As it happens, I was born on a Monday the 13th, at seven ante meridiem no less. As if I was born ready for school (or work).
Each time I brush with traditional bad luck omens, like black cats or walking under ladders or my unlucky watch (of which etc cetera), I am constantly confronting my conditioned reactions to them an assessing what they make me feel and sometimes do.
We have now drifted into the third year of GFC (that is the Global Financial Crisis and specifically NOT Going For Coffee) and everyone is STILL nay-saying the economy and waxing gloomy about the prospects for this year.
What do you think for this year? Do you see any signs of improvement? Do you think we are out of it? Do you think it will continue? In the questions we should see the answers. The point is that nobody really knows, and everyone seems to be turning to friend, neighbor, family member, and random guy on the street waiting for the light to change to see if the light will really be changing or not.
The cows around town, on Trg Republike, on Knez Mihajlova, generally mind their own business. They accost no one for theatre subscriptions, tissues, or wilted flowers. They do not ask the time or directions to Delta City. They look straight ahead into their forward progression or innocuously feed on the weeds growing from cracks in the paving.
The branding of Serbia has been going through a very long series of false starts and misfires for as long as I have known about it. I was involved in an early post-transition project in 2004 and 2005, but the branding initiative was ultimately shelved because no one could address the elephant in the conference room:
What is Serbia's brand?
Not everyone makes a New Year’s resolution – except maybe as a joke. The Resolution is a promise made to yourself, the universe, and anyone standing near enough to hear and bored enough to listen, about something you would like to do differently in the year to come.
Had I known that, I probably would not have experienced this afternoon's cerebral implosion. As it happens, I walked up to the kiosk and asked my question, anticipating a no, hoping for a yes. And that is what I got.
My routine had all the usual morning hiccups associated with my as yet decaffeinated state: I dropped the spoon while making my coffee; I found a dark thread on my white bathrobe, which it seemed I had inadvertently put on inside out; the butter knife slipped from my hand mid-toast; reaching for it, I hit the bread and overturned it; I took a new piece of bread (and new knife) and re-booted. Thus reconfigured, I proceeded to my breakfast.