Bunissima

So, as an ending for tonight’s thrilogy (more like a 4-logy, if that word exists), I must speak about the wonderful adventures in the Narnia of electricity. I kid you not. It has been a fantastic adventure I have been going through since my laptop decided it does not like Romanian electricity anymore (probably longing for the native plugs, where it used to have better offer than the Romanian electricity company has to offer - yes, there’s only one, to not leave place for doubts).
But let me rewind, and take you to beggining of this whole adventure.
At first, there was nothing but a couple of broken plugs. Summonig the good forces, we made it so that these were taken care of by a very skilfull electrician from around these parts of the world, who has made sure that the plugs will not ever bring ay grief.
And then, some others broke out in a heresy, defying all that was good and fair. But this was also taken care of by the already familiar character, the famous electrician now known around the entire shire for being the saviour of the plugs that take the wrong path.

There were some other nights when the Ruler of all plugs was showing some discontent, making all kinds of noises and flames and buzzing like it was annoyed by some evil force floating around in the air. It has all been ignored, because no major damage or obvious results, erm … resulted.
But last night was different. Sometimes, me and my best mate, my HP P-Cee, decide to move from one place to another to explore new possibilities of fighting and defeating the evil, by trying new plugs. And the Ruler of all plugs started buzzing and groaning and moaning and sparkling flames at us in a defying attitude, like he did not want us to be there.
So we left the plug, but I guess it was a bit too late because the Ruler did not stop his terrible and scary menace. At some point some other P-Cees around the territory started having funny behaviours and speech impediments, talking in a red language, saying they can’t go on like this.
So, the brave warrior that always does what she pleases, decided it’s about time to have a talk with the Ruler of all plugs, as scary as it was.

And the result was disastrous.

Its rather impertinent evil Pawns tottaly took down the warrior that was figting for the good of all plugs, of the all mighty Internet and for all the scared P-Cees. Here’s how the pawns looked, be wary of their power:

And this is how they looked after sacrificing their lives, so they can take out all the life from the plugs that bring happiness to folks:

But the fight was not over yet. The electrician was called again, with hope and some money tied on a rope. And waited for hours and hours that for the inhabitants of this shire, seemed like centuries. Eventually, the ugly truth has come to the surface. He deserted. He was too tired fighting the Ruler and also announced that he was not going to be available for the next centuries because of some pagan holidays, like Sunday, and Monday, because for some reason, this Monday is not a working day.

We assesed all the possibilities. The Aunt might have known about some other electrician that was a trusted warrior. She did not.

The Electrica SA, or whatever the family name was, the evil and yet reasonable ruler of all Rulers cut it shortly saying they do not deal with it and that we should call a friend.

So we called our Sister. She suggested we should try different combinations between the pawns of the Ruler and see if the pawns were dead or if the Ruler of all plugs itself was dead. Apparenlty just the pawns of the plugs. Not the Ruler, not the pawns of the light bulbs from the shire.
From then on, there were two options. Find some new pawns, or switch the light bulb pawns with the plug pawns.
After a walk in the crude terrible rain throughout the entire territory where all the pawn shops were closed and hope as well, we decided to go to plan #2. Evil and risky but better than just getting bored to death. Switch the pawns. Vote was unanimous. Celebration came. Wine was poured and cookies eaten.

All the inhabitants were happy to give up light when they wash their hands so their P-Cees can light their ways.

And so it happened. Wired was the word.

And it was worthed. Everyone was happy.

Never was this adventure forgotten. Stories are still being told, even without light bulbs but with one plug… the only one that survived the war.

This is an old card I have found in my family’s “archive”. It was used during the communism to measure the food you got, mainly the bread, flour and oil. The people who lived in the contry side were forced to give either milk, eggs, meat and fruits alltogether, or cereals, depending on what people were cultivating and growing in different areas.

You could’ve gotten each month one kilogram of flour (= 2 pounds), one of oil, and the same with sugar and maize. I also find out that in the cities you could have gotten 5 slices of real salami per month. Really?

Make no mistake, there were things to buy… like milk, beggining with 4 or 5 am in the morning, because if you got there later you risked of being milkless for your indolence. On the other hand you could just come and stay there with a chair from the evening before or late at night so you be the first on the line when the milk is on the race.

And powdered egg. And… pig heads, that must have been a real feast. And soy salami, why, you all need to be vegetarians cause we tell you to. If you did not turn vegetarian because you could only eat soy salami, you would definately do it because of refusing to eat the pork heads. Maybe some pork legs would do. Or, as people called these pig feet, Adidas. The name compensates for the lack of style. Oh, and a bread a week. Really, no you need to go on a diet, the diet of all people that are equal.

Same things, from a different angle:

My great grandfathers lived in the country side. So did my granma, with them. There was so little food sometimes that they wouldn’t know what to eat. One day, while she was sowing the ground, my great grandmother caught a deer by the foot. It did not run, it did not make any noise. That was a good thing, because you were not allowed to hunt. Not even kill your own livestock, whithout announcing Big Brother, except for pork. And people were afraid anyways to do too much. They ate the deer. They told us kids, just in case someone would ask, that it was a pork they had cut. They burried the skin so that not even dogs would find it.
To make a living my grandma was making tuica (she would sometimes exchange tuica for food). At that time it was illegal to do it without approvals or just illegal, I don’t remember exactly. And since the officialities could not get their presumtion confirmed from grown up traitors, they thought to ask the kids. I can remember even now the tall imposing policeman that asked “Is your granma making tuica?” while we were looking up at him for the dwarf-sized kindergarten chairs. I ignored him. My littler sister, just a kid of 3, could not defend herself, even if the teacher was insisting on him to leave us kids alone. So my sister admitted that it was true. The officialities never knew about this. The policeman had suddenly become a good friend who came to visit often, to pick up his payment.
I don’t recall too much more. All I really remember is seeing the pork head and thinking it was so disgusting. And that soon after the revolution you could buy oranges, without actually having to wait for 3 hours in a line while making room with your elbows. That was enough for me as a kid to understand that something was better. Plus the school vacation, wich suddenly got bigger!

Happiness is not actually the man’s usual state of mind. Because, for some reasons and for centuries, people have changed that heavenly state of being, as prescribed in Genesis, to a more pragmatic state of existence. The usual self is not happy, is just eager to do things. When you are doing things you can’t be happy, but if you are not doing things, you can’t be too happy either. So, as paradoxal as it is, these two ways of existence are intertwined and yet they exclude each other like magnets with the same polarity. It is a real blessing that life is so fragmented into little pieces so that you do not perceive all its changes.

Am vazut ca acum Mos Craciun nu mai este Mos Craciun. Pentru a isi fauri o imagine si mai puternica, marile companii se folosesc pana si de el, care nu poate da gres in preajma sarbatorilor. Mos Craciun a ajuns sa vanda mai mult decat sa dea, saracul. Oricum, asta si era menirea lui. Dar, cu putina decenta, se putea ascunde acel semn de egalitate intre identitatea Mosului si cea a unui mare supermarket.

“Mami, anul asta nu mai vine Mosul? Eu am vazut la tv ca anul asta Carrefour e Mosul, eu nu vreau sa intre Carrefour pe horn, ca ne strica bradul” spunea Diana, 5 ani.

Sau, simplificand lucrurile si mai mult, se poate ca tu insuti sa fii un cadou pentru altii daca vrei, bineinteles, sa cumperi o sticla de Coca Cola. Tot ce trebuie e sa te impachetezi si sa te cari singur, cu sticla cu tot.

There are times when you wish to change things. There are times when you wish things don’t change. When it comes about things, depending on how much you want, they might happen, or change or not. But people cannot change. And there are two kinds of people that are the most dangerous. The stupid and the crazy. They are more dangerous than the intelligent people, because the former are only slaves of some fixed ideas that cannot be changed. And this I can never pretend to want to change. So for them, just like in stupidity and madness, only extremes will do.

In mijlocul noptii ma trezesc ca nu pot sa dorm. Stiam ca o sa imi fac rau singura daca beau cafea in timpul zilei dar mi-am zis ca nu ma face cafeaua pe mine, o dovedesc eu pe ea. Dupa ce am facut miscare foindu-ma pe toate partile in pat, dupa ce ideile deveneu obsesii, capul a inceput sa ma doara, si el, obsesiv, pentru a imi face cunoscuta prezenta insomniei care statea la capatul patului in timp ce radea had de mine cu superioritate.

Nu imi mai aduc aminte totul. Am adormit la un moment dat, pentru a fi trezita la ora 8 de zgomotul unei bormasine cu valente de pickhammer, sapand in peretii vecini precum freza dentara care iti scormoneste mai mult creierii decat dintii.

Am incercat sa dorm. Cu putin succes, care a durat, si el, si mai putin, reusisem. Ma trezesc din nou, in sunetele incantatoare ale unei certi matinale, luata in doze tari, pe stomacul gol. Si de mine si de altii implicati mai direct.

In concluzie, ma trezesc, ca oricum trebuia sa ma duc la dentist pentru a-mi slefui un dinte pe care mi-l facuse prea mare. Freza din nou, amenintatoare se profila. Dar pentru a scapa de zgomotul obsedant am zis ca e timpul potrivit pentru a-i deranja si eu pe altii, cu niste muzica. Si nici nu trece jumatate de melodie ca mi se opreste laptopu’ cu de la sine putere. Am recurs la solutia ultima si ce a mai putin dezirabila. The magic box, tembelizorul, televizorul, sau cum i s-o mai spune.

Dupa cateva melodii apar niste gagici aratoase, care zic ceva mai in romana mai in engleza, si care spun ca le cheama… “Wasabi.” Ok, am zis, asta e chiar tare. Sa vedem cat de “tari” sunt si ele. Melodia lor e un fel de combinatie dintr-un slagar mai vechi si o incercare de hip-hop sau ceva, nu mi-am dat seama exact. Nu mai stiu cine canta slagarul acela, stiu doar ca era ceva de genul “siii m-am intragostit de tine, de tine, de tine,” dar era bun, la vremea lui. Fetele astea nu numai ca profaneaza slagarul ala prin simplul fapt ca il folosesc, ci il batjocoresc pur si simplu. Preluarea e inferioara, desi te-ai astepta ca de obicei sa imbunatateasca, cel putin auditiv (adica sa nu iti zgarie urechile), daca nu calitativ. Pe langa asta, niste versuri ieftine, bazate pe verbul “a prinde”, aprinde, desprinde, cuprinde, etc., nu le mai stiu, iar tema videoclipului e una clasica, decazuta prin saturatia utilizarii. Barbatul care le insala, intamplator, pe toate delicioasele membre ale formatiei. Delicioase, adica apetisante, mai ceva decat wasabi, care e destul de picant. Pentru ca se ele se vad din plin. Talentul nu prea se vede.

De fapt numele lor reprezinta muzica lor. Nu in sensul de picant, ci doar greu de inghitit. Mai ales daca ai avut o noapte proasta, si un inceput de zi la fel de promitator.
O sa beau numai Pepsi de acum incolo, nu mai vreau cafea, ma agita prea tare. Bietele fete…

Daca nu stii cine esti, tot felul de teste si quiz-uri o sa te ajute sa afli. Daca nu stii sa alegi dintre optiunile care iti spun cine esti, poti sa inovezi si sa te regasesti fortat. Am pus si eu un quiz la cale si uite ce mi-a iesit.

Cand completezi de un test de personalitate ce faci?

a) Il completezi pe nerasuflate si cu fidelitate, ca nu cumva sa gresesti.

b) Il faci mai mult in joaca mai mult ca sa vezi daca este adevarat ce spun ei.

c) Nu faci tu astfel de teste.

Iata si raspunsurile:

a- clar, pentru tine nu mai exista nici un leac. Astepti sa afli cine esti de peste tot. Si, pentru ca nu stii exact cine esti, accepti ceea ce ti se spune, incercand sa identifici momentele exacte in care ai fost asa cum ti se spune ca ar trebui sa fii.

b- nu ai mari probleme, chiar daca nu te cunosti indeajuns, nu ai nevoie nici sa iti spuna un test pentru ca stii tu ce faci.

c- ei, asa da, esti persoana care nu are nevoie de un asemenea test. Mai ales daca esti femeie si nu speri la a fi vreo eroina moderna!

Imi pare rau ca tocmai aceasta publicatie face astfel de teste de “personalitate” cel mai des, deoarece pagina de start are culoarea mea favorita. Dar pe alta parte cred ca daca nu le-ar spune cititoarelor cine sunt, nu ar mai veni inapoi… asa ca pot sa ma uit la culoarea aia si in alta parte.

“Primul lucru pe care ti-l amintesti e gustul dragostei,” se spune in prima reclama la Tnuva. Stiu, stiu, e cam tarziu sa scriu despre asta acum, dar pur si simplu treaba asta m-a ros de luni intregi, si pentru ca am preferat sa nu mai sufar atata, m-am decis sa dau glas gustului amar…

Reclama in cauza incepe de la origini si restul reclamelor te aduc pana in prezent… un prezent sau altul, nu conteaza. Imporanta e originea, de care ni se aminteste la toti, si mai ales faptul ca originea e strans legata de laptele matern. Pe care eu una, nu imi doresc sa il beau dupa atatia ani. Nu stiu cati bani au fost bagati in campania Tnuva, nu ma intereseaza, dar a face reclama la produse lactate folosindu-te chiar de imaginea mamei cu tot cu lapte, nu este intocmai imbietor. Stiu, stiu, nu se pomeneste nicaieri de laptele matern in reclama, nu se vede, etc. Yabut, si de data asta exista un “yabut,” si acela e ca toata ideea reclamei musteste de lapte proaspat. De mama, ca ala e unul dintre primele gusturi ale dragostei de care stim.

P.S.

Am incercat produsele Tnuva, si trebuie sa recunosc ca sunt destul de bune. Dar nu Prima reclama a fost cea care m-a determinat sa le incerc. La a doua eram inca putin sceptica. Dar cea cu copilasul-ingeras a fost super-cute.