and the presentation of the facilities is not explanatory enough (www.fratiijderi.ro) if you just want to throw a peek.

Cezar (El Capitan), Marcel (Marco), Stefan and Constantin (Animalu) made us feel at home from the first moment we stepped in to their world. Dorina should be a Michelin-star cook, besides treating all of us as her kids, with utmost care. Guys, if she has a daughter, marry her! (The daughter, not Dorina…Idiots!)

After several games of climbing, jumping and balancing; there was no doubt about Charles Darwin’s Theory; at least banker-beings have evolved from monkeys if not all humankind.

At the end of first day, we were all complaining about own lives, didactically talking about relocating there and changing everything, the usual “I have the guts to do it” type of bullcrap, which we apply to, whenever we see people happier than us.

Just once, give up on your usual weekend schedule of shopping/clubbing/eating-out and go to Fratii Jderi. You will probably spend less money there for the whole weekend as compared to a table in a nightclub but will come back 10 years younger. Fck Tuscany!

Show must go on!

2009-10-16T00:27:00.004+03:00

“I see myself as an instrument of a will greater than my own and I really try to keep myself connected to that. All my life I have always known I was born to greatness” Oprah Winfrey

What kind of self-esteem is that? Does she post on Facebook “Oprah is attending herself”? I presume that she hasn’t been to Fratelli on a Saturday evening, at least not yet…

Someone told me that she appreciates the self-ironic nature of the posts; actually these stories are slightly manipulated versions of real memories, distorted to be more interesting.

I have stayed two and a half years in Moscow and each day had been another surprise… until I reached Romania, where the surprises are served on an hourly basis.Tomorrow I am getting my ID as a Romanian citizen and probably no one else could fit the prototype better than me.

… … … … … … …

Year 2000, we have just taken over the management of the institution to which I sold my soul. The head office is an old building, on Doamnei Street, which we were told has a red dot, indicating reduced chances of survival in case of a likely earthquake.

Main office is on the fifth floor and the branch at the ground floor, my department and staff were located at the mezzanine.

The branch manager called when I was at the fifth floor for a meeting and invited me to meet "an important client", a Chinese businessman from Voluntari, who was also curios about “the Turks”. I was looking for such an occasion, to have my first encounter with a client since I arrived (for the first 3-4 months we were kept under quarantine by the rest of our colleagues).

The lift of the building functioned reluctantly, worn and torn from years of usage. Pushed the button and waited 10 minutes until it arrived to the fifth floor. Stepped in, pushed M for mezzanine, where also the branch manager’s office was. From fifth floor to fourth it was a 30 seconds trip, but from 4^th to 2^nd floor, it took around 3 minutes and with screechy noises the lift stopped.

While I was looking for the alarm, the lift moved suddenly, as if it loosened from its bindings and fell until the mezzanine, stopping between mezzanine and ground floor. With the pressure and the effect of the fall, 25 years of dust from the lift’s hole has entered in the cabin.

I didn’t know that the director of the branch, to honor me, has brought the client to the door of the lift and was waiting outside.

I found and pushed the emergency button that also opened the lift doors, and through a cloud of dust I jumped 50 cm up to get out of the cabin. The moment my feet landed on the floor, there was the client, the branch manager and her deputy, clapping their hands with excitement, for my spectacular appearance. “Ladies and Gentleman, The Turk has entered the building!”

I was sorry for not having a microphone with me.

... ... ... ...

Unfortunately, the clients do not show similar excitement lately when they see their banker. We, the bankers, have caused the sub-prime crisis, real estate market crash and global recession while everyone else was watching.

Brit-shish kebab

2009-10-14T21:33:00.002+03:00

I was delirious when I left his office… I received an invitation to Euromoney Conference in London few days earlier and just wanted to give it a shot with my boss, whether I could go. He mentioned that we do not have any budget for such expenses but due to my recent achievements he approved “the idea”. He asked me not to stay at the Hilton Tower Bridge, where the event was held, for 300£ per night (and for 3 nights) but to find a “decently priced” hotel. I also had to fly with Aeroflot economy class. Until then I had enough travel experience flying from Russia to Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kazakhstan with this company and since then I aim to earn my living writing stories on these trips. (I still think that Aeroflot stands for “Avoid ERror Of FLying On This).

A colleague of mine had a friend working at Shell in London and he promised to help me with the hotel arrangements. The next day I had a hotel reservation confirmation on my desk, for 50£ a night, at a 3 star hotel, which was also acceptable by my boss. YE$$$!!! I was going to UK, to London, to breath the “British” air, to get a hold of their accent and also to make some shopping.

Days before the trip I started studying to imitate the famous British accent and when I reached the passport control at Heathrow, leave aside the accent, I couldn’t say any words in English…I was mute in front of the customs officer, probably looking as an illiterate Middle Eastern immigrant. While the excessively polite officer was checking my passport page by page, another officer came to me and with a highly excited voice “Sir, you have been selected for extra screening” he said. It sounded as if I am the one-billionth tourist reaching Heathrow and will be greeted by the mayor of London, journalists, where I will be handed the keys of London; started rehearsing my speech. Unfortunately, it meant entering a small cabin and undressing in front of an African-origin officer, while he was searching through my handbag wearing medical gloves. Once he was sure that my bag is harmless, he waved his head and asked me to dress up and to leave the cabin. I was feeling sorry for him, for the job he is doing; to screen naked men from all around the world, 8 hours a day… and the lucky bastards doing the same job with women on the other side…

I have started my royal trip by taking a cab from the airport; when I told the address and the name of the hotel to the driver he asked whether I am from Mumbai, which was actually a useful hint that I couldn’t get.

When we reached the hotel, I saw few men lying (and sleeping) on the entrance stairs. Climbing through them, I was hit by a thick smell, the moment I entered the hall. The fume and density of the aroma created an eatable fog, through which I saw the big billboard reading “Indian Housewives Cooking Festival”. Those guys on the stairs probably fainted and fell unconscious on the stairs after a 15 minutes visit inside. A group of Indian women were yelling to each other for the sake of a conversation. There were spices and there were girls; so I encountered Spice Girls.

The hotel was fully booked for the shows and presentations of the cooking fest, each room serving as a cousy kitchenette for food fetishists. The friend of my friend booked the last room available (Later I learned, his name was Raaji). My room was neat and clean, although the heater unit was blowing the clean curry air to my face.

I couldn’t resist the noise and the smell, grabbed my handbag and left the hotel for a late afternoon shopping.

There were million shops, on the endless streets, their doors shoulder to shoulder with each other. I was looking at store windows, checking prices and converting them to US dollars. On St James Street, I found myself in front John Lobb store, famous with its leather shoes. Eye-picked a pair and stepped in to ask for a try. ”Cheers, mate! Can I have a pair of 8’s?” showing with my finger somewhere behind me, supposedly at the shop window. With this attitude and approach, I was genuine Brit.

“Whaddoyawant?” replied the shop assistant dressed as a clown. A real clown.

I couldn’t give up on my Brit attitude, “Actually I am used to 8 and a half’s, but I heard these get larger and more comfortable in time”. Two kids, hardly walking age, jumped in front me; one of them fell and started crying. The clown pulled him up and said something like “Nofugging fugg, you fuggs” and turned back to me.

-“whaddoyowant man? Huh? You, pervert?”

-“I told you, I would like to try those”

When I started searching for another shop assistant to get help, I realized that his other 2 colleagues were also dressed in clown costumes and there were few dozen kids playing around. By mistake I entered the next door and now I was at the kids’ playground of Selfridges, where the mommies park their kids while shopping. And I was asking for a pair of 8 year olds, hoping they get larger in time… Left the room when all clowns were gathering to beat the pedophile, and I mixed with the crowd.

Decided to stop by at Starbucks. At the counter, a dark tanned, Asian looking happy face greeted me,”Welkomm!”. I cannot see the menu on the wall because of the peacock he is wearing on his head.

“Hi there, can I have a small Frappucino and a fruit bar, please?” I asked.

“Sure Sire, that makes pipe!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You owe us pipe, Sir”

“Which pipe and why?”

“It is pipe pounds Sire” showing all fingers of his right hand. “Ha-ha, here you are” and I paid.

“Thank you” he said and shouted “A prappucino por the gentleman and a pruit bar, coming”. Cute Balinese…

Scanned the location, almost all seats empty but at the corner a brunette at her late 20's was sitting alone, drinking her coffee and reading. I cannot resist and walk towards her, with an air as if the coffee shop is full and I have to make the entire road to the table next to her. Took off my blackberry, the gadget proving that I make money, and started buttoning. She doesn’t look. There are few paper napkins on her table, I asked if could get one, she nodded OK.

Gathering all thoughts, rehearsing the accent in my mind, I approach her “Ze wireless is down, I presume”. She picks up her mobile, checks its screen and answers back “Nope, the connection is fine”. At least she looked at me and smiled, or grinned. I didn’t turn on wireless option... Now we have a turn-on.

-“Ssshhite, my blog, not working” trying to open a conversation but my efforts for the accent makes it hard to understand. Also the “sh”-play ends up with a small drop of spit being launched and land on her book. Took the napkin and cleaned the juice.

-‘Sorry, what’s with your bullock?”, she is very serious.

Seems that I emphasized wrong syllables but didn’t realize that time. To make sure that she gets the point, “My blog, virtual diary”. This time I am sure the accent was perfect.

She hopped up, ran to the counter and showing me to the pipe Balinese, said, “Look, this idiot came next to me and started talking about his bullocks and his diarrhea.”

Jackpot, once gain… Returning back to Curry Palace, I am determined to preserve my own accent tomorrow during the meetings.

Sweet Child of Mine

2009-10-13T01:04:00.004+03:00

“I am trying to be honest with you,” he said, “and it hurts me”. Yes, the truth does hurt. Don’t let that truth happen to you and be a creative truth teller. The truth is your servant, not your master. (Excerpts from “What Would Machiavelli Do?”)

So, back at the “Operation Izmir”, before going on, please read the “s-permite” post if you didn’t do it yet (and send me an apology letter signed by your parents for not reading it on time);

After not eating anything for more than 18 hours and abstaining from any human flesh for 5 days with hallucinations of the freaky image of small Hagi-alike lady midgets running around my bed, I was dreaming about breasts… Chicken breasts…Hunger beats libido and I am ready to flip off the bra down on any fried chicken just with two crispy potato fingers, before biting a piece…Woke up to the voice of my host, whispering loud to get me going to the clinic. It was 7.30 am in the morning.

We hit the road to meet the “nurse”; the iron lady who probably have distributed imprinted invitations for the second half of the show.

In front of the big sliding door leading to the reception area there was a security guard, attentively watching me climbing the stairs … or he was wondering about why was I so dynamically reluctant, jumping the stairs, one by one, but in slow motion and spending few milliseconds in the air after each jump. He knew what I was in to, I guess.

At the information desk, two young girls were sitting, with identical smiles imitating toothpaste TV commercials. Their faces and noses were targeting me but they seemed to look through me or past me. I have enough business meeting experiences at commercial centers and I know the “receptionists”, the experts in receptions and receptioning, descendants of a long line of receptionists, the founders of post-receptionism. They hate each individual orbiting them and punish any act or intention of communication by denying their existence.

To become receptionable, I made few reverences, several head bows and using Sesame Street voice I was accepted by their community, being led to the chief nurse, Ms.S.

She was actually a young girl, mid twenties but had an air of authority over anyone and everyone. “Good Morning Mr.O” she greeted, “how are you feeling today?” “I am fine” I said, and actually thought so until arriving to the clinic.

“You know we spoke on the phone, for the full check-up and the test” I continued, giving her a perfect chance for the verbal backhand.

-“ The test?? Aha. Are you feeling productive today?” and the receptionist who guided me to her room burst in giggles, leaving the room. "Seeds of Love" should be playing in the background and now half of the hospital talks about me.

S showed me the direction with her left eyebrow, indicating where to follow her. We went out to the corridor, the hospital personnel from all levels watching my parade to the lift, not encouraging. She pushed “-1”, which meant we were going to the underground floor. That was logical; probably there was a dark joint, where nurses were bar-dancing during off hours and helping the patients with these tests in VIP rooms. I will ask for a champagne.

The lift door opened and on a narrow corridor, with benches on both sides, I met painful or tired glazes of a dozen pregnant women. Passing through them, entering a maze, turning left, turning right, turning right again; I might not be fertile but as clever as a rat (at least), I am sure that I would find my way out from here if needed. We stopped in front of a closed steel door, with a plate on it “Sperm Room”. When she pulled her hand to grab the handle, I wanted to shout and run; I was afraid that once the door opened, a big load would flood past us. Spots of Indiana Jones, buttock-skiing on a river of... Nevermind.

The room, a cubicle of 8 square meters was painted in dark grey, resembling a prison cell. "I could have tattooed the plans of the clinic on my belly" I thought.

A nice and comfortable couch, bunch of paper towels and napkins; the quantity of paper-based drying tools is a clear proof that whales and elephants also visit this room occasionally for similar test. She pulled off a curtain and a huge LCD screen TV, a DVD player on a shelve full of DVDs were squeezed behind. From the noises coming from the other side of the wall, I realized that I was just next to the corridor where the pregnant ladies were waiting. I feel like being filmed for an early pregnancy prevention campaign for youngsters; "If you don't want to be on that corridor, ask your boyfriend do his thing in the grey room"

She explained that there is also a shower and clean towels, a hairdryer and flip-flops. With all the facilities provided, it could easily serve as a bomb shelter. Started thinking Tom Jones singing “Sex Bomb” and lost any productive hope for the next few hours. Why not Kylie Minogue but him?

S gave me a 100ml plastic glass, “Is it enough, Sir?”. “Yes, for the next year or so” I wanted to say but just made a sound, kind of “Iiighh”….

Without any word, she pushed the play button of DVD, went out (actually jumped out) and shut down the door.

…. …. …. …. ….

I was sitting in front of the doctor, His Haines keeping the results of check-up, including cardio analysis and the “test”… From his unhappy face and mimics, I could easily understand that I wouldn’t be able to make to the door of the clinic and should make my testimony quickly. While distastefully chewing an inexistent gum, he burped out “mmmmm…hmmm… hsssss... uuuummmm...goood…weeelll…”

-“Did I pass, Sir?”

-“What?”

-“The test… eehmm. All O.K.?”

-“nnnmmm… hhhmmm… yeeaahh.. Your results are quite fine. But please be careful; because of those guys considering themselves fertile banana trees, there are too many monkeys around us.”

Russians have a proverb “Men have 2 heads, the depth of trouble depends on the one they use for thinking. Women have 2 mouths, the size of disaster depends on the one they use for talking”

I am alive!! I am alive!!

2009-10-08T21:15:00.003+03:00

There was a single digit number of clicks to my worldly posts but my indecent memories reached a bit less than 500 clicks..
It seems that I am bounding with a group of sexually frustrated loners while expressing my real self.. Love you all..
At least I have a few hundred females followers (me , Charles Manson); getting closer to the network hook-up I was targeting...
On the other hand, I still have one "interested person", Sorana... A bit embarrasing, though. I feel like the 7 year old, singing at the school event when the only audience is the parents. Do something and become interested.. Otherwise I am planning to outsource and recruit few dozen "interested persons", I have several friends from hi5 that I can bring down here..

The tests, you remember? All OK, I am healthy and rightfully able to do anything, so beware!

Just a bit of cholesterol issue, indicating my belly (the sexiest organ I posses) should get smaller. The mitral valve of my heart does bounce when closing, instead of working as a straight sliding door; this explains the machiavellianism in my life...

Do the test for yourself and see the damage you cause to others :)

http://www.salon.com/books/it/1999/09/13/machtest/

Tomorrow, the work week starts again; EUR/USD will go lower to 1.4580, EUR/RON will try 4.3000 but eventually fail, few more fights and scandals in the political arena and we will sail through. Hope that few clever guys will become the solution to political life in Romania, otherwise Romania will become the most effected country in this crisis.

Read anything written by Stephen Clarke, try the sushi bar/restaurant behind BNR (former Market8), buy some Turkish cheese and spices from Efendi Market on Sos. Pantelimon...

Thinking with the smaller head

2009-10-07T21:31:00.006+03:00

Although I am in the convenient atmosphere of my hobby room at home, I am sweating. Spring is turning into summer but there is no sign of heat, I am being perfectly preserved at room temperature. I am just excited, and a bit nervous, 20 cm in front of the 24 inch Mac monitor… The ant watching TV…

After listening to the "real life" experiences of the guys during lunch break, I am decided to make my mark in the virtual world and hook up a girl from a "social network"... Arrived home, got a quick shower, I am not decided to put on a perfume. Better not to, the effect will fade until the girl will arrive; so wait. Dressed light but not in pajamas, I should look like ready to go, while chatting on the net.

First target, the easy preys; early arrivals at Facebook (everybody knew, as the guys said, but not me). I entered my account, input status “ O. is missing the days from childhood” as starter hit, began making all tests about favorites and suitables. Changed status “O. is dreaming of a long walk on narrow streets of Sicily”, the appetizer… Checked requests, “Mihaela M. wants you to add her as a friend”, what? Huh, Dear Mihaela M, I am not that easy. Before confirming I click on the profile photo. At a closer look there are two creatures in that profile image, one substantially more hairy. Trying to understand, I read the comments and actually Mihaela M commented herself for the picture “The monkey in the Zoo of Bali was very happy that day”. Sorry? The problem is that in the photo both creatures are smiling, so to investigate further and to find out which one is Mihaela M, I click on the photo. Aha… the darker hairy one is gone but the other light colored specie is in bikinis sipping a brownish cocktail.. Ooohoooffff Mihaela M, you shouldn’t have chosen a beach photo when searching for “the man” (with those perky tits, hah!)... Click back, click “ignore”… I am looking for quality and class…

Entered hi5, where all the girls look like Pennsylvania Strip-school graduates having PhD in Sexually Transmitted Diseases. Started creating my profile, name, age, hobbies…Age minus 5, hobbies as car racing, yachting, traveling, clubs and of course, reading… I am the young rich handsome literate Formula driver, while watching the skies from the board of my yacht on the Caribbean shores, looking for my soul mate in hi5… why not?

Few more sites and networks later, I just realized that I am creating my profile for an escort site with only female profiles… Third question is “Do you charge by the hour?”… Me? By the hour? I am happy if I resist half an hour, c’mon… Fourth question, “Foreign languages spoken?”… WTF, should I pass TOEFL to get laid? I better quit. And did.

Started getting stressed, already 2 hours passed and no hits… back to Facebook, sent friend requests to all friends’ single friends… Hey ladies, look at those test results, I am everything you may ever dreamt of. I am a Mini Cooper cabriole, I am Rio de Janeiro, I am red in your rainbow, the rabbit in your farm, I am R&B, I am even a suitable quick date partner for Angelina Jollie (or vice versa, but is the same shit). So, I am here waiting for you to “confirm” yourself in my arms while Angelina is rejecting calls from Brad Pitty…

Seems that my mojo doesn’t work here… I would have called Brad for a beer now. Searching for Mihaela M to add as a friend…

The corner of my eye saw the Yahoo Messenger icon… Yahoo. Yeeeeaaahuuu. Yieeehieee… That’s it, I have few dozen contactinas there, hope some are logged in… Entered my Id and password. Wassup? Password wrong? As a relief, the password is sent to my e-mail address… Digged in and got the password I deserve… Really difficult with women these days…

Somehow and fortunately few historic failures are online… trying to think of a pick-up line, to attack as a guerilla and win the war in seconds. Double-clicked on P, entered the most creative words coming to my mind “Ce faci? (How are you?)” … The curser is blinking, I am cursing the blinks…”Hei!” she replied….Yesss…. Few words about how decent I became lately and looking for a long-term relationship, bored of hit and runs, spiced up with my “sincere regrets” about missing an “opportunity” with her… She is melting… stupid… I want to see your morning face…

I invited her to have a coffee, she answered that she’s hungry… “What about a pizza?” and her reply came “let me grab one on the way and come to you”…. Hallelujah… Few minutes later she texts me to get the address for the taxi driver, she hasn’t been at the ‘head office’ before… I text back the address, ran to shower, 2 puffs of a perfume and Mickey Rourke-fit in blue jeans and white V-neck…waiting…

The doorbell rang in 45 minutes, exactly when I was about to call her…Opened the door with a kinky smile to meet a human slice in the form of a pizza delivery man…holding a box of pizza… The fifth element said that pizza was paid…Took the pizza, closed the door and while entering the kitchen opened the box… It is a large margarita and with half-cut round olive slices, a huge message reads in the middle of it, “IDIOT!”… my parachute doesn’t open….banged!!!

Just changed few of the olive slices and now it reads “I DO IT!”; thanks for cooking, babe! And please improve your grammar..Hih!...

Ashamed? Neenah… I am just hooking up with the smart ones J ; send me friend requests, I might be in your fortune cookie…

Goodbye/welcome

2009-10-07T00:30:00.006+03:00

Today had been a day of goodbye's... Farewells are just bullshit if you are not the one leaving but the part waving the idle hand... I just remembered the words of an Indian tycoon, interviewed by a famous journalist about his wealth and personal life, celebrating his Forbes 500 worldwide entry. Once asked "when did you feel the first sign of wealth and power you are about to acquire?", the Bollywood figurine-alike answered "when I realized that my fingers and toes are enough to count the ones I love and those who loves me'... A western educated business man would mention a first commercial experience... or the cliche of wife and kids...

There are few people who always loved me and been there for me, even if I didn't pay attention or simply betray them. For those one, I stand up and sing loud;

Yes I understand that every life must end,
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go.
I’m a lucky man to count on both hands
The ones I love.

Some folks just have one,
Others they got none.

Stay with me.....
Let’s just breathe.

Practiced are my sins,
Never gonna let me win,
Under everything, just another human being.
I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world
To make me bleed.

Stay with me....
You’re all I see.

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one knows this more than me.
As I come clean.

I wonder everyday
as I look upon your face.
Everything you gave
And nothing you would take.
Nothing you would take,
Everything you gave.

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t now I’m a fool you see,..
No one know this more than me.
As I come clean.

Nothing you would take,..
everything you gave.
Hold me till I die,..
Meet you on the other side.

from Pearl Jam "Just Breathe"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuq7RYQ8Wa0

Ekin, Ferus, Bulo, Shama, Nasii, Erdink, Sinanaki, Utchu, Ancuta, Miami Vice, Gorkem, AishaRose, Sa-buzz, Topcu's, Karali's, Yilmaz (Eniste), Nuris; thanks a lot for any second shared with me, even if I wasn't available for you...

I wish one day I will be able to show my joy of having you around as warm as Jack is greeting me each day I arrive home (as if I am not the one forgetting to refresh his food or water)

serious issues

2009-10-05T23:27:00.002+03:00

United Nations' Human Development Report for 2009 has been released. Norway is "the country" to live in or to migrate to... Romania ranks 63rd, few places behind all neighboring East European peers. Sounds bad and makes you feel a heartburn. (several Asian, Latin American or even African countries outpaced Romania)

But it is not that bad actually; from the 63rd to the 1st, it is just a 3 hours flight or 2 days train trip. So why don't we all pack and move? Because we like it here... We all like the mess in social, economic and political life...

Just imagine that on a sunny day in Oslo (which is like, ehm, 6 months), your neighbor, Mr.Bjoerndalen instals the new BBQ he made from old bicycle parts and exposes whole neighborhood in smoke, covering anything green with the smell and foggy fume of meatballs... Nikka Liukin, the young football player with primary school diploma, driving his newly tuned Volvo on the main boulevard, listening loud Bergen folk leaking through his car windows... Eric Didricksen, the mayor of Trondheim, visiting the construction site of the 500m bridge, which caused protests due to ongoing works since 2 years and promises that until December, the work will be done (which year?)... Doesn't fit, huh? Sounds like a B-movie transcript.

On the other hand, Oslo has the highest rate of suicides in Europe. So maybe the mess keeps us motivated... Sincerely I couldn't stay more than a long weekend there and probably would miss Bucharest in those few days.

S-permite

2009-10-05T22:50:00.004+03:00

Early morning in the office, I am trying to whisper loud to the lady on the other line:

- "Good Morning, I will be in Izmir on Friday and would like to have the full check-up package"

- "Yes, Sir. Any further details we may need to know except the package you desire? By the way, how are you? I am fine, thanks for asking"

- "Sorry, sure M'am, hope you are doing well; I would also like to have the fertility test"

- "Which test?" she asks back in an obviously mocking manner.

- "Spermatogram M'am, for fertility measuring"

- "Whose fertility Sir?", now she took the stage for the other nurses listening...

-"My horse's fertility M'am", fck, I might have offended her. But she is evidently an oldtimer and cannot be hurt;

-"Then call the Vet Clinic, we check and treat human beings here"

-"sorry M'am, my sperm count..." I am afraid someone is listening to this conversation also in my office. "and despite all recent comments about myself, I do belong to mankind. I would like to check if I can leave a woman pregnant and need your help". Shit....Did I say that?

- "My help for you to check what, Sir? Maybe we should get to know each other first a bit?"

She is probably writing 'Bull's eye!!!' in the air with her index finger...

-"Nope, sorry, I just want to leave the... the liquid to you, to be counted".. pfff.... Pathetic...

-"I am just a nurse, Sir. I do not count anything. But your existence counts for us". Isn't she lovely being so frustrated and frustrating? Cleans her throat, now she is coming to her senses, the show might be over, "Sir, you need to have a 3 days diet prior to the test"

- "What kind of a diet, M'am?"

- "No sex, Sir. Is it clear enough?" . I sighed here, mostly exhaled loudly... That provoked her to communicate with me again, "where are you living, Sir?"

-"In Bucharest. Romania" the tone of my reply indicates the loss of any self confidence..

-"I see, Sir. Then just try to keep your hands off the Hagi beauties at least for 2 days". After she took the notes and announced me the hour to be there, I hear the laughter in the background while she is hanging off...

Hagi Beauties? How could she dare to mix the only 2 things she knows about Romania, in this manner? Or was that an implicit help to stay away from any action before the tests???

Another day in crises

2009-10-04T23:55:00.002+03:00

I have to join tomorrow the millions hitting the road to the workplace. The gloomy atmosphere caused by the economic situation, politics and even weather converts the previous money machines into gas chambers, suffocating each one of us with further bad news about a friend getting fired, a relative having cancer, a colleague having divorced and several other informative diarrhea without which we could have been much better off. There are so many sad stories around, in real life, the screenwriters union in Hollywood wouldn't dare to go on another strike..

It is raining outside and for someone like me coming from a city where winter means sunny days with plus 15 degrees, this rain announces cold, dark, muddy times ahead (The snow is not white in the city)... Fck, I also sold the Tetikmobil... Trying to think positive, trying hard...Nope.. It was not the time to break-up with the missus, I suppose. Not a good time to have the second phase of the middle age crisis, either. Worst of all, this middle age issue didn't teach me anything at all; still the same stupid guy inside a more worn body.

Pearl Jam released a new album, it seems that they are back on track. "The Fixer" is the teaser single, old-schoold PJ.

Rammstein also relased a new single "Pussy", nice sound and lyrics; but it seems that they aimed at proving their manhood after the comments on "Mann Gegen Mann" video.

Watched again "The Darjeeling Ltd", the story of 3 brothers trying to find their mother, their brotherhood and also themselves individually and spiritually. Perfect movie.

2 mistakes so far this weekend; "Knowing" featuring Nicolas Caige (someone should warn him about his hairdo in the last few movies- He looks like the gay nutty professor instead of the intelligent hero) and "The Spirit" featuring Eva Mendez & Samuel Jackson (I bet they did this movie to mock at audience to prove that the consumers buy everything if it is packed neatly - I did buy)

I wish tomorrow we will all wake up with Robin Williams screaming on local radio "Gooood Morning, Buuchareeeesstt!!"

School means traffic?

2009-09-14T22:23:00.002+03:00

Today most of the schools started (proof: Plaza Romania's food court and billiard saloon were full of little humanly creatures)... Although I do not have (yet) any contribution to the world population's growth; still the first day of the school means something for me: endless traffic jams... Now I need to wake up earlier to avoid the mimics of Ugly Kid Geo, waiving both hands and making every possible mockery while using the rear windshield of the mother's/father's car as my obligatory screen to watch.

Isn't it funny that while a lucky percentage of our (your) kids attend classrooms at a more or less decent comfort level to "learn" things; the kids at similar ages who do not posses the same luck will learn much more about the life and the world? While (y)our lucky bastard tries adding up 2 and 2 to reach 4, the muddy boy at the traffic light makes algebraic calculations of cents and notes, summing up the payment to the mob and the elder brother. (I still do advocate not giving money to beggars)

As we are "educated" by the previously educated ones, we are all becoming a prototype accepted by the "civilization" and the abstract standard knowledge that we mostly cannot use in real life helps us add up wealth (did I say "wealth" in the middle of an economic crisis? nope...)

I have studies economics, and at the end learned that only "Ceteris Paribus (everything else constant" you could make a reliable guesstimation about a single economic indicator. And probably that indicator is not relevant when you guess it right. When do we have anything stable and constant???

At lunch break, waiting for the slow motion living Queen Latifah-alike cashier at KFC to hit another button at the register, I have realized that the Mall, and probably the Earth, has been invaded by an army of clean-but-dirty-looking species sending energetic waves of laziness through their cow licked straight hair...and the truth hit, actually struck; I am getting old...Just 25 years ago, it was me annoying the costume-wearing middle aged banker chimp in front of me in the queue to get a BigMac... and now this idiot behind me thinks of me as a chimp? or a banker? See you in 20 years, Dude...

what the blog?

2009-09-13T02:03:00.001+03:00

Posted the first text, then spent 2 hours for the set-up.. colors, fonts, formats... Like the bride choosing her gown..

Saturday Nite Fever

2009-09-13T00:59:00.000+03:00

After riding my bike for 3 hours, I did decide to wash it in front of the house.. Kind of cool sexy neighbor for the rest of the street residents, huh? ... Nope... Fever and soar throat in the evening, visit to pharmacy, augmentin-strodal..watching HBO instead of leaking to the city to discover sponsor-ready new arrivals...Dinamo lost(0-1), Galatasaray won(3-0) tonite , my favorite teams..They will play against each other for the EuroLeague Group matches; I am fully loyal to Dinamo. If I will make it to the stadium here at Stefan Cel Mare, planning to chant in Turkish against CimBom :)

Fancy a nice sunday breakfast? Try "Anatolia" at Lacul Tei; perfect selection of food. or Radisson for the best brunch in town.

Watch "Michael Jackson Tribute in Bucharest"on YouTube, makes you feel sad and good at the same time..I was never a MJ fan, but 200+ kids dancing as flash mobs in public places; that's what people need, a bit of surprise, entertainment, remembering, youth.. hats off kiddies!!! everybody watching had smiling faces...(though they were aspired by Stockholmers)

Floods everywhere (Istanbul, Texas, Sri Lanka..); how long will we wait until the nature takes full revenge? Brasilian researchers suggested people to pee while taking shower, saving 4 tonnes of water per household every year. Sounds silly but probably 30 years from now it will be by the law..."Man is the only animal which tries to adapt its habitat to himself once settled; while all other species adapt themselves to the surrounding habitat" (Don't remember where I've read this)