22
May
2006
“We are the winners
of Eurovision”
Woke up this morning humming the Lithuanian entry. Damn catchy, that tune.
Since it’s Monday, I procrastinated as usually until it was way too late to go by foot and took a cab. Now the grinning that took over the taxi driver’s face as I approached his car should have been a warning sign that maybe it would be a good idea to take the next one in line. Not being particularly known for listening to my intuitions in everyday life, I went to Grinny McSmile ’s old Renault and told him to drive me to the Neuropsychiatry ward. A hundred meters later he fakes a surprise and says:
“Oh, I rushed to the car when I saw you, cute little damsel, coming to my cab and I didn’t have time to change any money .. do you have the exact ammount it will cost?”
“Um, no, I only have 5s and 10s” (a ride to the workplace costs around 3,2)
“Well, what do you propose we do then?”
At this point I swear I felt a big red WTF? lighting up over my head.
“We’ll look if there are any open souvenir booths near the Cathedral, and you’ll exchange a 5, I presume” says I, the non-conflictual.
“Yeah, we might do that .. or something else” he responds.
WTF sign size suddenly doubles. I try to think of the most non-innuendo inducing conversation theme possible.
“So, err, have you heard 600 birds already died at that farm near our town? Damn bird flu - the government is euthanasing chicken like crazy.”
“Bird flu? That’s just a scam. Damn Americans, trying to con us, I’m sure”
“But people died in Turkey ..and China.. children, you know? I don’t see how you could fake that in a scam.”
Silence follows from his side. We approach the cathedral - the booths are closed. Think quick, Ada!
“Get me to the ward - my nurses will probably have smaller bills. ”
“Well, if that’s what you really, really want ….”
We get to the Ambulatoriu. I hop out like Speedy Gonzales, go inside and ask Dana B to lend me the sum. She does so, I come out and give the cabby the money.
“Thank you, love. Can I come to pick you up after you finish? What do you say?”
“Nah, I think I’ll walk.”
He leaves.
Posted: chestii
21
May
2006
One big stadium, full of fervent supporters cheering for the contestants while watched by millions on the TV. Superbowl? Olympics? FIFA World Cup? Mais non. Eurovision.
For those of you over the pond, it’s a huge song contest where most of the European countries (Israel counting itself as one in this case) send somebody to represent them, not necessarily a citizen of said state. It was the launching ramp for ABBA and Celine Dion (who represented Switzerland, from all countries) and this year was the 51th edition. The songs usually range from cheesy pop fodder to sleep-inducing tummy-ached balads, with the ocasional Balkan or Irish Ethnic thrown in. The voting is done by phone, with each country’s spectators being able to award points to every contestants except its own. There’s a drinking game associated with it, which I didn’t play because I would have slipped into a coma before voting.
So yesterday I opened the TV to watch the finals. Most of the songs were the usual audio bubble-gum (our ball-grabbed voice owning Mihai included), with the notable exception of the Bosnians (good stuff! now if I could only understand what the heck the lyrics meant) and the tongue-in-cheek Lithuanian entry, who’s complete lyrics were:
We are the winners of Eurovision
We are, we are! We are, we are!
So, you gotta vote,
Vote, vote for the winners!!
(For the record, they finished 6th .)
However, all this rainbows-bunnies-and-cheeky-li’l-jokes atmosphere went straight to hell (literally) when the Finns got on the scene. Why? Umm..
Oh, you want a picture from the performance? Here you go:
Ladies and gentlemen, the Bat out of Hell(sinki) and his gang. After the initial shock I yelled to Robi, who was Skype -ing with a client
“Hon, come quick! You’ve got to see this!”
“See what?”
“The Eurovision ! The Apocalipse is coming ! And there are orcs in it!”
Not being able to resist the promise of some Barad-Dur goodbadness, the husband joined me in watching. The song (”Hard Rock Hallelujah”) wasn’t bad at all actually, a melodic hard rock piece reminding me of the beginning of the ’90s. The rest of the songs were the usual crap, and around midnight the singing part was over.
Then came the voting. My fingers were itching to give a call for the Bosnians but then I remembered that most of our votes go invariably to the Moldavians (two countries, same language and nation, long boring history crap) so I just watched. Our contestant was doing fine, jumping around between the 3rd and the 6th place while the Bosnians were definetely top 3. But who was receiving most of the points from all over Europe? Surprise, surprise, the rocking imps. They won by a landslide. The most delicious part was the stupefied comment from the TV translator, a middle-aged nice lady, judging from her voice. Stuttering and sporting a nice tremolo she informed us that “this is a triumph of the estetics of the ugly .. a zombified Europe .. I cannot believe my eyes”
I have a hunch she was rooting for Switzerland.
Posted: chestii
20
May
2006
Birdflu is here. As in “chicken farm 10 kilometers from here has confirmed it”.
Posted: chestii
19
May
2006
I belong to something called Hospitality Club. Basically, it’s an organisation where you offer and you receive free hosting. After the guest leaves, both parties involved leave a comment about the other on his/her profile. The system functions well and they have a bit over 140 000 members.
On Thursday I received a Japanese guy, my first guest in over four months. First he shocked me - instead of your run-off-the-mill clean shaved, camera carrying, suit wearing small yellow person with glasses I saw a long-haired, bearded, moustached sandalwearing guy in worn training pants and a t-shirt that was about to exhale the last breath in its t-shirty life. His face resembled one of the wise characters that sit near a lake in kung-fu movies and give invaluable advice to the main guy before he goes to kick the snot out of the villain that killed his beloved teacher. He had an enormous backpack.
Poor mr.Fujita! I shocked him in return when I went smiling to him, and planted firmly two smooches on his cheeks. Ya know, us Romanian are Latin folks. As in “more touchy feely than a pedophile at a slumber party”. His lack of smooching back and his wee-bit blushing made me realise that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea.
He stayed until this morning. The nurses had a blast when he came to the Ambulatoriu, admiring his world traveled tan and trying to find out if he knows Karate. They also wanted to gift him with a generous amount of bacon with onions, one of the local delicacies - with not much succes, since he had only a limited amount of space free in his backpack - as he said with a polite smile.
The girls talked all day today about how it would be like to be married to somebody from a different culture. Consensus was reached that Eskimos are not on the top list. Japanese had a lot of succes instead, especially if they have long hair and can tell you what the Nigerian main languages are. So, if any single Geography teacher from Tokio reads this - don’t come over here unless you are prepared to face two wide-grinned nurses that will secretly measure your ring finger while they’ll chat with you about bacon. Trust me on this one.
Posted: chestii
19
May
2006
I submitted my blog a while ago for review to the wenches at Italk2much. I got 5 out of 5. I’m bloody overwhelmed.
So, being the altruist that I am, I want to reward MercilessMinx, who did the review, back. MM, I present to you this:
Somebody actually tried to persuade me today into buying it.
Posted: stumbled upon
18
May
2006
Yesterday I had to test the hospital’s liftiere (”elevator operator ladies”), all five of them. If you aren’t a doc, a nurse or a patient you’re not alowed to travel by elevator. Hospital policy, undisclosed reason. If you’re one of those, you get traveling rights, but only if one of the elevator ladies pushes the buttons for you. They sit on their small stools for eight hours, monotonely pushing the six buttons , surrounded by infernal cable shrieks (What, you think the hospital money is spent on modernising or rutinely repairing THOSE? Heh. Good one.) They work nightshift and weekends. They are yelled at by angry civilians that don’t understand why they have to climb five sets of stairs with their kid in their arms to go to the Pediatric ward and don’t have a reasonable explanation for their refusal. They are paid around 150 $ / month. Yeah, just your average dreamjob.
I had to see if they were still fit to work on heights and assume responsabilities involving human lives. It was fascinating. Five lifestories unfolded before me, each with its own, very personal misery .
First was the lady who’s son worked five years in Germany, came back driving a car bought for a friend who sent him the money for it by Moneygram. He drove three days without stopping to sleep for more than three-four hours, because the friend had a wedding to attend and was anxious to show the new car. Not long after crossing the Romanian border he fell asleep and got out of the road, hit a tree and stopped in a ditch, turned upside down. The airbags saved him, but the car was unrepairable, so all five years’money went to pay back the friend who bought the car. The mom was deemed fit to work.
Next came the one who’s second daughter was born premature at six months, with cerebral palsy and half blind. The parents sold most of what they had in the house, went to the best docs in Transylvania and now, after four years, the girl stands up and says around ten words. The mom was deemed fit to work.
After that entered a lady with an alcoholic husband that beats her and a troublemaker teenager that hates the mom for staying with dad. The mom cries a lot and was found with deep depression, suicidal thoughts on the side. She forgot to close the elevator door one night two months ago and blocked the cabin two levels under the open door. A tired nurse almost fell though the open door in the dark. The woman says she can’t leave her husband. I deemed her unfit, gently tried to pesuade her to start treatment and get the fuck out of her relationship.
I don’t remember much about the forth woman, except that money was scarce in the family and the husband lost his job not long ago. She was deemed fit.
The fifth was in the middle of the biggest mess from all five, recently catching her husband cheating on her after fifteen years of marriage. The husband also works in the hospital and I remember testing him - a quiet, introvert guy with a pleasant smile and a lovely sanity. He says he still loves her and it was a one-time mistake. She says she doesn’t recognize him anymore. Their 11-year old cries herself to sleep each night even if neither of them is telling her what’s going on. Neither spouse can move out, even for a short time, because there isn’t any place to go. She was deemed fit.
Posted: hospital
16
May
2006
We’ve all seen this. Girl meets jerk, girl falls in love with jerk, jerk dumps girl, girl meets good guy, girl leaves good guy and returns to jerk. Well guess who wants to ditch said good guy and return to the Costel? None other than our resident blonde.
I like Dana B. I really do. She’s fun to chat with, has a big heart, is great with kids and makes the best coffee in the world. She also had an ugly childhood and an alcoholic abusive dad, who always preferred her little sister over her - so I can see where she comes from. Yet I find myself fighting the urge to bang my head in the wall repeatedly when I see what she’s doing to herself.
The Costel somehow sensed her change. I swear, there must have been something in the Earth magnetism (or a disturbance in the Force) because they haven’t seen each other in months and she seems to have a good relationship with her guy on the exterior, so the mutual friends didn’t have anything to gossip about.
So out of the blue he calls her last night. At 2 AM. She answers (while the boyfriend is in the bed, next to her) and tells him to leave her alone. Not very convincingly, since he calls her 4 more times after that, telling her that he needs her, wants to get back in her life, yada yada yada. Boyfriend gets angry at the lack of ferm negative reaction to the repeated calls, dresses up and leaves to cool down for a few hours. Dana is left in the bed, wishing Costel would call just one more time so she could tell him not to abandon hope.
At this point the storytelling is interrupted by the boyfriend, entering room with a bag of cookies for her, and me with Dana A. go grease our eyes that got squeeky from all the rolling.
Posted: hospital
