The Youngest Master of CharityMožda sam dosadan, ali neke stvari vredi forsirati. Zato stavljam još jedan post na temu humanitarne trke... 

Little runners

The justification – Opravdanje

Today I’m setting a precedent that I’ve tried to avoid: I’m using this blog to promote a CorD event. However, I’m doing so with the excuse that it is indeed a truly worthy event that will benefit only the needy (and those getting free pr).

Danas pravim presedan koji sam se trudio da izbegavam do sada: koristim ovaj blog da reklamiram jednu manifestaciju CorD-a. Međutim, ovo radim sa izgovorom da je zaista vredan događaj koji će samo pomoći onima kojima je pomoc potrebna (i tima koji će dobiti besplatan marketing).  

The English tend only to give unsolicited advice to close friends and family (or to everybody when they’re drunk). Serbian people, on the other hand, tend to give their frank opinions, and offer unsolicited advice, even to complete strangers. Blunt, scathing and highly critical advice is the norm in Serbia… and what a refreshing change an honest life without diplomatic duplicity and plastic McDonalds’ smiles can be!

Englezi naginju davanju netraženog saveta samo bliskim prijateljima i članovima porodice (ili svima kada su pijani). Mnogi Srbi, na drugoj strani, imaju tendenciju da daju svoje iskreno mišljenje i ponude nezatraženi savet onima koju su im skroz nepoznati. Direktan, oštar i veoma kritički savet je standardna pojava u Srbiji… i kakva osvežavajuća promena može biti jedan iskren život bez diplomatske dvoličnosti i veštačkih osmeha Mcdonalds-a!

I remember the day Đinđić died very well. I’d been here for around seven months and was working in Dom Omladine for B92 at the time, editing raw news translations for the English site. The day was hot for mid-March – about 74 degrees (23°c) – and I was just preparing for my morning coffee and cigarette on the stairs when a short news item came in for me to edit. 

Bored? Got a few hours to kill? Here I present no politics, no advice and no comment. Just some classic moments of film.

Some funny, some scary, some tense, some thought provoking, but all in some way meaningful to me.

What classic scenes would you recommend?

With many thanks to the geniuses of youtube.com and those who have contributed to its monstrous collection of clips.

Rubbish Zamislite ovu scenu: jedan Englez iz provincije stoj ispred savezne skupštine u Beogradu. Došao je pre par dana prvi put u Srbiju i sad stoji kod spomenika na ulazu i pita se što jedan čovek hoće da kresne konja dok se čini da njegov drug gubi borbu za svoju zversku čednost. Odjednom, pojavljuje se jedna stara beogradska dama sa svojom razmaženom pudlicom, i jedan pandur u uniformi. Pandur kreće prema stepenicama i staje pored jednog konja, englez gleda njegov pištolj i zamišlja kako bi bilo kad bi svi nadrkani engleski panduri nosili pištolje. U međuvremenu, stilska stara dama i njen ružan, mršav pacov pas hodaju prema drugom konju, gde pudlica odluči da se olakša. Englez gleda u šoku, dok baba bodri pudlicu da požuri i pandur pali pljugu kao da ništa nije bilo.

sushi

Moja novogodišnja rezolucija za 2006-07 je da smršan, u teratani (opet), i da polako prestanem da pušim (ali bog zna kako u Srbiji). A, sa ovim na umu, bih hteo da postavim kampanju da ubedi vladu da pretvori pola beogradskih pekara u suši barove jer, ljudi, prosto nismo zdravi.

My New Year’s resolution for 2006-07 is to lose weight – to slim down in the gym (again), and to gradually stop smoking (but God knows how in Serbia). It is with this in mind that I would like to launch a campaign to convince the government to convert half of Belgrade’s bakeries into sushi bars because, people, we’re just not healthy

In all honesty, it’s not very often that I laugh out loud. I often chuckle to myself or smile widely when amused, but actually letting rip with a hearty chortle is a rarity.

Da budem iskren, retko kada se nasmejem glasno. Često se prigušeno smejem sam sebi ili koristim širok osmeh kada mi je nešto smešno, ali je retko kada se baš opustim i nasmejem glasno i iskreno.

Evo, eksperimentišem pisanje bloga na srpskom, ali na mom buđavom, uličnom srpskom.

Here’s my first experimental Serbian language blog, but don’t worry foreigners – the English version is there too.

MiloWhen news of Milo Đukanović’s imminent retirement broke, I instantly felt the urge to doff my cap in respect and congratulate the sole surviving leader of the former Yugoslavia for achieving his aims and keeping his head above water (and attached to his neck and out of an Italian jail cell) long enough to be able to call it a day at the ripe old age of 44. I had, of course, forgotten the golden rule of politics which states that no politician relinquishes his grip on power without being forced to do so.

When I was still naively thinking that Milo was hanging up his boots for good, I was feeling distinctly impressed with this man who commands a great deal of international "respect" and is widely perceived (even by those who don’t much care for him and his policies) as an excellent political practitioner.

Mushroom CloudLet’s say that Bill and Ben were born on opposing sides of an old mountain range. Though they lived but a few hours’ drive away from each other, they had never once visited the other’s hometown. They were both of the same age and social class, had similar IQ levels, liked the same sports and were of the same sexual persuasion. But … (pause for a big but) each boy inherently disliked the other – despite the fact that they’d never actually met or conversed in any way.

THE SHORT VERSION

The average British wedding (of those I’ve attended) goes like this: 11am-ish - church ceremony (listening to how God is great and singing hymns for the better part of an hour) or registry office for 20 minutes; reception at hotel / restaurant or other venue (with speeches by the Groom, Best Man and Father of the Bride); a few hours to recuperate; evening party with a DJ or live band - Attendance for the whole day: +/- 250; average kicking-out time (fajront): 2 to 3 a.m.

SHORT ONE: I got told off by a Mancunian today for telling a bloke from a soft drinks company that his brand used to be known as the poor man’s version of another popular soft drink…

Now ‘I’, per se, didn’t actually state that as my opinion… Rather, I quoted a History Channel programme on the war between this duelling duo of fizzy drinks firms.

By popular demand (one lass from Bijeljina), I’m going to write a little more about this gem of the peripannonian lands and why I saw some things the way I saw them.

I've been to Bijeljina on three or four occasions - once for an hour, once for a whole weekend. I like the place.  

Having driven through a fair few small-to-medium sized towns in Bosnia of late, I can say that Bijeljina is a positively 'urban' Bosnian city. So much so, in fact, that I only felt Bijeljina worthy of writing about because it has its own character, its own urban identity; its own art exhibitions… 

It was just after the border crossing that the radio started to freak out. The Artic Monkeys’ tune crackled, popped, faded and was lost to static. I adjusted the frequency, frantically searching for the tune, but it had been lost to the ether.

In silence I edged further away from the safety of the Republic of Serbia into the no-man’s land separating the country from its neighbour. A large slow-moving lorry blocked my path and my view, ensuring that I didn’t catch sight of the Sava until the great river was almost upon us.