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Friday, August 19, 2011

Fear of Falling

We bought a bicycle. My hubby rides it up and down the Kavtaradze and even plans to replace marshrutkas with this new machine—his work in not too far from our house. I, on the other hand, first rode a bike 4 years ago. First time, My brother showed me how to do it, but forgot to mention brakes. So I deliberately ran into our neighbors’ bushes—I had to stop somehow. Neighbors were not happy, nor was the bike…
Afterwards, I would ride the bike down the hill in my neighborhood in Denver (first I would walk up), trying not to turn left or right, cause turning meant falling. Quiet suburbia, no cars, straight nice road…
Then Giga forced me to ride a bike in Budapest. We had to get somewhere and we did not have money, but we had borrowed bikes. First, it was O.K., we followed bike lanes. Then, the bike lane vanished and Giga started peddling on the sidewalk. Imagine, a sidewalk in Budapest, full of tourists, people walking around, me not being able to turn…but the worst part: the cafes on the sidewalks…waiters with plates…I ended up screaming and riding as fast as I could through that cafĂ© segment, and all the waiters just jumped aside. For the first time I rode in the open, I even managed to avoid hitting people; I became more confident, gained some speed and ran into a tree. I quickly got back into the saddle, and hid this fact from Giga.
Sunday, I rode our new bike (after 3 years of bike abstinence).We found interesting space by the Maglivi bridge—circles and lines, figures on the pavement, painted probably for a driving school, where I can practice turning and not falling off . To get there I either have to ride on a sidewalk, or go with the cars. Irrationally, I find it safer to ride with the cars (you should hear them honking and swearing at me), cause sidewalk scares me to death—I think that I won’t be able to ride in the narrow space and that I will slide off into the traffic. So I prefer to ride with the traffic. Go figure.
I was riding there quietly yesterday, minding my own business, drawing number 8 with my bike for a 100th time, when two dudes with flashlights appeared. They looked like security guards, only what could they be guarding there--the bridge?! As a result of our latest addiction, AMC series Breaking Bad, Giga proposed that they protected a meth lab... Either way, I finally got tired of them watching my butt on the bike and tried riding around house, until I ran over a bump successfully—then it hit me, on no, I ran over a bump!—and lost control and went flying off the bike.
We’ll see what the future holds for me, I am annoyed that I can’t do this thing, I miss younger me, who was much more daring and climbed trees and roofs of abandoned buildings. Plus, we are moving to a new territory…stay tuned to hear more…
p.s. Our new bike and me

Monday, August 8, 2011

Bailamos for Free

“I just wanted to see free boobies. But there is no such thing as free boobies, is there, IS THERE?!”-asks the guy who invested some money in amateur porno movie, in the film “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. I guess I just wanted to see Enriques Iglesias perform, but there is no such thing as a free concert…
So, one way or another, I made it to Batumi on the 2nd. My poor husband accompanied me to protect me from being squeezed to death. We arrived at 5, stood “in line” for two hours and got pretty close to the stage. Frontier was densely packed and I soon found myself between one person’s armpit and another person’s belly. Amongst all the yelling and pushing and a week-old sweat, I was soaked in bodily fluids and rain, hit, squeezed and poked. Yelling swearwords at the organizers of all free concerts (I mean could it be at least 10 Lari to sort out all the people who care less and show up just because it costs nothing?), I asked Giga to take me out of there. I felt like I left part of my dignity there…
We moved away a bit, thus forever loosing opportunity to touch Enrique’s divine legs. Situation towards the center was pretty interesting. I stood by a middle-aged woman who would not let her “children” (four grown-ass girls) attend the concert alone; we saw an older man wrapped in American flag (!); another mother tried to protect her “children” from the immoralities of the concert in front of us. The smell remained, but at least we were not touched.
At 8:30 the concert started. I had to endure Georgian “singers” till 10:30 or so. I have seen better stage presence in my high school drama class! I guess Pop music does not require strong vocals, but shouldn’t they at least move seductively or have memorably beat or something? SOMETHING?
DJ played for 30 minutes while stage was set up for the next performer (that happened three times). Actually, DJ was really nice, but I couldn’t dance, cause every time I put my arms around my husband, the “children’s” mother threw indignant glances in our direction.
I have to note that Georgian Rock band “Eldrine” was like a breath of fresh air, way to go guys!
So finally,
After 5 hours (and 10 years) of waiting,
HE took the stage! I have not listened to Enrique for at least 8 years now. I was not familiar with 3 of his latest albums and I had to look new videos on YouTube to catch up. I found them too sexy (some of it is plain porn!), him too cheesy, his voice over-computerized and I laughed at my teenage self so desperately in love with this dude. But, when he came on that stage, I was screaming like all the sixteen-year old girls around me! He controlled us and manipulated us and did whatever he wanted with us! The moment he heard our screaming levels go down, he would do something to raise them back up—he took one of his shirts off, he talked in Georgian, he struck a pose, he let people touch him, he took photos with his fans, he looked in our eyes!
Damn it, when he took that girl on the stage, I looked around and everyone was crying… every girl felt like she was the one on the stage…and then he kissed her…as my hubby put it “ I have witnessed a collective orgasm”.
The girl got her 15 minutes of fame. She already appeared on TV several times. People made such a big deal out of it. Blogs exploded with comments like “how could he kiss her? No one is going to marry her now!”.
I was sore for a week after that concert. I swore it was the last free concert in my life. And then I thought of my post about Sting…and how I wrote that the audience was boring…and I laughed. What the hell do I want anyway? Why am I always complaining?
So this is what we have: either haute couture celebrities not clapping, or hydrophobic teenagers screaming. First is more pleasant, second is more exiting. As for me, next time I am trying one of those concert tours to Armenia or Turkey, where bunch of friends rent a marshrutka, stay in a cheap hotel and do touristy things in addition to the concert.
P.S. I will post pics in a day or two, my comp is having hard times...