Acts of Random Kindness...again

This year, I am spending Christmas in England. I landed on Liverpool airport, and from there, I had to make my way to my partner's house in Wolverhampton. For all my ranting about England, their stupid separate water taps, driving on the wrong side of the road, and all, upon landing, I was instantly reminded of their charming side.

The details here are unimportant, but the bottom line was that the machine at the train station were unavailable, thus I couldn't print my pre-bought ticket for the train Liverpool-Wolverhampton. This could go one of two ways: I buy a new ticket (which would be considerably more expensive) or board the train and run the risk of having to pay at least 20 pounds penalty.

I explained my situation to the guard. He nodded, smiled, explained to me it was alright, let me go through and advised me, should I get checked on the train, to tell them that the machines weren't working (when, in fact, I was taking a train from a different stop from the one I was meant to, and it didn't have machines in the first place. Had I gone to the stop I was meant to be boarding the train from, I would have missed it). I thanked him for his kindness, he even told em which track number I should be looking for.

Uplifted by his kind spirit, I saw a couple who were unsure which train they should board. Soon enough, their confusion gave away their Iberian origins. Partly because of the kindness I had just encountered, and partly because it's what I would do anyway, I helped them out after checking the schedule board.

The train was rocking soothingly, I was deep into my forensics book when a man came to check tickets. I explained thhe situation, and he was very understanding.

I like it when chance encounters are positive and make your day. The staff at the station chose to believe my story, which was, incidentally, true. They didn't have to. The Spanish couple would have been alright without my help, too. But it sure left me with a smile on my face, feeling a connection with people I will probably never meet again.

The deadline-comedy axiom

The closer a deadline is, the higher the levels of procrastination. And as often enough, we procrastinate with something entertaining rather than difficult to watch or constructive, we end up watching TV. In my case, that is either comedy or romance. In these past couple of days, for whatever reason, every single episode I saw, be it sitcoms or Mythbusters (I watched plenty of both) was funnier than they usually are. Thus, it appears that the closer you are to a deadline, the funnier things seem. The explanation? Intensity. You're getting closer to a deadline, levels of stress and anticipation rise, and proportionally, so do levels of enjoyment. A side-effect, on a psychological level, is that we want to find things funnier because we need higher justification to continue watching sitcoms. We feel less guilty for continuing procrastination if it's a really good one. We would feel more guilty for doing it, if it wasn't even good. A bit like cheating- if you're going to do it, it'd better be with someone hotter than your partner.
3 days of TV and studying to go.

During the intermission

I went to the ballet with some friends, here in Rotterdam. This is not the story of the ballet but a small dance that very few people saw, in the intermission.
There were three parts to it and in the intermission we saw a man across the hall, dancing. He was in his late 50s or early 60s, and while people got up to get a drink or move their legs a bit, he moved his legs, too, and much more so. He danced. I know I certainly felt my blood warming up, but he actually did what most of us only joked about. He must have felt inspired and it was beautiful to see him follow his heart, despite strangers watching him with confusion, or laughing at him. Who cares if others laugh at you, your heart wants what it wants.
Like a very special person once said to me, when talking about acting, if you don't feel stupid while doing it, you're not doing it right.

Where do a lesbian and a straight woman have in common?

Here's a jolly funny moment for you:
My dad is coming to visit in a couple of days. I realised I didn't have any winter shoes here so I asked him to pick up appropriate shoeware and bring it to me when he comes to visit. And this is where a straight woman and a lesbian, (where I am a hybrid of both) cross: you can never separate a straight woman from her shoes. However, the fact that it is combat boots with steel toe caps tells you that you're dealing with a lesbian.
Ha, take that, feminists!!

Acts of Random Kindness

This is a story about the positive side of human nature.

I put my card next to the reader, the doors opened and I exited the subway. I felt a bit light and easy, about to go out after a long difficult day. Yet, I realised I was light in more than one ways. The penny slowly but surely dropped- I had left my bag on the subway. With all the cards, some money, ID, lecture notes. Shit.

The next day I opened my mailbox to find an email from a man who said he had found my bag and all of my belongings were in it. He had kept it with him, as he thought it was a better idea than leaving in on the subway, where its fate would be questionable. He gave me his details so we could arrange to meet up.

We met at Leiden train station, and of course, the least I could do to thank him was get him a cup of coffee. We chatted, had a few things in common, giggled and then parted ways.

You never know what life will bring to you but, surely, you have to try to see the silver lining and make the most out of it. No, this isn't the beginning of a soppy romantic comedy, this is real life and it is happening this minute. There are some true acts of random kindness, and it is lovely when they bring strangers together.

Hot chocolate and lemon cake

It is Halloween eve in Rotterdam. To me, it is also Deadline eve, so in an attempt to kick start my brain's creativity, I've retreated to a cosy Caffe and Pattisserie near my home, which carries an indescribable feeling of nostalgia in the air. I first came here 10 days ago, just after seeing Midnight in Paris, and the space was a real-life continuation of the film- it's like different times and spaces meet here, it is cosmopolitan, yet very local; it is big but it feels like each table is made just for you. It has that je ne sais quoi. 
And they make the most unbelievable hot chocolate- served with a separate dish of whipped cream to dip. Mmm.
As I sit and try to organise my thoughts, on my left a gentleman sat. He must be around- let me look again- around 60. He ordered in Dutch and soon they brought him coffee and a slice of lemon cake. And as I see him read a newspaper, enjoy the cake and then wash down the slight zest with good coffee, I was overwhelmed with such warmth. Warmth, firstly, towards him, and an appreciation of age, a desire to be as calm and distinguished as he seems, when I am 60. To be able to afford to go out to a caffe on a monday evening for a slice of cake.
If you think about it, ultimately, all we ever want is in this picture. Health, enough means to live calmly, inner peace and a piece of cake. That is all I want for my 60th birthday.

Strangers

Don't pass up on the opportunity to talk to strangers- it will make you feel better than most other things.

Conversations with strangers tend to happen in casual places, while waiting for the train, in queues, waiting to get served in the pub. Maybe you notice, often enough, there is waiting involved, and why not make the best of it? Other times, it is because we are upset or happy about something, and people around us share the same feeling. I once had the case of going to my mobile provider and complaining about my phone's touch screen refusing to work, when a loud woman next to me was giving them a hard time. I asked, what phone do you have? HEr answer was no surprise- the same as mine!

 I've learned that more often than we realise, people will experience very similar emotions to ours- be it frustration that the salesperson on the counter is too slow, or happiness that our team is winning, as we sip our beer in the pub. Even if we try, we cannot ignore that so much of our human behaviour follows the rules of psychology and to me, emracing it has made me friends. And another thing- ultimately, we probably all want food, shelter and companionship. This fact, combined with the fact that you are currently in the same place and time as someone else means that you already have so much in common, that a simple hi seems to be easiest thing to do. Last time I tried, I made a friend.

toilets!

People spend an awful lot of time being negative about others- and the reason why I know this, is because I am one of those people. However, I don't believe it is all nearly as negative and hateful as we sometimes make it out to be.

Beauty and love for others can be found at the weirdest of places! And yes, to asnwer the question which you've been wondering about since you read the title, toilets are one of those places.

The beauty of life is found in toilets. How many times i've sat on the can, doing my business, and time and time again, i discover that I am seeing love right in front of me. By far, what people write about the most on the door of the loos, is "I love....", or "A+C= <3".

And these love letters are not a privilege of one country: they can be found equally as often in The Soak in Birmingham, in bars in Sofia, in bars in Brussels, in clubs in Holland, in restaurants in Ukraine!

I challenge you to notice them. If you have any pictures, I will post them here, too. And, i wonder, how many of you have already written such love letters, about your crush, your best friend, your partner?

Before you die

One thing you should do before you die, one among many things, is to go dancing- dance your heart out- so much so that you can't take a  breath but you continue dancing! Going clubbing, where the music takes over and you're suddenly dancing on top of the bar, you're getting people cheering, you're getting free drinks, dancing with the bartender, throwing napkins (a new Dutch thing I discovered tonight), getting carried away... you have to do it at least once in your life.
It will give you the energy to carry on. I couldn't have had a better night.
Yours, and thank you for reading,
R.

Bottles

It is just before 1 o'clock in the morning, D and I are sipping tea at home after coming back from a dinner party at a friends' home. We had a hearty, warm, bubbly time with another couple. As we sip pur Earl, I hear a noise. Upon seeing the reason for it, I call D to come see, it's exciting!
For the first time, I see the big truck which tips over the blue container and bottles of all shapes and colours pour on top of other bottles of various shapes and colours. They are recycling. I remember someone telling me that there was no point in recycling because everything goes to the same place, mixed up. In their face, wherever they are. The recycling truck was strangely charismatic, it carries symbolical power, and I invested a little bit of an emotional meaning in it too. As I saw it move down the street, I felt a strange comfort and my street suddlenly takes on human characteristics, at least to me- it is a clean, smiling, happy street.

Families

My wife and I were enjoying a lovely time at a rock bar at the seaside. 12 shots for 5 euro. Or 10 lev. The sounds of familiar songs made the blood in our veins dance, our voices- sing out loud and our lips- smile.The singer was young, cheerful, and incredibly charming. The guitarist had a shaved head, smoking guitar moves and was clearly in a good mood, loving his job. Birdwatchers. Shots went in easy yet left us surprisingly  unharmed.
The guitarist, inbetween songs introduced the girl, not older than 19, to be his daughter- Kremena. My reaction to this moment is one of respect and joy. Too many are the people around me who barely respect their parents, let alone speak to them. Families of people close to me are torn or in denial for reasons that should never have such power. Having had a close bond with my own father, I felt their connection to almost be personal to me, it reminded me of the voyages with my father to Albania,to the seaside, to Spain. Our similar take on life has always been clear and to see another relationship as close, one where they work together and smile so much in each other's company, that was something that put an unexpectedly memorable spin on the night.

And now, the new BLOG CHALLENGE- can you spot the WORD? Or can you give me a word, quircky enough, which I will include at a random place in one of the next articles?

tunes

My partner and I were having our first meal in Venice, where I had taken him for our 1st anniversary/his birthday. We were excited, in love and more importantly-hungry! As the waiter passed slyly between the tables, a song came up, I hummed and overheard him hum too. We both hummed the same tune. This is all I want to write about today. I felt an enormous connection with a person I had never met!

The connection that, while brief, was based on similarity of taste and emotion for a fraction of time at a same geographical place.This moment is the reason why I am more aware people around me- I now look for such seconds of similarity, they give one special joy, if you're "in tune" with these around you.

To put this in context, at this very moment, I am listening to Frank at 2 am...

Waiting for the train

I walked up to the kiosk on Selly Oak train station to get tickets for the train, a return to Birmingham New Street, with a student railcard. 1.25. I recognised the vendor, I'd seen him many times: middle aged man, shaved bold, with Kippah.
"So where did you get these glasses then?", he asks.
I am wearing my bright red glasses.
"Birmingham, Oasis market." He likes them. Says he has the same but he uses them for night driving, and the feew times he got pulled over for driving with sunglasses in the dark, policemen actually end up  agreeing with him. We talk for a few minutes, and I couldn't have enjoyed our small talk more- talking with strangers always give me such pleasure- we talk about age and how he is often mistaken to be the son of his brother, who is in fact 10 years younger than Bret, that is his name, I see it on his name tag. No such chance with me, I jest, my sister is indeed 12 years younger than me, just 10.
The next thing he said, floored me. He said, if he still had all his kids, the oldest would be 31 and the youngest-10. He doesn't. His wife and 5 of his kids were killed by Christian Orthodox and he's buried them in Jerusalem.  More people come into the train station now and they need his attention, to get their tickets. Arguably, a perfect time, as I realise I don't know what to say but "I am so sorry". He says such is life. Or the worst timing- he has just told his life-story to a stranger he may remember he has sold tickets to a few times. I enter the train, confused and touched by a story told by a stranger.
______________________________________________

The second time I talk to Bret was about a month after the first one, I've recently retured from Sophia where I spent Easter. I see him, he is in the kiosk, looking at his phone. He says hi, I smile. I suggest I go to the vending machine, if he is busy- the station is empty anyway. He puts the phone away and waves me to come over. He notices my hair colour is different, which is more than I can say about some of my close friends, he likes the red. Thank you. What Bret was looking at, on his phone, was a photo of his youngest, a 10 year old girl. He shows me a picture of her in a dress, preparation for a wedding. It is the only time he can get her to wear a dress, otherwise she prefers dungarees. I, again, compare her to my sister, who my father is worried about, because she hangs out too much with the boys and the short hair and constant trousers don't help. I have dungarees too and I've never been a girly girl. Hopefully, he won't be too bothered if his girl turns out to be a lesbian, I jokingly think to myself.

These conversations have made a difference to me. They are honest. Conversations with strangers are genuine and powerful, and to me, it seems sad that most of us avoid to share a moment with a stranger, out of some misunderstood social programming that strangers are bad. After all, strangers have the best candy.

Little Pleasures

I've just come back home.
Tonight I went out with a friend, we played pool, I won. We then went to his place to watch Cincinatti Kid, Steve McQueen was indeed kind of awesome. On the way home I noticed it was snowing! Yes, snowing, in april, in Sophia. So curious! And in two months it will be so hot your brains will melt. I walked on the way home, I took advantage of the modernisation of technology by putting my music on loudspeaker, listened to it and hummed. Already climbing the 4 floors of my building, I kep singing and dancing, thinking of the beatiful and curious snow.
I just wanted to share the little beauties of life, the ones we almost  miss. I hope you don't miss them.

On the train

At the time of writing this, I am on the top bed of a sleeping compartment on a train from Belgrade to Sophia. In the same compartment are two girls, Jessica and Jacqueline, two young Americans from Michigan. I first saw them in the full outfit of a travelling American, backpacks and all, trying to get a ticket for the train, conversing in English with a middle aged Serbian lady. The man on the train had told them  they only needed to pay 15 euro for a ticket, but this lady said 80. Of course, they were pissed off with the prices, with not being able to communicate well enough with the lady, and as I later found out, with not having had a shower in 2 days. I was behind them, I offered my help, which they happily accepted. In some made up Bulgarian-Serbian language, I spoke to the train conductor, who said only 7 euro each were needed for an upgrade, all good. To show their gratitude, and maybe because we all figured out that 3 girls is better and “safer” than two (or one, in my case) so we decided to share a 6-people compartment.

Conversation went on for half an hour, they are travelling across Europe, thanks to a Europass, because one of them is starting a post-grad degree and the other one is starting “a real job”, as they  classified it. They liked Switzerland best, weren’t impressed due to tiredness with the Netherlands, and were looking forward to Germany. They thought Prague was magical and I suggested they went to see the Baltics, if they want more fairytale-like experiences, Venice was too touristy but Verona was absolutely astounding. (the word they actually used was “awesome”, the accent you can imagine for yourself) They were unsure about Sophia and how long they’d stay there, they were “playing it by ear”. Being a true Sophianite myself, needless to say I tried to convince them to spend  at least a night there, see the nightlife, enjoy low prices and good food. They were more excited about Greece, but, if my few experiences with Greek tourism are anything to judge by, they’ve got another thing coming. Conversation died out and one is now falling asleep, though my typing is probably not helping, and the other is reading a book on what I suspect is a Kindle.

I read my book for a bit, a lovely fascinating thing called “Quirkology”, where Richard Wiseman is exploring “the curious science of everyday lives”. A study he talks about suggests that luck is not as inexplicable as we may think. It is not even random, but every person makes his or her luck- people who are more closed, introverted and pessimistic take fewer opportunities, meet fewer people and thus miss out on many opportunities that more sociable optimistic and trusting people do not miss out on. I put my book aside and started writing this, because I realised I was in an indicative situation at that same moment. There is nothing extraordinary in my story. But because I spoke to these girls and offered my questionable skills as an interpreter, I have met new people, learned a bit about the story of people who I’ll probably never see again and we exchanged experienced that, who knows!, can be helpful one day soon. At the very least, I have some company and I feel safer in this train tonight.

There is no reason not to speak to strangers more often. You will always benefit from a chance encounter- it can be a thing as insignificant as some help with a ticket and teaching someone how to say “thank you” in Serbian (Hvála!) or it could be as life-changing as later being introduced to your future partner by that person you first met unexpectedly. But that’s another story. 

I imagine Jacqueline would prefer it if I stopped typing, so she could sleep.

Airport Experiences

I was at an airport on my way home. In front of me I saw an elderly couple, who were just about to give their boarding passes to be inspected by the security guard. Even while they were doing so, they held hands. 

Passengers continued caterpillar-ing towards security check, which is the most annoying bit of airports, without a doubt. My eyes wandered around, as I slowly tagged along, and fell at the holding hands of the same couple. They hadn’t let go and felt a compulsion to be as close to each other, regardless of the external influences, queues, Bush’s security measures, screaming kids. I don’t know where they were going, who they were, but for the 15 minutes during which they were a part of my life, they made me wish that I could be this in love at their age. Love is a beautiful thing, but sadly we need a reminder that it isn’t a privilege of the young but a gift and it comes in all shapes or forms.

Hugging trees

If I told you right now that I hugged trees this weekend, most of you wouldn't have peeled off the floor laughing by the time I finish writing the article.

As the term ended and all dissertations were submitted, I decided to take a long weekend and stay at my partner's house for a deserved rest. The weather was lovely, this is England we're talking about, so I suggested taking a walk. Strike one. The only walk I tend to take is the 40 meters between my door step and the pub.

It was refreshing to see nature, play with the shapes and greens, climb trees, hold hands, laugh, kiss and feel the sun stroke my face. The birds were chirping, jolly and free.

On the way back, we saw a field, just grass, nobody there. I felt so strangely draw to it, so we went in, I took off my shoes, and walked barefoot on the slightly cold grass. Maybe you know from experience, nothing is as freeing as feeling your toes touch the grass. I jumped around, screamed, danced, did cartwheels, shook my whole body, ran. Then I lied on the ground, I felt like all my negative energy was slowly absorbed, I became calmer than I have ever been in my life. Not ecstatic. No. Just serene, relaxed, at peace and aware of every being around me.

My partner has a lovely backyard, so when we went home, I went out and felt the desire to hug every tree, to achnowledge its existence and thank it for being there. The beauty of nature, its overwhelming presence, its patience and perfect balance was too much to comprehend, I had tears in my eyes.

I wonder, what was in that apple juice that I had, just before we left the house to take that walk?

I've finished writing. Are you still laughing?

Conversations

I remember very clearly when I came out to my parents as bisexual. Admittedly, I put it in different words, I was in a heterosexual relationship at the time and was on the phone. Yet I was still unsure what to expect.It all went surprisingly well, I think. And here is another such story.

My friend, S, was on her way to meeting me when she overheard a conversation. She shared it with me and since then, the story has stayed with me, so I wanted to share it.

A girl and a boy were walking in front of her, let's call them Emily and Tom. Tom had always been afraid of coming out to his parents. Mind you, this is liberal England we're talking about. This Tom had recently been dating someone and had broken up with him, let's call him Stephan. Stephan was still very much in love with Tom and wanted to keep him in his life, whatever the cost. So, he made a low desperate move. He blackmailed Tom to stay with him, else he would tell Tom's parents that he was gay. Tom was afraid and considered staying with Stephan but of course he soon realised the inevitability facing him. Tom decided, despire his great fear, to speak to his parents- not only did he not want to stay with Stephan, he also wanted to be free of any power Stephan may have over him, for holding his secret. He spoke to his parents and, to his great surprise, they accepted him without judgement and criticism. This is the story Tom told his friend Emily, while my friend S was walking to meet me.

I simply find it somewhat of a mood-lifter to know that Tom's life changed for the better and he now feels accepted and calmer, and it all came out of unrequited love and blackmail. I am sure many of you may know people who have been through it, have been through coming out themselves or are yet to take such a step. Maybe your family disapproves of the sexuality or the race or age of your partner. Everyone has a different story, but should you need advice, I only have one advice to give- be honest and respectful to yourself and the people who you love. Tell them the truth, stand your ground and show respect for them- you are having a hard time, but they may be experiencing just as many difficulties- to accept you, to accept themselves, to accept that they are not as open minded as they thought... Hopefully, (yes, it's a cliché and you know what is coming) at the end of it you will find yourself stronger, freer and closer to your family

It is your life, you only have one of it and, in my opinion, living a  lie is not living at all.

Chocolate

Just before Christmas I applied for a job at chocolate company Green and Black's. The job was one of a taste assistant with elements of participating in a marketing campaign for new flavours. I was thrilled at the prospect to work for a fairtrade company, whose products I loved and who would give me the opportunity to be included in a marketing campaign as well as chocolate tasting!

A few days ago I saw that an envelope with my name and a Green and Black's sticker had arrived. I curiously opened it and a few seconds later I realised what it was.

This, literally, was the sweetest rejection I've received in my life.

They informed me that, regretably, my job application could not be processed any further as they had received more than 3000 applications for the job, but they appreciated the effort I'd put into the application and sincerely hoped I would enjoy the enclosed: 2 chocolate bars- one milk and one dark chocolate.

These are still on my desk, where I look at them and have small bites of tasty rejection....

The bystander effect

Twice in one day I was presented with a situation where the importance of the bystander effect stood out. It's not just a phenomenon studied by psychology, it is extremely real and applicable in my life. 
My "to do" list for my last day in Sophia before returning to Birmingham was long, and while going places, i'd gone hungry. I noticed a supermarket and just as I was about to walk through the sliding doors, I saw with a my peripheral vision an old lady, begging. She looked at me and said:
-Hey girl, could you buy me something to eat when you go in? I am really hungry... maybe something with rice. 
I smiled at her, said "yes, of course". There was no way, after she had asked me and been so specific about what she wanted and how hungry she was, that I would just leave her there, especially on a particularly cold day. I came out after a few minutes with a big portion of stuffed peppers with rice. I gave it to her, she thanked me and I left. 
The whole story couldn't have taken more than 3 minutes. Yet, it stayed with me. I thought about it: if she had just extended her hand and asked for money, not addressing anyone in particular but hoping for the kindness of all, she probably would have stayed hungry. Instead, she looked me in the eye, she didn't ask for money but for food. I don't have the heart to deny an old lady food. I won't lie, a part of me thought "What if this was my grandmother on the street? I would want to take care of her. What makes my grandmother better than this woman in the cold, except for different genes?" 
------------------------------------------------------
Just an hour or two later, i was still walking around Sophia, getting things done, annoyed at the bureaucracy of the National Revenue office. On my way there, I saw a young boy, about 20, charming smile, asking pedestrians for a minute of their time, to give them a well rehearsed speech about a child in need, for whom donations are necessary. I stopped, I let him give me the prerehearsed talk and donated. 
ME: I guess you haven't gotten many donations today. Do you want an advice?
HIM: Uhm...sure. 
ME: You approach people in the wrong way. It's a cold day and people are busy, so they don't particularly care about what you have to say because they know by your tone that you want something from them.You can break their natural response to you, by breaking your own pattern of approaching. "Hi, can i  have a minute of your time?" gives them the option of saying no. Instead, assume you can have a minute of their time because what you have to say is important. Also, ask them a silly attention-grabbing question: what did you get for christmas, for example. When you ask, target one person only because if you address the masses, they feel no obligation to talk to you. Then, you can tell them what you're on about and make sure to drop your prerehearsed speech. They are individuals, not numbers, just like these pedestrians need to realise that the children you're trying to help are individuals, not numbers.

He stood there, a little confused. He said he'd definitely try. I do get a great pleasure from talking to strangers.I like to take them out of their predictable and scheduled days, if I see a potential for a nice chat. This was a text book example. Yes, i felt good for giving an advice that was bound to do a better job than what he was already doing, but mostly I hope that the kid who needed an expensive surgery abroad may get it sooner. 

We only have on life and we cannot spend it afraid to talk to strangers, to hold real conversations, no matter how brief. And we shouldn't put so much effort in avoiding the resonsibility of being a part of a society. Just because we don't know these other people on the street, it doesn't mean we're not all connected. 

During the commercial break

I was in the TV today. My pleasant duty, as a future television professional, is to watch as much  TV production as possible live. In bTV in particular, i must have been tens of times by now, yet the excitement from seeing the lit sets, the cameras, the musicians has gone down only a little since the first time. But you know what the odd thing is? Hand in hand with this excitement goes the comfort that I belong there; not today, maybe not even in a few years, but this is home. 

Tonight I was in bTV again, in Slavi's show which is the biggest evening talk show in Bulgaria. I don't watch it often, yet it is by far the best quality of production that you'll find. Magic happens... I get chills down my spine- the band sounds like they're playing at a live concert, a controversial, famous, charismatic and very tall figure comes down and the audience go wild with clapping. 


The first half went well, I incidentally saw Krassi Radkov, one of the actors, just as he was about to enter the set. I was so close that for the first time I saw all the make up, how and where the fake nose was attached, none of which is ever visible on the screen of course. 

Then, after 25 minutes, commercial break came. 

As the show is recorded 2 hours before, commercial breaks become a stretchy notion. The band and one of the singers started to play Maroon 5 to entertain the audience as make up artists were powdering Slavi's bald head, when Slavi interrupted with the categorical remark that the audience were bored with these songs and that the whole crew were there to entertain, not put to sleep an 80 people audience. Slavi then continued by describing the sogs they lately played with the adjective I'd never personally use-"gay"- and that maybe the band ought to sing a real "man's"song. He wanted to see the audience genuinely entertained, not idly clapping to what they were tired of hearing on the radio, but instead to be moved by songs which say something. To my biggest surprise & greatest pleasure, Slavi offered, as a symbol of a man's song, Frank Sinatra. What followed was a slight uncomfortable giggle on the part of the male singer who had just been criticised for his gay performance of silly radio songs. This I personally can only interpret as the nervous reaction to a request that he came out of his comfort zone to sing a song which bears some history, a song which has been given the gift of time and recognition. With the arrangement that there is only one Frank, it was a pleasant version we received tonight. Yet I was more wondering whether the reaction of the audience would match what Slavi had hoped and to my surprise and indeed fulfilling what I, and Slavi, had hoped, people cheered, clapped, whistled, sat up and smiled. In this country where chalga, club Biad, profanity and men with 3 inch penises but 30 inch biceps rule, I was speechless yet smiling ear to ear to see that the mass is still moved by a classical song. Simple, old-timer song by a guy with warm voice singing about the importance of doing one's life " my  way".

Meeting the New 2011 in a kiosk

Hello lovelies. This is the blog about the little moments that make our life human.


The infidel that I am, I have given up trying to achieve a grand New Year celebration because, let's face it, it's half as fabulous and twice as expensive as you plan it to be. In an attempt to secure a good time, I decided to celebrate with my wife (a.k.a. "Y"). Believe it or not, we cooked banitsa with 30 fortunes to share between us two, I cooked some bloody steak with a mean cheese sauce, and we nailed it!... At 11.30 we were slowly balancing, arm in arm, on the slippery ice on our way to a friend's party nearby. We hoped to find an open shop on our way, to get some party-fuel. 

Here is the moment that I wanted to share with you today: we found one. 

Inside, with no TV or other form of entertainment visible to us, sat a man. Outside was -13 degrees, there were 25 minutes left until the new year but this man was not with his family, not with his friends, not even alone at home in front of the TV. He was alone, selling alchocol & cigarettes to everyone else who could afford to go out to celebrate. Surely, to sell was better than not to sell, but didn't every sale of a bottle of wine to red-cheeked, jolly strangers remind him that he was stuck working in the cold?

Y. & I spoke about it for a bit, then cheered up & had a great New Year. I am glad we were together, that we were healthy and could afford not to work when one should celebrate. Even if it is a lame celebration when most people tell stories about a "crazy, sick" night, which they don't remember because they drank all the booze that the kiosk man sold them at 11.35pm on Dec 31st.