Bunissima

pentru ca ei stiu unde este Romania si nu toti americanii stiu? si pentru ca toti romanii stiu unde sunt Tonga, Burma, Oman?
nu, raspuns gresit.
noi suntem mai destepti pentru ca suntem foarte creativi si inventivi. totul se invarteste, nimic nu se pierde.
acestea fiind zise, in graficul urmator veti putea avea o prima imagine a acestei invarteli de natura tehnologica pe care romanii stiu sa o foloseasca spre beneficiul lor.

este o simpla usa, dragilor, o simpla usa de la buda unui camin din Bucuresti, nu conteaza ce se ascunde in spatele ei

desi nu e nimic nou aici aveti descrierea completa a inteligentei mioritice a romanilor

nu stiu de ce, dar am impresia ca in Romania nu se primesc suficiente premii pentru creativitate si inventii. cum ziceau aia de la Vama Veche, americanii-s de vina…

I was having one of those days, feeling melancholic about making a good home made pizza with whatever toppings I wanted, wherever I wanted them and in the quantity I wanted them.
So, I go to the store and buy everything. Everything except the mozzarella. The local stores never have mozzarella. And if one has it, it won’t be for long. I don’t understand why. If people bought it as long as the store had it, it means it sells. But probably not fast enough for them, since they do not bring it back, because it might keep the shelf space that was other way dedicated to the pre-packaged, sliced cheese, 4 pieces a package- that surely costs less and sells faster. Also makes you eat less. 4 in one, as they’d say.
So, after buying everything for my deee-licios, wonderful pizza ( I am a great cook, to be honest), I see that they were having some more cheeses behind the counter and since I could not see everything they had there because the lady kept going back and forth juggling with tomatos, I asked if they had any mozzarella, by chance.
And, being a national and international issue, I just had to be informed. Also probably because i was one of the two people that had asked about mozzarella there in the entire year. The lady at the counter, selling the cheeses and fruits and all, was not just a simple … lady at the counter. No sir’ee, she was also very informed and up to date with the latest news in the food industry and consumer safety.
Not only like a mother, but as a person responsible with the health of the consumer society, she let me know that mozzarella has now been withdrawn from the market because it contains some carcinogenic ingredients or protein of sorts, and untill this is not proven differently, it will not be on the market anymore. So, deeply doubting that fact, and the forthcoming original pizza I was going to make, I realized with regret that there was no mozzarella in that place and in any of the local stores I usually go to. So, I cooperatively asked what kind of ro-ma-ni-an cheese I could get to replace the, oh, so unique, mozzarella. She recommended Penteleu, a soft cheese.
Still hoping to find mozzarella, as bad as it was for my health (pizza is not complete without mozzarella no matter what type of cancer it can bring) I went to the other store. No surprise there, and no mozzarella either. So I got some milk. No, no, I wasn’t gonna make my own mozzarella, I don’t have them… what do you call it, mozzarella making machines, I just wanted to have some of the new super great breakfast cereals, that help you mantain weight, with the condition to exercise regularly and eat moderately. I thought it was worth a non-regular, one-time (to be moderate) try.
And, so, I ended up with Penteleu. A soft cheese coming straight form the milky mountains of Romania and it’s wonderful mozzarella-like cows.

Good for pizza too. Feels like a mozzarella that never gets fully… cooked. Does not ruin the pizza, just makes it feel very “fresh”.

Even so, I still had to find out the truth, because as a Judas that I was, I doubted what the lady said until I was going to see it with my own eyes. What was the truth behind the lady’s words? Was it true that mozzarella is so bad or was she just getting it all wrong? After all , mozzarella is just a cheese, cheese can’t be bad for you, it just makes no sense.
I of course looked online. After finding a lot of pages in italian and portuguese and getting the idea that it was just a national problem in Italy and only with the buffalo milk and not the cow’s milk, I also found a page in english that confirmed all my doubts.
So, the question is, what do the Italian buffalos have to do with romanian mozzarella cow’s cheese?
I tell you, consumer safety.

Doua fete in autocar.
-Ia uite ce se alearga oile alea… Is oi, nu-i asa?
-… tuuu, is oi, cum sa nu fie oi, tuu?!
-Pai de unde sa stiu io cum arata oile, io am crescut la oras. Pe noi nu ne-a invatat la gradinita cum arata oile. Nici la scoala nu ne-a invatat ce-s alea oi. Nu am invatat nicaieri.
-Tuu, nu te-am dus io la tara la mine, ti-am aratat vacile si oile mele si… tot?
-Tu nu ai oi tuu, ai vaci… vaco!

Peste vreo douazeci de minute. Aceleasi fete.
-Tu, municipiul e oras, nu?
-Da, da’ exista si capitala de judet, care nu e acelasi lucru cu municipiul!
-Da, adica, Craiova este capitala Olteniei si Bucurestiul este capitala Romaniei, adica e deasupra Craiovei.
-Da ma, da’ fiecare judet are si el capitala lui.

Then you get two. I wonder if it was a free ride.

Punand ieri un semn de egalitate intre omul de pe Marte si rromii sau poate si romanii care ajung peste tot, numai bani sa iasa, indeplineam mai mult un act sa zic asa ludic, o gluma jucausa care mi-a trecut spontan prin minte, aproape amuzandu-ma pe mine insami.
Cu tristete descopar ca, asemeni unei previziuni (ce ironic!), am scris ieri cu multumirea amuzata despre ceva ce astazi ajung sa citesc intr-o transpunere sumbra si serioasa a faptelor, mai mult sau mai putin aceleasi cu cele la care ma refeream eu, intr-o publicatie englezeasca (pe scurt, se vorbeste despre demascarea unei intregi retele de mafioti care aduc copii din Romania pentru a cersi in Anglia, despre furt si depre faptul ca banii “munciti” acolo se transforma in kitsch-uri sub forma de case in Romania).
Din pacate nu mai e nici un om pe Marte si nici o gluma, au ramas doar Romanii in Anglia. Nu stiu daca ne meritam sau nu soarta, renumele, sau mai ales, daca ne meritam locul in Uniune. Incep sa devin sceptica.
Atunci cand am iesit prima oara din Romania ca cetatean european aveam mandria ca fac si eu parte din aceasta uniune si ca noi romanii nu mai suntem vazuti ca niste intrusi sau ca niste adaosuri nedorite la o clasa rasata precum cea europeana. Nu este vorba de oamenii care isi traiesc viata linistit si fara fraude, care au un job normal si sunt in stare sa urle in gura mare ca ei sunt cinstiti si ca sa se faca diferenta intre ei si ceilalti, din cealalta clasa, injositoare si care se auto-vexeaza dar careia, neavand anumite principii morale-spre ciuda noastra- nu ii pasa catusi de putin. E vorba tocmai despre ei, despre ceilalti. Ce putem noi face cu ei? Nici macar nu stiu cati dintre romanii care fura sunt romani romani sau tigani romani. Presa si oamenii din afara nu fac o distinctie si cred ca ar cam trebui sa nu facem nici noi. Tiganii sunt ai nostri. Noi ni i-am facut asa. Insa nimic nu le da dreptul sa se foloseasca de copii. Chiar si la noi in tara vezi copii cersind pe strazi, cantand un cantecel sau rostind “Tatal nostru” printr-o respiratie greoaie si hamesita, cu multe pauze obosite pentru a impresiona mai mult. Pentru copii trebuie facut ceva. Adultii deprinsi deja cu gustul lozelii, al facutului de nimic, si al autoservirii cu banii altora, nu mai au nici o sansa. Pentru ca nu vor.
Am incercat sa scriu un comentariu, sa zic si eu ceva ca roman in fata tuturor strainilor care ne judeca si mi-am dat seama ca nu am ce spune. Nu ramane decat tristetea de a te sti neputincios in fata antipatiei intense a atator oameni.
Nu stiu ce cautam noi ca popor in Uniunea Europeana dar toti care se duc la furat si la inselat sigur stiu ce cauta. Ei iau “beneficiile” si noi platim pretul. E rusinos.

Cu toata nebunia asta in lume in legatura cu omul de pe Marte, cred ca e cazul sa spunem lucrurilor pe nume.
“Persoana” din poza mi s-a parut sincer la inceput a fi un Isus travestit… Nu am ce face, asa mi-a trecut imaginea asta prin cap ca un flash, fara macar sa ma gandesc la cat de mare e blasfemia. Motivul nefericitei asemanari a fost principiul ce-vezi-aia-e: are o fata cam… paroasa, are sani, si o alura foarte divina.
Dar mi-am dat seama ca n-ar trebui sa ma las inselata de aparente.
Am concluzionat ca romanii sunt atat de inteligentii incat au depasit orice fel de bariere si au luat-o inaintea restului omenirii. Ce biserici, ce tramvaie si metrouri, ce Italia, Spania sau Anglia dom’le? Astfel ca s-au dus pe Marte in asteptarea popularii. Si daca tot s-a intamplat sa apara Rover, femeia rroma, neavand mare lucru de facut pe acolo, cu mana intinsa ii ofera sa-i ghiceasca viitorul.

Read this in English

With its relaxed atmosphere and great architecture, Sibiu is the place where you want to enjoy a coffee in a nice classy jazz place or have a kebab in the middle of the night with your beloved. And you can also enjoy the sights, because there are plenty of things to stare at.

Sibiu bus station. This european-like city lodged some gipsies in the main gara, to my surprise. Surprise I say because in my naivety I was expecting this former european cultural capital to have solved its problems of sorts.

The gypsies were feeling free to do whatever, and since no one seemed to be upset, they can brestfeed the babies right there.

Some others were just minding their own business, waiting for the bus to show up.

The kid, having been fed, was then passed to the granma.

They were basically hanging around, hunting with their eyes the credulous prey. I did not seem to qualify for such an honor, even with my easily noticeable camera that was making me look more like a tourist. I guess that was because I passed the test, when asked something in Romanian I answered back politely in the same language. Some others, less lucky, got surrounded by all these women, and their skirts.

The guy they put their claws on did not look Romanian. And if he was Romanian, he must have been very soft. The gypsy ladies were trying to sell him a fake golden ring and they all seemed to have a problem in getting to an agreement. One of them girls was smarter. She just took the money-that he had the brilliant idea to somehow take out- right from his hand and right away replaced it with the glittering tin. And so he was left, eyes gaping in the sun.