Your Roving Correspondent

Season's greetings! I've come through the holidays in one piece, although that's a completely premature announcement given that New Year's Eve still lies ahead. Nevertheless, I survived Christmas and since Christmas at my home was marked by the invention of a new shot, "The Cup of Sorrow," this was no small achievement. (I'd post the recipe, but I don't actually remember it, nor, since drinking what amounted to a bucket of sorrow, do I remember much of the period between June and September 2005, but hey, I have lots of other years I still do remember, so no worries.)

I'm blogging from the Globe. Pretentious? You bet your beret, but that's my New Year's resolution: become more pretentious! I think this resolution will be easier to keep than last year's -- "Become inscrutable." I discovered you cannot be truly inscrutable if you talk as much as I do.

If you want me, I'll be sitting in the corner, reading "The Idiot" in the original Russian and listening to acid jazz on a turntable I've brought with me expressly for this purpose.

Gone

I need a sign-off, like "Good night and good luck," or "I'm so glad we had this time together..." but then again, the blog is not ending, all that's ending is my days of writing the blog on The People's News Agency dime.

I leave behind me a row of empty bottles and a biryani-stained fork. Not a bad legacy for a little girl from Cape Breton Island.

Later...

Going...

It's not a real farewell when you know you'll be back next week to pick up your stuff. Not that I have much stuff. In fact, to make it really worth the trip I'm probably going to have to take some of Stepan's stuff.

Going...

The white wine is really nice, I almost wish I hadn't had to break the neck of the bottle to get it open.

Speaking of wine, our new boss is a failed wine merchant.

I just really wanted to say that.

Later...

I've agreed to celebrate my last day at work by going for drinks, but I'm questioning the wisdom of that, given that I've decided to spend my last day drinking.

(I opted for the chicken biryani after all. The Himalaya guy recommended a dry white Riesling or four fingers of Jack in a cup of Earl Grey tea. Funny, that.)

Which reminds me, the restaurant formerly known as Vas-y, Vas-y (then just Vas-y) has become a wine bar called Bokovka (i.e. the Czech title of the film "Sideways").

How many times will the phrase "I'm not drinking the fucking Merlot" be heard within those walls?

(Well, at least once, because I leaned in and yelled it on my way by.)

Lunch time

I accidentally broke the office phone trying to order lunch from Himalaya. What wine goes best with chicken biryani? Actually, that's kind of backwards, what I should really do is figure out what Indian dish goes best with some weird-ass Russian liqueur everyone's been afraid to touch for the last four years. Maybe I should ask the guy at Himalaya. He'd probably recommend some kind of traditional, non-alcoholic Tibetan shepherd's drink though, and that just won't cut it today.

Maybe I should just skip the food.

Live blogging...

Okay, so I had a little trouble getting the red wine open -- I couldn't access the cork screw because I'm not allowed in the communal kitchen since the WMD incident -- but I finally managed it, although I spilled a little, but the printer still seems to be working fine so what the hell, right? Happy holidays!

I'm still the only one here and I hope that changes soon because i HATE drinking alone, although I also hate sharing my alcohol. I hope Stepan brings his own hooch today. You can usually depend on him for that.

Kitty Corner

I was just on the Merriam-Webster site (looking up the correct spelling of "crapulous" for my departing message to our bosses) when I happened to notice the word of the day:

"Ailurophile" (\eye-LOOR-uh-fyle\)

It means, "cat fancier," and I think it means it in a clean way, although I'm not sure, and I figure the only way to find out is to start using it and see if anyone hits me.

Last daze

Remember several days ago when I reported that our bureau chief was "walking?" Well, I got that wrong. Maybe I'm not so good at this reporting stuff after all! (I was wrong about the weapons of mass destruction in the communal kitchen too. Turns out I do not know yellow cake when I see it.)

Rather than walking, the bureau chief has signed a new contract. Moreover, it's a contract giving the bureau chief far better terms than those granted to Stepan and me -- our contracts, I may have mentioned, came with matching leg irons. The bureau chief also gets a raise.

And what do I get? I get to finish off all the office liquor! (I decided this myself.) I'm going to start with the wine from last Christmas (a gift from the friendly staff in our serviced building), then move on to an unidentified Russian liqueur (a Christmas 2001 gift from our visiting Russian IT director), then, time permitting, I'll polish off the bottle of Czechvar somebody got at a press conference several years back.

I'm going to play a drinking game -- every time one of the Warsaw editors (who are all native English speakers, by the way) makes a spelling mistake, or a typing error, or a grammatical error, or uses three question marks where one would do, or writes in all caps, I'll take a drink.

This should have me sloshed in about 45 minutes.

Let the games begin!

From the 'How's that again?' Department

Correspondence from the Warsaw editing desk:

"Why wasn't this story forwarded to you yesterday not written up??

The editors"

Possible answers:

"Well, it wasn't because we weren't drunk." (with thanks to Tokyo Sexwale)

"It won't not happen not never again."

"Bite me."

Newsflash

"Czechs, Slovaks more afraid of bird flu than Hungarians -- poll" (CTK news agency)

I guess it makes sense, bird flu just kills you, it doesn't team up with Austria to run your country and stamp out your language.

Notes from the Moldy Knoll

"to go along with excon reality prague's real estate community is ready to be rocked by PIG realityfor prague invest group.

i wonder which company pulls in the rich, english-speaking real estate investors better, the pigs or the excons?

i'm thinking of starting my own agency, to be called fuckyoureality.

i don't think anyone will make any connection with the 'chance'
english meaning of my agency. it's an acronym, see?"

Duly Noted

I bought a notebook a couple of years ago intending to "write everything down," particularly, the witty things said by people around me. Mostly, of course, I forget it at home on my bureau. When I do take it out, the things I capture may not pass for wit, but they can be funny.

"Do you know what I did yesterday or whatever the last day was?"

"Hey! Our clock is exactly 12 hours off!"

"To get out of trouble, get into even bigger trouble."

"You can never be too drunk, too skinny, or too rich."

"The drunkest person wins."

"A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Douche."

The Beeb

Did anybody else cry when they heard the BBC Czech service (scheduled to be axed in March) had found an investor?

Not that I begrudge the reporters their jobs, just that I had been looking forward to the "all English all the time" format I figured would have to kick in once the Czech service ended.

I thought I'd be able to hear English news when I really want to listen to news -- at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now I'm wondering if we'll lose the World Service altogether.

And everything had been shaping up so nicely -- they'd even canceled Westway.*

*Westway, for those who don't know it, was a soap opera set in a health clinic. It followed the trials and tribulations of patients and doctors alike and was about as entertaining as having a boil lanced.

Bettering Best

I've updated my original entry, but since this is my first official correction, I thought I'd best (no pun intended) be up front about it.

My British friend (who shall remain nameless, I'll say only that he's "too handsome" to post on this site) informs me that George Best actually dodged 27 people -- including a stripper -- to score the goal described earlier.

I stand corrected.

(Actually, if accuracy is to be the order of the day, I'm sitting corrected.)

Straight to Video

Today, we review the latest videos to surface on the Czech political scene:

VIDEO NUMBER ONE
This stars a former aide to Health Minister David Rath, Eva Klimovicova (I'm sorry, but that's going to have to be changed for marquis purposes), and representatives of the drug company Pfizer. Klimovicova offers to ensure Pfizer's drugs make the state's reimbursable list if Pfizer buys advertising in a journal she edits for the Czech Medical Chamber. Her contract says she gets to keep all the advertising revenues from the journal.

This one suffers because the whole "big pharm" theme has been treated recently -- with much better production values AND dead bodies -- in "The Constant Gardener."

There's no driving soundtrack, no love interest, no car chases. It's pure Dogme, and Dogme is so over.

VIDEO NUMBER TWO
This one has a colorful background story, because the video itself went missing. In June, when its three stars -- all members of a state privatization committee -- were first charged with seeking a CZK 50 mln bribe from Veolia Water, Veolia didn't have the video. In December, the charges were laid again when Veolia suddenly found it. I believe the film was not available earlier because it was showing at the Cannes Film Festival (hors de competition, of course). Now, it's resurfaced and it's riveting.

And now, a word from Camille Paglia

"I for one do not dance to dance music; disco for me is a lofty metaphysical mode that induces contemplation."

And now, another word from our Chief Editor

"Good have been smoother, but not so bad!"

Canadian Politics Explained (Part II)

Our eye in Ottawa checked in over the weekend with his take on the current Canadian political situation. We really appreciate his taking the time, knowing how stressed he must be these days over the threat to his beloved Blackberry. He says:

"The Liberals, led by the greatest leader in Christendom, have fucked up the party, the finances, and the Lord's Prayer and have embarked on a mission to fuck you up too.

Paul Martin's fluffer, Jack Layton [leader of the left-of-center New Democrats], has decided to go off on his own after his blackmail tactics failed. He is a sanctimonious little fruit. He is also convinced he is Chinese.

Stephen Harper [leader of the Conservatives], a tactician turned terrible politician, has allowed himself to believe he can win this thing despite the fact that he hates Canadians and they hate him. Weird eh?

I have to pause here and remind you of my theory that people with two first names are born to be evil. See above.

Gilles Duceppe [head of the separatist Bloc Quebecois] is an arsehole. He has announced that Quebec should have its own hockey team in the upcoming Olympics. Based on the Scotland and Wales model. He should check the record of Scotland and Wales.

The best thing that can happen is status quo as a result, and that way we can fire them all out."

And now, a word from our Chief Editor

PLEASE TELL THE FIRST PERSON IS THAT I NEED AN EMAIL THAT YOUR OFFICE IS OPEN FIRST THINGING IN THE MORNING. AND THE SAME FOR CLOSING. PLEASE TELL MARY.

Memories

I came in the front door of my apartment last night and tripped over a shoe -- one of 10 in my front hallway.

I suddenly flashed back to the front hallway of the house where I grew up. The shoe pile made it seem like the lobby of a particularly popular Japanese restaurant.

One night we had a visitor whose eyes popped slightly when she saw it. She asked my father how many children he had, to which he replied, "Four, but they each have three feet."

Is it any wonder I turned out the way I did?

Sports Corner

George Best was, apparently, one of the best football players in the history of the game.

I spoke to a British friend last night in an attempt to understand Best's particular genius and all I can remember was that during, like, this one game, he ran the full length of the field (with the ball) and got around 15 or so guys who were trying to stop him* and then kicked it into the net with the wrong side of his foot.

I know, amazing.

But more importantly, he was really hot.

*The British friend in question has since informed me that Best actually dodged 27 people -- including a stripper -- to score this particular goal.

Movement of the People

I'd just finished my dark chocolate espresso truffle square and was considering the possibility of doing some work when all hell broke loose.

As the culmination of a series of events far too complicated for any of you to trouble your pretty little heads about, our bureau chief was fired today.

This was supposed to be a formality -- fired from the old company so she could then be hired by the successor company. The lawyer who is the legal rep of the old company came to deliver the news.

She's not going to sign her new contract, however, which basically holds her legally and financially responsible for everything short of extending the metro to the airport.*

This means she's walking. Maybe tomorrow.

I have 13 days left myself.

Stepan could give notice at any moment.

As all this was dawning on me, the lawyer's phone went off. His ring tone? Bob Marley's "Exodus."

I amost pissed myself.

*Stepan and I have actually signed similar contracts. They came with shovels.

Canadian Politics Explained

Listen up because I'm only going to go through this once.

The Canadian prime minister -- Paul something -- lost a non-confidence vote in parliament, which means his fellow parliamentarians think he's not sufficiently confident to lead the country.

He'd only been in office for, like, six weeks.

His lack of confidence is traceable, in part, to a funding scandal that had something to do with the former prime minister giving away golf balls in Quebec.

The new leader of the separatist Parti Quebecois is a confessed cokehead. (This has nothing to do with the collapse of the federal government, but I feel it adds some much-needed colour to an otherwise drab political crisis.)

Canada will now embark on the longest election campaign in its history, which will probably end in a minority liberal government like the one that just fell.

Any questions?

(Above right: Blurry photo of what may be the Canadian prime minister)

Psychic? Me?

It's 8:49 CET and I'm sitting at my desk, eating a dark chocolate espresso truffle (I'm experimenting with new caffeine delivery systems) pondering the meaning of a dream I had two nights ago.

(I may have had dreams last night, but I don't remember them. You cannot ponder what you do not remember.)

Two nights ago, however, I dreamed I was going to Donald Rumsfeld's funeral. I don't recall being at all surpised a) that he was dead or b) that I had been invited to the funeral service. Perhaps, in my dreams, I'm a Republican.

I do recall that I was having a hard time figuring out what to wear.

This proves it was a dream, because in real life, I would have had no doubts -- I'd wear tap shoes.

Coincidence?

A certain Canadian friend of mine (who shall remain nameless, I'll say only that he's a bluegrass enthusiast whose name starts with a "J" and ends with an "H") returned home on Sunday for a visit and by Monday night the Canadian government had fallen.

That's all I'm saying.

Poles

I've had a chip on my shoulder about Poles since we got taken over by one, but I'm going to make an exception for light poles.

Especially Baltimore light poles.

Apparently, they're being stolen in broad daylight.

This may surprise some of you, but not me. I have a friend from Baltimore (which he insists on pronouncing as "Bal'mer") and I know a bit about that town.

I told him once that Cape Breton Island (my place of birth) had finished second in a National Geographic poll of the world's top tourist destinations -- beaten out only by the Norwegian fjords.

He told me he knew some guys in Baltimore who could "make the fjords disappear."

Obviously, the light pole exercise is a preparation for the great fjord heist. Consider what the spokesman for the city's transport department had to say:

"Apparently, the culprits know what they're doing because we're talking about 30-foot poles here. It's not like you can stick one in a grocery cart and get rolling."

Exactly.

The old grocery cart routine is not going to work for the fjords either, so they've had to step it up a notch.

I, for one, will be awaiting their next move with some fascination.

Sports Corner

I was reading about Detroit Red Wings defenseman Jiri Fischer who died and came back to life on the bench on Monday during a game. Doctors still don't know what caused the seizure that stopped his heart, but apparently, as of Wednesday, he was doing just fine.

What struck me in the coverage, however, was a quote by team doctor Anthony Colucci. He said Fischer was saved by an automated external defibrillator on the bench -- he was shocked twice to return his heart to its normal rhythm.

"Any person can apply an [AED], it's that simple," said Colucci. "They should be in all public places."

Those of us who grew up with "Emergency," the '70s TV show about California paramedics Johnny Gage and Roy DeSoto, will heartily concur.

I've always wanted to defibrilate someone and I'm sure I could do it. You just have to rub the two paddles together, peer at some dial or screen or something until you get some sort of signal that means it's time, then you yell, "Patient is in V-fib! Rampart, we have lost the victim's pulse, beginning CPR. We're defibrilating victim, Rampart. Rampart, we have defibrilated victim, he has sinus rhythm."

Nothing to it.

It's beginning to look a lot like...
I've heard that global warming is melting their natural habitat and that polar bears are turning up in strange places, but I never expected it would come to this -- bears abandoning the arctic ice cap in favor of shopping malls.

I spotted them in early November at the Karlovo namesti center where they seem to have taken up residence in the atrium. There are four of them, a mother and three cubs (which is odd, as cubs are usually born in December and January) and they seem to spend the bulk of their day grouped around the massive, fake Christmas tree that I assume reminds them of their beloved remnant boreal forest. It's also within easy walking distance of the bankomat.

Polar bears hibernate all summer, eating nothing, only to emerge in late October ready for dinner. They like to eat ring seals but I say good luck finding any in the Karlovo namesti center -- the seafood section in that Delvita is a joke.

I haven't heard any reports of them eating unsuspecting Droxi shoppers yet, but I don't take any chances myself. I avoid all eye contact -- polar bears take it as a sign of aggression. So, for that matter, does the chick at the Droxi check-out, but that's another post for another day.

I'm thinking I may get a short Discovery channel documentary out of this, or an article for a learned nature journal, or at least a good story to tell the next time I'm back in Canada, wandering around the tundra. In the meantime, here's a quick sketch I was able to make of them today, as they remained oddly motionless for over 15 minutes, out of hunger, I imagine. 

Best Behavior (a section in which the author weighs in on modern mores)

The question today is: Should you google your friends?

(That's not a euphemism for "screw," by the way. If I meant "screw," I'd say it -- this is my house, after all.)

No, it's a reference to the web search utility Google, and if that still means nothing to you, then I'm really sorry to have dragged you away from your illuminated manuscripts and please, by all means, get back to them.

Admittedly, everything on the web is in the public domain, so it's not like you're looking through your friend's medical records, or bank statements, or correspondence with his/her parole officer. (At least, I haven't been able to locate any of these things, and not for lack of trying.)

I've been giving this matter some serious consideration ever since I started writing this post (we're talking almost six full minutes now, because I've accidentally posted it twice and had to delete it) and my conclusion is this: I don't care if you google your friends, just don't google ME.

Sports Corner

The Czech national football team won a big game on Wednesday night and now they get to go to the World Cup, I think.

The game was on in a bar where I was attending a birthday party and it was really loud and it meant there were way too many people between me and the source of my beverages. Some of us were actually forced to drink the Miller Genuine Draft out of the display case on the bar. (That's just a cut above drinking your own pee.)

And that's the sports news.

Oh wait, how about some FA Cup scores?

Boston United four, Swindon one.
Burton Albion one, Peterborough nil.
Chesterfield one, Leyton Orient two
Oldham four, Chasetown nil.

I could TOTALLY work for the BBC World Service.

Dead or Canadian?

Just in case you needed further proof that the term "Canadian celebrity" is an oxymoron. This is from an article in the Toronto Globe and Mail about his Tubship, Conrad Black:

"Confidently working a Toronto banquet hall filled with such Canadian celebrities as singer Gordon Lightfoot, actress Kim Cattrall, former Ontario lieutenant-governor Hilary Weston and a group of Catholic dignitaries..."

Opportunity is now leaning on the buzzer

People always talk about email spam like it's a bad thing but I'm here to tell you it can bring the occasional bonanza.

Take the email I've just received. It's from one Alexei Boris and he's the personal secretary of the recently-jailed Russian oligarch Mikhail Khodorkovsky.

They need a "reputable and capable individual" to help them extract $1.5 mln in frozen funds for Mr. Khodorkovsky. That individual will then receive an 8 % cut for his/her efforts.

That individual, as I'm sure you've guessed by now, is ME.

Why? I suspect they've heard of my recent success in recovering an outstanding debt of 50 kc from a Prague associate. I accepted payment in beer. I'm not sure if this would work in the Khodorkovsky case, although $1.5 mln worth of beer would probably make him the most popular guy in the gulag.

And 8 % of $1.5 mln worth of beer would certainly get me through the winter.

"i don't like the food at pivo dum one bit. even the cheese was crappy.
i think i am done eating there. only beer from now on."

Opportunity knocks

Everyone today seems to be in the business of providing "solutions." Communications solutions, software solutions, office solutions, cross-cultural solutions, can-you-tell-i-just-googled-this? solutions, you name it.

But what good are solutions without PROBLEMS?

I'm sure I could create any number of problems, given the proper equipment (a crescent wrench and a high-power glue gun) and a sufficient amount of time. I could cause communications problems, software problems, cross-cultural problems -- I could even cause complex, inter-disciplinary problems, like, if I glued my fixed-line phone to the radiator.

I think I've found my calling.

Stepan. Incognito.

A room of one's own

My co-worker (whom I will call "Stepan") says he peeked into our old office and it looks really nice. We had to move across the hall as part of cost-cutting measures here at the People's News Agency. We actually traded offices with a lady whose job (if I understand it correctly) is remodeling Hlavni Nadrezi. She needed more space. I can imagine remodeling a train station would require quite a lot of space.

She seems like a nice lady, although Stepan says she looks a little lost, all by herself in a space once occupied by four people.

Meanwhile, we're settling into our new office as best we can. I'm sitting in the corner by the window and in order to get out, I have to ask one of my co-workers to move. It's kind of like being at the movies, only without popcorn.

We're down to three employees, we've signed up for a cheaper internet connection, and next on the block are our bills for bottled water and newspapers. I imagine we'll soon be drinking from the tap and getting up early each morning to ride the trams and read over people's shoulders.

In short, the writing on the wall is clear -- really clear, actually. I wrote it myself in green magic marker

It says "BITE ME."

Lively and entertaining but unfocused and off-topic

That's the comment I received on a (C+) social history paper in my second year of university. I've sometimes felt I should just have it tattooed on my forehead.

I tried to take part in the City Beat blog on Prague TV, but as soon as I'm told I'm to talk only about Prague-related things I'm struck with a burning desire to tell you everything I know about renaissance astronomy or the history of the bowling ball or the final season of "That's Incredible" (all topics which will be touched on here eventually).

This is simply by way of warning you that there will be no discernable theme to this site.

Monday, Monday

I'm operating in a slight margarita haze this morning (insert Jimmy Buffet joke here) but I believe my resignation has been accepted. Sort of. This was the response I received:

Dear Mary,
I would like to thank you for your good work for [my company, call it The People's News Agency].
I respect your decision to quit, however I would like to stress that if you change your mind during the last period of your contract you will be free to come back.
Best regards,
(Name withheld to protect my ass)

I'm going to drink about eight more bottles of Mattoni (on the company tab) and read that again...

This just in...

For those of you who once lived in Prague and have since moved on, or who have recently let their Pravo subscription lapse, I will occasionally post about social and political happenings.

The big one right now is that Agriculture Minister Petr Zgarba is stepping down this week as a result of a scandal at the Land Fund. One of the minister's friends bought a parcel of land this summer for CZK 4 mln. Weeks later, it was rezoned to allow for a housing development and is now worth CZK 1.3 bln -- almost FOUR HUNDRED TIMES what he paid for it.

I know what you're thinking, I've had the very same thought: why don't I have a corrupt friend in the Czech government?

It really makes me feel as though my time here has been wasted.

All that goddam jazz

I went to the Lucerna music bar on Tuesday night to see John Scofield. I'd agreed to it months earlier on the grounds that I'd never seen Scofield and it would be an interesting experience.

Imagine my dismay when Scofield took the stage and I realized that not only had I seen him before, I'd hated him.

I tried my best, but interminable, noodley electric guitar solos, even when peformed by a man who is arguably a musical genius, are not my thing. Fearing I was about to implode, I did the only rational thing -- I ran away.

The whole experience reminded me why I like punk music -- it's the punk ethos: "I can't play my instrument very well but this song is only gonna be, like, two minutes long and you're pissed anyway, so what do you care?"

The progressive jazz ethos, on the other hand, is "I play like a god and this next song is going to serve as both the second set AND the encore and don't even think about going to the bathroom."

Best Behavior

I am something of an expert on social etiquette and it's always puzzled me that people don't consult me on such matters more often. The joy of having your own blog, of course, is that you don't have to wait for anyone to consult you, you can proffer advice by the shit i mean bucket load and no one can stop you.

This is the beginning of an occasional series of tips for the socially inept.

Today's tip: When you are at a birthday party in your local pub, don't announce to everyone around you at the table that the birthday boy has just agreed to pick up the beer and wine tab even if you are absolutely certain this is what you've just heard. This can only lead to tears.

Resigned to my fate?

What happens when you quit your job and nobody notices?

On Thursday, November 10, at 8:47 (CET) I sent a three-line email of resignation to my boss, who happens to work in another Central European country.

As of 17:00 (CET) on Friday, I'd received no reply.

Does this mean I'm in some sort of quitters' limbo?*

Obviously, in a situation like this, there's only one thing to do -- draw a funny-looking caricature of your boss on the office white board. This is a reproduction of the original.


*Limbo, for those of you not raised Catholic, is the place where unbaptized babies go when they die. It can also be a lively, Caribbean dance, but that's not the sense in which it's currently being used.

the man

Rasinovo Nabrezi 76, the pink building two doors down from the Dancing Building.

Welcome

The virtual house rules are the same as the actual house rules -- if you put the couch out the window, you must eventually bring it back in. If you pass out in the kitchen garbage can, you mustn't blame your hostess for any resulting stains. And if you accidentally unplug the refrigerator, thinking you're unplugging the iron, don't worry -- there's probably nothing in it anyway.

Please, make yourselves at home...