Has anyone seen this arcade video game called “Zoofari”? At first glance it looks like a shoot ‘em up game like “Area 51” (only in a more pastel color scheme). But instead of shooting aliens… it looks like you’re asked to shoot zoo animals.
It turns out the guns are actually “peanut shooters” and the object is to “feed the animals”.
Hmmm… they don’t look like peanut shooters to me.
Strange.
What is it about a scalding hot moist towel that can magically brighten your day when sitting on a terrible long flight? They are simply amazing! But, it’s always such a letdown 30 second later when they become ice cold and icky… but at least life was really good for those 30 seconds!
I can’t remember if I’ve talked about this previously… but it I have, I don’t care… this is a major problem that needs the world’s attention. Although I might sing the praises of living in Europe there is a volatile issue that perplexes me. European Shopping Carts!
For some reason, technological advancements in shopping cart designs have not made it worldwide. What design do you ask? Well, I will tell you: The concept of non-pivoting rear wheels.
American’s, DO NOT take your shopping carts for granted! Just imagine pushing a cart with four pivoting wheels… and now imagine needing to make a last minute turn down an aisle. It’s not going to be pretty… trust me. You will have zero control.
What I wouldn’t do for a couple of c-clamps right about now.
Beyond my desire to track their migration… I am fascinated by the possible impact The Beer Crate Guys have on an organizational level.
As previously mentioned, sometimes there is just one representative… sometimes there are 20. And the question at hand is this: in the Beer Crate Guy bylaws, how many does it take to have a coram?
Seriously, is there a set schedule in regards to observances? Are their mandatory days where all members must attend? And some days that are optional? Or are some Guys only expected to put in part-time hours? Part-time employment would make sense due to the world economic crisis.
Sometimes, when there are quite a few Guy in attendance, I have noticed that they have broken into two groups. What is the function of these groupings? Are there separate factions? Have The Beer Crate Guys fallen victim to partisanship?
Or are these smaller groups intended for small group sharing? Is it a safe place for these guys to share their fears and passions in a safe environment?
Or have some Beer Crate Guys achieved a higher level of degrees or experience points and are now venerated among the Beer Crate sitting communities, no longer expected to fraternize with those of lesser experience and commitment?
Or are they simply talking Red Rover strategy for their upcoming rumble?
Who know?
Today I thought I would introduce you to the phenomenon of “The Beer Crate Guys.” Every day, I’ve witness these fine gentlemen perched atop their beer crates outside one particular convenient store drinking beer directly out of two litter bottles.
It doesn’t matter what day of the week it is… or what the weather outside is like… dollar to doughnuts, the Beer Crate Guys will be rockin’ the beer crate.
At times, due to their dedication and sense of purpose, I think that this beer guzzling vigil is their job. In short, I have become completely fascinated with them. Some days there is only one… and some days there are 15 to 20… there in never a way of predicting the rhyme or reason of The Beer Crate Guys. Honestly, What I wouldn’t give for a trank gun and a case of satellite tracking collars so I can start studying their migration patterns.
Reference: Day 457: Seatbelt Safety in Belgrade
Shortly after posting “Day 457: Seatbelt Safety in Belgrade” something very interesting happened that I wanted to share.
Well, Serena, Grayson and I were driving around… it was a slightly rainy day and we had decided to venture out to see a movie. On our way we were cut off by this guy weaving through traffic. Literally, it was like the guy was in some sort of high speed chase. THEN, right after he weaved in front of two other people, he slammed his brakes on and turned on his hazard lights… stopping in the middle of the right hand lane. We quickly caught up to him. Serena looked. And honestly we’re not sure why he stopped. Maybe it was to take that pressing cell phone call… or maybe it was because he couldn’t see around the 2 year old child sitting on his lap helping him drive. Who know… but it was thoughtful of him to put his hazards on.
So… a couple weeks ago I was pulled over by Serbian Police for speeding. That’s was an interesting experience.
Reference - Day 445: Living Overseas Tip #3
Again, Kerry chimed in and made me realize that I can’t simple throw down a bold statement about Mexican cuisine in Europe without addressing what exactly happened. Well, to be honest. Nothing had happened… at least not yet. Sometimes I simply make things up… but don’t get me wrong, the notions are formed from reality. And for those of you who’ve read my review of Ikki Sushi can probably understand where I am coming from. Cuisine here isn’t exactly what it should seem
Case in point, on another one of our infamous date nights we ventured to a lovely restaurant called “Que Pasa”. I use the word lovely because I really liked the place. The food was good, the atmosphere was nice, the service was amazing… and they mixed a mean Margarita from scratch (no mix). But, truth be told… the Margarita was the only thing offered even remotely reminiscent to south of the boarder cuisine on their menu. In fact, it was pretty much a Serbian/Italian Fusion restaurant… which is actually the case for most restaurants in town… like the equally excellent yet ill-named restaurant: “The Orient Express”… which offered neither “Orient” cuisine, nor speedy service.
Reference: Day 435: Living Overseas Tip #2
My friend Kerry posed a very good question about my ill conceived game of risk. Who won? Oddly enough… it was the Australians.
Grayson and I have made quite the tradition our special guys nights: dinner at McDonald’s followed by a trip to Lilliput (an indoor bouncy castle place). Both our guys nights and Lilliput will eventually be subjects of later postings… but today, I want to focus on Grayson developing sense of humor… which frankly, is amazing to watch. He’s pretty darn funny and his timing is getting pretty good. Right now he is obsessed with “knock-knock jokes” and his favorite is the “interrupting cow knock-knock joke”.
This is normally how it goes:
Grayson: Knock-knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Grayson: Interrupting cow.
Me: Interrupting cow who?
Grayson: Moo… no wait… do it again.
Me: Who’s there?
Grayson: Interrupting cow?
Me: Interup—
Grayson: Moo!
Honestly, I kind of like the joke much better when he messes up the first time… because the look on his face is priceless when he forgets to moo. He looks like an actor who’s forgotten a line he knows he forgot to say.
Anyway, now the jokes I like to play on him is a bit more tortuous. I like to tell him the opposite of things.
Grayson: Dad will you read me a book.
Me: No.
And everything will do silent… and then I will crack a smile and he will start laughing. “Dad, you’re so silly.” And the best part is when he relives the joke with Serena. “Mom… mom… I asked dad to read me a book and he said ‘no’… but he was really just kidding. Daddy is silly.”
And I like to vary it up from time to time.
Me: Grayson, would you like something to drink?
Grayson: Yes, milk please.
Me: Here’s your orange juice.
Now… again… torturous… but his face is priceless. Normally he’ll say something like, “but dad I—“ and then he’ll notice the cup I’m holding out for him (the joke only works when it’s a clear cup)… now Grayson is pretty easy to read and I can always tell the first thing that pops in his head, “why is the orange juice white?” Then you can see the light bulb go on… and he just starts laughing.
So, point of the post (if there is one) is that the other day after our weekly trip to McDonalds, we arrive at Lilliput, I park the car, and Grayson asks “Are we at Lilliput?”
Me: No, I wanted to go to the hardware store.
Of course for about one second Grayson looks shell shocked… and then was like… “No… we’re at Lilliput”.
Me: Sure, we’re going to go to Lilliput after the hardware store unless you’re tired and then we can just go home after I window shop.”
Grayson: No dad… we’re at Lilliput… I know we are… there’s it is.
And he’s right… he’s finally looked out the window to confirm our location. But what really ticked me this time is how Grayson kept going on and on about my little joke.
Grayson: Oh, dad… you said we were going to a hardware store… but we’re at Lilliput. You almost tricked me… I believe that was a good joke.
Me: You really think it was a good joke?
Grayson: No, I believe it was a good joke.
I don’t know why, but he was pretty insistent about using the work “believe” and I kinda dig it.Not to get overly philosophical on everyone, although “think” and “believe” are synonyms they hold very different contexts. To “think” is more like, “Daddy, it could be a funny joke… and I think it is… but there simply isn’t enough data to support that conclusion.” But, to “believe” is much more absolute… to your core. Question: do you think God exists? Or do you believe in God? I guess in the end, Grayson taught me a valuable lesson in the power of words.
Anyway, I must admit one thing… I need to figure out a new joke before Grayson turns 16… or he’s going to be mighty disappointed when he finds an empty garage after I tell him I’m not buying him a car.
So… yeah… not every choice in life is a good one… trust me I know, I have made quite a few bad decisions in my life, but none quite as comical as this.
Serena and I try to go out about once a week for a date night. When we first arrived in Belgrade we were pretty religious about it. It was fun, frolicking hand in hand exploring the city and checking out various restaurants. I describe this tradition in past tense because, as you can imagine, we’re not venturing out quite as much as Serena’s pregnancy progresses.
But anyway, this is pretty much how a normal date night would run down: at some point during my work day, I would receive a text message from Serena with an address. After work, I would jump in a taxi, get yelled at by the driver for putting on my seatbelt, and eventually I would be dropped off at the appropriate address (more or less). Most of the time I wouldn’t really know where I was going and I would simply end up in close proximity to a small bar/café where Serena was waiting… and this bar/café would always be a couple doors down from some restaurant we’d heard about, where we would eventually go have dinner.
Well… this one night… we probably should have stayed at the bar. For on that faithful date night… we through it would be nice to have some sushi. (Please note this was well before Serena was pregnant).
Hey, I know that sushi isn’t for everyone… I know… but I really like sushi… and that night I had the worst sushi I had ever had in my entire life. Now, the comedy behind this outing was actually pointed out by Grayson. Who, apparently, thought it was very funny that his parents were going to an icky restaurant for dinner.
I guess I should clarify. The name of the restaurant was “Ikki Sushi”.
Luckily… food poising was not on the menu.
So... the magpies in Belgrade are scary huge and they have no fear. I have witnessed them taking on the neighborhood dumpster cats (which is a whole different problem for a different time)… and during most of these spectacular aerial assaults the magpies seem to be on the winning side.
Seriously, I’ve seen with my own eyes a dumpster cat fashion a white flag out of a garbage bag and a chopstick.
Now, beyond this, having zero experience with magpies, and I find the most frightening thing about them is the sound they make. I swear to God they sound just like the Sand People from Star Wars. Maybe I’m just hyper aware since Grayson is going through a Star Wars phase… but it freaks me out… whenever I hear a magpie it is quickly followed by my internal Obi Wan telling me to find shelter before they come back in greater numbers.
It’s chilling.
So... Grayson is really into the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Which is totally cool with me, because I dug them when I was a kid too... okay... I still dig ‘em, but don’t tell anyone.
But, I do have to say that my perspective is a bit different revisiting TMNT as an adult. I guess I am not as accepting of certain character choices.
Will someone please explain to me why Michelangelo has a California Surfer accent? Seriously! The Ninja Turtles grew up in the New York City sewer system. The rest of the Ninja Turtle have accents that fit the region... so is Michelangelo's problem? Was he part of some exchange program? Did Splinter drop him on his head too much when he was an Infant Mutant Ninja Turtle? I want answers!
The evolution of seatbelt and car seat safety is pretty amazing isn’t it? I don’t know about you guys... but I have no memory at all of sitting in a car seat... or a booster seat... nothing. But, I do remember laying across the front (bench-style) seat of my parents Chevy station wagon with my head on my mom’s lap as she drove home from the store. Did this make them bad parents? Not at all, I turned out okay... I only twitch from time to time... but this non-existent car-seat was normal when I was a kid.
Now? When we see an unrestrained kid in a moving vehicle we question the drives competency to parent. Oh, how times have changed... or not... being in Belgrade, where using a car-seat is not a social norm, let alone wearing a seatbelt for that matter, things can seem a bit strange... at least from an American perspective... but don’t worry folks... Grayson is still rockin’ the car seat... but I have noticed that I’ve been going a little native when it comes to my own seemingly engrained seatbelt habit... at least as a passenger in a taxi cab.
You see? For some reason taxi cab drives in Belgrade despise seatbelts. So much so, that most driver keep them tucked behind their seats... their backseats... seriously... they will fold their backseats forward, tuck their seatbelts behind, and then snap the seats back in place. Doing this makes it impossible for the backseat passenger to access the seatbelt at all. Why go to this much trouble? I haven’t the foggiest.
I have seen a taxi cab driver who had gone to the trouble of cut out his own seatbelt with a machete, retrieve the metal buckle piece and insert it into the latch, evidently to keep his car’s seatbelt warning from beeping.
I’ve had a friend, while sitting in the front passenger seat of a taxi get yelled at by the driver for putting on his seatbelt. Apparently, the driver was greatly offended by the action. To him, having a passenger put on a seatbelt was a great insult to his abilities as a driver.
But, a couple days ago... I was in a taxi and saw the greatest misuse of a seatbelt that I have ever witnessed. After giving the driver my destination and before he put the car in gear he started pulling at his seatbelt. Of course... this took me back. A taxi driver putting on his seatbelt? In Belgrade? This is a first... but, I am also aware that Belgrade is in the process of passing a new seatbelt law, so I was impressed that the taxi driver was taking it upon himself to take action now, rather than wait for the law to pass. Well, that is what I thought... until he tucked the buckle under his right leg rather than latching it in its proper place. Yes folks, my taxi driver was practicing how to dup the law... not adhere to it... I feel it is important to also point out that this guy was driving a manual transmission car. Sigh.
I don’t know if I’ve talked about this in a previous post and if I have, I don’t really care... because it’s just that awesome. Simply put, Serbia is just so darn kid friendly. How kid friendly? Even the gas stations here have playgrounds. Seriously! It’s a pretty common thing, especially the farther from downtown you get... but, that being said, there is a gas station with a playground not very far from home. Once you get out of Belgrade proper and start cruising down the highway, it would be abnormal to come across a gas station without a playground.
Now, I spent the better part of my childhood in the backseat of a 1970-something Chevy station wagon seeing a very large portion of our fine country (America)... but the idea of a playground at a gas station doesn’t seem to ring a bell. Frankly, the idea of a playground at a “rest stop” is equally as foreign. And if you think about it... a rest stop would be a wonderful place for a playground... but for some reason, at least in the south, rest stops seem to be sparsely populated with bathrooms, picnic tables, vending machines... and very poor lighting and none existent staff. But, that is just my perspective.
Imagine a rest stop with bathrooms, a gas station, a cafe or home-style restaurant, a convenient store, and a playground and you’re in Eastern Europe. And honestly, it’s that simple. It’s a one stop shop without having to pull completely off the highway, without the family arguing over which disgusting fast food no one wants to eat... or which gas station on the wrong side of the exit has gas one cent cheaper than the rest. Life is simply easier.
Now, I’m not going to be so bold as to say this model of rest stop doesn’t exist in the States, I’ve been to some... but they more resemble mini-malls with food courts than anything else... and I’ve even been to one with a Sunglass Hut and a Bank Branch... I’ve experienced the “Mall Rest Stop” a couple times drive on toll roads between Maryland and New York State. To me, there is nothing relaxing about a mall or a food court... and listen, I’m already paying your toll... I don’t need to exit through the gift shop.
Anyway, in closing, I will leave you with this: Some of these rest stops in Serbia even have hotels attached in case you need some serious rest. All of this just right off the highway... with plenty of lighting and friendly staff.
At least that’s how ThisIsTheLife.com (an English party website) describes Guča’s annual Trumpet Festival. But, I am probably not a good one to confirm or deny this very bold statement since I have not attended a single one of those other festivals… and based on ThisIsTheLife.com, I don’t need to. I’ve been to Guča.
Nestled cozily among the hills of western Serbia lives Guča. And please note, I purposely use the word “lives” because, although Guča is a village, it does not simply “lie”; Guča “lives”; at least for one week a year… five days actually. And over the course of the last 49 years… these five days alone… has made this small village of 2022 souls “legend-… wait for it… … -ary”.[ii]
Just how legendary? Well… let’s put it this way… during this annual five day Trumpet Festival the population of Guča grows by over 34,000%.[iii] That’s right… over 700,000 people descend on Guča every year. All for a brass band festival. And as a man[iv] who was once ridiculed by his peers for being a “Band Nerd”[v], I took great pleasure in attending such a festival honoring the very instrument[vi] I “dedicated”[vii] so many years of my life.
Guča simply embodies everything that I know and love about the band subculture[viii] in the United States. As a whole, it is one of the best kept secrets… because simply put: band people know how to party. Yet they allow themselves to hide beneath a shroud of misconception: Geek! Nerd! Loser! Band people simply shrug it off and keep on playing… because they know the truth.[ix]
But in Guča, they let the “truth” hang out like the tummy of an overweight Serbian on a hot day[x]… Until Guča, I had never experienced such a celebration of pride, skill, dedication, and the sheer drunken debauchery. And I have been to band camp! Although, to put it in perspective for my theatre friends, the “Der Regen” cast party slightly resembled my Guča experience, just image the cast party lasting five days… wait… I’m pretty sure it did. But, They Might Be Giants weren’tinvolved. Anyway, I digress.
I think one of the reasons why playing an instrument in the States is often times look down upon by the self-proclaimed “cool kids” is because of the refined nature of music there. I can really only think of four styles of trumpet playing embraced in the States (I could be wrong), but it seems that most trumpeters fall into one of the following categories: 1) the elegant orchestral/symphonic trumpeter; 2) the disciplined military trumpeter, most often found in marching bands; 3) the Bugler, who serves as the hallmark of the Kentucky Derby and Renaissance Festivals; and finally, 4) the improvisational jazz/big band trumpeter.
One could probably argue that jazz and big band, America’s true gift to the world of music, could be considered unbridled or undisciplined, but I would have to disagree. Although, jazz trumpeters are very passionate, jazz has rules, even improvisation theatre has rules… and even more importantly, jazz has its own set of scales[xi] and for that very reason, I cannot in good conscious compare anything we have in the States the equivalent of what I saw in Guča. And I am not alone.
When asked about his trip to Guča, Miles David replied, “I didn’t know you could play trumpet that way.” Jokingly I would ask Miles, “what way? Completely hammered? You’ve never blown a few after a late night at the Blue Note?” But seriously, I completely understand what he is talking about. In the States, music always seems to be such a performance. As an audience member you are expected to sit quietly, listen, and appreciate… big band is probably the closest we have to a genre where the audience is encouraged to interact by dancing, but the band itself is always placed on some stage away from the audience and hiding behind their music stands.
In the Balkans, these instruments are used in such a different way. The music here is all about celebrating… not for the people, but with the people. The music is a true experience. These small brass bands, which are the foundation of Balkan folk music, are a fixture at weddings, births, baptism, and other religious celebrations. As many of your know, we awoke on the morning of Orthodox Easter to one of these brass bands strolling around our neighborhood proclaiming the good news in their own unique Balkan style[xii]. And, I have heard that there is a brass band that hangs outside Belgrade’s largest birthing hospital and plays for the babies and parents as they are discharged from the hospitals and heading home. I guess the best way to describe the energy would be like a drum circle, only with brass instruments. And when all of these bands come together once a year in Guča to compete, the sounds and feel is truly remarkable that it can only be described as “Gučtastic”. [xiii]
I arrived on the final day of the festival, Sunday, just before lunchtime. Things were definitely going on, but it was obvious that the record crowd from the night before had either thinned out or tucked away on the camp grounds sleeping it off. It was the perfect time to explore. The first thing I discovered about Guča is that the festival never really stops at the end of each day. People might pass out, but for the most part things keep on rockin’. So, even though it was pretty quiet when I got off the bus, the venders were up and running… and let me tell you… the venders were plentiful. As I crossed the bridge that connects the main festival arena to the main streets of the village I saw a sea of venders of every shape and size. An endless sea. And before reaching the end of the bridge I noticed the “Guča air freshener” vender. I was like, “What? My car can smell like Guča year around? Stale beer, Roasted Lamb, and Split Valve Droppings? I must have it!”[xiv]
Beyond the air fresheners, the venders were very diverse. You could pretty much buy anything there… but T-shirts of course dominated the festival. Not just “Guča, been there, done that, woke up in a gutter” t-shirts… but some of the most beautiful foul t-shirts you have ever seen… if you can read Serbian. To cut to the chase, most of the shirts featured the Serbian “F” word… and in homage to the Nationalistic ideals of the region, most suggested that you “F” anything or any place in the world that doesn’t have “Guča”.[xv]
But for me, the amateur foodie and wannabe grill master that I am, the meat and beer was the ultimate draw of the festival. I had heard stories about it… and some friends who had gone on previous days tried to warn me… but nothing could prepare me. Standing on the before mentioned bridge I was overcome by one of the most beautiful sight I have ever seen… a fire pit contraption which held four automatically routing spits. Each spit holding a whole pig, lamb, or goat. And about ten feet away from that vender… was another vender with the same contraption… with another similar vender another ten feet away… it was a landscape a grilled meat. My knees trembled… I lost my balance… I fell to the ground weeping… and then I ate. And it was wonderful.[xvi]
And of course, when you are eating that much meat you need at least one or seven cold beers… but it doesn’t really matter because a pint ran somewhere around 120 Dinars, which is just under $2.00… for the most part it is cheaper to drink beer than water here.[xvii]
Finally, there was the music… the crowning jewel of the festival. I was so caught up in the Guča vibe that I neglected to attend the actual competition. You see, each of the food venders had pretty substantial seating areas with waiters and tables… and the brass bands that had been eliminated during the previous days of the competition were making the rounds. Rather than behaving like sore losers, packing up their instruments and going home, they stayed and became one with the streets and café’s of Guča. The streets were alive. You could simply move from café to café all day being one with the food, beverage, and music. But you don’t just sit and listen in Guča… you dance… you dance with the band as they play! Honestly… it is all very hard to explain… but I would go again in a heartbeat.[xviii]
[i] Guca Trumpet Festival: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gu%C4%8Da_trumpet_festival
[ii] If you don’t understand my reference you need to watch more CBS… “How I Met Your Mother” to be exact.
[iii] I’m not sure if my math is correct or not… and I don’t really care… I have a freakin’ degree in theatre… so if the percentage is wrong… accept it as a storytelling device and move on with your life…
[iv] Man: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man: I wanted to footnote a very random website for “man”… but when the Wikipedia page popped up… I knew I couldn’t do better.
[v] Band Nerd: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Band_nerd
[vi] Trumpet (UrbanDictionary.com): The funkiest, most coolest, most jazziest, most mellowist, most brightest, most classicalist instrument ever made. Gods version of social Darwinism is who he decides should play the trumpet. Use in a conversation:
Person 1: You play the trumpet?
Person 2: Yes.
Person 1: You are my new God.
[vii] When reruns of “Silver Spoons” or “M*A*S*H” or anything else interesting weren’t on… okay, when my television was broken.
[viii] I can’t even begin to describe this: http://drumcorpswiki.com/Fantasy_Drum_Corps
[ix] The trust: Trumpet players make better kissers.
[x] On hot days in Serbia, it is not uncommon for very overweight men to roll their shirts up over there belly’s and walk around… in public. At Guca, this practice was common for folks of all shapes and sizes.
[xii] SchutzHappens April Video: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/video/video.php?v=105491854716
[xiii] JP desperately wants to coin a word that gets into Webster! Start using it!
[xiv] I bought three! Can you say “stocking stuffer”?
[xv] This is of course where I found the perfect t-shirt for Costello.
[xvi] Serbia is not a smart place to come if you are a vegetarian
[xvii] Special Note: Beer in Serbia is also sold in two liter bottles… which is awesome!
[xviii] Coming soon: this month’s SchutzHappens video, which documents JP’s trip to Guca
