tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53892465529204709642024-03-05T21:32:40.602-08:00No Sex and the CityA Tale of One Girlpasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.comBlogger167125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-12918301423658104262016-02-09T04:12:00.003-08:002016-02-09T04:12:56.943-08:00HiatusGood thing my comp remembered password for this blog. I don't remember it.<br />
<div>
It's been almost a year.</div>
<div>
What happened? Baby happened.</div>
<div>
First, I got pregnant (duh) :-) IVF. Then, I had 1st trimester, when all I wanted to do was crawl into the bed and watch stupid reality TV. Then... I don't know pregnancy made me more introspected and I didn't want to write or share. Finally, she came out and took over our house, our time and our lives.</div>
<div>
This week I have been getting more and more sleep, to the point when I am capable of writing more than FB status. I thought I'd resume this blog-writing thing. </div>
<div>
The baby is month-and-a-half old. Sometimes she sleeps, sometimes she poops, sometimes she eats, sometimes she cries. That's all at this point.</div>
<div>
Usually I write about things that happen int he world, in Tbilisi...now I am cooped up in my apartment, so god knows what I'll write about. But I want to give it a try and see if anyone reads this post.</div>
<div>
I promise it won't be all baby talk. She deserves a post or two, however :-)</div>
<div>
See you soon!</div>
<div>
Pasumonok</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-84504611579648261702015-03-30T04:45:00.001-07:002015-03-30T04:55:19.916-07:00Sexuality Manifesto: Let Us Be!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVtzHvwV4aTdS_FoCr3b3OCd965KTAb3vsAi-BImJxmVc0_LLuCWLuqD1uncxENqAG4tLFiZ4wH2Z5joS5x-mkylxR4LBRx9ZNheQVA6kjXr8zxtaYRvGutIu67oPzoqMBvV7lUAiRWEt/s1600/10583847_754983117898704_2238192026827222721_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVtzHvwV4aTdS_FoCr3b3OCd965KTAb3vsAi-BImJxmVc0_LLuCWLuqD1uncxENqAG4tLFiZ4wH2Z5joS5x-mkylxR4LBRx9ZNheQVA6kjXr8zxtaYRvGutIu67oPzoqMBvV7lUAiRWEt/s1600/10583847_754983117898704_2238192026827222721_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just attended a to two-day training about sexuality. It was
training, just like any training. We discussed diagnoses and interventions. We
role-played (not that, you dirty-minded reader!) as a therapist and a client. We
also did several exercises, increasing body awareness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But most importantly, we were given homework to write our sexual fantasy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Classical Freud took place, as many of us forgot about the
homework, or never found time to do it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of us did. I wrote a little story, that I am carrying
in my bag since then. I am carrying it around because I don’t know where to put
it, because I am scared that someone might read it. That I may read it. That’s
why I am angry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am mad at my
school. At my private, Christian school. At my conformity and desire to be
liked and since liked meant studying well and behaving like a good Christian,
behave well I did. I actually believed in all the crap that came out of our
textbooks, along with excellent texts about science, English, social studies…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am mad that at age 30, gone to one of the most liberal
colleges in US, having a blog called NO SEX IN THE CITY, I still feel embarrassed
about my sexual fantasies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am angry that despite giving public lectures about sexuality,
despite directing and acting in “Vagina Monologues”, despite having such
understanding partner, I am still feeling embarrassment and fear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My psyche has been trying to make sense of it all since I graduated
from school. And that was a long time ago. I’ve been lucky, I had resources,
I still have resources seldom available in Tbilisi. I go to workshops, I hang
out with non-judgmental crowd. Not only that, I conduct therapy and I broaden
my comfort zone through working with others.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, step outside these safe sexuality zones and you’ll face
my country. My country represses sexuality with Orwellian vigor, creates almost
formal junior anti-sex leagues; it marches chastity around like national
treasure, like a symbol, like some kind of Golden Fleece or St. George with a
dragon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love is repressed to violence. Sex is repressed to anger.
Celebration of life is repressed to death-festivities. Enough! Enough with endless
forty-days of mourning, with joy-killing fasting, with sexless families and
sanctified girls! Enough with the repressed energy of life, of creativity, of new
beginnings and just plain pleasure!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not good to suffer, pain does not purify, loving means
touching and sexuality is not a sin. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sexuality us our God-given privilege. Sexuality is our
natural state of mind. Sexuality, in its vast meaning, is the core of our
being.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until we understand that we will always have political
unrest, mass neurosis, we will always fight, we will always condemn “unnatural”
acts, we will be generally depressed and dissatisfied with life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And no party, leader, or president, elected through
repressed aggression can ever change that feeling of utter dissatisfaction.
Because it all started way too early, in those textbooks.<o:p></o:p><br />
Enough!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> P.S. Feeling of freedom at Kazantip</o:p></div>
<br />pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-32729675288426743002015-03-11T01:01:00.000-07:002015-03-11T01:04:45.259-07:00My Life on TV<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIoUZ92nNBZEtFeeFDpzy0cjiQmba3y2Ub7I6IE30725Magi5f23_UdEQ0Qb6htGoMB6l2eFUcsJX2PV0RyDIykUP257ADDB-_xBZOzvZj690SORK5KTlY5lwAa8BB9g1hBhsBZnd3C5l/s1600/11040810_10153131911845499_42401005_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIoUZ92nNBZEtFeeFDpzy0cjiQmba3y2Ub7I6IE30725Magi5f23_UdEQ0Qb6htGoMB6l2eFUcsJX2PV0RyDIykUP257ADDB-_xBZOzvZj690SORK5KTlY5lwAa8BB9g1hBhsBZnd3C5l/s1600/11040810_10153131911845499_42401005_n.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a>All the sudden, I am on TV.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s pretty funny, considering that I don’t own a TV (OK, I
have the actual screen, but it does not show anything. We use it for movies). I
never thought that I would need to research Georgian TV and watch so much talk
shows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several times now, I have rushed to the studio with numbers, facts,
stories that I hummed under my breath while I sat in make-up room and then I
didn’t get to say half of them. <o:p></o:p></div>
I have twice talked about gambling addiction, twice –
about early marriage, once- homosexuality-is-not-a-disease and tomorrow I am
going to talk about suicide.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week, as I was about to present live (answering
question “are teenagers mentally and emotionally ready to get married?”) I
realized why I like this position. I get a bit nervous. I get a bit
exited. I boldly walk to the podium and try to control my voice and my posture (futile
efforts, since I wore ridiculous-looking flowers on my head and it made me look
silly and immature). It reminds me of my debate tournaments!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been involved in debate club since when I was young
(7<sup>th</sup> grade) till when I was too-old-for-this (M.A. years). Together
with my perpetual partner and best friend, I have won two championships and
multiple calculators that they awarded to the best speakers. Then too, I would
feel thrill, walk and stand before the huge audience, inhale, exhale and
present my case. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I sucked so much, I would analyze my speech for
weeks after the tournament. But it all comes with the experience, really. After
years of practicing, we won more or less consistently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
TV is the same, only a bit more superficial. Not only do I
have to research my topic, but also my outfit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just like debates, sometimes I say the stupidest things
and then I go around for days thinking about it; unlike debates, where I had a
clear audience in mind, the judges, here I find myself divided – do I appeal to
my potential clients (which should be the point), my family, friends, or do I
just need my hubby to say that I sounded professional?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, I think this TV mania will be over soon. I showed
up as a new face- a live psychotherapist!- but these things go out of fashion
so quickly, and I still lack substance. Because for the most part, I am talking
based on nights of reading; I am not conducting important research, nor do I
have years of work experience so far. I am honest and relaxed (usually) and I
really like seating on the couches under bright lamps, but I feel like that is
not enough yet. So, sooner or later they will get tired of my cutesy academic bullshit.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until then, I am enjoying it very much, because we all know
that I am attention-seeking, spotlight-loving, look-at-me-I-am-on-TV, superficial
person.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And also, deep in my heart, I honestly believe that what I
am saying matters. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
… Sometime, when I grow older and wiser, I will look at all
the mistakes that I am making now (really, those flowers!) and use TV as tribune
to talk about things I deem important, complex things, controversial things, and
make a little, maybe minuscule, contribution.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. Me proving that homosexuality is not a disease on "Nanuka's Show"</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-68501223965655743112015-02-22T23:57:00.001-08:002015-02-23T03:52:00.232-08:00Biopics...Biopics Everywhere<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLMXleZPikDVdhN7P3jPftlO44ehI3uvBPPFRIUf56iytvTQ-poy7uqb2iWmBqgMCzppW03WwyuP346YWMhmdKO3irj1ChzLKq-N07uUAsskZvZGr6tsdagdtoeOEbTrxjeAUW5nOL8Jh/s1600/ben.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLMXleZPikDVdhN7P3jPftlO44ehI3uvBPPFRIUf56iytvTQ-poy7uqb2iWmBqgMCzppW03WwyuP346YWMhmdKO3irj1ChzLKq-N07uUAsskZvZGr6tsdagdtoeOEbTrxjeAUW5nOL8Jh/s1600/ben.jpg" /></a></div>
Annual all-night-up watching of the Awards Ceremony in our
time zone, complete with inadequate Georgian translation dawned on me last
night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My very own Benedict Cumberbatch, the one that I liked way
before he starred in all these big movies, before <i>Sherlock</i> reached Georgian mainstream and before MS Word stopped underlining
his last name as an error, was nominated for best male performance. Oh, the
time goes by so fast, my boy already nominated for the Academy Awards. Sob, sob,
give me a tissue.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth be told, I did not expect him to win the nomination. <i>The Imitation Game</i> is a lukewarm biopic
about a very interesting person played by a very brilliant actor. And more I
think about it, more I get mad, because to have such a good cast, nice
production, biography that is so interesting and to make such a mediocre film
about it! Alan Turing, inventor of the Turing Machine, so mercilessly punished
for his sexual preferences (chemical castration), with such a mysterious
suicide (ate a poisoned apple, like in a fairy tale), so many opportunities for
deep, meaningful film and what, you just give us simple story and cliché dialogue?!
Please.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thus, Ben did not receive an Oscar (because he kept reciting:
“sometimes it’s people that you expect the least that do the most” or shit like
that during the film), but I thought they would give it to Michael Keaton
because he was brilliant in <i>Birdman</i>.
However, they chose Eddie Radmayne for portraying Stephan Hawking and I have
not yet seen <i>Theory of Everything</i> so
I can’t comment. Reviews tell me that it is yet another biopic. Nothing too
exiting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I really enjoyed <i>Birdman</i>
and was rooting for the cinematographer to win, since that’s what really makes
the film (and Michael Keaton). Inarritu won
the best director (fine, have your award) and the film won the best pic award. Which
means that <i>Boyhood</i> won nil.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Call me snob, call me boring, whatever, but I honestly
enjoyed watching <i>Boyhood</i>. A film does
not have to be about exploding helicopters, long takes and outrageous actors. A
film can sometimes simply depict life, let you watch everyday reality of people
you don’t know and as you watch them, you grow to love them and you think of
you own life and find similarities. I never felt like those two hours were too
long or that film lacked action. Actually, I really did not want to like it
(another male coming-of-age story?! Come on!) but it was so warm, subtle, real…and
the film got no awards at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, an independent movie director and whole team of dedicated
people spend over a decade working on this film and receive nothing. However,
shallow biopics get nominated in zillion categories and <i>The Imitation Game </i>even wins best adapted screenplay for lines
taken out of <i>Beautiful Mind</i> and <i>Dead Poets Society</i>. Oh, Hollywood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for the rest, Julianne Moore received best female performer
award but I have not seen the film, so I can’t judge. I didn’t really care for
any of female performers this year. As long as it was not Reese Witherspoon
(why does this chick get nominated? How come she has an Oscar? Da fuck?!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The song performance from <i>Selma </i>got standing ovation and people cried while listening, but I
guess the biopic section of the Oscars was too full to honor an interesting
take on Martin Luther King’s life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also…nobody heard of <i>Nightcrawler</i>?
Anybody? Great script, superb acting? No?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>The Grand Budapest Hotel</i>
won some awards (nothing major though), as if the film wasn't the biggest
thing this year. I am a bit prejudiced here – I loved it to pieces. The Academy
basically told this film “oh, you look pretty with all the make-up and production
and whatnot, but nothing serious, really”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, Georgian-Estonian film<i> Tangerines</i> was nominated for the best foreign film, which is a
great honor for us (despite all the complaints I keep writing about the
Academy). However, the film was simply not good enough. Both <i>Ida </i>and<i> Leviathan</i> were infinitely better and I for one am happy that this
quiet, black-and-white, seemingly simple, neorealistic film took home the
award<i> (Ida). Leviathan</i> is great but I wonder
if I exaggerate its greatness because I know the context too well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need to see <i>Whiplash.</i>
Bits they showed- excellent. Also, <i>Theory
of Everything</i> just to learn more info about Hawking. Other than that, done
for the year.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems like last year was more fruitful…<o:p></o:p><br />
P.S. the pic: taken from the Google search, Ben in his glory portraying Turing</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-21954931358932730282015-02-16T03:26:00.000-08:002015-02-16T03:26:45.192-08:00Grand Budapest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuyEioHt_ier7wxYgNI4BvEfpKSiz3qja64i7JGieyvM6xEVVNGXR0BBjifXKy7z7JXrvk6nL6LJfNToclYMYHvez-6HHWu73aggugIDA45XldFSAQrirAvuZ-Z0_KvkvQRVXjDIWCJLE/s1600/gel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVuyEioHt_ier7wxYgNI4BvEfpKSiz3qja64i7JGieyvM6xEVVNGXR0BBjifXKy7z7JXrvk6nL6LJfNToclYMYHvez-6HHWu73aggugIDA45XldFSAQrirAvuZ-Z0_KvkvQRVXjDIWCJLE/s1600/gel.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just turned 30 and sad and Hubby surprised me with this trip. For
several days we pretended that we lived in Budapest – we bought cheese at the
supermarket, ate at small French restaurants, went to see new Cirque du Soleil
show, visited Gellert thermal baths. We went to hubby’s personal places. He bought
a shitload of new vinyls. It was very mellow. We did not even walk by the
famous parliament building till the last day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lot has changed in Budapest – store clerks actually answer
in English now. It is slowly turning into youthful party-town, with lots of interesting
bars and clubs. Herds of tourists roam places that were quiet and unknown.
Locals slowly start migrating away from the bars that used to be unique and
underground – Szimpla Gardens for example, this bohemian artsy ruin bar, is now
completely in the hands of foreigners. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the same time, new places are opening all over the place.
The party atmosphere of night Budapest creates demand for more celebration. Drunk
happy people wander from bar to bar till 2-3 A.M. Local bands provide variety of
music; queues form outside 24-hours gyros places (also, Budapest gyros kicks Tbilisi
shaurma’s ass). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Budapest this time seemed more like Prague…except no weed
dealers approach you at night and no high people smoke in the streets. Of
course it is still better than totalitarian Tbilisi regime, but if Budapest
wants to establish itself as young and hip and happy, some decriminalization legislation
has to take place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The service has improved markedly. Waiters smile or at least
make an effort to smile. Unlike my previous visits, I got no ill-mannered
service the whole time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Budapest also became more interesting in culinary sense,
with many little (or not) restaurants that offer staple European food. We
visited such a cute French café Bouchon, where I ate pate and it tasted good
and I don’t even like liver.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was a very different trip- usually we run up and down
the city with a checklist, seeing this and that, always thinking of the next
location to visit. Most of those locations are covered with camera-holding
tourists and we have to patiently wait for our 5 seconds to take the picture
with the building/monument/clock…but here, we slept in our Ikea-built
apartment, walked to our hearts’ content.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as we did that I realized that goddamnt it, I want to
live like this, I want to live like this for an extended period of time, I want
to feel European for more than 4 days, I want to take cities like Budapest for
granted! I want to just live in those streets, just eat in un-famous local places,
I want to have international friends and that I really miss studying. I miss
variety in my life, I miss diversity. Recently (especially after the May 17
events) I have woven very special net of friends that include only like-minded
people and I cannot force myself to socialize with people whose ideas are too
different from my own. It gives me
comforts; but it also limits my world view…I need to get out…I need to hear
different (but intelligent) people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The getting-PhD-in-Europe seed has been planted, let’s see
if it blooms.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> p.s. pic of historic Gellert thermal baths where I spent my birthday</o:p></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-10063576585348397642015-02-08T23:38:00.001-08:002015-02-08T23:42:41.493-08:00FidelioMany things prompted me to write this post. First, my hubby decided to take a lone road trip. He took off and I tried not to bother him, not to call him and not even inquire where he went. It is probably a wonderful thing, when you can take off, no responsibilities and just drive, wherever.<br />
Second, while he was away, with drops of Jupiter in his hair, I called girls over to watch "Eyes Wide Shut", talk about female sexuality, male sexuality, fidelity, bla, bla. IMHO the film is a bit long, but it does press the issue of marital relations.<br />
Third, my hubby surprised me with a trip to Budapest for my birthday. I like him more now.<br />
Does marriage work? I personally believe that yes, it does. After 7 years, I came to conclusion that we do some things precisely because we are married. For example, hubby wants to disappear into the mountains of Georgia because he never has alone time. He is either at work or home with me. He does have a study room to hide, but being home in parallel rooms is not the same as being alone. However, since we know each other so well, he can go away and I will find something do with my weekend. It's this balance of staying individual while being a couple that comes only after years of committed relationship. I am confident that he is not running away from me. I am confident that he likes to travel with me. I am actually confident that his escape does not have anything to do with me - for the first time in years he had opportunity to escape without planning, without arrangements. Meanwhile, I gathered girls and we watched naked Tom Cruise.<br />
The second advantage of marriage is feeling of comfort. I know for sure that we will spend good time in Budapest because hubby is my best travelling partner. We know each other well, and not only that, we sync, we wake up at the same time, we both like to walk, we know what bothers us and what makes us happy. Yes, sometimes I complain, and he is usually late, but despite that our vacations are very satisfying. When we return and I go back to work, not only I miss places that we've visited, i miss that wordless communication, almost telepathic connection that I have with my hubby and I am reluctant to talk to others around me, who seem so distant.<br />
Yes, long-term relations lack excitement, flirt, uncertainty.... but that is exactly why we come up with these trips and surprises. Such things are less spontaneous, they don't just occur, commitments, mortgages, work, relatives hinder that pure longing we had when we just dated (sometimes I miss those times), but it does not mean that we can't find excitement despite all that. The approach is different, that's all. It takes more effort, but the result is different qualitatively.<br />
I'd like to clear up - it does not have to be a conventional marriage. And long-term is an arbitrary word. I am talking about my personal experience. I am talking about any couple who has gone over the initial crazy stage, left most of the guesswork behind and enjoys different kind of intimacy.<br />
I guess that's what marriage is about. Learning how to stay individual and learning how to stay a couple. Enjoying being individual because you know that you're a couple.<br />
(Also, I got bored with life and I cut my hair).<br />
So, there.pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-51254125208149972202015-02-01T23:12:00.000-08:002015-02-01T23:12:09.371-08:00Life Taking OverAll the sudden, I have tons of writing to do.<br />
First, this blog. Second, my psychology blog. Third, pretty cool motivation web site that I hope will adopt me.<br />
And I opened my fb page. And I have to put stuff up on it daily. Now I am thinking logo, no logo? Ways to improve?<br />
So of course I have no inspiration to write anything personal.<br />
I am wondering if I started this whole thing just to trick myself into thinking that I am doing something.<br />
Planning conference, translating articles, giving lectures...thinking of a syllabus.<br />
Meanwhile, next week I am turning 30. I am turning 30 and reaching some milestone, or that's what I am told.<br />
But after all, time is arbitrary, age is arbitrary and who said that we have to have something solid by 30?<br />
Who said we have to have a career, kids, house, car, pet? What if I prefer starting from scratch, travelling, having fun?<br />
What if I'd rather write about psychology and provide Georgian subtitles for famous experiments?<br />
What if I just do what I like?<br />
I think my biggest problem is that I am always looking for outside approval, feedback, acknowledgement.<br />
I think that my biggest problems is false sense of entitlement that successful students get. You think you will graduate and real life will praise you for your efforts, just as those hippy teachers did in the college.<br />
So for now I will do what I do best - get busy, give talks, write posts. And hopefully it will bring some results.<br />
Otherwise, I am just wasting my time.<br />
<br />pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-45907714028452346592015-01-20T04:58:00.003-08:002015-01-20T05:04:08.023-08:00Grieving for Gyumri<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa8Sq2AtCIw8xFJkhYqlGIW5jzNSLxvZMfkPnRWGapQs8TZQG_QotooR8Yxu_r6LaSLYALE0pNqAqgOPyKHk8-_HXoSNN1NoB4CVZG2BHL1chMNUdS1Rz3YQL8PLUgdELQ5v8h4HwI2LQ/s1600/armenia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa8Sq2AtCIw8xFJkhYqlGIW5jzNSLxvZMfkPnRWGapQs8TZQG_QotooR8Yxu_r6LaSLYALE0pNqAqgOPyKHk8-_HXoSNN1NoB4CVZG2BHL1chMNUdS1Rz3YQL8PLUgdELQ5v8h4HwI2LQ/s1600/armenia.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first time I went to Armenia, we undertook a journey <span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">full of fun and unexpected adventures. We
toured bars in Yerevan, I almost burned down our host’s neighbors (via Chinese
lantern), we got lost and ended up at Azeri-Armenian border with machine guns
pointing at us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">We drove through
snowy Alpine zones, eating carrots bought from local Molokan village, we
listened to Tsoi and read names of towns that did not exist: Leninakan,
Kirovakan…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">And somewhere on
our way back, we stopped at Gyumri. After obtaining interesting directions from
the locals (so if you are looking for the fish canyon, you go right, then left, then you flip the
car upside down and then go left; but the fish canyon you are looking for does
not exist), we drove by Russian army buildings and came upon fishing farm to
eat a fish dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">The fish canyon
works like this: you order a fish by kg-s, you take a table and they kill it
nearby (murdered my desire to eat it). It was interesting new experience for
us. The fish farm was located at foothills of old castle. Peaceful sunset was
disturbed only by hatchets beheading fishes of different kg constitution. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">After forcing
fresh fish down my throat, we hurried out of the town before it got dark- we
still had to find our way back home. As I have mentioned, that scenario did not
work out (apparently all road signs were abducted by the aliens) and that’s how
we ended up in a military zone. Needless to say, we quickly moved away from the
wrong border and continued our quest for the motherland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">Last week, a
horrible tragedy happened in the same Gyumri, quiet and little town, dusty
town, with streets growing silent after sunset. A Russian soldier escape from
the Russian army base, walked into one of the houses and killed a whole family;
only smallest member, an infant survived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">The soldier was
caught and is now detained at the army base.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">Armenia is in
uproar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">They demand to
bring this soldier to Armenian court; meanwhile, Russian side wants Russian
trial- the guy broke Russian law first, by deserting the army. Russian
officials do not make statements, do not apologize, just say general nonsense
like “the crime must be investigated”. Nobody addresses heartbroken, angry,
grieving people, who stage protest after protest, hoping for justice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">In addition, Russian
side made an official statement only on January 18, while events took place on January
12.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">I guess nobody
in Armenia believes that he will be tried justly if he leaves the country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">I don’t know how
the whole affair might end, who blames whom, what were the reasons, is Russian army in Gyumri beneficial or detrimental. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">The wounded baby died yesterday.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Sylfaen","serif";">P.S. self-portrait against gorgeous Armenian background</span></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-28198551070841417782015-01-12T01:02:00.003-08:002015-01-12T01:02:31.194-08:00Remembering 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubuVLLbtCDPuGjKmqzWKXSH2QchPjqU8Klu5zTicZ_7JEcEIfXly7HewJieAiEC7SMD746XgPRZqsgqDEkLpeHjrEarbNxFeBKRaEfrqkQzq7KJQpuFdSsUuvZo7fYoCQ9baEUk3TG4xF/s1600/wint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhubuVLLbtCDPuGjKmqzWKXSH2QchPjqU8Klu5zTicZ_7JEcEIfXly7HewJieAiEC7SMD746XgPRZqsgqDEkLpeHjrEarbNxFeBKRaEfrqkQzq7KJQpuFdSsUuvZo7fYoCQ9baEUk3TG4xF/s1600/wint.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometime around New Year I make a small summary of what
happened in my life. It helps me close the passing year and leave it all in the
past.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is an egotistical and self-indulgent thing to do and
thank you for joining in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thus, this 2014 year:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I had one In Vitro fertilization and two
artificial inseminations to no avail; next one on the horizon this spring<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->War in Ukraine happened and I still feel very
sympathetic towards Ukrainians and very angry towards Putin<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Sherlock 3 happened; it was fine and
magnificent, and we had Sherlock party
to celebrate it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I got cured of my Cumberbatchism; I don’t know,
maybe he’s just too popular for me now<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I started new job in an NGO working as a
disability expert<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I took part in TV show “What, When, Where” and
sat prettily without really contributing anything<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Orthan Pamuk visited Georgia and we stalked him
and obtained his autograph<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I started second job – am now counselling at the
clinic and welcoming anyone who wants to talk in a safe, confidential
environment<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I went to Lviv for training, gained many new
friends and toured such a nice, cute, little city<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Hubby surprised me with a trip to Cappadocia and
it was absolutely amazing; I felt like I was walking on moon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I generally went to lots of clubs and spent many
nights dancing till dawn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I directed and performed in Eve Ensler’s Vagina
Monologues<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I went to the damned and cursed Kazantip and it
proved to be lot more moral than I hoped it would be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I have finished the first step (it took 1.5
years) in my Gestalt therapy training<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I translated many, many documents<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->I conducted many, many trainings<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All in all, this year brought interesting career developments
(I am still trying to navigate in the unknown world of therapy market), it
contained a lot of reproductive interventions and when I was not working or
getting injected with reproductive shit, I was partying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sounds like I just graduated from college.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> The pic: Caucasus mountains in Imereti. The winter is coming.</o:p></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-1940533478407524942014-12-14T23:04:00.000-08:002014-12-14T23:04:06.792-08:00Digital Death of My Photography<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUaj7RGk1CfzO55P7-a0pjB25ZvVtwEvPY2O079ZFi1MsL7kwDWshSLIJEz5tFg0dc5hGGzIEohyphenhyphenGvgs0lXX3LCIfmAtQjKRC_LA4rLgtBS3HoXiX9sGC_5rxUaMYTv9wmZkmdmXHBiCr/s1600/picpic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUaj7RGk1CfzO55P7-a0pjB25ZvVtwEvPY2O079ZFi1MsL7kwDWshSLIJEz5tFg0dc5hGGzIEohyphenhyphenGvgs0lXX3LCIfmAtQjKRC_LA4rLgtBS3HoXiX9sGC_5rxUaMYTv9wmZkmdmXHBiCr/s1600/picpic.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Year ago, I took a photography course.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pretty famous cinematographer showed us camera tricks. We
walked around Old Tbilisi, armed with Soviet Zenit (Leica rip-off) and one film
roll (36 shots, sometimes stretched to 40). Zenit settings were manual only.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After great fretting about under-over exposure, when the
printed results were too bright or too dim, too lifeless or too cluttered, we
just had to live with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My teacher used to say: “a good photographer notices and
controls everything in the frame”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d get very excited when manual rolling button would move
freely – the film was done. I had to roll the film back into the carcass.
Sometimes I’d lock myself in the bathroom, lights off, to make sure that the
film is safe in its Kodak or Fuji tomb.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My teacher used to say: “you know that you are a good
photographer when you get three perfect pictures in row. Then you know, it was
not an accident”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The waiting period followed. Film had to be exposed. We’d
unscrew our Zenit’s lenses, point them to the exposed films and carefully
select frames. Lots of guesswork – green was red, it was hard to say if the
image was blurry, etc.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then…the final waiting…to see if real pictures matched
the guesswork. Sometimes they were better, sometimes they were disappointing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My teacher used to say: “a perfect picture does not need
retouching”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some pictures were salvageable. I’d sit down and carefully
crop the pictures with a paper knife, throwing away the garbage. Then I’d paste
the much smaller pictures on a cardboard.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With all this work, with all this effort, every picture was
revered. Every picture could become “the perfect picture”. I would never just
snap a photo. I would carefully examine many angles, positions, double-check
aperture and shutter speed. I would
carefully adjust the lens focus. And with each movement, I’d re-adjust.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My teacher used to say: “you have to consciously take many,
many pictures, before you become a good photographer”; he said: “these images of
a cactus do not qualify as homework!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
… Sometimes when I adjust focus on a projector lens for the
trainings, I remember how I used to adjust lens for every single frame and I
smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only skill I have left now is taking pictures from
different positions. Oh, I am not shy to stand right in front of you to take a
good shot. A good shot is worth your frustration.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I lost it all, the shutter speed, the exposure, the
depth, the aperture size. The appraisal of the composition.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I just took 700 (!) pictures of an event. Some of those
pictures turned out pretty good. Well, I do jump around and am bound to accidentally
capture something special. I have a very nice camera - so nice that when I try
to auto-correct exposure via Photoshop, no changes are necessary most of the
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It takes so much time to sort through 700 pictures and pick
several for the PR purposes. Because unfortunately I have still retained the
skill of assessing photos. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
11 years ago, my teacher told this boy from the other group
who joined us for photo-taking tour: “here, choose the one you like” and the
boy chose me. All the pics on my blog (with several exceptions) belong to me or
this boy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…I could never take three good pictures in a row. Now, I
doubt I can take even one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> P.S. I took this photo in Budapest. I actually like it.</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-76729324135450990172014-12-06T09:39:00.004-08:002014-12-06T09:50:09.589-08:00Roadside Georgia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTRfDiEMz1PbW7dM-7B3FRMoTT91cedlnUoHaoQKsvarZmCzXcf2K8mblKdQm5yHq9GDtfsCyfTK0p33-pR7CJPfzd1lFAyEljfbXGWmZH2wbDEVgXMEvzwFC57DcwtV2Dgmf9bnTAYLz/s1600/1240572_671135166283500_1443663447_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeTRfDiEMz1PbW7dM-7B3FRMoTT91cedlnUoHaoQKsvarZmCzXcf2K8mblKdQm5yHq9GDtfsCyfTK0p33-pR7CJPfzd1lFAyEljfbXGWmZH2wbDEVgXMEvzwFC57DcwtV2Dgmf9bnTAYLz/s1600/1240572_671135166283500_1443663447_n.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Georgia for me is a big chunk of land divided by a highway.
There’s stuff right of the highway and there’s stuff left of the highway. The
road itself starts in Tbilisi and either ends in Batumi (the long version) or in
Kakheti (the short version). My mental map of Georgia is this thin strip of
land on both sides of the road, bordered by the mountains. I’ve been living in
a two-dimensional Georgia.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite the fact that I have traveled all over Georgia –
tents, nice hotels, bad hotels, cities, villages, valleys- despite the fact
that Svaneti is the only region I have
not yet visited, despite the fact that for the last 4 years I always chose
positions that include working in the regions - I am still a tourist in my own
country.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Really, what is Georgia for me? Batumi in the summer and
Gudauri in the winter? Nice hiking area?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These people I see from the cars, these people I train, I sit
down for therapy, why do they wear different clothes, what do they all day? How
do they live? What do they do for fun?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you know what is the first place that I absolutely have
to visit, even if I have nothing to buy? Smart supermarkets. Thank god there is
one in Akhaltsikhe, in Gori, in Gonio. Smart supermarket is where I find
shelter, ATMs, tea, clean bathrooms. Where I know things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My comfort zone has extended to Kutaisi now. I can walk
around the center alone without getting lost and mostly understanding the
situation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spend so much time, so much time with people who discuss
Game of Thrones, Benedict Cumberbatch, the latest event at the Mtkvari club, did-you-see-that-video-of-a-kitty-on-9-gag,
and I start believing that this is what Georgia is, that everyone around me
watches kitty videos, that everyone misses Breaking Bad, that everyone has a FB
account. I am not surprised that some people don’t know English, but it doesn’t sound
right to me. I don’t mean perfect English, I mean not understanding computer
commands or “Friends” dialogue. I realize how incredibly snobby I sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I actually do go out there. I actually spend so much
work and vacation time outside Tbilisi. Yet, I don’t let the country in. I
leave, I lock up my thoughts and beliefs; I don’t try to fit in – I try not to
annoy. The only thing that I identify with is the nature. Those mountains on
both sides of the road. I feel like they are mine. Mountains and the Smart
supermarkets.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How did it happen that I am a tourist in my own country? It
had something to do with refusal to watch TV.
Something to do with declaring that I am better than all this. That I am "way too educated" and "way too liberal". And as we took the new shortcut around Kutaisi
last week, I felt like my point of
reference – the road – shifted. I caught myself thinking: I don’t even know
how long we need to ride to the horizon until we reach the border of Georgia. Is
it 2 hours, 3 hours? What’s out there? Azerbaijan, Russia? But then of course
the shortcut ended and we went back to familiar highway, this road I’ve been
riding several times a month now. Western Georgia-coffee at
Zestaponi-Rikoti twists and turns-Nazuki-Khashuri roundabout-Gori Smart-abandoned Berta
building-Jvari-Digomi-home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…I wish I had a village, I wish I was not born and raised
here, I wish I could connect, I could remember,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
how must it feel to wake up on the 2<sup>nd</sup> floor,
under 4-sided roof, walk to the balcony rail, shiver and hurry downstairs for
breakfast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cause I don’t know.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
P.S. Pic I took in Kakheti last year.</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-45931749712313376992014-11-02T03:11:00.001-08:002014-11-02T03:27:45.112-08:00Bar-hopping in Tbilisi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjan8BOLRm5taJxdfSLhZEI483YOg8wcnkATVMZ7kG5QzcuSf4fL4w4Zm9JLrvXTrjFClkWl_yryE1MkhqhDgIwSLsMIOvJlIgoSKtrRYrnQa45aqP_FXnT3L6PJDJInb69-jE-uLVgaQo_/s1600/absurd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjan8BOLRm5taJxdfSLhZEI483YOg8wcnkATVMZ7kG5QzcuSf4fL4w4Zm9JLrvXTrjFClkWl_yryE1MkhqhDgIwSLsMIOvJlIgoSKtrRYrnQa45aqP_FXnT3L6PJDJInb69-jE-uLVgaQo_/s1600/absurd.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to complain that there is nothing to do in Tbilisi on
a Friday night. That was era of endless-independent-film-watching.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked around the other day and discovered underground
Tbilisi expansion. We’re no Berlin or NY, but still, things happen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s Friday night and I have to choose between clubbing and
bar-hopping. And that makes me exited.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, if you decide to bar-hop in Georgia, let me share our
favorite route which includes some newly-formed, informal bars.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]--><a href="https://www.facebook.com/barwarszawatbilisi" target="_blank">Warshawa</a>
- a great place to start. It is located on the Freedom Square
(Pushkin’s 19). Menu includes 2 and 5
GEL drinks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
You can hang around outside
(people don’t smoke inside, yeah!), stay on a crowded first floor, or descend
to a historical basement with long tables and benches. Basement serves wine
only, so you’ll have to carry beer, drinks and food with you from the first
floor down some pretty uncomfortable steps. Also, basement has no cell phone service.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
Expect expats and young kids that
don’t mind standing or sitting in the street.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span>Walk toward old city hall, pass by the pretentious
Tabidze, walk up Leonidze and turn left (Machabeli 2). The place has
no sign, but you’ll see commotion outside. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/nowhere.arsad" target="_blank">Arsad,</a> located in the basement of
former Lebanise restaurant (now just in the basement of nothing), Arsad
(Nowhere in Georgian), used to be our favorite place to hang out about a year ago. Expect shaggy, strange-haired youth here. It
is also located in a historical basement and is usually pretty full on
weekends. I love two warm design solutions here – Portrait of Shevardnadze
that scared me to death last Halloween and writing on the bathroom mirror
“Beware, the Chamber of secrets has been opened again”. By the way, the
bathroom itself – yuck!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Walk back to Freedom Square, down the Rustaveli
Av. and discover “Reefer” (Rustaveli 28), another bar in the basement. Hipsters,
dreadlocks. Concerts. Friendly management.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Next stop – <a href="https://www.facebook.com/canudosbar" target="_blank">Canudos Ethnic Bar</a>. Walk down the
Rustaveli Av., until you reach McDonald’s, turn on Elbakidze, you’ll see a
Samaia Park with hipster/i-like-dreds/ I-will-wear-Che-T-shirts crowd. There was a time, when I absolutely loved
this bar, it was one of the first ones to welcome different-minded crowd, but it
is too mainstream for me now( I am aware of how pretentious that sounds) I like the option of hanging outside, since
bar is always crowded and you have to make your way through a unruly queue to
get a drink.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Walk back
to Rustaveli, approach Wendy’s and eat
something fatty. Or enter Smart and eat something fatty. The point is – after 4
bars you need to eat something fatty. <a href="http://pasumonok.blogspot.com/2014/07/safe-clubbing-rules.html" target="_blank">(See my safe clubbing post)</a>.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Continue walking on Rustaveli Av. and head left
before you reach the Opera House. Walk down Lagidze street and turn left.
Enter<a href="https://www.facebook.com/DiveTbilisi" target="_blank"> Dive bar</a> (Lagidze 12). The crowd here is mostly friendly expats and young
Georgians who have spent some time in Europe. It has two rooms, no floor and
very underground feel. However, I just don’t find it cozy. Maybe the crowd is
too young for me. Maybe the bar stand is too crowded. I don’t know.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Now, take Tabukashvili street until you reach
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100005758154809&fref=ts&ref=br_tf" target="_blank">Tubo Partybar</a> (Tabukashvili 14). I love this place. Blue walls, light fixtures
made of red pipes, Ukrainians who opened it up. Sometimes there’s a DJ. It’s
small, but not too many people know about it (they will now). Many expats from
the Post-soviet space. Hubby has tasted variety of distilled house alcohol with
no lethal results.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Keep walking on Tabukashvili, until you reach
the flower market on Kolmeureneoba. Here you climb the stairs to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Pirimze-Bar/1510123255867559" target="_blank">Pirimze</a>
(Atoneli 18) – There’s big policnica sing on the fisrt floor.. It is the quietest
of all bars, but at this point you need to relax. Interesting artwork on the
wall, crowd discussing Sundance
festival, old Singer sewing machines as a part of décor in an old, intelgentsia-styled
apartment…you get the picture. One of my
favorite places on the route. Take advantage of a clean bathroom. Get some
liquids. Check out the balcony.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Next, you walk to Orbeliani street into second Ukrainian –owned bar<a href="https://www.facebook.com/absurdbar" target="_blank">, Absurd.</a> It is located yet in another historic basement.
It used to be a New Art Café, the space is pretty big and the crowd…you will not
notice the crowd by this point. Barpeople are very friendly. They usually have
pretty cool electronic music till 12, when they have to turn the volume down
due to the neighbors. Used to be the only bar with no indoor smoking, but they had
to allow it - people used to smoke
outside and annoy the neighbors.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->10.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->If you’ve started at 10 p.m. and moved pretty
quickly, it’s probably 3-4 AM by now. But that’s OK because you have one last
cool stop: the<a href="https://www.facebook.com/DrunkOwlBar" target="_blank"> Drunk Owl</a> (Samghebro’s 21). It is the newest bar on the block
and pretty cool one. It has interesting décor (light fixtures made of bottles,
owls of different sizes and shapes).
Bar’s mission is to introduce interesting drinks- also makes a good
first stop, to appreciate pretty-colored cocktails before you are completely
drunk. It is located right opposite the newly-built monastery, on the left
right when you enter Abonotubani.</div>
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Happy drinking to you!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
P.S. the pic: I stole it from their FB page, Absurd barpeople with lots of beer.</div>
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P.S. I've linked all the bar names with their fb pages, for your convenience. Because I am cool like that.</div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-88357440030727534122014-10-19T11:50:00.003-07:002014-10-22T12:26:03.435-07:00Kill Your DarlingsThese last two weeks, I've been working for 12, 14 hours a day (not exaggerating), immersing in Gestalt therapy and trainings, thinking and feeling and crying and networking. And just now, I gave myself two-hour break and watched a film about Gingsberg and beginning of changes in US. And then I walked into FB and found out about killings, about a protest rally planned on Tuesday (when I am in Kutaisi, working), and anger took over.<br />
I'm mourning. I just don't know who I am mourning.<br />
And here's my "poem".<br />
<br />
There's change, there's process, there's relations.<br />
Phenomenology.<br />
What happens here and<br />
what happens now.<br />
Identity is a myth<br />
I am different,<br />
With you,<br />
With the cat,<br />
With a taxi driver.<br />
I was different today from yesterday from year before.<br />
And those who seek identity,<br />
Who resist changes and process and relations,<br />
Who define their own by opposing you,<br />
And me,<br />
And other faceless objects,<br />
That we've become.<br />
To them.<br />
They come and kill us,<br />
Because by killing they validate their selves,<br />
Because by killing they know that they live.<br />
<br />
We're blind. I'm blind. I'm walking blindfolded.<br />
Until one day, they kill so many,<br />
They kill so much,<br />
That I'll be dead too.<br />
Just walking.<br />
Just working.<br />
Just drinking pregnancy pills.<br />
All dead inside.<br />
<br />
Come, kill me too.<br />
Come, kill your darlings.pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-73291328444869136012014-10-04T12:30:00.000-07:002014-10-04T12:35:50.946-07:00Kvareli Luxury<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EW8L-miRnxMlfQKK7B-IL3jdcePJx7VqMzZPrm_PbvwMScMjPduBrXucYyk6lGfxHLd_YWV6S-jFhF-53qw30D1yXS8TTZoXuuVnC_5KsgoNlrGvA3l4osFWmFpEovuh05pZtjtbuAul/s1600/kvareli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EW8L-miRnxMlfQKK7B-IL3jdcePJx7VqMzZPrm_PbvwMScMjPduBrXucYyk6lGfxHLd_YWV6S-jFhF-53qw30D1yXS8TTZoXuuVnC_5KsgoNlrGvA3l4osFWmFpEovuh05pZtjtbuAul/s1600/kvareli.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I have done it all: I stayed in one of those overpriced,
trying-to-be-fancy, overlooking-a-pond hotels in Kakheti. I have to tell you,
if we don’t take into account that I can find equal or better accommodation for
that price in a very touristy place abroad, I am actually very happy with the
results. But let’s not be hasty, shall we? I hereby present you overview of the
overpriced Kvarreli area hotels – I’ve seen them all and tasted just one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Royal Batoni – granted, it looks very kitchy. It is shaped
like a freaking castle. If Vegas ever wanted a Georgian-themed hotel, well it’s
either this castle, or some cheap Svanetian tower copy. However, the entrails
of the castle are pleasant. It has carpets and Georgian motif (but not too
much), an infinity pool overlooking Ilia’s “lake”, pretty terrace and
picturesque views of the Duruji valley. Dream fall vacation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pros – We got the executive suite and it came with many
perks. 1 absolutely breathtaking views. Now, I was told that the other suite
had a better view- of the “lake”- but nothing beats fall-colored mountains. Lake-shmake
2. Huge bath in the middle of the room. Yep. It’s just huge, deep and just
stands in the middle of a large, open-space suite. Overlooking the pros#1. Since,
there was a group of us, we just sat there in our bathing suits, taking turns.
Imagine: people having fun, talking, drinking, and you’re with them, only in a
tub.3. Free bottle of wine from the hotel’s own winery. This is Kakheti. Hotel
has own wine cellar. Duh. 4. Shower room with a transparent wall. You could
pull the curtain. Or not. 5. Bright
colors. OK, I hate beige décor. It reminds me of Big’s first wife in “Sex and
the City”, who painted everything beige. Some hotels think it’s classy. Well, I
got a perfect, warm, Tuscany-like photo shoot against orange background. Beat
that, beige!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cons- Hubby said it: it looks like one person built the
hotel and the other runs it. Which is probably not the case. But how can you
have a huge bath in the middle of orange-room and Georgian-food-only menu in
the same hotel? Not only it is just Georgian food, it is boring Georgian food,
it ruins the whole fairy tale illusion. Who wants to drip overpriced khinkhali
just left of the infinity pool? They could at least make it a bit innovative,
reinvent Georgian cuisine, or include rare Georgian dishes, or have seasonal
menu, or something, or at least present it in a different way! Tasty – but limited.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, what else is in the Kvareli area?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Kvareli Lake Resort. Probably the best view of
all of them. “Lake” from one side, Alazani valley from the other. Terrible
food. OK design. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Lopota Lake Resort. Nice infrastructure. Several
types of restaurants, bars, pools. Comfortable. The view is worse than Royal
Batoni and Kvareli Lake Resort. Prices bite. Was innovative years ago, since it
was one of the first (if not the first) hotel that started this whole luxury
Kakheri trend. Very good for tourists, training, meetings. Self-sufficient
area.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Kvareli Eden. Awesome Mediterranean/Spanish
design. Specially-built, mind-blowing spa. Nothing like it in Georgia. Hence,
they charge extra for it. You can sit in a glass steam room and look into the
vineyard. You can get into a solid copper bath tub filled with wine! Endless spa
fun. Massages. Aromatherapy. View-not so much, but it is in the middle of the
vineyard. Some people prefer foliage to mountains. This is definitely where I
would go with my hubby. It is just very beautiful. But ouch, why do they charge
hotel guests more for the pool usage? Who does that?</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
Anyway, so these are your options,
should you have a weekend when you have spare money, but no time to travel
abroad, or if you just want to wander in pretty part of Kakheti, not
over-crowded by tourists, now is a perfect time to casually sit in a tub, look
at the leaves displaying gay pride, and make peace with yourself.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
p.s. the pic: view from my hotel window. Duruji valley</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
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<br />pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-79088713307123864702014-09-21T12:42:00.002-07:002014-09-21T12:45:22.862-07:00Melancholia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPp7PxLEGLJorS1OcVsI1y8Oa_kEMrPQMD28PlHZu5zwa-dg_aa48stqqdFJBtPEwqXKDzmjM2oZRAsqIKvJ8mPcVHYL-vxEbQo-TYk_h-dEG3mn1lBzyr9GzsoGpqv41i1f-P17RH9vIF/s1600/_DSC0389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPp7PxLEGLJorS1OcVsI1y8Oa_kEMrPQMD28PlHZu5zwa-dg_aa48stqqdFJBtPEwqXKDzmjM2oZRAsqIKvJ8mPcVHYL-vxEbQo-TYk_h-dEG3mn1lBzyr9GzsoGpqv41i1f-P17RH9vIF/s1600/_DSC0389.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
The ghost of the fall has swept across Tbilisi.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I start writing posts and then delete them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kazantip is over. We returned for another weekend, danced
our feet off, kidnapped pair of Russians and came back to our work. Since then, I have been trying to avoid fall.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve been walking with the Russians and going to parties.
We went to clubs. We drank wine. They drank wine. I don’t like alcohol. It
numbs me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have started
several posts, about futility of monogamy, about digital photography as the end
of my picture-taking, about killings, about 90ies back in fashion and in
spirit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Summer is another planet, wrote someone, summer is my
planet, even unbearable, hot summer,
it’s the time when the sea is salty, when the day is free.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...Sometimes I’m scared of this new job adventure, new house
adventure, and I guess this is why I keep postponing it, postponing posting the
prices on websites, postponing hiring designer, postponing long-term
commitments.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sitting in my office, alone, waiting for clients to
drop out of blue sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had 5 clients yesterday. Clinic clients. It is uneven. It
is unstable. I work good. I help people. I just started. I need time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...I want it all and I want it now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’re selling our apartment, you know the one with all-night
parties and bar stand and a cat and a hubby and plants on the windows that the
said hubby systematically murders while I’m away for trainings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mortgage slaves. That’s what will become of us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, I can always sell my body. I’ll probably be more successful then now,
when I’m selling my mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...This summer planet, it was so nice. It had Lviv in it and
new friends, it had Batumi with no rain (!), it had Kazantip , I miss the sea,
I need more sea, my tan is pealing. I look like a zombie. I did not get enough
sea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When was the last time I got enough sea?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...The thing is, this psychological counseling thing, it’s a
gamble. What if the market is not ready? What if I sit in this chair forever?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...Each day, I fear the winter. I keep thinking of cold weather
and mushy snow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each day, I fear the new day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
...The ghost of rain and yellow leaves.<br />
<br />
P.S. the pic: my happy summer planet - I took this pic at Kazantip</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S.S. I wrote this post a week ago but I had so much work to do that I just couldn't sit down and edit it.<br />
:-( I'm kinda over moping now :-)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-22625670779310656352014-08-26T05:19:00.000-07:002014-08-26T05:28:28.804-07:00Samarkhvo Kazantip - Anaklia 2014<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpN1eDjEPrYWn5-8sKxMJtGTq5o-RcdFIUtGWLTlJqweG-nVGyp3dFiAjQMewH7ts9OYmyS3Doh_Cl4U6tmy2QKP6jqYHLXSqONSdM2TAC5QMfCbftwiueAGeEX9vPlCa4NRLKu_ptBVZ/s1600/kazantippic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDpN1eDjEPrYWn5-8sKxMJtGTq5o-RcdFIUtGWLTlJqweG-nVGyp3dFiAjQMewH7ts9OYmyS3Doh_Cl4U6tmy2QKP6jqYHLXSqONSdM2TAC5QMfCbftwiueAGeEX9vPlCa4NRLKu_ptBVZ/s1600/kazantippic.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Never has my blog name felt so spot-on: my friend has been
stuck outside of the Former Democratic Republic of Kazantip for two days now;
he was promised Kazantip visa, to set up a condom stand. Once he got there,
with a box full of prophylactics, he got stranded in a tent city. “There is no
sex in Kazantip” is the official stance of this year’s republic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The president declared that he respects Georgian traditions.
This is the moment that I facepalm myself bloody, hide my Georgian passport and
pretend I am from Mars.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See, Kazantip turned out to be so much different than I expected.
I kept calling it a music festival, but it really is a separate country, with
its own rules (and I thought that was just a marketing trick). People honestly
believe in this idea. Hard to imagine, but citizens of Kazantip actually seek
peace, love, community, freedom, acceptance. They call it “happiness”. Imagine,
thousands come from collectivistic, harsh, rigid, post-soviet societies, they
flee from repression and “must do”’s. They save money all year to visit a place
where they can be not who they are, but who they want to be. Those are not
empty phrases. People start transforming into what they want to be, from head
to bottom, from crazy creative outfits, to friendly and loving attitude.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They do so responsibly. They actually read Kazantip
constitution. They do not fight, do not sexually assault and do not pee in the
street. None of them. But they expect infinite freedom beyond that. They seek happiness.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where is the happiness? - I keep hearing it from Kazantip citizens over
and over. Happiness has been sacrificed to “Georgian traditions”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happiness is not drugs, it’s not sex and it’s not cheap food;
people who say that Kazantip sunk due to shortage of the noted products, do not
know what Kazantip is. Happiness is wearing whatever you want, animal costumes,
Buddhist monk ensemble, polyester swimming suit or nothing; happiness is endless
dancing without being molested by local boys; happiness is sleeping on the beach,
on the pavement or on a bar stand without being approached by law enforcers; happiness
is talking with complete strangers without being grabbed and insulted; happiness
is wandering weary and possibly drunk at 6 a.m. without feeling gaze of judging
police.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, all of our Geo insecurities came to life, all of
them. Oh, a tourist, great, let’s make them pay 2 Lari per Khinkali! Oh, Slavic
girl, let’s grab her boobs instead of greeting her (this is not an exaggeration)!
God forbid people sit in the middle of the road (inside of the gated, no-car
zone)! Call the police! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The police. They are at every palm tree, behind every rock.
They are riding motorcycles, BMW-s, Mini Coopers, Fourwheelers, Segways, Golf
carts. They are blinking and yelling and just watching your every move. And
here you are looking for infinite freedom and ultimate happiness, collectively watching
sunset under enchanting music and tuning your heart to beats of a gong that are
calculated to sound precisely as the last rays reach the Former Democratic
Republic of Kazantip. And as you dance in trance, someone is asked not to sit
on a pavement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every year, for closing, Kazantip citizens write their
wishes on yellow balloons and send them to the sky.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is my wish: I wish for a miracle. I wish for Crimea to
go back to Ukraine, I wish for Kazantip to go back to Crimea and I wish for me,
a free citizen of my new country, to go back to Kazantip every year from now
on.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cause I want my share of happiness.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
p.s. Samarkhvo means fasting in Georgian;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
p.s.s. pic taken by my hubby. I took part in this fun Kigurumi parade. </div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-11185591468358362252014-08-10T09:41:00.001-07:002014-08-10T09:46:35.716-07:00Lost Lviv<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFln0YmMW6nXKHP6FGjIgmmAdRcW31-ieIVKViCLR4kf-XIn35vKbi2kc_sAiD5fimxw-QC-AmeYrqcJJgFGz0uCWQNe_pHOkJ8Mo7YG07nRLjqTp91eBTrDsI5XqwNjcu-9Pcyt_YAt0/s1600/_DSC1309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFln0YmMW6nXKHP6FGjIgmmAdRcW31-ieIVKViCLR4kf-XIn35vKbi2kc_sAiD5fimxw-QC-AmeYrqcJJgFGz0uCWQNe_pHOkJ8Mo7YG07nRLjqTp91eBTrDsI5XqwNjcu-9Pcyt_YAt0/s1600/_DSC1309.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t you hate it when you write something and it gets
deleted? Has your E-mail ever evaporated? Did you throw the comp out of your
window?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first Lviv post,
the one that I wrote with care, the one that I did not publish right away
because I wanted to re-read it, perfect it, is gone, gone, and now I have to
write it again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I confess my love for the second time?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first post started with the words “good morning, Lviv, do
you miss me, Lviv?” I was addressing the city, I was talking to the city, I was
talking to its colors, to its funny tourist cafes, I was talking to its
lightness and its miniature elegance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I talked to Lviv, I told Lviv, hey rememeber, how I rolled
my suitcase at 8 A.M. , to a bus stop behind the opera, spilled coffee on my new
Ukrainian shirt, ruining my grand entrance? How resistant I was to move away
from your streets for training? How I hated to leave training once I got
there?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wrote, dear Lviv, it was just the three of us, hubby, you
and me, walking around at night, away from the tourist zones, talking about
life, Lviv, about loathed work and dull existence. It was you Lviv, I wrote,
who listened to our dreams, me with my hostel and him with his bar, you listened
and grew quiet and your streets were hushed and peaceful.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, Lviv, I wrote, I miss the training, I miss the people, I
miss talking all night long. I wrote, Lviv, I tortured my body, I deprived it
of food and sleep, but I gave it Buddhism, video stories, jokes, flirt, I gave
it friends, I gave it global problems, debates, issues, I gave it new ideas, so
who cares about the shell of flesh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first blog post, so pathetic at times, full of
exclamations. I talked to Lviv, Lviv that is no longer close, no longer right
outside my window, not even half an hour away, not even in the same country.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lviv. Listen. Running like crazy to board the plane in
Istanbul. Three-day non-stop touristing. Souvenirs. Searching for pins. Surprise
hubby visit. Coffee that tired-rock-star waiter set on fire. The apothecary
museum. Strudels. Walking golden statue in the rain. Masoch café with chains
and bras. Flowery sheets in rented apartment. Singing “Suliko” in nationalistic
underground bar. Coolest country presentation. Tornado energizer. Friendly folks
with different accents. The stop-animation video our team produced. Funny punishments
for late trainees. Sessions that we lead. Sessions that we watched. Car on 6<sup>th</sup>
floor terrace café. Hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick. Constant
picture-taking. Curly hair and midnight talks. Walks in the forest. The crisp
sunset air and the Slavic church in an open field of grass. Talks. Smoking
sessions. More talks. Those silly games with bottles and cards. Posing. Philosophical
discussions. Gossip. Breezy trip on Bosporus. Airport. Hubby. Home. FB
requests.<br />
Listen, Lviv, I wrote. I miss you, Lviv, I wrote.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I miss you Lviv.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pathetic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Good thing I lost it. Repressing feelings of infinite freedom and
returning to normal life.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Good-bye, Lviv.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. the coffee with caramelized sugar set on fire in a coffee-mining cafe (I know, right!) in Lviv.</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-26016922556747227612014-07-20T11:57:00.001-07:002014-08-10T09:53:21.935-07:00Safe Clubbing Rules<div class="MsoNormal">
Second weekend in a row I’m greeting sunrise on Turtle lake,
after all-night clubbing. And second weekend in a row I feel nauseous all day
after. And I’m not even drinking alcohol.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what the f...?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dehydration, my friends. I get so caught up in dancing
trance that I forget to drink water and I don’t want to be bothered with
bathroom stops. However, several bottles of water could save my Saturdays.
Thus, I've compiled web sources and my own experience to share with you guys the ways of healthier and ultimately, more pleasant clubbing. Here's the wisdom:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Before you start drinking, eat fatty and sugary
foods. Carbs actually help with nausea. Also, have some salty foods – they remind you to drink water even if you forget to.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Energizers block your intoxication awareness. Party
regular vodka+red bull actually gets you much drunker than you think. Hence,
worse hangover. Pace yourself. Alternate between alcoholic and non-alcoholic
drinks. Have a fatty snack. Or just get prepared for a horrible morning.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Rule of thumb: if you mix substances, you will
feel like shit later. Some substances are more mixable, bla, bla, yes, that’s
true. However, generally, more you mix, worse you feel the next morning. That is
if you wake up. Some substance mixes are very dangerous. So do your research!
No high is worth dying for or even damaging liver, brain, etc. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span>If you are on some uppers – please stay
hydrated. People die from dehydration. Put on water alarm on your phone before, force water in your throat when you don’t feel thirsty, I don’t know,
ask your friends to give you liquids. Do something to combat "oh I can dance for days with no food or water" feeling.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Don’t go to sleep the moment you reach home. This
works wonders for me: have some breakfast. What should you eat when you
drag your un-cooperating legs home? What gets your energy levels up and
helps your muscles restore? Complex carbs and proteins. Good source of complex
carbs: potatoes, oatmeal, rye bread. As for the proteins, meat, fish, dairy,
eggs. If you have consumed alcohol, add some fatty foods. So, in nutshell: if
you fry some bacon or sausage, make an omelet and have a yogurt or cheese plus toast, you
will get everything. Add some orange juice and there’s additional portion of
vitamin C to help repair your immune system damage, caused by drinking,
inhaling cigarette smoke (directly or indirectly), overtaxing your muscles, and
depriving body of a night’s sleep. Also, broth restores sodium and banana –
potassium. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Replace lost fluids. Restore electrolytes – don’t
just drink water. In US they have sports drinks, in Geo – opt for Sprite. It is
caffeine- free. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
- - Buy food and drinks ahead of time! How often do you wake up with a headache and get to your nearest store shaking, wishing for miracle Borjomi (Nabeglavi, Mitardi, whatever)?<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - Try c</span>ontrast water therapy (O.K. I know that no one,
no one will do this after clubbing, but still, let me put it out there): 2
minutes hot water, 30 seconds cold water, repeat 4 times. Allow a minute of
moderate water between those 4 times. Smile – it’s for your own good.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->Please sleep. In a peaceful setting. Your sleep
will be irregular and light, so turn off the phone – you may not be able to
fall back asleep if disturbed. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
Wish you good and safe and pleasurable nights of dancing!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-61864487433744650022014-07-13T04:58:00.000-07:002014-07-13T05:38:39.939-07:00Tbilisi Tango Therapy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihiGGF_EVkNFFMJJQCwE5ZeJAmCoxVYk3webW5P_OWRu_uDmWslb2ra3AzJs1lHJI4o8O2JSNL5lp5n1xZWYM5t4AKpzQIDY2zbdwiHdNJVEvw5rndIZ2LKTAE0EtsgyUYiRnvo9sjy6_t/s1600/tango1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihiGGF_EVkNFFMJJQCwE5ZeJAmCoxVYk3webW5P_OWRu_uDmWslb2ra3AzJs1lHJI4o8O2JSNL5lp5n1xZWYM5t4AKpzQIDY2zbdwiHdNJVEvw5rndIZ2LKTAE0EtsgyUYiRnvo9sjy6_t/s1600/tango1.jpg" height="251" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t write about Shevardnadze’s death. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won’t write about Mayor’s elections.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This week I will write about something enticing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever considered many films and books telling a story
about a hero outsider? That archetype of a born-outside-of-the-realm saver, the
one who comes to a foreign world and helps natives find strength in their own
resources? Like Paul Muad’dib in Frank Herbet’s “Dune”, like that soldier guy
from the “Avatar”? Fremen’s term for Paul is Lisan al-Gaib (sci fi haters, bear
with me): the voice of the outer world.
Yes, on one hand, it has a colonial, white-men-will-save-the-world
aftertaste – because why can’t natives just save themselves- but on the other
hand, when you’re stuck in the same shit daily, the voice of the outer world is
what gets you out!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Got me out, in any
case.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tbilisi has a little tango society. All you have to do is
look them up on FB. Simple, right? No. Because why would I suspect it in
Tbilisi? Thus, just like in a classical sci-fi adventure, a voice of the outer
world, my Latvian therapist, who visits Georgia once in a blue moon (O.K. every
other month), looked for the tango-dancing folks and joined them. And of course,
despite his multiple stories about them, I still refused to believe that they
exist. Tbilisi tango. A little cognitive dissonance. Beautiful magical unicorn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But my best friend got interested and practically forced me
to accompany our therapist to his tango lesson.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You get out of a smelly taxi.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walk by the oft-visited TBC bank.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Glimpse towards road that leads to the despised Ministry of
Education.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Walk into Eldorado café.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chandeliers light up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Girls in pretty dresses and high heels are perched on the
wooden Vienna stools.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pair of strangers dance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chocolate flows in the right corner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as time passes by, slim, well-posed boys walk to the
group of girls, silently exchange looks, smiles, gestures, stand oppose each
other, hold hands, press faces together and start dancing…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Couples multiply. It gets harder to focus on a particular pair.
They are part of a bigger entity, they all do the same thing, they all do the different
thing. Some dance shy. Some dance strong. Some dance close. Some dance apart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A confection of white
lace and silk floats by and all I can think of is Rafaello dessert (I know,
consumerism has maimed me for life). The girl has such reserved, tender
passion, she keeps her eyes closed, she keeps her body away, save the temple
area on the face, the hands around the back and sometimes, only sometimes, a high-heeled
leg shoots up in the air, and sometimes it brushes against partner’s calves. Sometimes
she wants to step away, but her partner blocks her with his feet. Smiling, with
eyes closed, she dances in the free space that he lets her have, because, he is
the one that cannot close his eyes, he is the one that has to watch out for
other couples, choose direction, guess her wishes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I squirm uncomfortably upon this realization. “But what if a
girl does not want to sit around and wait to be picked? What if girls wants to
lead?”, I ask. I live in a world where girls are not allowed to choose and lead.
“They often learn the other part and partner up with each other”, casually answers
my therapist and I really, really want to see that. He is back at the table,
with his sickeningly good camera zoom, taking pics of the dancers. Then he walks
up to a covey of Georgian girls, looks lingeringly, until one of them accepts
his invitation, presses her face against his and they join the dancing current.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We leave after 3 hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walk through old streets with old wooden balconies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still can’t connect what I’ve seen with my city.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I go on living in it, as I keep on walking in its
streets, as things get mundane and tiresome, as I come up with all-night
dancing and 100 happy days projects (more on that later), trying to fight this
desperation, trying to cover up the emptiness, as I keep sacrificing sleep,
healthy eating, rest, self-esteem, I forget that good things, truly good things
exist in Tbilisi. I forget that I don’t always need to forge my own happiness,
that sometimes happiness just sits there, waiting to be discovered.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am plotting the next tango meeting.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. the pic: this pic is horrible. My camera phone sucks at capturing motion and I didn't want to post close-ups, since I haven't asked for permission to post these pics. But, this is the proof that the unicorn is real :-)</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-15769224619122051702014-06-30T01:10:00.002-07:002014-06-30T01:20:01.615-07:00Vagina Monologues in Tbilisi. Again.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhstWwxRaBtIhrOPfdvUvw8x1hFWSxdV4cWCVYUmihbUmOe80e8Lo0S-0Ef0yfew_5A0-u8aPQVVur4213mAaTJC_N2B1hRpJxJu9JxUKCVxD2JdIZTCprD3Md6X7wZMKUJXVCPGMBzNM/s1600/vagina.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnhstWwxRaBtIhrOPfdvUvw8x1hFWSxdV4cWCVYUmihbUmOe80e8Lo0S-0Ef0yfew_5A0-u8aPQVVur4213mAaTJC_N2B1hRpJxJu9JxUKCVxD2JdIZTCprD3Md6X7wZMKUJXVCPGMBzNM/s1600/vagina.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My vagina liked last year’s Vagina Monologues so much that
it begged to come back. And come back it did, a director vagina. An important
vagina.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My vagina sat with many other vaginas for 3 months and we
talked about…guess…vaginas. We talked about our monologues. We talked about
parts of our souls they touch. We wrote about the women we presented. We made
their stories our stories.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My vagina tried to direct. Honestly, it was more like giving
personal feedback. It’s not like my vagina ran around artistically, yelling at
the actors: “action, action!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we changed, so did our stories. Some vaginas lost love,
some gained confidence. Some vaginas grew stronger. Some vaginas fell into
darkness. Our monologues changed colors. Though in the end, our vaginas felt
accomplished. It was like vagina therapy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so it happened that my vagina went to a Vagina Workshop.
To discover own form and essence. After practicing
and practicing, my vagina finally talked about it in front of 200 people and it
was elating. It even tried to convey an orgasm on stage. My vagina was funny. People
laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My vagina also made a little speech in the beginning. My
vagina said, hey, women are killed in Georgia. Wheelchair-adapted swings are
taken down in Georgia. My vagina said, we need to hear these women in Georgia. My
vagina said, we need to hear them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Backstage, my vagina watched other vaginas talk, one by one,
and it was proud, my vagina was proud, it was my team, it was our team, we
dared and talked about vaginas when most do not dare and do not talk about vaginas.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one yelled and no one screamed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some felt uncomfortable. Sitting and listening to other
women’s vaginas. Some laughed nervously. Some felt connection. Some felt like
they knew these vaginas on stage – through work, through life, through their own
vaginas. Even if they did not have one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now it is over. My vagina believes that after performing
last year and performing and directing this year, it has talked its talk. My vagina
wants others to get involved. My vagina encourages you to participate next
year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then you can sit down and write your own vagina
monologue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like the one I am writing today. <a href="http://pasumonok.blogspot.com/2013/06/vagina-monologues.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Or this one. </a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In any case, come and listen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because we have to:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let our vaginas talk. Let our women speak. Let our inner,
hidden, repressed selves finally declare: Enough! No more violence!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. My Vagina Workshop scene</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. life is so hectic, I hardly find time to sit and
think. And if I don’t think, I don’t write. And if I don’t write…well, I loose
you guys.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s it. I promise to write in July. And thank you for
still checking my page out.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-66029824751007927342014-06-04T06:23:00.004-07:002014-06-04T09:06:43.575-07:00The Invisible Women : M<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
It’s been a while and I am sorry. You probably got tired of waiting for
me. I don’t blame you. I wonder if anyone is still left here...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">May 17<sup>th</sup> went by just like any regular day. Some
activists placed empty shoes on the “pogrom” site to honor the unseen, unheard
people. Fliers appeared all over the city and stairway by Tavisupleba subway
was painted in rainbow colors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">That day I arrived at the Pushkin square with my spare footwear to
discover a man collecting shoes in big, black bags. He told me that it
was all gay propaganda. “But I brought shoes”, I whimpered. “You can put them
down and I will collect them”, he answered very politely. He then complained
that he “was forced to” throw away shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Women were killed this spring, lots of women killed by angry men.
Anyone notice that? Oh yes, government was preoccupied fighting gay propaganda
(they demolished the rainbow stairs! Not painted over, demolished! I mean, the
level of paranoia!!) just as it is preoccupied with incarcerating pot smokers
at the moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I guess these several posts are my shoes. My attempt at “Dirty
Pretty Things” (Haven’t seen it? Download right now!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">There are women in my life, who are invisible. They are
strong and they are independent and many times I look at them in awe. I just
want you to know about them. This is the first story:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">M is smart, friendly, service-oriented. First time I walked into a
salon where she worked (little, ugly thing close to my house),
she talked to me, explained stuff about my nails, hair, eyebrows, took care of
my poor hands, walked me to the door and gave me her business card. As someone
stuck in a post-soviet-service<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">limbo, I was pleasantly surprised. She was not nice because she
worked in a high-class, expensive salon (it was yet
another neighborhood barber shop) , not because I was
someone important, but because that's how she usually talks to her clients.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her skills are excellent. She had worked in Israel for many years,
learning tricks of the industry, procuring better instruments, receiving better
training. She was happy and busy and independent until one day her son almost
boarded a bus that got blown to pieces in several minutes after the departure.
They came back to Geo and she started working close to her house (to check in on her
son).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Salon owner didn't treat M very well. He did not abuse her, nothing like that; he just did not value her. He had an exceptionally-trained nail
technician in his shabby salon and he did not care. He did not care about any of his female staff really. He was the boss who collected money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">M started saving funds, took a bank loan and eventually opened a
tiny nail salon next to him. All of her clients moved away with
her. There she sworks now, in a neat little room that used to be a
vegetable stand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She decorated it and remodeled it and even extended walls a bit.
Her salon has a tree in the middle. It was in the way and she did not want to
cut it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">M is very strong. M sits all day, cutting people’s nails, shaping
their eyebrows, she pays for the room, she pays for her life and she pays for
her son’s life. Sometimes she is sick, sometimes she is hungry - no time for lunch, though she
never complains (We just chat about it. How are you? Oh well, hungry); she has
never missed an appointment. Never. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She is always fun. Sometimes she tells
me her Israel stories. Some are funny, some are sad. How she got divorced.
How she loved. How she traveled. Other things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Time after time she gives me mini lectures on skin care. She never
judges me, no matter how horrible my nails look; doesn't reprimand me when
sometimes I bite the skin on my fingers (gross). She’s there, she’s always
there and she probably does not even know how much security and stability her
professional presence has given me over these, let’s see 3 years? 4 years? More?
She has watched me change 4 jobs now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I measure my month by how much time has passed since I last saw M.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I will always have M. Even when I move out of this place. I will
make special trips to her little room with a tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">M is invisible. M is not on TV. M does not attend rallies. M just
does her job, professionally, cheerfully, with dignity. M is proud of her job.
And I grow, I learn, I get inspired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">M is the first invisible woman I will tell you about. The first
shoe that I put down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-19964611554309785142014-05-15T21:52:00.001-07:002014-05-15T21:52:02.828-07:00The Day That God Died<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwOsDP27NIRNN7ZtYZtZEIdNqhI3VUIyTLgkt3XZ75ITRiupmI2z59hvUtiqZsxS3CLJ7a5OCZn13lf47jSdcaE6GGcp5bKpM1QYIUcKf1PPROEBKrTCTHkM1csU8fVDUx8REESNZAB8I/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbwOsDP27NIRNN7ZtYZtZEIdNqhI3VUIyTLgkt3XZ75ITRiupmI2z59hvUtiqZsxS3CLJ7a5OCZn13lf47jSdcaE6GGcp5bKpM1QYIUcKf1PPROEBKrTCTHkM1csU8fVDUx8REESNZAB8I/s1600/17.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
MAY 17 2014, I WOULD LIKE TO RE-POST AND REVISIT THE HORROR WE ALL HAVE EXPERIENCED LAST YEAR.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
First, I heard the roar. It sounded like thunder. It was increasing so rapidly, I wondered, what could it be. And then I saw one of my friends running frantically<span lang="GEO/KAT" style="font-family: Sylfaen;">. </span><span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"> I gestured “what?” and he yelled: “run, run, quickly, run!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">I ran. I took my aunt’s hand and ran towards the museum of arts (even before the rally, I decided that in case danger, I would take a shelter in some building; museum had security). All the other activists ran left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">And then… the mob, the river of people, running and yelling, literally flooding the freedom square, in minutes, in seconds, with sticks, with chairs, with hate and that sound, that horrible roar. It reminded me of a crazy antelope stampede scene from the <i>Lion King</i>. And they were ready to kill Mufasa, oh yes they were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">The museum security locked the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">It took all my courage not to break into sobs. I called my friend who was late and screamed for her to stay where she was. I couldn’t see what happened to other activists. I imagined that they climbed the <st1:city w:st="on">St. George’s</st1:city> pedestal and was about to join them when I saw pedestal people waving <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Georgia</st1:country-region></st1:place>’s old flag. I stopped. I shuddered. My friends would never wave that burgundy-colored symbol.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">Out of the window, I watched embassy people leaving in the buses. The late girl finally called and met me. We talked in English, cause had to walk through that mob to get to hubby’s brother’s car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">Fear left me then. Anger came. They did it, they ruined our peaceful rally! 10 000 of them were ready to squish the 50 of us under their feet, full of hate, full of anger. They would not allow us to stand in colorful t-shirts for 10 minutes in a silent rally commemorating all the victims of homophobia. They turned us into the victims of homophobia! They turned us into the victims of homophobia! Damn them! Damn them!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">After anger, fear returned. On my TV screen, I watched buses full of my friends attacked by uncontrollable mob. I watched them forcefully opening the door. I watched them climb on top of it. I remembered everyone who ran towards the buses, everyone who ran left. Can you imagine how they felt, squatting down to avoid bus windows, shaking, with no control, surrounded by mob, surrounded by angry clergy that tried to flip the bus?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">Thankfully, no one received serious injuries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">Now, I don’t feel anything. I am very tired. I am exhausted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;"> Now, there is nothing left to loose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">God died in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Georgia</st1:place></st1:country-region> today. His “servants” killed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">And now, they’re singing of his death in their gold-encrusted Sameba church.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ffeefc; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<span style="font-family: Sylfaen;">P.S. The pic source:<o:p></o:p></span><a href="http://liberali.ge/ge/liberali/articles/114836/" style="color: #888888; text-decoration: none;">http://liberali.ge/ge/liberali/articles/114836/</a></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-36264168868878205892014-04-30T09:35:00.000-07:002014-05-01T02:54:35.036-07:00Under the Chestnut Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6sn0OCg4Vf8ulSywVTgDPhQYP4QCXPd6kQGFk31QcTvQYJSjnNiyztRcuSIEz-JqJy3MhmM6v3X4Wuc9wx2r7KoVSP8EUNuI5tLyCJ5gyt41-VihjUluVfW0LxjhOVLTsM74CkANC42b/s1600/priest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6sn0OCg4Vf8ulSywVTgDPhQYP4QCXPd6kQGFk31QcTvQYJSjnNiyztRcuSIEz-JqJy3MhmM6v3X4Wuc9wx2r7KoVSP8EUNuI5tLyCJ5gyt41-VihjUluVfW0LxjhOVLTsM74CkANC42b/s1600/priest.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hubby and I wanted to open a bar and call it The Chestnut
Tree Café, inspired by George Orwell’s 1984. It had to have this feeling of
mock freedom in a totalitarian world – cameras by the entrance, Victory gin,
recording devices. Scary bathrooms. 1984 quotes on the walls. We thought it
would be funny.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I came back from a remote village in mountains today. I visited
a kindergarten there, a freshly renovated, clean and cute kindergarten. With young
and motivated teachers. But despite the new toys, new trainings, kindergarten
can't provide all the services it is supposed to. A kid goes to that kindergarten, just for 1 hour a day,
and no one knows what to do with this kid. He does not play like other kids, he
does not talk like other kids, he can't be managed like other kids.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My colleague went to another village to discover family with
several kids that have multiple disabilities. Epilepsy and blindness,
intellectual problems and immobility, you name it, these kids have it. She
saw one girl who has never left the bed in 11 years. Another one had puss
coming out of her eye. The third one spent most of her days locked out on the
balcony. These kids had conditions that could have been prevented but due to myriad
reasons, they were denied regular healthcare.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We spent some time talking about these cases. We felt responsibility
crush us. We had to undo years of damage. 2 of us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night I watched the most ridiculous discussion on TV.
Foaming, people were yelling that passing anti-discrimination bill will ensure homosexual
teachers raping pupils.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May 17<sup>th</sup> is coming and this time around, nothing
is happening. After 2 years of rallying, just silence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend and her family had to sit through a 2-hour rant
that declared their daughter and sister abnormal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After moving forward, we came back the full circle and are seriously
discussing (again!) whether gay relations should be allowed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Clergy walks in and out Parliament sessions as it pleases. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A young female lawyer talking about elementary, school-book
level democracy principles is hissed at by audience in the Georgian fucking
Parliament.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Georgian government gives away one of the oldest hospitals
in the city to the church that systematically destroys and deforms anything of
historical significance that falls into its greedy hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anti-discrimination law is chopped down, mutilated, raped
and killed. Debates are still raging over the corpse. Necrophils from all over the county try to
kick the cadaver just one last time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We won’t open a mock-totalitarism bar in a totalitarian
country. I don’t need a bar for that – I can just open the window.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.5pt; margin-bottom: 11.25pt; mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">Under the spreading chestnut tree I sold
you and you sold me:<br />
There lie they, and here lie we<br />
Under the spreading chestnut tree<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> P.S. the pic: clergy before walking out of the parliament. pic stolen from fb shares.</o:p></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-72580905722713619192014-04-19T16:13:00.004-07:002014-04-19T16:26:25.320-07:00Wicked Games<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9IH63R3sjBcFTK1xc1T6WEPwgt7knGHhSli7-6lrzZaHpsfVgoUdKtQc09DKIQ-RahxG_PFUPAcu-njwJK0tHQMZm0NYTtEGTB9PS1J3T85gaXBHaar1JNZZb0EM_ehKLtowyBAvzkLu/s1600/tie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD9IH63R3sjBcFTK1xc1T6WEPwgt7knGHhSli7-6lrzZaHpsfVgoUdKtQc09DKIQ-RahxG_PFUPAcu-njwJK0tHQMZm0NYTtEGTB9PS1J3T85gaXBHaar1JNZZb0EM_ehKLtowyBAvzkLu/s1600/tie.jpg" height="136" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While everyone is celebrating Easter, I am sitting by my
comp at 3 in the morning, feeling a bit heavy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The team just left. We were watching our game on TV and we
watched ourselves loose once more and I felt incompetent once more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started playing intellectual quiz game show thingy “What
When Where” accidentally. My hubby was an active player from school years and
since he was so involved I tagged along, supporting him and his team. The team soon
became part of our family. I was jokingly calling myself their groupie, following
them around, wagging my tail and just waiting for them to like me. One after
one, I befriended them all, and I think for 6 years now, some of hubby’s
original team members have become my closest friends. We shared food, room,
hey, 6 of us even shared couches and beds <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>
They silently stepped into my life and I –into theirs and we lived happily ever
after, until one genius (no joke here) received sky high score on GMAT and left
us for much better life at Stanford. And then… a vacant spot on the
team. თhey took me in.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a long, long time I felt redundant, like I was
occupying somebody else’s seat and I think I owe it to my captain who kept
emphasizing every game I played well, until sometime, I don’t even remember when,
last year maybe, I felt like I really am a member of this team that I have some
role in it, that sometimes I am useful. We played throughout the year, off TV,
we played well, we played badly, we played together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time after time I was asked for TV show casting, when I was
put with a group of other castees and we had to answer questions as a team,
while people observed us. Twice I went to casting last year and twice I acted unnatural
– too loud, too quiet, too pushy, too obnoxious, too shy. I never really wanted
it though. I just went along.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, I was called again. I had training that evening
and I debated long and hard, to go or not to go. The truth is, I did not really
want to play on TV. I did not value this game so much to miss my training for
it. But I went anyway. I like adventures.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I was closer to myself this time. I guessed some
questions. I answered some wrong ones. I was mostly silent but enthusiastic about
stuff I knew. And…I did not make it. But, since my hubby’s TV team (which is different
from our constant team) was temporarily missing one person, they let me play
just this once.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And this is when it happened. During rehearsals with my
hubby’s team. When I actually started participating. When this shit started
getting valuable. When I wanted to really play and not just sit and look pretty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We lost. We lost though we played well. Actually, they
played well. I sat and looked pretty. I looked pretty on purpose: I wanted to
be pretty and sexy and smart and to prove to the whole world that girls with
nice eyes and big boobs can be smart too. And I failed. Not that I was nervous –
I just went dumb. I went blank. I remember
enjoying the game and I wished it would never end, and I did not want us to win
quickly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But we lost and I keep wondering if the team would win with
their regular team member. If they would have been better had they been 6 instead
of 5 and an appendix. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also feel big regret. Had we won, I could have played one more
time in May. Maybe I could be more
daring the next time. Or not. I don’t know. I wanted to make my hubby proud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fuck, after 6 years of resisting, I finally let this game
get to me. And I feel pissed. Because now that my chance has escaped me, I want
it so bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. my bow tie: symbol of the game <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389246552920470964.post-51210588091516788582014-04-11T22:20:00.002-07:002014-10-22T13:09:31.183-07:00Bolnisian Cowboy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was struggling with major disappointment (more details in later posts). And on the top of that, I had to go to
Kutaisi for my new job, training some kids in disability issues. After leaving
late, we finally arrived at our hotel which looked like a baroque explosion. Seriously,
even extension cords had ornaments.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend and I decided to take a half an hour walk in the neighborhood.
It was getting late and we aimed for a short stroll. As we walked by a jazz
café, we forced ourselves to check it out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And here, in the middle of Kutaisi, we found American
country.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was surreal and it was weird. Some guy in the cowboy
outfit was playing guitar and harmonica and singing motherfucking country!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I don’t like country. I also don’t like Kutaisi. But
seeing combination of these two made me very happy. As I was contemplating whether
I should dance (old stereotypes die slow. I was afraid some Kutaisian boy would
interpret my dance as flirting), damn cowboy started singing Bowie’s Space
Oddity. I had to stand up in awe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love this song. I spent a wild, stoned weekend in Prague listening
to this song over and over again. I listened to it crazed by the fumes of
cannabis, alone with hubby in a foreign city, wondering from one medieval
street to another, trapped in a tin can, floating through the air. I listened
to it as we took off to the sky, I
listened despite all “turn off your electronic devices” warnings, I listened to
it as we left the ground and my fogged up mind came up with myriad of stars,
and man, here I was listening to it again, in Kutaisi, out of all the places.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I talked to the cowboy after the show. Turns out he is a
star of Georgian “Voice”. What do I know, I don’t watch TV. I think he was a
bit disappointed that I didn’t know who he was. He shamed me as a journalist. I
embarrassingly started explaining that I was no journalist that I wrote for my
fun and readers’ torture but how do you explain this whole stupid thing? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, he is a country singer. From Bolnisi. He likes
country because it is a matter of taste (when I asked him “why country” he
looked at me like really, are you really going to ask that?). He plays here and there; touring a whole
country isn’t option – no demand. He was on Georgian singing reality show.
That’s when he played “Space Oddity” (“I just did that for TV, as you can see,
that’s not my style at all”). Despite his American accent, he's never been to
the states. Nowhere further than Poland. He came to Kutaisi with this cute girl
with nice voice that sang with him. He is a Bolsnisian cowboy. He hasn’t shaved
forever. He’s on YouTube. We should be FB friends. I can get more info that
way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt like a pesky reporter. I was like, thank you, this is
fine, I really just have a personal blog. I am just writing impressions. I am sorry
for bothering you…could I name my post “Bolnisian cowboy?” sorry for being a weirdo. Sorry for not knowing who you are. Thank you for playing. Umm, yes, OK,
bye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I am back into my Luis XIV room, thinking of Shota
Adamashvili and cursing myself for not obtaining a wifi password to look him
up. I have no idea who I met and what he does, but I was so down this morning and he restored my faith in humanity.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
He played country in Kutaisi.</div>
pasumonokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289679656834388428noreply@blogger.com1