Today, Mr. Caesar would be surrounded by a coterie of armed guards in dark glasses. He would probably not be walking around the forum unprotected and in a bed-sheet all by himself. He might not even talk to Messrs. Brutus, Casca, and Tillius directly, but rather have his people set up discussions (especially as the pretext was a petition which Tillius Cimber wanted to conference about on his exiled brother).

Fireworks? No, firearms.

“Grumpy in Belgrade” brings together the blogs, essays, and increasingly obscure thoughts of one American in Belgrade, struggling to make sense of the nonsensical. And making nonsense of the rest.

We need a bridge that will suspend our doubts about ever having enough viable bridges. We need a bridge that will suspend our disbelief about the dangers of travelling over the Gazela Bridge.

Usually I am a little cynical and snide. Usually I attempt to undermine its message. On occasion I have been sappy about it. But like it or not, every year, Valentine's Day gets some sort of bloggal response from me. I have to say I am a little tired of it.

The World Series of Baseball is underway between the 2008 champion Philadelphia Philies and the 26-series winning New York Yankees. And while I do not think I am the only one in Serbia to be watching the Series, the club seems to be rather small...

After all, once we elect a parliament and they choose a government, the entertainment values drop rather dramatically in a politically stable environment. During the pre-election period, it is exciting. We get promises, wild accusations, insults, mud-slinging, and the very best of the Human Condition under pressure. But then the votes are counted (and recounted and contested), the names are read out and after we have laughed and cried and jumped for joy and sunk into despair, and we just have to get back to work and hope RTS and B92 come up with something equally entertaining for us to watch.

So said Boris Tadic this week, reminding us of our obligation to vote and thereby give voice to our dissatisfaction and bitterness that we all feel because we are not president of the republic.

Hm...

In Paracin for the weekend among in-laws and ancient ancestors, at one point we were at a loss for something to do that did not involve mounds of food, liters of rakija, and hours of nostalgia. Always the resourceful sort, I come up with a perfect plan for a Sunday night.

Let's go see a movie, I said.

Where's the swich?

Yesterday, as a kind of joke, I was informed that my car was "ready" to pick up. Two weeks ago I had stupidly brought it here to have a check-up – oil, filters, and yada, yada, yada. I should have immediately seen the sodomy in their eyes when they said I had to leave the car for two days even to get an estimate.