The second I let my guard down I become prone to having highly unusual stuff happen to me, ranging from outright embarrassing to downright pathetic. It’s not all that bad really as accomplished klutzes like me seem to have the power to draw quite a fan base, which leaves me with the hope that I’ll make a name for myself someday. My best shot at fame is probably the Darwin Awards website.
Though I normally don’t indulge in anger I allowed myself the rare treat of getting worked up after first reading that calling someone fat has become more offensive than calling them worthless scum and then Wiki-walking myself to the Anti-fat Bias and The Thin Ideal articles. The relief I couldn’t help but feel for knowing I inhabited the safe section of the human form spectre and was therefore exempt from being harassed on the account of my weight only served to further my aggravation. I’m not much into enjoying the thanks-god-it’s-not-me sentiment as I find it all too similar to the toxic schadenfreude for my emotional comfort.
But seriously, why is it suddenly so wrong to be chubby? Not so long ago, some meat on your bones was considered a plus; a woman with ample curves was seen as appealing while a man with a nicely-rounded belly was perceived to be well-off and a guy to be reckoned with. At least where I live, there hardly seems to be any shortage of sayings to this effect. An entertainingly inebriated chap once told me he preferred a heavily-set lady to a lean one any day. (Why? Because, according to this wise fellow, the skinny one is liable to be concentrating on sucking her tummy in even under the sheets.) Continue reading Methinks: What’s your problem, it’s not like they ate YOUR cookies→
I never know with the Americans; do they even realise how wonderfully cynical they are? The current USA ambassador to Slovenia, His Excellency Joseph Adamo Mussomeli, who has earned quite a reputation for frequently voicing his opinion of our bickerings, recently said something like ”In the USA, politicians pretend to hate each other, but your politicians hate each other for real”.
(You gotta love this guy. He’s outspoken to the point of being brave, brilliant, with a great sense of humour. He succeeded in ticking off more people than all other ambassadors to Slovenia present and past combined. One of the few things about him that sort of fits what I’d expect from a diplomat is his undeniable charm and his skill at wooing the press – though he assures us that the media are always going for his throat.) Continue reading Methinks: Politicians, Part II→
Bread cuts. I picked up half a loaf of day-old bread only to find myself shrieking like a surprised marmot upon feeling the crust deliver a ¼ inch gash between my thumb and index finger. I didn’t expect a half-eaten bun to fight back with such fervour and I’m not quite sure that’s proper behaviour for supermarket-bought food. I wonder what they’ve been putting into flour these days. Anyway, the idea of bread cutting me sounds like a Yakov Smirnoff joke.
(This story was inspired by something funny I witnessed the other day.)
Never ask a translator what a certain word means when you’re in a hurry. Just look it up in a dictionary and save yourself a lot of grief. Because a translator will never give you the answer straight away. Oh no.
You see, translation is the second oldest profession known to humanity, so perhaps unsurprisingly some rather elaborate traditions have evolved over the millennia and they are duly followed by translators to this day. If you for example ask your translator what any word means she’s obligated to perform The Barrage, a much-feared and little-understood ancient ritual. What will happen is this.
First, your translator will blurt out an intimidating number of possible meanings and translations in rapid succession & random order. Your heart will start sinking at this point. But it’ll be too late for fears and regrets…
When she finally gathers her composure and stops hyperventilating, she’ll mercilessly interrogate you about the context, the intended audience and whatnot. Without fail. Go ahead and try it if you don’t believe me. If she’s any good she’ll flood you with questions until you’re swimming for your life, vulnerable and unable to gather the strength to resist this already second unexpected assault from the otherwise probably quite gentle, mild-mannered, perhaps even a bit shy creature. Your desperate attempts to provide her with the context she demands might leave you divulging confidential information. Luckily she’s a pro and knows how to handle delicate stuff.
Then she *might* even tell you the translation you need but that won’t stop her from embarking on a lengthy monologue that’ll lovingly explore each possible nuance of every single translation she mentioned in her initial outburst, coming up with many others as she goes on and on and on. She’s sure to explain all those linguistic subtleties only translators are willing to discern or care about. No escape here.
(It’s your fault really. You should have known better than to awake The Translator. You see, translators do know a lot about words. And combinations thereof. If you give them the right cue they’ll surely show you just how much they know.)
Your muttered pleas and objections having to do with you *not actually needing to hear all that right now, your migraine acting up or your ears starting to bleed* will be ignored throughout the ordeal.
In the end you’ll be left standing there, quivering with exhaustion, quietly swearing never to unleash The Translator again and – perhaps for the first time – fully appreciating the true value of a good dictionary.
And then your translator will inevitably ask if there’s anything else you’re curious about. Shake your head quietly, do not make eye contact, walk away slowly. Do not ask anything. Failing to do so will result in The Barrage being performed all over again, this time with cross-references to your previous question.
I bet some business guru somewhere is getting paid to slowly explain this bit of wisdom to a group of nodding managers. No sh*t Sherlock, you earn more once you start giving your customers what they actually want. They could’ve asked me, I’d’ve told them this for half of whatever the guru’s charging.
But seriously. Too many businesses seem to be in the, well, business for some not immediately obvious reasons or at least something much less mundane than money. Otherwise they would’ve dropped the attitude, asked their clients what they wanted and then started selling exactly that.
Jamranje je nas nacionalni sport in tako dobri smo v njem, da postane clovek hvalezen za lastno mizerijo, ce vec kot pet minut poslusa Slovenca srednjega sloja razlagati, kako njemu res ni lahko.
A grrrr! Rant! Verjetno se ne bo svet podrl, ce tu in tam splezam na prižnico?
Imam tule eno babše, ki se gre neko aktivistko za pravice in dobrobit živali. Ampak je tako šokantno osorna in hudobna do vseh, ki ne mislijo in funkcionirajo do picice enako kot ona, da veliko vec potencialnih podpornikov odžene kot pa pritegne.
Surprise surprise, ljudje nocejo biti nazmerjani in ponižani samo zato, ker si drznejo imeti svojo glavo na ramenih. Ali pa zato, ker so popolnoma nedolžno nekaj vprašali. No, ta veleaktivistka bi veliko vec naredila za svoj cause, ce bi prestopila k nasprotni opciji in jim tam s svojo nedvomno iz globoko zakoreninjenega obcutka manjvrednosti izvirajoco faux superiornostjo odganjala privržence.
Pa kaj, a taki ljudje sploh razmišljajo, kaj pocnejo? A je možno, da je ta osebkinja preslepila vse okoli sebe in je dejansko nacrtno notranji sovražnik ideje, ki jo na videz oh tako gorece podpira?
Tako mimogrede, dovolj aktivno podpiram pravice ter dobrobit (to sta dve razlicni stvari!) živali in ljudi in rastlin, ce pridejo kdaj vesoljci, bom pa še njihove, ampak ko tako teslo nekaj casa gledam v akciji, me prime, da bi kakšno zavetišce za živali obdala s štirimetrskim betonskim zidom in vanj zaprla nesocializirane kretenoide, ki so se tam nabrali. In s svojo katastrofo od PR delajo živalim nepopisno škodo!
Sprašujem se, ali jih dobrobit živali sploh zares zanima. Ker obstaja možnost, da se zanjo ‘borijo’ samo zato, ker takih primerkov nobena druga cloveška skupina ni sprejela, nekam pa so se vseeno morali vkljuciti, da si lahko v varnem zavetju vzajemno božajo ego. Zdaj pa imajo svoj klub, iz katerega spretno ubijajo željo, da bi jim clovek kaj doniral ali pa prišel kdaj kakšnega psa sprehodit. In tako fino se jim zdi, ko si domišljajo, kako so bolj prosvetljeni in oh in sploh boljši od vseh ‘outsiderjev’.
Ja ja ja, seveda moram dati tule en disclaimer, ceš da seveda niso vsi borci za pravice živali & co. taki. Ce bi se komu, ki me sploh ne pozna in je nekako uspel zatavati sem, morda zazdelo, da sem kjerkoli v svojem rantu kakorkoli nakazala, da morda moje opazke letijo na vse po vrsti. Ker bi se znal kakšen najti. Ce znaš tipkati, še ne pomeni, da znaš tudi brati – kar razloži marsikateri komentar na netu.
A tisti, ki se vam zgornji opis dobro prilega, dajte se malo zamislit nad sabo!
Baj de vej, ne morem vec našteti vseh živali, ki sem jih osebno rešila pred gotovo smrtjo, tak da kuš! I actually do make a difference, ne pa samo gobec vrtim.
Kar skušam povedati, je to, da vec muh ujameš na med kot na kis. Think about it. Ce verjameš v neko idejo, jo argumentirano, taktno, vztrajno in da, vljudno trži. Ne bo ti krona z glave padla, mar ne?
