tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49100928059924221162024-03-02T02:07:50.481+01:00Sasja's dnevnikAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.comBlogger719125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-55888891202108161842014-03-19T22:06:00.002+01:002014-03-19T22:06:55.792+01:00Business as usual<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9qcD-DQW01LY-WOmtxSmNclFijwLSgIIyc6ClcSSraANtRpBx4R7q6nCCl9wjeq06rQRUD4dIq59diSVz9OsKak6Hk1aY3ZYYDheRNWJp7mFhz6qB7XbaP31fjmoFCh0OrbuSmlurkZxQ/s1600/UkrPassport.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/AVvXsEh9qcD-DQW01LY-WOmtxSmNclFijwLSgIIyc6ClcSSraANtRpBx4R7q6nCCl9wjeq06rQRUD4dIq59diSVz9OsKak6Hk1aY3ZYYDheRNWJp7mFhz6qB7XbaP31fjmoFCh0OrbuSmlurkZxQ/s1600/UkrPassport.jpg" height="200" width="188" /></a></div>
Today I went to the Ukrainian consulate in The Hague. I went to register my daughter as a citizen of Ukraine. I also wanted her registered in my passport so that we can travel together without anyone suspecting I kidnapped her.<br />
<br />
With the current situation in Ukraine I was prepared to see people being reserved, polite and quiet. I expected the atmosphere to be a bit chilly. Which would be fine given such state of affairs. I was wrong. It was all business as usual at the consulate. People spoke different languages, chatted and made jokes.<br />
<br />
A woman came in. She spoke Russian with a slight accent that I’d associate with Tatars or Chechens, but her family name was Russian. Well, you never know.<br />
“I applied for the Ukrainian passport a month ago, is it ready yet?” – She asked in Russian.<br />
<i>“What’s your name?”</i> – The consul asked in Ukrainian.<i> “We don’t have it here yet.”</i><br />
“I am from Crimea, what passport do I need now Russian or Ukrainian?” – She asked all of a sudden.<br />
The consul switched to Russian: <i>“We only have Ukrainian passports under our jurisdiction. Your passport is ready, but did not reach us yet. Maybe it will come with the next post batch.”</i><br />
“But the post doesn’t work now!” – The woman exclaimed.<br />
<i>“Don’t worry, we are talking about diplomatic post. That works. We will give you a call as soon as we receive your passport.”</i> – He sounded very friendly and patient, something we are not used to from our officials.<br />
“Thank you.”<br />
<br />
The woman went away leaving me with a new casus on migration and citizenship law. Love those!
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-15516835125263148792014-01-05T23:20:00.002+01:002014-01-06T19:42:27.610+01:00Safe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“CrimeNL is a research project on what experiences people have with crime and how they view safety and danger in the Netherlands. Please be so kind to contribute to the research by filling out our questionnaire.” Of course I will! I will tell them how safe I feel in the Netherlands, how danger deteriorates as a notion and how really not dangerous it is here. My voice may be a lonely one, but it will be heard.<br />
<br />
“In the past 12 months was there an attempt to break into your home without anything being stolen?” <i>NO!</i> “In the past 12 months has anyone attacked or molested you by beating you up or punching you or by using a pistol, a knife, a piece of wood or something else?” <i>No of course not. What do they think - that it’s some kind of a Wild Wild West here?</i><br />
<br />
"Many people sometimes do things that are not allowed by law. We would like to know how often you’ve done anything like that in the past 12 months. […] stolen something with a value of €5 or more” - I don’t steal. “[…] damaged something like a phone booth, a window or something else” – are they even serious? Phone booths don’t even exist anymore. “[…] threatened somebody (in person, by phone, e-mail or such) to be able to steal from them or make them do something for you? […] a weapon? […] hard drugs?” – oh, come on! “[…] free riding on public transport” – eh. “[…] downloading illegal software, music or films” – well… So what?!<br />
<br />
“Please now think of the people with whom you’ve had a trustful relationship in the past 12 months. We would like to know how often they’ve done things that are illegal.” OK… “[…] downloading illegal software, music or films” – *swallows*. “[…] using soft drugs” – well, maybe not in the past 12 months, but… “[…] skipping work without a really good reason” – I hope they don’t, but then again: what’s a really good reason? “[…] drinking too much alcohol” – oops…<br />
<br />
In the first few months of school they made it very clear to us that not making your homework will eventually lead to misbehaving, then to stealing and thus you’ll end up in prison. They used some kind of doublethink to explain that and to us, a bunch of 7-year-olds, it sounded pretty convincing.
But what if it’s true? And if skipping homework leads to stealing, then where does all that illegal downloading lead?<br />
<br />
All of a sudden I pictured K threatening me by phone, B throwing stones into my windows, J1 putting a gun to my head and J2 smashing my cat with a piece of wood. And then they rob me of all my belongings. And I entrusted my house keys to one of the J’s.<br />
<br />
“Now we will ask some questions about how safe you feel in your own house.” …<br />
<br />
<br />
HaBanot Nechama - So far/Lihiot</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-36826253177200983342013-10-07T01:18:00.000+02:002013-10-07T01:25:41.992+02:00The good, the bad and the healthy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I’ll be honest with you – I do not do my best to be a better person. In fact, I hardly even try. But sometimes, even though very rarely and far from regularly, I get the urge to do something about my egocentric existence. Then I choose the laziest way possible – I resolve to buying “right” products, in particular food.
And see, that’s where the problems start.<br />
<br />
There are Fair Trade products. They are more expensive than regular alternatives because the producers (poor farmers in Third World countries) get a fair fee for their produce. Which is good. The Fair Trade logo doesn't mean the products were made using sustainable energy. The farmers are better off, but they still may be causing damage to the environment. That’s bad. They might also be using loads of pesticides. Not very healthy.<br />
<br />
Then there are products, usually foods, called ‘organic’. From my secondary school I can vaguely remember that inorganic compounds cannot be properly processed by the human digestive system. In other words, if it’s not organic it’s not edible, i.e. all foods are by definition organic. I might be wrong, school was a very long time ago. In Dutch they refer to these products as ‘biologisch’. It’s a complicated concept, but one of the features is that for plants no pesticides and for animals no aggressive medications are being used in the process. Very good. That means that farmers run a risk of losing part of their produce to diseases and parasites. It makes the price much higher and that is bad for the family budget. Besides, we all know that pesticides and medications also help prevent plants and animals from getting diseases that could be transmitted to people. Might be not so healthy.<br />
<br />
And then there are animal friendly products. That often means that these products were not tested on animals. Good. But wait, were they then tested on people? That’s closer to bad. Or weren't they tested at all? That might not be so healthy.
Yesterday we had lunch at <a href="http://www.bagelsbeans.nl/index.asp" target="_blank">Bagels&Beans</a>. I had an everything bagel with Prosciutto di Monastero, Parmiggiano Reggiano, pine nuts and arugula. There was a little green square next to Prosciutto di Monastero. According to the menu a green square means… animal friendly! <a href="http://www.bagelsbeans.nl/menu/EN/desktop/index.html?article=1&page=1" target="_blank">I am not kidding.</a><br />
<br />
I guess my attempts to be a better person are doomed to fail.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-19452065094163722102013-09-29T22:59:00.002+02:002013-09-29T23:08:18.611+02:00How to succeed with women<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couple of years ago I found this book on my boyfriend’s shelf. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/How-Succeed-Women-Louis/dp/0130950912">‘How to succeed with women’</a> the title said. Intrigued I read nearly half of the book right under the book shelf.
I learned a couple of things:<br />
- My boyfriend did not read it;<br />
- The vast majority of advice makes total sense;<br />
- Reading this kind of stuff reveals some things about men in general.<br />
<br />
I wanted to read the whole book, but had to put it off for a while because of the permanent lack of time and different priorities. But then I stumbled upon the <a href="http://www.rooshv.com/" target="_blank">blog of RooshV</a>. The author of the blog travels around the world trying to have (unpaid) sex with as many women as possible. Afterwards he makes practical travel guides for guys. Apparently the books sell well enough to help him keep on travelling. Before RooshV started producing his travel guides, he wrote a book called ‘Bang’. “Bang is a pickup textbook intended for men who weren't born with the natural ability to sleep with a lot of women. It contains simple but powerful techniques, moves, and lines that offer a direct line to casual sex.”<br />
<br />
I know, I know: there’s no one single recipe, no two women are the same and getting laid should not be a goal of any self-respecting man. Nonetheless, a lot of advice in these books makes perfect sense.
As a small example here’s an <a href="http://www.bangguides.com/game/bang/sample-pages/3.shtml">excerpt</a> from the Bang: “We don’t use direct game, where we walk up to a girl and tell her she is beautiful.” According to RooshV men shouldn't do this because that would increase the woman’s value relative to that of the approaching man. That wouldn't be my reasoning, but please, men, do as he says! It might sound counter-productive, but it ‘s true. It might signal that you are not really interested in her intellect and personality, that you are boring or that you are not prepared to make more effort. Whether you want quick sex or a long-lasting relationship – those are not the signals to send.<br />
<br />
If men took this seriously and internalised at least a little part of the recommendations life would be a lot more pleasant. So guys, whatever your aims and status, please do read your literature. It’s there for a reason. And if you happen to know of any female equivalents of those books, please do let me know.<br />
<br />
This is very beautiful: Soha - Mil pasos<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-15813934230843680502013-09-25T17:47:00.001+02:002013-09-25T17:47:12.987+02:00Poor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Netherlands is poor. The recession has hit us so hard, we couldn’t withstand it. And now we are all broke, poor beggars. Newspapers dedicate whole chapters to poverty and poor people. Second hand and thrift shops keep on popping up around the town. Food banks scream for help because they are not able to feed the ever-growing number of clients. Even big shops try to give tips on saving and doing things on a tight budget.<br />
<br />
I don’t know how the latest issue of <a href="http://www.ah.nl/samenwerking/wathandig" target="_blank">AH Wathandig</a> found its way to our kitchen table. I came down for a super late brunch today and saw it there. I never pick up this magazine at the supermarket because it contains literally nothing but advertising. I must have opened it on a wrong page, but the first thing I saw: “Nowadays I cut open the seemingly empty tubes of toothpaste and cream. I still get quite a lot of product out of them this way.” Dûh!<br />
<br />
Never mind, I turn a couple of pages. It’s time to budget-decorate the house. Take a large sheet of coloured cardboard; collects all kinds of (s)craps: dry tree leaves, postcards, cut-outs of cute cats and Bambies from magazines (in short: stuff that belongs in the dustbin); tape all that to the cardboard. For that you will only need to buy a set of three rolls of decorative tape for €2.59 and probably a large sheet of coloured cardboard. And maybe some foam to strengthen the cardboard. Ok maybe a cute postcard or two. Voilà! (Euh, why would you want to do this?) The magazine also gives tips on how to uselessly deploy the leftovers of the decorative tape.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://d18uw7g0wxki11.cloudfront.net/ckeditor_assets/pictures/602/content_jar1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://d18uw7g0wxki11.cloudfront.net/ckeditor_assets/pictures/602/content_jar1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://brightnest.com/posts/a-wild-storage-solution-mason-jar-animal-lids" target="_blank">Here's a how-to</a></td></tr>
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If you are poor, you don’t throw things away. You repurpose. Here’s how to repurpose old little toys once your kid stopped playing with them. Collect some glass jars with a lid; glue the toy to the lid; spray the lid and the toy with paint = done! You just need to buy some suitable glue (from €2.29). And a spray can of paint or several spray cans if you want your jars in different colours. Now all you have to do is to find some crap to keep in those jars. Of course you can always buy something.<br />
<br />
I think the recession did not hit us hard enough. There’s still room to go until we have no useless stuff around the house to repurpose and no money to buy supplies for useless ‘home decorations’. Then we’ll be closer to poor. We might also become much happier then.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-52882652076318315922013-09-17T15:31:00.000+02:002013-09-17T15:31:04.043+02:00No blood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
To our huge disappointment there was no blood. The mouse was not dead and not even slightly injured because the cat did not bite her at all. He only lightly touched her with his paw to encourage her to move if she spent too long a time in one corner. He played with her for hours and the most time was taken by waiting in this or that corner. Every once in a while the mouse felt caught and then she would stand on her back paws and look the cat straight in the eye. And that pussy of a cat would back up!<br />
<br />
We comforted ourselves with the notion that the mouse was afraid of the cat and that mice might leave our house just to avoid the horror of being chased by the cat around the house for hours. She was definitely more afraid of him than of us and let herself be caught in a glass and brought to the neighbouring street. Whoever got her now in their house must be delighted.<br />
<br />
Even though the cat let us do half of the work to let the mouse disappear, I still consider the operation quite successful and thinking of placing the cat food closer to the vent in the kitchen where more mice might come through.
Or should I let the mice be? Experience shows that when you teach your baby the names of different animals it’s very convenient to actually have these animals at hand.<br />
<br />
Maybe we should also get a fox: Ylvis - The Fox
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-77930492217179280112013-09-12T00:02:00.000+02:002013-09-12T00:05:38.261+02:00Predator<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The famous <a href="http://www.kittycams.uga.edu/research.html" target="_blank">National Geographic & University of Georgia Kitty Cams (Crittercam)Project</a> revealed that domestic free-roaming cats hunt and bring 23% of their prey home as a present for their owners. 28% is eaten and 49% is left to (die and) rot on the site.<br />
<br />
Up to yesterday my cat had brought home two birds (one of them to the baby room, isn't that sweet?) and one butterfly. If we apply the statistics that would mean that he had eaten 3.65 animals and left 6.39 bodies on the site. I saw him dismembering a dragon fly in the garden once. He didn't eat it.<br />
<br />
But that was up to yesterday. Yesterday he spent a few hours hunting a mouse indoors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LXKAFNU1AUcPyNr5AfMjQMSFCxAKzmS_pX1etGo2eEI3eiie4eypHehNsjNd3216h-nkI-xA-Guo6WLZdYgIGYbAGUEIud06bA9M9yrMhQcBd2oIsvkv6bihLAH4bMvdv2jO-cp63Fkl/s1600/IMG_1198%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LXKAFNU1AUcPyNr5AfMjQMSFCxAKzmS_pX1etGo2eEI3eiie4eypHehNsjNd3216h-nkI-xA-Guo6WLZdYgIGYbAGUEIud06bA9M9yrMhQcBd2oIsvkv6bihLAH4bMvdv2jO-cp63Fkl/s400/IMG_1198%5B1%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
I am not sure it adds to his number as this was not happening outside. I also have difficulty placing the outcome of this hunt within the three categories offered by the research. I suggest you make a quick guess in the poll at the right side of this blog.<br />
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Discovered yesterday: Susheela Raman - Maya<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-91736445339687373592013-09-06T01:10:00.001+02:002013-09-06T09:49:46.672+02:00Efficiency<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Do you think I might be exaggerating? </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-1726692728898175272013-09-03T01:41:00.000+02:002013-09-03T01:41:11.987+02:00Anti-hand-made<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Disclaimer: I think people who can create things – be it clothes, furniture, paper flowers or cast candlesticks - with their hands deserve all respect and admiration of the world. For their talent and for their skill.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday we went to the <a href="http://homemademarket.co.nl/" target="_blank">Home Made Market</a> here in The Hague. It’s a lively one-day market where you can buy all kinds of non-mass-produced things. We got a necklace to give as a present, a pair of earrings for me and trousers for our baby daughter. All girly stuff I know. Somehow there was not much to be had for men.<br />
<br />
Anyway. I’ve heard the words ‘hand-made’ nearly at every stand last Sunday. And here’s the thing: I am not surprised that sellers use the notion for their marketing so excessively often. Most people gifted with two right hands are not that original, they just copy each other. What does surprise me, is that other people buy it. As if ‘hand-made’ makes a product better by definition.<br />
<br />
Now let’s get two things straight:<br />
A) If you make clothes using a sewing machine, then your products are not much more hand-made than a random mass produced piece of apparel. This may come as a shock to you, but in big factories clothes parts are put together by real people (usually women) one piece at a time. Women behind sewing machines. They all use their hands for their work. Same goes for jewellery.<br />
<br />
B) In many cases (I would even argue – in most) using machines instead of your bare hands makes your product better, not worse.<br />
<br />
So please, stop giving me that ‘hand-made’ sh*t. Save time and money on marketing. Just make something original. I will buy it. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhue4yskFw4dZIZ3gN-T6Lj7sb1s3rd9j87QQP_uGkusnyTTFvzAzNKOsmNOhPTnHpvRAfVWfAgGaXRfhlM206L568tGqZyxAEg-uFPGKYFru7_Pa8YpHo6Qy0oQ7dcriUMuOMafhEDtZAK/s1600/girls+make+it+work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhue4yskFw4dZIZ3gN-T6Lj7sb1s3rd9j87QQP_uGkusnyTTFvzAzNKOsmNOhPTnHpvRAfVWfAgGaXRfhlM206L568tGqZyxAEg-uFPGKYFru7_Pa8YpHo6Qy0oQ7dcriUMuOMafhEDtZAK/s400/girls+make+it+work.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="http://markita.nl/girls-tee-girls-rock.html" target="_blank">This guy</a> didn’t say anything about hand-made. He didn’t say anything at all. I bought three pieces from him and will come back for more.<br />
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P.S. If I find the time, I'll photograph and show off my new earrings next time. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-36833788937065428522013-08-27T01:18:00.001+02:002013-08-27T01:18:16.799+02:00Different<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So, yes, in Soviet Union they knew how to mass produce: kitchen utensils, toys, clothes, furniture and even houses. You could live five time zones away from each other and still have the same apartment layout and bed linen. It’s not that everything was absolutely the same, but ‘Hey, I have exactly the same [whatever]’ was left unsaid at least half of the time.<br />
<br />
There used to be a lot of satire about that. It was a part of everyday reality. It could be frustrating, but it also forced people to be creative in order not to lose themselves in this mass produced mass. People went to Moscow, built strong ties with so-called speculators, spent long hours queuing in shops and crafted things. In that struggle to express your individuality, boy, you needed skills!<br />
<br />
Soviet Union doesn’t exist anymore. And many of us, myself included, have left what’s left of it. We moved westwards for different reasons, but one thing we all knew: there will be freedom and plenty of possibilities to have stuff you like. One can go to a shop and buy, without having to queue, things that they like that are different from that of their neighbours, friends and family.<br />
<br />
So here I am. When I visit people in their homes I usually see at least one piece of furniture that I can call by its IKEA name. Kitchen utensils – Brabantia, Koziol or Alessi – I can tell from a distance. If you live in the Netherlands, you own any amount of HEMA items that I will recognise immediately. And kids, wearing H&M, well…<br />
<br />
My daughter has a Fisher-Price toy that sings songs in Russian. I spotted the same toy, but singing in German, in Germany last week. And today I saw the very same toy at her kindergarten. So despite of all this consumerism with its huge choice, we still all wear, use and play with the same stuff. How ironic.<br />
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<br />
This is so old, it’s not even on Youtube:
“Вот в этом окне - оранжевый абажур. А вот в этом окне - оранжевый абажур. Но зато в этом окне! - оранжевый абажур. Тысяча окон - тысяча оранжевых абажуров. Люди, как абажуры, похожи друг на друга. Так считает министерство культуры. Так сичтают директора швейных фабрик. Тысяча человек - тысяча одинаковых штанов. А нет того, чтобы сшили одни, огромные-преогромные штаны, и уж надели бы их на всех! - директоров швейных фабрик! Вот тогда бы они поняли, что люди у нас разные, и вкусы у них - разные...”
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-55040091976005521062013-08-22T01:54:00.001+02:002013-08-22T01:54:11.210+02:00And the winner is…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It’s time to unravel the name of the <a href="http://sasjasdnevnik.blogspot.nl/2013/08/toy.html">mysterious Soviet stuffed animal</a>. Here’s what you guessed:<br />
- fox (mislead by the neon red colour);<br />
- cat;<br />
- mouse;<br />
- little bear with big ears (I told you it was NOT a bear);<br />
- ballet-dancing bear (still not a bear);<br />
- Richard Simmons;<br />
- wolf.<br />
<br />
None of these is correct, even though I liked the Richard Simmons guess. The winning ‘guess’ came from a former classmate of mine who did not have to guess because she probably had the very same toy. At that time of total deficit of everything many people owned same stuff be it furniture, clothes, toys or home appliances. This gave me an idea for my next blog post that I hope to write in a couple of days.<br />
<br />
A friend sent me this some time ago: Oliver Koletzki feat. Fran - Hypnotized
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/OAUx74-Ni50" width="400"></iframe><br />
<br />
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the name of the animal – it’s a raccoon! I will contact the winner about the prize.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-74988342987650119032013-08-16T02:51:00.000+02:002013-08-16T02:51:02.019+02:00Toy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One day when my mother came to pick me up from school, she was carrying a big bright stuffed toy in a plastic bag. Yay! In the tram on our way home we must have resembled the Bremen musicians: my mother, me on her lap, my toy on my lap.<br />
<br />
Once home we opened the plastic bag and saw a little white sheet of paper with product information. It contained all kinds of information including the price and what animal the toy was supposed to represent. And so from then on we referred to the toy by the name from the label. Somehow we never questioned that. Didn’t bother I guess.<br />
<br />
So here’s the toy. Can you tell which animal it is?
Place your guesses in the comments. The one who guesses right will receive an invitation to the yearly Sinterklaas party and get a set of Sinterklaas presents.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEV-3A0FNR0zd80A4u-7jOZbB3jCdO-tAP3CBvcusY7eydpCcWzW3ZpZEakO0iOcmkd2jXGfPamv0OYG_0LsePqOUxJyWbTYCL3-IUgETXB_8DSbMfYGvdydsvF9ToWgMvoGZR2AaVgYr/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzEV-3A0FNR0zd80A4u-7jOZbB3jCdO-tAP3CBvcusY7eydpCcWzW3ZpZEakO0iOcmkd2jXGfPamv0OYG_0LsePqOUxJyWbTYCL3-IUgETXB_8DSbMfYGvdydsvF9ToWgMvoGZR2AaVgYr/s400/photo(1).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
Round up on Tuesday, 20 August in the evening. Good luck!<br />
<br />
P.S. Hint: it’s not a bear.
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-51181381360166280302013-08-14T02:25:00.000+02:002013-09-03T01:45:20.090+02:00Brave New…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Alpha children wear grey. They work much harder than we do, because they're so frightfully clever. I'm really awfully glad I'm a Beta, because I don't work so hard. And then we are much better than the Gammas and Deltas. Gammas are stupid. They all wear green, and Delta children wear khaki. Oh no, I don't want to play with Delta children. And Epsilons are still worse. They're too stupid to be able to read or write. Besides they wear black, which is such a beastly colour. I'm so glad I'm a Beta."<br />
<br />
Well that is still to come in 2540. Despite all optimistic forecasts on life expectancy it is safe to assume that neither I nor you are going to live to see that happen. But don’t be upset, the present is almost as bright. The only difference is that children are not conditioned in their sleep. Instead they are subject to aggressive conditioning every waking minute of their lives starting from birth.<br />
<br />
This is how it goes:<br />
<table border="0" bordercolor="#FFFFFF" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background-color: white; width: 100%px;">
<tbody>
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<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2rFKr-xUf60wux5THbrm8NjY_uyVJKrNOJUVssC6ecwV5RM9LE5MJbn1BMzLRCBhTW34fr-bGdk6EJtuJqTWzKD-E6DW1fS6Vg2tgC9uHoUQbmW8m8Iylmlpnt59P4sMZjnUCxU2cFv3/s1600/little+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2rFKr-xUf60wux5THbrm8NjY_uyVJKrNOJUVssC6ecwV5RM9LE5MJbn1BMzLRCBhTW34fr-bGdk6EJtuJqTWzKD-E6DW1fS6Vg2tgC9uHoUQbmW8m8Iylmlpnt59P4sMZjnUCxU2cFv3/s200/little+girl.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am a little girl</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiOeILV9fsHK1Cg9vpo14qeC-F8YA1op9Z0n3x76Urss5CnzCpc9OQ_08zuz16FKxCAB1ZT7rjFwY1Z0ZQxncrDHRj5_I2PsDxU7I9bNOSQOWflPUUHJVhXgTaX-_bhmkZnjMb_HqJJSo/s1600/cute+and+sweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiOeILV9fsHK1Cg9vpo14qeC-F8YA1op9Z0n3x76Urss5CnzCpc9OQ_08zuz16FKxCAB1ZT7rjFwY1Z0ZQxncrDHRj5_I2PsDxU7I9bNOSQOWflPUUHJVhXgTaX-_bhmkZnjMb_HqJJSo/s200/cute+and+sweet.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
oh so cute and oh so sweet!</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcqDPwEu6jyuuUdnfFWZTJ1Y9uwpQZyAKgrfsECHXf4ocESfUo8Ml0D7YcjoAY5af7qvumzJVHFoaa8Pm2rsWVFzQ_ORRusBeEo25mpmsNzmWXThRFDszFN9AIQ4oT2RF3T0wm7MGU3O4g/s1600/sweet+icecream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcqDPwEu6jyuuUdnfFWZTJ1Y9uwpQZyAKgrfsECHXf4ocESfUo8Ml0D7YcjoAY5af7qvumzJVHFoaa8Pm2rsWVFzQ_ORRusBeEo25mpmsNzmWXThRFDszFN9AIQ4oT2RF3T0wm7MGU3O4g/s200/sweet+icecream.jpg" width="80" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7G6hFK5j7UeU6-I8ejV5y13bUIkwJhFhazuVg_MjSQZxJt-8yaM4egjyNi-B4_jUFGqPjv3nchBmrJve1W58OZRQBU5c6KV_CsQGSaKf8uPy8pbDgj2Xm-6ouwTbbllUOH2r2iog1a7b/s1600/sweet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As sweet as an icecream.</div>
</td>
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<tr>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEx0DLAflio4aR2SsyyPEsVQaYIe8ECNlRg0qVatiu_0ex0jR0QV1eF2zVem8Iv5DSLGcfceYWIMaE9T5wCjZXUXtdbYngsbRhF6oOs3BVjqo44HA22ETxLzB3aWktVoXNnFQL-ecMeNR/s1600/looks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEx0DLAflio4aR2SsyyPEsVQaYIe8ECNlRg0qVatiu_0ex0jR0QV1eF2zVem8Iv5DSLGcfceYWIMaE9T5wCjZXUXtdbYngsbRhF6oOs3BVjqo44HA22ETxLzB3aWktVoXNnFQL-ecMeNR/s200/looks.jpg" width="91" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In my world it's all about the looks.</div>
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<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ulNy6oyl6F1F5MzxkJQDTCazaRTwEx7ZucUMIOXAo9QhgpBO4HYQgIo5MzmeC9p8dhY7XfEZhJN9MkcafQhjifVHkPGRnhAfD-qT9ihfeQDu6PiYDNwsn83A_4wNhj3UK6TWz4PjzRZd/s1600/Glam+life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ulNy6oyl6F1F5MzxkJQDTCazaRTwEx7ZucUMIOXAo9QhgpBO4HYQgIo5MzmeC9p8dhY7XfEZhJN9MkcafQhjifVHkPGRnhAfD-qT9ihfeQDu6PiYDNwsn83A_4wNhj3UK6TWz4PjzRZd/s200/Glam+life.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I live a wild glam life</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDxGCnnU45_hKI9uMdUqXfaqhCX2cW9T1keVBkxeUJ0_GRmtDn5X-2N2llNt7H-iG2q1dnLSJgKpWO6wwP9iEOhoRxmPJZJNDyhtw6C94BBw19yAB_Q74gnP7k6vjd3qjYBiMjDjCm7w-/s1600/fiesta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDxGCnnU45_hKI9uMdUqXfaqhCX2cW9T1keVBkxeUJ0_GRmtDn5X-2N2llNt7H-iG2q1dnLSJgKpWO6wwP9iEOhoRxmPJZJNDyhtw6C94BBw19yAB_Q74gnP7k6vjd3qjYBiMjDjCm7w-/s200/fiesta.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of constant party and fiesta.</div>
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<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5qTp9wf8jalRvE64zi9sktSddsZpGZVUKLUUk6dhegYQyBzVK92mxwoI3SQxv6WM2m2mE6id6YqQC4ystrWyOfcDvD8s4PIbVYuIePpKDS6hcQpZwdezEiOASgcET23iepGONVzEuZEo/s1600/what+to+wear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5qTp9wf8jalRvE64zi9sktSddsZpGZVUKLUUk6dhegYQyBzVK92mxwoI3SQxv6WM2m2mE6id6YqQC4ystrWyOfcDvD8s4PIbVYuIePpKDS6hcQpZwdezEiOASgcET23iepGONVzEuZEo/s200/what+to+wear.jpg" width="98" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My primary everyday concern </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is what to wear. </div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFzfetIkIsObuuhxbj8anM0k1ip4dDf7WpGzHF6VAbbtnc9-vU4Y6i9biwX09690HlhiE1hc-nhLlIyEEECLbno1YB-P2VoTQJ7FjT-lVacESpKB17ULcYD2WUEZ1n06oE4vDsX0BeIQr/s1600/couture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzFzfetIkIsObuuhxbj8anM0k1ip4dDf7WpGzHF6VAbbtnc9-vU4Y6i9biwX09690HlhiE1hc-nhLlIyEEECLbno1YB-P2VoTQJ7FjT-lVacESpKB17ULcYD2WUEZ1n06oE4vDsX0BeIQr/s200/couture.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of course I go for couture</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NT2lm9fi-nzBB1MoYHvuwESDiFkkvYYOXSdEAQAqJa6Er6MFPaNQZzr_t5bu1LG_DceARxGgG4KdOL4ln34Ap-VHQIoPn5rSCGhUwt8cMPnm495G-1dLDC2fVxwYUnGgbzKvXFAkj57H/s1600/sparkling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NT2lm9fi-nzBB1MoYHvuwESDiFkkvYYOXSdEAQAqJa6Er6MFPaNQZzr_t5bu1LG_DceARxGgG4KdOL4ln34Ap-VHQIoPn5rSCGhUwt8cMPnm495G-1dLDC2fVxwYUnGgbzKvXFAkj57H/s200/sparkling.jpg" width="91" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and sparkling dancing shoes.</div>
</td>
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<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1fz6hPeagrYyVG9ORqI0KL2R_OgFTJNp_O_JWmkhGhKKoE0xMSsKEOz2JWH5lX2OusVFpFhy0-m1OKcoIexXo8NOnR6Lxou1JccpmiApRC_nVrGwFSAdOWNKaGoi5b9gqnI_bGlRVAlW/s1600/glam+presents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1fz6hPeagrYyVG9ORqI0KL2R_OgFTJNp_O_JWmkhGhKKoE0xMSsKEOz2JWH5lX2OusVFpFhy0-m1OKcoIexXo8NOnR6Lxou1JccpmiApRC_nVrGwFSAdOWNKaGoi5b9gqnI_bGlRVAlW/s200/glam+presents.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I get glamorous presents all the time.</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQAAkkWvDh9-VO9LoqrPilaYXJrOr_evQq-vlDsqux6T1ep1d2g4iGtn_PLjTKG6Ol1Q7i_CGmiXLDBMbfQvCXgPTFu3AjvDf5iJg-m3CTT-d-6xTPP9W-coqRHo37Itn5j3nxmpW1gK7/s1600/bake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQAAkkWvDh9-VO9LoqrPilaYXJrOr_evQq-vlDsqux6T1ep1d2g4iGtn_PLjTKG6Ol1Q7i_CGmiXLDBMbfQvCXgPTFu3AjvDf5iJg-m3CTT-d-6xTPP9W-coqRHo37Itn5j3nxmpW1gK7/s200/bake.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I can also bake tarts</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-cnJIn5Ll3uy3QoWgI5Jd-bjOig-HuerAOWla6DEpJq0M0N09_D55Btd0JGCNpgRVnmM0Y33lBCqXm13y9tPxxoaO3rKa4yV43ZSUheDfax2xKOExUL10OIgfthIKW_KNjhYBlCZZeVo/s1600/flower+garden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="95" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-cnJIn5Ll3uy3QoWgI5Jd-bjOig-HuerAOWla6DEpJq0M0N09_D55Btd0JGCNpgRVnmM0Y33lBCqXm13y9tPxxoaO3rKa4yV43ZSUheDfax2xKOExUL10OIgfthIKW_KNjhYBlCZZeVo/s200/flower+garden.jpg" width="95" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
and grow flowers.</div>
</td>
</tr>
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<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPgh9e-7ZnAMxdP5H5vdIwYAPB_MCyGUUWZMpH79bjnMuCP55El8X20HOzqALA5Xz0Wn-C_XmkRLoJWxr_RszijnkBQAZdwpK5HerDLgn0K189G8mByirMpydpcYLMO5SBafo3r1At5Pw/s1600/supergirl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPgh9e-7ZnAMxdP5H5vdIwYAPB_MCyGUUWZMpH79bjnMuCP55El8X20HOzqALA5Xz0Wn-C_XmkRLoJWxr_RszijnkBQAZdwpK5HerDLgn0K189G8mByirMpydpcYLMO5SBafo3r1At5Pw/s200/supergirl.jpg" width="91" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which makes me a supergirl.</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiuGE0F8-F_trf-mYy8FgfK4ZQXk57LHvJYtSAzeBtvF-ldCFCclkKNq4PbqfbG_eR2lyxVAft_zgB3b_PcedOXDn-wrLUCFmDCMzhjuNykicm_arjdjigsKW5xpIwQ0Ycl4rbFOOU8dga/s1600/sum+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiuGE0F8-F_trf-mYy8FgfK4ZQXk57LHvJYtSAzeBtvF-ldCFCclkKNq4PbqfbG_eR2lyxVAft_zgB3b_PcedOXDn-wrLUCFmDCMzhjuNykicm_arjdjigsKW5xpIwQ0Ycl4rbFOOU8dga/s200/sum+up.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Everything is my life can be described as chique, pretty, glamorous, couture - all things that make a girl happy.</div>
</td>
<td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWI6nmQqxE3b_u0cWV5A3fjqDwZuo8nwgkjqEvvGYBEcC_DrB9lalQU9DXIje90GCOePvku80qsWX4sJmCDxnjV7oQlZn7JJivJXT9Ve6v59l57z6-7oy32V_HFUQvFhQ-sHaqJMsxPstQ/s1600/kitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWI6nmQqxE3b_u0cWV5A3fjqDwZuo8nwgkjqEvvGYBEcC_DrB9lalQU9DXIje90GCOePvku80qsWX4sJmCDxnjV7oQlZn7JJivJXT9Ve6v59l57z6-7oy32V_HFUQvFhQ-sHaqJMsxPstQ/s200/kitten.jpg" width="105" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kittens are cute.</div>
</td>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ofQx6FhAQkA9P6tpfLqZtqoTCYRlGYOxLrCuu5JA5YPe3tDx2hQ3Q9vaAPbMPbzbb1O7tyQNYS4PDon81So7tny67waoHusoDuLFsj4y-hkeQB_oc9yXFAwPoOkdGjpK_VVO4DkK6Tyw/s1600/bambi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="102" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ofQx6FhAQkA9P6tpfLqZtqoTCYRlGYOxLrCuu5JA5YPe3tDx2hQ3Q9vaAPbMPbzbb1O7tyQNYS4PDon81So7tny67waoHusoDuLFsj4y-hkeQB_oc9yXFAwPoOkdGjpK_VVO4DkK6Tyw/s200/bambi.jpg" width="91" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So is Bambi.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KKTRWyjfnW_k22pSVkm4rNgJzihnCTdphj8xcumaWlCl06A8uErJkao0pYUGvOAp74jQd9RylXKj9hV0q_BBucvghZBUbEoGGVpau4WeI1VxabAnwVzIJpb0M6nVRIssaLgaoNUYOEZ_/s1600/lady+blabla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6KKTRWyjfnW_k22pSVkm4rNgJzihnCTdphj8xcumaWlCl06A8uErJkao0pYUGvOAp74jQd9RylXKj9hV0q_BBucvghZBUbEoGGVpau4WeI1VxabAnwVzIJpb0M6nVRIssaLgaoNUYOEZ_/s200/lady+blabla.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will grow up to be a lady blabla.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginVuG7qc6QYARPtyih-a5DV8YVrtcueMrAeTt7JVoLbggyCm5WETbYCEwST4mhoxCtQrH60DMvm1Q95tT7DaAcvCicupCzIU_B02wE3o7FbbUuVEmnPRF4W7mGv7DHgoP-4SnzyOKThYP/s1600/scull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginVuG7qc6QYARPtyih-a5DV8YVrtcueMrAeTt7JVoLbggyCm5WETbYCEwST4mhoxCtQrH60DMvm1Q95tT7DaAcvCicupCzIU_B02wE3o7FbbUuVEmnPRF4W7mGv7DHgoP-4SnzyOKThYP/s200/scull.jpg" width="91" /></a></div>
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Until I glamorously die.</div>
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<br />
<br />
Obviously, I don’t do driving, scuba diving or sailing. Don’t expect me to be an athlete or play ball games of any kind. I don’t like robots, dinosaurs and rock music. Supermen are for boys. Did we cover all the life topics?<br />
<br />
...<br />
I think I'm done shopping for my little daughter. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-87216301365341125282013-03-13T23:52:00.000+01:002013-03-13T23:52:10.169+01:00Calculus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some days ago I received a letter from the Dutch social security administration. I think they
were testing my abilities in calculus. I failed.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0mImAXd5edVoAGOljL_9-DpmaJZA7BvhjtaTH1F0l-QNKsXnf0Fid8GjF4ocNHSiFkiWD2Yn1RKM0EcWRGBnZNIJLh1lLYI_JlGJJepkLef_76lesFbE1MqsGBEdTr_IegbReWsv4n96/s1600/UWV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0mImAXd5edVoAGOljL_9-DpmaJZA7BvhjtaTH1F0l-QNKsXnf0Fid8GjF4ocNHSiFkiWD2Yn1RKM0EcWRGBnZNIJLh1lLYI_JlGJJepkLef_76lesFbE1MqsGBEdTr_IegbReWsv4n96/s200/UWV.jpg" width="200" /></a> The letter said:<br />
“In our letter dated February 25th, 2013 we let you know that you have to pay back an amount of €3424.25 to us.<br />
The total you have to pay consists of the following:<br />
For this year you have to pay back €2187.62.<br />
For last year or earlier you have to pay back €52.84.<br />
In total you have to pay back €2673.01.<br />
Please use the transfer order form attached. Amount: €2240.46.”<br />
<br />
So, are you better than me in calculus?
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-1975629912121485942012-12-01T04:14:00.000+01:002012-12-01T04:14:10.516+01:00Washing instructions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Washing instructions – who ever reads them? Yes, those outrageously large ugly tags attached to your clothes that make you itch and ruin the look. And when you remove them they still make you itch. Unless you cut them off with a piece of fabric.
I never read what´s on there. Instead I cut them off and wash all my clothes at 30 degrees and hang to dry. If something looks too fragile and is too dear to my heart I wash it by hand.<br />
<br />
Tonight while my baby was asleep I wasn´t. How ironic. I went upstairs to distract myself. The washing machine had just finished a 60 degrees programme with a load of baby stuff. That all went straight into the drying machine. After that I loaded the washing machine with more laundry, removed some dry laundry from the line, played with the cat, and did some more useful stuff. Then I sat at my desk and saw the washing instructions tag from my nursing bra. The bra had done the 60 degrees round together with the baby things and was now almost dry in the dryer.<br />
<br />
´Hand wash only´ the tag said. You must be kidding.<br />
´Do not dry clean´. LOL!<br />
´Wash with similar colours.´ So with what colours do you wash a thing that´s light blue with white and pink?<br />
‘Wash inside out.’ ‘Dry flat’. ‘Do not tumble dry’. Ow...<br />
<br />
I think I’d better go to bed now. And see what comes out of the dryer in the morning.
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-67415387090457565412012-09-17T16:30:00.000+02:002012-09-17T16:30:06.668+02:00Please do yourself a favour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It’s that time of the year (month) again: people post those long status updates about the ‘recent changes to privacy settings on Facebook’. Usually these updates are indeed about some recent changes and sometimes they do contain some useful information. This current flow however makes absolutely no sense to me. First of all, because the changes are at least one year old (they were the inspiration for <a href="http://sasjasdnevnik.blogspot.nl/2011/09/doomed.html" target="_blank">this post</a>). Second, because they have nothing to do with the reality. I don’t want to rant here, but rather share my knowledge of the subject as I do not find it difficult at all and thus maybe can help other people to find their way to a more ‘private’ Facebook existence.<br />
<br />
"Because of some changes that Facebook made, everybody can see our activities on your and my wall." Wrong! You have the control of who can see what on your wall.<br />
<br />
"It happens when a Facebook friend of you or me likes or comments on our posts. Automatically all his/her friends will see the post, likes and comments." Again, whether or not friends of friends can see that depends on your own settings.<br />
<br />
"I can’t change this settings due to restrictions of Facebook." Honestly, I don’t know what restrictions people are talking about. But you CAN actually change the settings. For that go to your Privacy Settings and choose Custom. Then Edit settings for each option available. If you do not want friends of friends to see your posts, you simply do not choose that option. You can restrict your posts to your friends, a custom made subgroup (an extremely useful feature imho) or to yourself only. You can even exclude certain people from seeing what everyone else is allowed to see. Oh, and don’t forget to uncheck the box Allow subscribers under Account settings. How much further do you want to go?<br />
<br />
"But you can do this for me.<br />
- Put your mouse on my name in this post (don’t click when you do that).<br />
- Then put your mouse on Friends (don’t click).<br />
- Go to Settings and click.<br />
- Go to Comments and Likes and click to unmark it."<br />
<br />
That people certainly can and should do, but this won’t help you much. This way they only control what they see from you in their Ticker (which they can hide altogether) and their News Feed. It will not help you to become less visible to their friends if your posts are open to Friends of Friends (or the Public). Besides, most of your Facebook friends will probably either miss your status update with this request or be too busy or lazy to actually do all this. But don’t let this stop YOU from doing all of the above because you will have a cleaner and more relevant News Feed as a result.<br />
<br />
“When you do this my posts and activities will stay among my Facebook friends and won’t be public to anyone else.” Well, wrong, see all of the above.<br />
<br />
There are many ways to make your Facebook account fit your needs in terms of privacy and it’s impossible to describe them all in one post. But please feel free to ask, I’ll be happy to answer any specific questions.<br />
<br />
Just one more remark: when we worry about our privacy let’s not forget that Facebook is made for sharing, not for hiding. Use other means for passing your very private messages. Snail mail still works too.<br />
<br />
A recent find: Souad Massi - Raoui</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-21379648971920365142012-08-24T22:43:00.000+02:002012-08-27T11:58:03.501+02:00New neighbourhood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Now that the boxes are unpacked, and most things have found their place in our new home I finally start paying attention to the neighbourhood. It’s different from where I lived before. It’s a small sleepy village (though in the middle of The Hague). There are signs ‘Attention! Neighbourhood Watch’, but I haven’t been lucky to see them yet. I also wonder what there is to watch. There’s hardly ever anyone on the street and you can leave your bike unlocked in front of your door for days.<br />
<br />
The neighbours do not dry colourful saris and head scarves on their balconies. On warm sunny evenings the smells from outside are mainly those of barbeques rather than a mix of Turkish, Antillean and Surinamese spices. And instead of Turkish, Papiamento, Punjab and Hindi neighbours mainly use Dutch, English, German, Spanish or something Asian.<br />
<br />
Even though we live very close to the sea, there are no seagulls. In case you didn’t know: seagulls are not interested in fish. They are interested in garbage packed in black plastic bags that they open in search of food spreading the rest of the trash all over the street. People here produce enough trash to fill large green garbage containers. Thus no plastic bags, no seagulls and no street litter.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.vogelwijkonline.nl/2e-lustrum-bomencommissie/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8isJw6tUqpS8RLC9PBWCfYTDxjyw7F0qUyq4KMMA8mzRuxJRe96PoyQo-m7FGOAgjJY2yvqHRa1LP4PukPT-ddgV-PPP7yNsJRBrTVHjgfcwd37tw1SnYoLO5Eq5VumelCeufgRBeI-D2/s200/Uitnoding-lustrum-Bomencommissie-Vw-2-sept-12.jpg" width="140" /></a>Yesterday we found an envelope on our doormat. It was plain white with ‘Invitation’ handwritten on it. Wow an invitation! Curious we opened the envelope. It was an invitation from the local... <a href="http://www.vogelwijkonline.nl/bestuur-commissies/bomencommissie/" target="_blank">Tree Committee</a>. Yes, the Tree Committee. And we are invited to their second anniversary celebration that will be held at a little square next to our house. What a thrill!<br />
<br />
After reading the programme I thought I was losing connection with the reality. During the celebration you can admire the world of wearables made of tree leaves (if I am to believe the picture); discover the secrets of a tree (any tree hugging and talking involved?) and get your... eh... tree climbing diploma from Steven Ibelings, the Dutch tree climbing champion! I read the programme three times to make sure it’s real and not made up by my hormones.<br />
<br />
A very different neighbourhood, indeed. Shall I go for the tree climbing diploma?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-5574500003682649962012-07-29T14:57:00.001+02:002012-07-29T14:59:37.753+02:00Unstoppable?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As you can see from the cold deadly silence on this blog there are forces that can keep me from blogging. Apparently apartments move during pregnancy is a very bad combination. Add some extra (administrative) procedures due to childbirth and the visit of my parents and voilà – no time or energy for a blog.
Things that bother me most at the moment (in that particular order):<br />
<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>Hormones. </li>
<li>Heartburn. </li>
<li>Regularly failing internet connection. </li>
<li>Hormones. </li>
<li>Never ending moving boxes. </li>
<li>Heartburn. </li>
<li>Lack of space. </li>
<li>Hormones. </li>
<li>Total lack of concentration. </li>
<li>Heartburn. </li>
<li>Too many stairs inside the house. </li>
<li>Hormones. </li>
<li>Stress from pressing administrative procedures. </li>
<li>Heartburn. </li>
<li>Hormones.</li>
</ol>
And the nesting instinct hasn’t even kicked in yet! On the bright side: I can still tie my laces and take care of my toe nails. </div>
<iframe width="410" height="28" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0epcGuoALb8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-21942438750368161242012-05-10T16:37:00.000+02:002012-05-10T16:37:27.399+02:00Congratulations! You earned a new title.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Thanks to all who took part in <a href="http://sasjasdnevnik.blogspot.com/2012/04/guess.html%20" target="_blank">the guessing circus</a>. Starting from last Monday there’s no guessing anymore – it’ll be a girl. Definitely not a cat which is good because for now I think one cat is enough.<br />
<br />
If you voted for a girl (11 votes) you can now officially put ‘psychic’ behind your name on your business cards.<br />
<br />
If you voted for a boy (7 votes), a cat (4 votes) or The Tree of Life (3 votes) you can still pretend you voted for a girl. No one can check. And then you can put ‘psychic’ behind your name on your business cards.<br />
<br />
If you didn’t vote at all you can still pretend you voted for a girl. See above.<br />
<br />
Have fun designing your new business cards.
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-5052516352172893812012-04-28T01:25:00.000+02:002012-07-29T14:33:53.714+02:00Wrong message<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Ladies, keep your men at home! Instead of letting them go to Ukraine for the Euro 2012 and meet half-naked Ukrainian girls give them a draught beer dispenser. The one you can get for free if you let the <a href="http://www.nle.nl/" target="_blank">Nederlandse Energie Maatschappij</a> supply your home with electricity.
<br />
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<br />
That was the message that the NLE was trying to send with their <a href="http://youtu.be/DmYc9-BOz9A" target="_blank">TV-commercials</a>. And this message caused a slight diplomatic unrest between Ukraine and the Netherlands. According to the Ukrainian authorities this is offensive to Ukrainians and sends out the wrong message to people in the Netherlands.<br />
<br />
I tried to Google images of ´Ukrainian women´. <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/apr/24/ukraine-former-pm-hunger-strike" target="_blank">Julia Timoshenko</a> appears on the top. Yes, that´s what NLE should have talked about. A political prisoner who allegedly was beaten up by the prison guards. That sends the right message.<br />
<br />
Or the <a href="http://www.fhi.no/eway/default.aspx?pid=238&trg=MainLeft_5895&MainArea_5811=5895:0:15,2822:1:0:0:::0:0&MainLeft_5895=5825:96922::1:5896:1:::0:0" target="_blank">measles outbreak in Ukraine</a> and the increased risk of contracting measles during the European Football Championships 2012. So do get a vaccine. And while you´re at it also do get vaccination against diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis and polio.<br />
<br />
Maybe mentioning the outrageous hotel prices would be less offensive. And the lack of budget airlines. And the fact that you will be charged tree times the price for everything if you don´t speak spotless Ukrainian or Russian.<br />
<br />
Oh wait, Ukrainian women are not an issue anymore and the diplomats have something else on their hands: <a href="http://rt.com/news/ukraine-dnepropetrovsk-explosion-tram-127/" target="_blank">explosions in Dnepropetrovsk</a>. Officially nothing is known about the organisers of the explosions, but the rumours say these maybe protests against the Timoshenko case. The circle is round.<br />
<br />
Ukraine is ready for the Euro 2012 and you are welcome. Or sign a contract with the NLEnergie and get your beer dispenser.<br />
<br />
PS on a bright note: you didn't forget to <a href="http://sasjasdnevnik.blogspot.com/2012/04/guess.html">guess</a>, did you? <br />
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-5843858974465937012012-04-23T22:42:00.000+02:002012-04-25T23:21:12.264+02:00GuessThe great guessing circus has started now that everyone knows I am pregnant. Asking about the gender of the future baby is a winner, but trying to predict the gender is a good second.<br />
“Are you nauseous? It’s a girl.”<br />
“Do you crave savoury foods? It must be a boy.”<br />
“Your belly is not pointy. It’s definitely a girl.”<br />
“You look too beautiful to carry a girl. You’ll get a boy.”<br />
“Do you think it’s a girl? Then probably it’s a girl.”<br />
“Are you convinced it’s a girl? Then it should be a boy.”<br />
“Low blood pressure? Girl.”<br />
“Constipation? Boy.”<br />
<br />
Even though it all sounds like a load of, you know, nonsense people seem to enjoy guessing. Assuming you might like that too I set up a poll (on the right side of this blog) in which you can try your prediction skills. You can do so till May 7th. Then I expect to know the gender of the baby (if all goes well) and will publish the results. If you feel you need more information to make an educated guess, feel free to ask questions in the comments section, by e-mail, phone, in person, on Facebook or Twitter. Ready, steady, go!<br />
<br />
PS According to my analysis it’s a girl. The father refrains from commentary.<br />
<br />
Melanie – Brand New Key
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="30" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3FPn5noN_qs?rel=0" width="410"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-82455694520189086972012-04-16T23:58:00.000+02:002012-04-17T00:00:23.103+02:00English accentSomehow at some point in time I must have passed through a secret magic door. Or maybe I ate something magic. Maybe my aura has changed since I’m pregnant. But something definitely happened and now all new people I meet assume I don’t speak Dutch.<br />
<br />
My phone rings.<br />
“Met Alexandra Mirskikh.”<br />
<i>“Goedemiddag, U spreekt met M. van de Jansen Makelaars.”</i><br />
“Hallo.”<br />
<i>“Oh, I am sorry, I will speak English!”
</i><br />
“Waarom?”<br />
<i>“Oh, u spreekt wel Nederlands?”</i><br />
“Ja.”<br />
<i>“Oh, Ik hoor ZO’N Engels accent! Vandaar.”
</i><br />
Moi? English accent?<br />
<br />
People address me in English even if they met me before and had a whole conversation with me in Dutch. Apparently I don’t sound convincing. The biggest problem is not even that people speak English to me. The problem is that they are all Dutch and their English is, well... Dunglish. I constantly need to translate that back to Dutch to understand what they actually mean.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago we were visiting a house we’d like to rent. We had a very nice chat with the two young property agents, twenty minutes all in Dutch. After we expressed our interest, they told us we had to sign a document confirming our intention to rent. They’d send us the form that we could fill in and return. Fine.
Two hours later I find the document in my e-mail. In English, of course.<br />
<br />
“Hereinafter to be referred to as ‘lessee’, that he/she is in expectation of the written agreement based on the model ROZ incl. terms and conditions, by signing this acceptance form has accepted to, per 01/05/2012 renting the following residence...” Help! I need extra English classes. I let Google Translate turn it to Dutch and it made perfect sense. BTW, the one who was to be referred to as 'lessee' was called 'tenant' all through the rest of the document.<br />
<br />
The form went on describing the conditions of the rent. I was almost ready to sign when I saw this: “Extra terms: crane in toilet will be installed.” Oh no! Please! I don’t want a crane in my toilet! A faucet will do just fine.<br />
<br />
I had an appointment this morning and even before I could greet the person I was meeting she asked: “Do you speak Dutch?” Oh please, despite that detached expression on my face I am not that foreign. I’m just pregnant.<br />
<br />
I was losing all trust in my <a href="http://sasjasdnevnik.blogspot.com/2010/09/dutch.html">Dutchiness</a> when I walked into the local pharmacy this afternoon. It was very busy. There was one Turkish man, one Moroccan, a Turkish woman with a fat child, an Indian lady, a Polish guy, two Surinamese girls and some Asian boy (could not place him). I killed the waiting time by trying to guess where the woman behind the counter got her weird accent. There, in that pharmacy everyone assumes that everybody can speak Dutch. And it all works out just fine. Very reassuring.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-49724640247932357602012-04-05T23:57:00.000+02:002012-04-05T23:59:02.351+02:00#failLast Monday I brought my cat to the vet clinic for castration. Yeah cruel, sad and stuff. But I think it would be best for all of us (my cat included) if he is castrated. The animal was meowing in his cage. He looked scared and stressed, but I held strong. I handed the cage over to the nice lady who told me I could pick him up after noon.<br />
<br />
I left trying to mind my own business and not think of how unhappy my cat was over there. I felt sorry for him, but at the same time I felt I was doing a very good job caring for my animal. I also ordered them to take care of his ears and to cut his nails. I felt quite content. One hour later the clinic called.<br />
“You brought your cat for castration this morning.”<br />
<i>“Yes, I did.”</i><br />
“Well, we cannot castrate him, because he has no testicles.”<br />
<i>“Ow...” </i><br />
<br />
I guess I still need to learn some things about cats.<br />
<br />
Devendra Banhart - Santa Maria de la Feira
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="308" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cIfuJa6CoyM" width="410"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-2182466759502910852012-03-30T23:56:00.000+02:002012-04-05T23:57:22.210+02:00What’s wrong with menToday I put on a dress. I sometimes do that. It’s blue, almost knee long. The colour suits me well and it has a rather fancy cut, but nothing to get excited about. That’s what I thought. And I was right, nobody got excited about the dress. But as soon as I stepped on the bike and the dress revealed a bit more of my legs...
I first got noticing glances from some neighbourhood boys who otherwise seem to be unaware of my existence. Then a mailman whistled as I passed by.<br />
“Hot!” – a dude at the bus stop.<br />
“Hey babe!” – a construction worker.<br />
“Schatje!” – a regular Turk.<br />
“Cutie!” – garbage collectors.<br />
“Wow!” – a truck driver.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bakfiets-en-meer.nl/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/famke_jansen_bike_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.bakfiets-en-meer.nl/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/famke_jansen_bike_03.jpg" width="212" /></a>I was looking forward to finally reaching the station, getting off the bike and shaking off all this attention. Suddenly some blond, unshaven twenty-something youth on a bike started circling around me. He was looking at my legs, winking and saying something. Luckily the music coming out of my earphones prevented me from hearing any of that. I sighed. “What do you want me to do - breastfeed you?” – I thought.<br />
<br />
What’s wrong with all those men?
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4910092805992422116.post-29398304269857422502012-03-20T23:18:00.000+01:002012-03-20T23:36:22.573+01:00AdidasIt must have been 1982. I was eight years old, in the second grade at school. We just got a new after school teacher, a young guy. He was relaxed, but perfectly capable of managing a group of busy kids as we were. And he had a bag. An Adidas bag. It was dark blue with a small flower in the upper right corner.<br />
<br />
It’s difficult to imagine now, but there were very few Western brands in the Soviet Union back in 1982. I think I can name all Western brands I knew by the time I was 8 years all. Pepsi (available in Kiev and Moscow, but not in many places outside). Fanta (available only in Moscow. I was one of the very few kids in my school who’d ever tasted it then). Lancôme (my mother had some Lancôme cosmetics, no idea where she got them from). Marlboro (again, my mother had a pullover with Marlboro written on it. I had no idea it had anything to do with cigarettes). Wrangler (mother’s jeans). Opium (perfume by Yves Saint Laurent. I still get nauseous when I smell it. Luckily, my mother didn’t wear it). That’s it. Of course many more brands had found their way through the iron curtain through foreign visitors and occasional Soviet travellers abroad. But most of the brands I mentioned had gotten themselves a contract with Soviet authorities and were importing their products on a large scale.<br />
<br />
So sometimes around 1982 someone at Adidas managed to do things ‘right’. And without advertising or even being widely available in the shops Adidas got their brand as far as into the minds of 8-year olds.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk20OdwTwlP0TzYV-xdUiGWcOu2GgRGx0HXf1AmRDKHPrajr9Eu-EnEMVmwgDgHIjQ2RkLifuxqOU6hfXbllE1l2pU8cER7XiYbM1MZU4nR2SbkGJera2Cydyb1oKPM0ArzqsIK1KguYk/s1600/Adidas.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIk20OdwTwlP0TzYV-xdUiGWcOu2GgRGx0HXf1AmRDKHPrajr9Eu-EnEMVmwgDgHIjQ2RkLifuxqOU6hfXbllE1l2pU8cER7XiYbM1MZU4nR2SbkGJera2Cydyb1oKPM0ArzqsIK1KguYk/s200/Adidas.gif" width="200" /></a><a href="http://www.goodlogo.com/images/logos/adidas_classic_logo_3103.gif%20" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>“Wow, that’s Adidas!” – one of the kids said when the new teacher put his bag on his desk. We were all proud to be aware of the latest trends and know brand names. Those who didn’t know, wisely kept silent.
“Yes” – the teacher smiled obviously pleased by the instant raise of status his bag gave him.<br />
<br />
Since last Saturday I have my very own pair of Adidas shoes. They are white-and-red and have the modern triangle logo. It’s my first pair ever and they brought upon a wave of memories and emotions. I do miss the flower, though.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15034557553605838036noreply@blogger.com3