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It’s been a while since we haven’t talked about poverty in Romania and solutions. A recent “debate” caused by an over-the-top article on not giving money to the poor gives us a chance to look at it again and also address our reticence with BDSM practices.

Am fost la Consulat sa-mi scot pasaport, prilej cu care iar am inceput sa ma-ntreb daca eu chiar sunt roman, sau numai am alte asteptari. Daca insa te astepti sa ma plang de serviciile consulare, s-ar putea sa fii dezamagit.

Mr. Bean este un placeholder pentru un om cu deficite, adica acel om care scoate sunete guturale, gesticuleaza cu limba si-si usuca pantalonii in hand dryer. Si-s convins ca el sau unul ca el lucreaza la City of Toronto, fiindca mi-a raspuns (adica m-a supus) unui email.

I happened to be in the area so I decided to pay the consulate a visit, not expecting to be able to vote, but hoping to learn more info about my programmed visit for my passport renewal. I didn't waste a lot of time, but in typical Romanian fashion, someone managed to use my time with info that is likely useless.

I have recently read an opinion by some “journo” in a tabloid on how anonymous SIM cards should be sold no more (i.e., make them available only to those producing ID). I argue that the writing privileges of this person should be suspended.

Eroul nostru - adica eu - intra in Consultatul Roman, dupa ce s-a-nvartit prin alte parti, fiind in intarziere din motive multiple cum ar fi vina sa, mai precis o adanca incapacitate de a prognoza timpul real necesar chestiilor care nu-i plac. Oare mai si iese? Citeste si afla!

Am aflat recent despre o familie de romani deportati din USA dupa ce timp de 15 ani au trait in State cu casa, serviciu, catel, taxe platite si $15000 aruncati pe avocati. Povestea cuplului in varsta din New York este feerica in comparatie.

Now that the European results are known and Euroscepticism discussed, after a short detour through Canadian visas for Romanians, we will finally take a look at the Romanian politics.

Today I met another European woman. Originally from Spain, she told me she worked in the Czech Republic for a while as a translator. Upon learning I'm Romanian, she also felt the need to share with me that there were "a lot of Romanians" in the Czech Republic who wanted to come to Canada but couldn't, because there is no visa treaty. When I told her that there were some problems here with Czech Roma getting visa through fraud and the visa had been suspended, her reaction was to remove her Czech work experience from her resume, out of fear that “Czechs now had a bad name.”

It recently occurred to me that in my article about the school uniform, I forgot to mention perhaps its best known and most hated feature: the number every student was supposed to wear on their uniform. It’s much like what students wear these days of their own accord: Abercrombie, Adidas, Parasuco, Lululemon, Joe Fresh, Smythe, Guess, but it also had a supposedly unique number and it was compulsory.

Dupa lunga mea vacanta, am decis sa arunc o lapidara (are si parte a doua) privire asupra stirilor referitoare la Romania din presa streina. Ca de obicei, ma axez in principal pe economic si politic. Prima frectie care imi sare in ochi sunt semnele din ce in ce mai clare ca UE va hotari in curand sa renunte la a mai recunoaste deciziile judecatoresti ale curtilor romanesti (1). Asta ar fi o palma grea pe obrazul nostru, daca ne-a mai ramas obraz sub grosul strat de sorici.

Cand generalul de securitate Ion Pacepa a cerut azil politic in US, Ceausescu a avut un microinfarct iar Andries a scris celebrul sau blues. De-atunci, ghinaralul nostru a scris cateva carti care insa nu au prea fost luate in serios. Dupa introducerea si Stronach, il luam pe Pacepa in colimator (“unde e tipografia?”)

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. 

Although I have written briefly about progressive rock, I shied away thus far from Romanian progressive rock. That's rather odd, considering that the apogee of that genre in Romania is universally considered to be the eponymous Zalmoxe by Sfinx, released (more like “censored”) in 1978.