my fault

out of the office for a couple of days, i still needed internet access for a boring, useless service i had promised to a friend. so my brother borrowed me his – he has one, but virtually never uses it. i don’t have one, as i step out of my office as seldom as possible (see the About page).

after the brief period out of routine – i can hardly call it a vacation – i left the precious gadget and the mobile network stick to my father. and when my (younger) brother went to pick it up, the bad luck stroke: a truck slightly rubbed  his front right fender. enough to throw his front left wheel into the brand new concrete curb of the roundabout where it all happened and make a shit out of the steering gear of his 1-year old t*yota (no advertising, huh?).

short digression: the truck driver didn’t even notice it and went on. another truck coming behind called him back by radio. apparent luck – the trucker and my brother have the same insurer. effective bad luck: the truck was foreign, and the corresponding local insurer was a different company. a whole mess to have the damage assessed, before the repairmen can touch anything.

conclusion: “it’s all your fault, doh!”. guess who said that to whom.

pro bono, in rem

we all owe something to our profession. this is an attempt to pay my debt. the verse are from an obscure musical, where they were sung by a great actor, now gone, with his unique smoker’s voice. of course, they’re not much without the music. the prosody – not just the meters, also the accents, i’m quite proud of it – is accurate, so this translation could be perfectly sung. if someone knew the tune.

but i doubt anybody does, so my hope that this poem actually reaches a soul is rather dim. that’s why, like a prosecutor who doesn’t know who to accuse, i’m launching an inquiry in rem.

i wish i had

wish i had not

wish be

a cactus


midst the dunes

in my eyes sand

in my hair sand

and cry out loud: tanaaaaan-tanaaaaan

and wish i’d be

i don’t know what

walk out at night

just like a tramp

count all the stars at the zenith

and get frost bit

and wish

to be

on a big ship

killed stupidly by a half-wit

that shot a bullet in my skull

mistaking me for

else at all

and when they will

be sure

i rest in peace

that i get back

and blow a sneeze

(and when the loony tune ends, you hear the vigorous chords of beethoven’s ‘ode an die freude’)

what are friends for?

first, he knows better. i explain – he doesn’t listen.

no, i skipped too much of the background: first i helped him carry his stuff from his mother’s to a rented apartment. small elevator down, narrow stairs up, fridge and desk and bags of rags – the whole nine yards, and lumbago on the top. just for the sake of it – after a couple of months, he moved back to his mom.

but that was long ago and forgotten. more recently, i sweat half of a weekend day to help him set up his new furniture into his new studio.

and now, when outside it’s like one hundred degrees or something, and you could cook an egg under your hat, he kindly asks me to go supervise the A/C fitters. i mean, the same guys who did a lousy job in the first place, because he asked them to do it his way. he could have it done properly – i explained how, he didn’t listen.

so he sits in his office, paid by the hour, and having enough time to spend on messenger. and he asks me to leave my office, where i try feeding a family and where no one pays me if i don’t work.

he can take a day off for a long weekend with his gf when he feels like it. his gf too can take a day off for riding his bike. he spent about half this morning pestering against a moron office mate, who spent about half this morning talking on the phone to his moron wife. he reproduced their moronic conversation word by word. but he can’t take two hours off that lousy corporate office to get his A/C right after the disaster he invited by not listening.

and when i said no, he started calling me names. and he kept doing it. and i kept saying NO, i won’t go.

of course i didn’t go. later, he will probably say it was a joke.

so what are friends for? for calling them names, even if they aren’t actually that bad. after all, i could have posted the A/C pics here. because the real joke is the hole they left in his roof, and the patched support they built on his balcony.

how did they find me?!?!

recent visits on my blog: several ‘blogs’ promoting student loans, easy credit, forex trading et ejusdem farinae.

i wonder what do they think/want/hope. i’m definitely not within their target.

but most of all – how did they find me? automatically scanning for some keywords? too easy. what if they have programs that build psychological profiles using more subtle parameters, related to the subjects, style, frequency of posting and 1000 other things i can’t even think of?

so i guess i look like an immature (student), rich (forex), but overspending (loans) health-obsessed (fitness) american.


gazing at the irish lawn

i told you about wrongname‘s irish lawn. well ‘mafrends’, i went there. yup. saw it with my own eyes. ‘i gazed – and gazed – but …’ … but no daffodils. instead, we set up his recently purchased furniture*.

i’m looking forward to the inauguration and a cold beer on the balcony.

*from ik*a (no advertising ). i read many times bad thoughts and bad jokes about this brand. ‘mafrends’, someone who can’t put it together is a plain moron: you don’t even need to know how to read. their pictures are enough for anyone with an IQ half my waist size.

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