Having recently come back from a trip to Calgary, a friend of mine was showing me beautiful photos of a snowy mountain, with real pine forests covered by snow, which all conjured up in my mind the image of the ski camp where I used to spend all of my winter holiday, and more, all throughout my school years in Romania.
I’m not a nationalist and though I wish my Romanian friends “La Multi Ani” for our national holiday, a small part of me is uneasy, because nationalism means association with people who share your ethnic background, some good, some bad, but in our case (and, of course, excepting those I know personally), mostly bad.
The Romanian expression would be “niste carnati expirati” though in English I could’ve called them hotdogs or patsies just the same. Now, I owe a new installment in an older series, due to a debt born in comments; I know that and I’ll get to it eventually. However, this one is simpler and takes less time to write, which is why I am writing it now, quickly.
When it comes to presidents, I prefer them quiet and subdued, but when I look back, I kept voting for the loud ones. I’m much like a woman who claims she’s looking for good guys but constantly ends up with bad boys. I’m not the only one, judging by the recent results of US elections. So I’m hurrying to finish this article, in a McDonald’s with non-working Wi-Fi, fueled by their free coffee promotion with only 30 minutes left to go.
About two months ago, Maftei, my math teacher in high school, has passed away (fb-maftei). I felt sorry, and that’s why the expression he used to invite us to the blackboard (“iesi pe straße” or “come out on the straße/street”) found its way in the title of this article, which is about the high-school physics teacher Sever Iosif Georgescu and his (or his kids’?) attempts to erase the negative events of his past. This is the third installment in the Georgescu, Iosif SEVER saga:
I have meant to write at length on this individual and, as expected, not only that reality caught up with me, but it left me far behind. I never expected for things to go this far, which is why I am revisiting it now.
Despite having better things to do and write about, a recent article published by Deutsche Welle annoyed me enough to get me to write about the non-debate happening in USA and discuss abortion.
A relatively recent tragic murder and Munchausen by proxy case is a pretext to look at how Romani / Gypsy / Roma people are perceived, the guilt of their children and mob mentality.
I don’t have time for this any more than you do. It’s summer, it’s sunny, and I hardly have the time for my daily swim. But some bigwigs are counting precisely on our not paying attention to pass some really bad regulations.
The current culture clash about some Norwegian child welfare agency having seized a Romanian couple’s children over physical discipline and the ensuing protests coming mostly from religious groups has a recognizable background: it’s a rehashing of the century-old conservative vs liberal quarrel. I have respect and admiration for Norway and their altruistic, enlightened and generous foreign policy and foreign aid, but this case may be more than just that.
I was going through a movie marathon when I started this article. I thought I’d seen something in Ghenea’s performance, then I wasn’t so sure. And time passed.
The fatalities count has gone North of 30, and I try to parse all the data, info and opinions that are squirting on the Internet much like the absent fire extinguishers should have in the infernal basement.
Predictably, the fire at the Colectiv nightclub in Bucharest has resulted in calls for moar regulation! and a search for the culprits. Interior Minister Oprea can breathe now that the media is no longer focusing on his killing of a policeman through unnecessary, elitist motorcades. Let me explain why the requests for more regulation are misguided.
I was planning to go out tonight, and on my way out, my eyes fell on a headline: "Romanian nightclub blast kills 25". By the time I looked it up online, the casualties had gone to 26. And memories of a few nights in Bucharest came back.
There was a time when talking about TIFF meant an image. Then, starting around 1975, it meant the Toronto International Film Festival. Then Romania thought that copying this name is OK, and now I find that I have to differentiate between tiff.ro and tiff.net. Here we are simply listing the Romanian movies at TIFF.net (in Toronto).
My head has been getting bigger and bigger from all these stillborn brainchildren, so I thought I write a few down. Besides, it looks like Google has been dropping some of my articles off its index, and that hurts.
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