Bites and Laughs

Ready for the Jail ...almost

From now on I'm not going to pay taxes. At least not until I get nominated for a White House post, for a change. Err.. who am I kidding? I owe too little; if I miss to report and pay my few bucks I'll probably go straight to jail. And here goes my bright middle class promised future.

The Living Being or being alive

We are perfect souls in perfect bodies in a constant state of wellness. Illnesses are temporary events that prepare us for the eternity. But we should earn eternity by means of positive acts of humanity.

About Titles

It is a common perception that titles are used to inform about the content. Wrong! It is just a common deception. Titles and names usually contain a large dose of wishful thinking and nothing about the content. Take whatever liberal party, and it will have more internal and external rules and laws than any conservative one. And how about the apple named Golden Delicious? I’ve been always outraged that it is made of banal pulp. All the people’s republics out there are owned by narrow, impenetrable party elite. Das Kapital doesn’t offer any practical advice on creating or managing capital. And even Leonardo’s Mona Lisa is allegedly a man's face. Horriful! (horrible + awful = horriful (for those who don’t know English))

The truth behind a title is what we choose it to be.

Memories

I remember how when I was young there were people who explained to me that capitalism is decaying and dying; I remember when I was young how my father remembered when he was young, how people explained to him that capitalism was decaying and dying; I remember how yesterday a colleague of mine explained to me that evidently capitalism is decaying and dying; I remember how later that night we discussed with my OH, that in 20 years probably, we’ll meet someone who’ll explain to us that capitalism is decaying and dying…

…memories of a reality that never happened.

Found in Translation 6: final bitching

English has been influenced too. We, foreigners, still bear the weight of the Latin influence. My wife and I went to the supermarket and asked for two pounds of fish. But it wasn’t that simple. You can weigh it properly if you hear it all.
“Wow, those big shrimps are only 6.99 per pound” my wife says. The label denotes “Sale: 6.99 lb.” So she asks with a smile, “May I have two libras of those shrimps, please?” She says libras with a very nice accent, which reminds of the ancient Romans from Orvieto. “Two what?” the heavily dressed (the dressing was composed of oil, sea salt, and exotic blood on his sleeves) man behind the refrigerators asks. “Two libras, please,” this time the accent is from Eastern Brooklyn-like.

In that moment I put in practice my US college education, and explain to my wife that even though they (yeah, those they) write libras, they mean pounds, which remains from colonial era when weight needed prompt association with money (I made it up of course, but it convinced my sweet heart.)

In the mean while, the arctic man replied with the hazardous, “I don’t understand you, ma’am.”

Besides the cockroaches, my wife doesn’t like to be called ma’am. I notice the fire deep into her ice (those blue eyes are so cold at times.) So I hurried with another explanation: “Listen, it’s OK to be called ma’am. Do you expect to be called differently? And how? Maybe he should have said ‘I don’t understand you, lady?’ No way! You are lucky you didn’t get the ‘I don’t understand you, bitch.’”

So we got our two pounds of shrimp and bought a bottle of whine. It was actually wine that was whining loudly “let me out, let me out, please,” or at least that’s what it seemed to me. With all that good stuff in the bags, we went back home.

Our home happens to be on Beech Avenue. It sounds like a good place, but to me it sounds like beech, beach, or bitch, or at least I pronounce it that way, all the same. When I first heard of the apartment, I thought it was close to a lake, or at least to a river. Not at all. The day we moved in it poured a lot, but there was no river, just two score trees. We scored a good time because of the rain.

Two weeks later I go to the bank to have my account’s address changed. The teller tells me (correct, if she were an asker she would have asked, but she isn’t) “What’s your new address?” With my best mouth twisting effort I say what sounded like “3925 Bitch Avenue.” “Excuse me!”

Found in Translation 5: influenced

English is an influential language. One of the first English lessons teaches that every sentence must have a noun, especially a personal pronoun. This is not so in other languages. For example in Bulgarian, or in Italian, a personal pronoun is not needed if the person or thing in question is known. So phrases as “went away,” or “is all that remains” make perfect sense in those languages.

Unfortunately, non-native English speakers, in a face-to-face situation often forget the “one of the first English lessons.” That happened many times to me too. In those situations, I would notice that my interlocutor would concentrate his or her sight on my face or lips, with the wondering expression, “say what?”. Good, I’d think. I got their attention. Now let me put that personal pronoun, which will make you understand your own language for my own benefit.

English is influential. Last year, when I went back to my country for the winter break, I read some new to the Bulgarian market books translated for the reader’s convenience from English. The passages were full of “He”s, “We”s, “You”s, which made the readings pretty bumpy (actually unpretty but bumpy.) The translators definitely must have been influenced. I did not have the chance to stare at their faces or lips with the “say what?” expression. But I started to wonder if they were just overdoing it, or the language was changing due to historical accidents. And I don’t justify a historical accident because of a cheap translator. Or maybe the editors have used a chip translator?

The real mess happens when foreigners start experimenting with the positions of the various prepositions. You should have seen the face of the little old lady, who is a friend of mine and a proud owner of a portable poodle named Bouclé, when I told her what I meant as a compliment “Oh, Bouclé seems grown.” “She is not supposed to grow anymore. How I can carry her otherwise? Oh, you mean ‘grown up”, right?” Up or down, who cares? That influence confuses me. I learned that one can grow up, but cannot grow down -- that’s unnatural. On the other hand, one can get up, get down, and get off—these are natural but illogic. Or, it is a different kind of logic that non-natives must learn.

I'm in Love

I want to scream to the whole world and let everyone know that I’m in love. With whom? I’m in love so passionately, and I love her so much, that I want everyone to love her. I can’t stop thinking of her. My senses tremble dominated by the constant expectancy of her presence. And I know I will never be able to touch her. But the feeling is so intense that I can almost perceive her physically. No, not almost! At the end, I experience physical enjoyment, so her presence is real. More than real: it is obsessive. I’m obsessed by my love for her.

I love being in love. It makes me fly to the end of the Universe. It makes me pleasantly aware of the beauty in the world. It makes me friend of the joy around me. It makes me accomplice of the delightful vices and virtues of life. It gives me a generous share of the gorgeousness around me.

How couldn’t I love her? She drives me to the… yes, she gives me everything she’s got. That’s everything for me. She moves in a lusty manner; pushes it up, then down; she swings around and at the end releases happiness with her exotic lines of nymph. She’s exotic. Her intonations involve me into harmony with her performance. She makes me scream; I want to scream; I will scream: I love you! Yes, I love you. I love you, music!

But I cannot scream. No, I can’t and I won’t. No, I need to hear the last notes. I must hear all the notes. So, I’ll listen silently. I’ll keep my love inside for as long as it lasts. And secretly I’ll whisper into the deaf darkness of nights, “I love you, music, no matter who you are!”

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You can "love her" here.