One hour I stayed today with no electricity whatsoever, and, look! I’m still alive! I didn’t use any electricity but a tiny bit to take these photos, and on my mobile, searching desperately for a compatible version of ‘dope wars’ for my k610 (i have failed).
And… this is me, I swear!
I feel better now, having done this ‘earth hour thing’.
Sitting at my desk, I’m thinking about things I’ve done, and haven’t, things I’ve done and didn’t like, and things I would’ve died for, but never managed to get or do. The latter ones, some of them could be considered my sweet&sour taboos. The strange thing is that these have nothing to do (at least not directly) with sexuality, however the word taboo is mostly related to it, as far as I have noticed so far. A taboo for me would be something like… phoning a person I often meet, or talk to on the internet, or going to a pub/café on my own with no company whatsoever, or eating a full box of chocolate, etc. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, all these things must have some ‘kinkyness’. I just can’t figure out exactly what, I guess I do not know my self well enough. Even this is a taboo from me: to know myself better, it’s something I am somewhat afraid of, scared of finding out things I (the sane Gabi) wouldn’t like.
So what are taboos? I don’t understand comprehend exactly, are taboos:
- things we’d like to do but we aren’t able to?
- things that are forbidden, but we’d sell our souls to be able to do, touch, say, feel?
- forbidden things that we do? forbidden things that we rarely/often do?
- things we (like to) do, but other people don’t?
- things our mums, or their priests taught us that are making us go blind or sick?
- things we are ashamed of, but still (would) do?
- all of the above?
- N/A ?
She looked at him. She couldn’t believe what her ears were transmitting to her brain. She could not believe, not the words, but the tone of his voice. There was a slight hint, a faint touch of blackmail. She often told people that they thought she was stupid; it was a joke, more or less. But she wasn’t. She could listen very well, and figure out what the drill is. This time it was a threatening. He didn’t use any expressions like: ‘do this’, ‘don’t do that’, ‘or else’… No, he was much more diplomatic and cunning than that. The honest truth was that, deep within her bowels, she felt somewhat guilty. Yet… his voice hit her like an icy thunder. Yet… he managed to bring her to this state, where from there was no easy way out. So far, she thought he was a trustworthy person, a person she could leave her ’secret’ with. Actually there was no secret whatsoever. It was just her, the way she was. No extraordinary disclosures to be done, no lives ruined after people would learn about what she did (or rather how she lived, or what she lived with). No, people would stop, maybe for a sec, then carry on with their own lives. Nobody would bother anyway. Still, she was kind of dumbstruck. ‘You know, one would expect some sort of an intimacy from somebody that pretends to be the protector of a woman.’ – these were her thoughts cast into spoken words. The menacing grin on his face explained her clearly that there was no place, nor time for any negotiation.
She slowly stood up. The old chair made a crackling noise while she pushed it under the heavy table. She stepped to the half opened door that led to the garden. The sight was more than pleasing. The children were playing under the old walnut tree. Their faces were lit by joy, there was no sign of pain, sorrow, fear. The dog they were fiercely bullying seemed to be laughing along with them. They’ve noticed her standing in the door and started to wave madly at her, to come an play with them, but not letting the dog rest for a second. She waved back. Instead of going out, she turned around to him. Her expression was so different now. During those few seconds she was gazing throughout the door, she got something from the kids, something that he has long forgotten, since he considered himself, and behaved like the most mature person in the neighbourhood.
Whatever got into her, it made her step in front of him, slap him in the face so hard that he fell off the chair, and said: ‘Listen well, you bastard! Get your bloody act together, or else…!!!!!’
He never ever in his life used that certain tone of voice again.
I stumbled upon this great web-site with a huge collection of interesting photos. It reminded me how…
… I miss watching clouds from an airplane
… I miss watching clouds while lying on a beach and listening to the sea
… I miss watching the stars on a summer night, while crickets singing in my ears
… I miss watching a thunderstorm from my tiny balcony
Summer’s sneaking closer, so I live with the hope…
For it’s St. Paddy’s today, I want to tell you the story of the Beer Fairy, as I’ve heard it from this old chap with a cap and a greyhoud, called Cillian, some years ago, whilst somewhere in Connemara, or Enniskerry, can’t recall the exact spot.
The beer fairy, seems to be a nice fairy, but in fact she is a mischievous one, and you’ll see my point in a bit. I am sure you all met her at some point, you just didn’t realize that it was her. What she does is she shows up in the middle of a party, she sits on your shoulder, pets you on your head, she actually makes you feel happy. After the first few beers she makes your face go rubbery. It’s still ok. Then, after quite a few more pints, when you feel that you’ve had enough for the night, and it is time to go home, as you are a responsible person, and least of an alcoholic, she wrecks your head to stay, have another one, and another one, and on she goes: ‘c’mon, have another pint!’, ‘c’mon now, just one more beer, are you a puff or what?’. You have no option, but to obey… So, when you are left with no money, and so are your mates, or when the pub runs out of beer, or there is absolutely no way to drink more for one reason or another, off you go, starting your trip home. The beer fairy is still on your shoulder, grinning at you, sitting and waiting. She is ‘guiding’ you home, on the most twisted path possible. Now her time has come, so be aware. The whole street starts to spin with you, and, shit! the pavement just hit both of your knees at the same time! and it peeled the skin off your nose?! Unbelievable! Actually it’s not you, no – it’s the beer fairy that makes all these bad things happen… You carry on, trying to convince yourself that you know where you actually are, but the beer fairy is tellin’ ya where to go, so do not worry if you pass near the same old church twice, you’ll get home, eventually. Finally, you arrive at your doorstep, stagger in your room and climb up in the bed. Now the fun part begins! But not for you, laddie… She slowly pushes you into a deep sleep. When it’s absolutely sure that you are snoozing well, the beer fairy pulls off her trousers, and she does what she’s been waiting for aaaallll niiiight long (and now you can see why I was saying that she’s actually quite naughty) : she pees in your mouth! So next time when you wake up after a hell-of-a-drinking kind of a night, with a bad taste in your mouth, you know that the beer fairy visited you!
Just found:
Si, din seria ‘arhitectii gasesc muzica incredibil de buna’:
Escapada de marti seara a fost foarte draguta. Mai vreau! Richie Kotzen e un baiat foarte finut, stilat, cu o imagine bine studiata si facuta asa cum trebuie, cum numai americanii stiu. Arata MAI sexy decat in poze. Poate pletele nu i-s asa de dese precum mi-am imaginat eu in fanteziile mele… Dinti perfecti, buze senzuale, si o privire… well… miscatoare, sa zicem asa. Cum a scos primele sunete, am si uitat de mine. Are o voce blanda, putin ragusita dar cu un sound linistitor si excitant in acelasi timp, si mai frumos decat pe orice inregistrare. A cantat mai mult pentru noi, fetele, melodii mai sentimentale, si toate ne-am topit. Schimbam extrem de des priviri incarcate cu semnificatii pe care numai noi le putem sti. Baietii erau entuziasmati si ei, si cantau rand cu rand (cei care stiau textele). Apoi, ca dupa concert au inceput cu comentarii de genul: ‘pai ne asteptam sa cante piese fourty deuce, si sa se sparga in figuri.’ sau: ‘ah, nu a fost nu stiu ce.’ aia e alta poveste. Ii inteleg si pe ei… Mai trebuie sa amintesc si de bassist, care era o figura cel putin ciudata: plin de tatuaje si piercinguri, cu creasta, si cu limba mereu pe-afara. De multe ori se uita asa, cu limba scoasa la Richie, care ii intorcea privirea intrebator, si sincer in momentele alea aveam dileme in legatura cu modul acesta de comunicare, oare ce vroia sa-i transmita? Singura mea problema cu concertul asta a fost durata… Prea putin Kotzen am vazut!
A38 este un loc foarte ok pentru astfel de concerte, dar sincer as fi preferat o masa
in The Viper Room, unde probabil e mai cald (vorba lui Bubu) si ar fi existat sanse ca Richie sa apara pe scena la bustul gol, dar asta este o alta fantezie. Sper sa mai ajung acolo (pe A38, nu in Viper Room. Adica si acolo sper. You never know).
In alta ordine de idei, weekendul a fost frumos, la fel si inceputul acestei saptamani. Azi e 13, Joi si nu ar putea fi mai bine de atat (sau da…? n-am fost niciodata prea sigura pe mine).
Yes… I’ll do whatever you say!
Definitely…
Se repetă aceeaşi fază în mai puţin de 2 luni. Şi atunci, şi acum, înainte de a se întâmpla, am simţit în mod inconştient un dor de ducă, de văzut locuri noi, unde nu am mai fost, şi nici nu sunt speranţe mari ca să mai ajung vreodată. La câteva zile după acest dor, mi s-a oferit ocazia să şi plec în locuri nu chiar spectaculoase, dar ok… Prima dată în Birmingham, oraş puternic industrializat, despre care am citit multe. De fapt nu am citit efectiv despre Birmingham, am citit romane care a căror acţiune se petrecea în Birmingham. Ador literatura englezească modernă (gen Nick Hornby, David Lodge), aşa că m-am bucurat la ideea că voi vedea nişte uzine metalurgice, de maşini (Jaguar, Aston Martin) şi alte industrii conexe… ceea ce mi s-a părut de-a dreptul romantic. Până la urmă nu a mai ieşit nimic, şi nici noi nu am mai ieşit din Oradea.
Weekendul trecut iar mi s-au aprins tălpile. Mă uitam pe Discovery la ceva emisiune de travel. Nu eram atentă, dar imaginea unor clădiri ciudate mi-a mişcat fantezia, şi iar am simţit acea furnicătură aproape arzătoare de a pleca, ieşi, evada, zbura… Ieri, am fost din nou anunţată să îmi fac bagajele pentru că plec (“iar”), de data asta în Leicester, alt oraş de fabricat scule şi utilaje… Yummy, mă gândeam eu, poate chiar mai exotic ca Birmingham. Având în minte experienţa anterioară, m-am decis să mai aştept până azi cu mototolitul de ţoale în geanta de voiaj, şi se pare că am luat o decizie înţeleaptă, deoarece azi s-a anulat din nou totul, din motive tehnice (ar fi trebuit să car după mine o ţeavă de 4,5m – îmi plac mie chestiile lungi – aici mă refer la păr, unghii, fuste şi alte cele – dar nici chiar aşa). Aşa că am rămas iar cu buzele umflate. Se pare că Anglia nu mă vrea… mă tot fraiereşte, şi eu de fiecare dată înghit momeala. Am ajuns în halul acela de a compara experienţele astea cu altele… cu experienţele acelea aproapiate de orgasm, când simţi că eşti mintenaş acolo, dar brusc îţi aduci aminte de ceva urât, şi dispare orice şansă de a-ţi lua “zborul”…
Totul a început în Sidney, pe 31 martie 2007, când în peste 2 milioane de locaţii s-a oprit benevol consumul de curent electric penrtu o oră. Se pare că mesajul a ajuns acolo unde trebuia, pentru că ideea a fost îmbrăţişată de WWF, şi anul acesta este promovată la nivel global. Ni se cere ca pe data de 29 martie 2008, ora 20 să stingem luminile, să oprim pc-urile, tv-urile, radiourile (mai are cineva aşa ceva?), să scoatem din priză frigiderele, aspiratoarele, maşinile de cusut şi aparatele de tuns iarba pentru fix 60 de minute, cu nici o secundă mai mult. Oare putem face sacrificiul ăsta?
Mai suntem rugaţi să promovăm şi noi ideea, trimiţând mailuri marilor consumatori de electricitate din zona noastră. Vă puteţi imagina ca Real să închidă pentru o oră? Ca Petrom să oprească pompele? Ca OTL să frâneze tramvaiele? Coca Cola să oprească robinetul? Ca pista de aterizare pentru OZN-uri de pe pietonala Republicii să se stingă? Ştiu, mai avem mult de mers până în Australia, dar putem măcar încerca… Printre oraşele participante la acţiune se numără Atlanta, Bangkok, Chicago, Copenhaga, Dublin, Manila, Montreal, Phoenix, San Francisco, Tel Aviv, Toronto, Vancouver, şi bine înţeles toată Australia.
Ţin minte, acu vreo 4 ani, eram in pivniţa care se numeşte Chanson, când într-o seară ploioasă s-a luat curentul. Până în momentul acela atmosfera era lălâie şi lipsită de vlagă, dar când luminile s-au stins, parcă toată lumea s-a trezit, cu nivelul de adrenalină la maxim, şi seara s-a transformat într-un chef de neuitat. Ce mişto ar fi din nou un chef, cu muuuuuulte lumânări, chitări acustice, percuţie, şi alte instrumente unplugged, cu voci ascunse, şi bere caldă… pentru că frigiderul nu funcţionează…
www.earthhour.org – aici găsiţi toate datele problemei.
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