Meeting take three
Decided to go diary style today for this post, works for Bill Simmons maybe it will work for me. Sorry I didn’t think to actually write down the time, sorry maybe next time. That and I'm too lazy to make it up.
-Well I’m sitting here in the Afghanistan delegation teleconference by myself and lacking any sustenance and its almost lunch time. Last time I had a lunch meeting we received sandwiches, no sandwiches today, Kevin sad.
-The well dressed waiters have entered the room, that can mean only one thing, Coffee time! I don’t even like coffee, but something about being asked if I want coffee in French by a man in a Penguin suit makes me feel important. Now all I can think about is Tony Kornheiser doing the Penguin dance.
-The translators are semi-freaking out in front of me about how they are going to have to translate from Farsi and Pashtu to English and then to all the other languages in the room. I’m going to struggle just knowing the different between Pashtu and Farsi.
-My English translator has the sexiest voice I have ever heard, no lie. I have no idea what she looks like but her voice alone has won me over.
-The video quality is a microcosm for the differences between life in Afghanistan and EU member states.
o Afghan – Hazy, inconsistent, could die at any moment
o EU – Perfect
-Well I guess my MEP isn’t the only person skipping out on this meeting it looks like 2/3 of them are missing. Glad to see that the Afghani people and the EU soldiers fighting on their behalf mean so much to Members of Parliament. I wonder if any of them have kids over there.
-They are talking about their trip to Afghanistan in April, I really wish I could go.
-I can’t believe I was not siked for this meeting, I mean I did read a 1400 page book on the history of Afghanistan and its current political system, for fun, but no I wasn’t pumped about meeting a bunch of the Afghani government officials via the internet. Afghanistan is my fucking thing.
-One MEP has a meeting with Benzir Bhutto scheduled two hours after she was assassinated. If that doesn’t throw your mind for a loop then I don’t know what will.
-The Italian translator fulfills the “Italians talk with their hands” stereotype.
-Just checked on my Italian skills, still don’t have any.
-The other English translators voice is not hot.
-Video conference begins, lots of yelling in Pashtu or Farsi, I still don’t quite understand the difference. Then again its been like 20 minutes.
-Some good questions, enjoyed the blasphemy/death penalty question. Clearly got the attention of the Afghans. Lots of death stares.
-Poor Afghans the Committee chair is just not stopping, he just loves to hear himself speak.
-And the Afghan dude knows English! Makes the Euros very happy.
-Lots of thanks and salutations.
-More shouting in Pashtu and Farsi
-Honestly how can the video quality be this bad?
-Mr. Chairman must not translate into Pashtu and Farsi because they keep calling the Chairman “Your Excellency” it just has that European imperialism feel to it.
-Nice backhand by the Afghans “We appreciate your concerns about our laws but they are the laws of Afghanistan”
Translation: “Fuck you, how dare you tell us how to run our country when I have bombs going off right down the street from where I love! Does that happen in Brussels? Didn’t think so.”
-OOOOOOO a woman Afghan! I’m intrigued!
-More invitations to Kabul, I mean is this a hot vacation destination or something! Come to Kabul! Where the woman are fully clothed, the electricity is intermittent and the bombs are plentiful!
-Afghans do not appear to be big fans of Pakistan. The guy talking (who has a great hat by the way) is just railing against Pakistan, accusing them of supporting terror and meddling in Afghani affairs. I don’t think the west really gets Pakistan and how they always do what is in the best interest of Pakistan even if that means supporting terror and destroying the lives of millions of Afghanis. Or how they can not stand for a independent Afghanistan but would rather see one that is subservient to Pakistan and its wishes. I do not for see a smooth transition to democracy that every lone is talking about because that has never happened in Pakistan’s brief but turbulent history. What I do see is a large insurrection in the tribal areas covertly supported by the Security Services that will lead to yet another military coup because the military always needs the power in Pakistan. The US should be focused more so on Afghanistan/Pakistan than Iran/Iraq. End rant.
-The translation thing is killing me, the meeting time has basically doubled. Damn you tower of Babel! Maybe they speak stomach growl.......
-More shouting in Pakistan/Farsi.
-The dude next to me keeps staring at me with his silly looking glasses. I just want to snap his glasses and tell him he looks foolish in them. If he keeps staring, I just might. Don’t stare at me when I’m hungry.
-I love how non-Americans/Canadians say Canada, cracks me up every time.
-This better end soon or I won’t be able to eat for another how, debating just leaving. Only thing that is keeping me here is the chance that a bomb goes off in the background. I know, I have issues.
-Something new, shouting in English! Nothing like being lectured on media censorship by an Afghan, he is right though, they just became a much more liberal state, it takes time.
-It’s over! Time to eat!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Kevin goes to Sicilia!
Only a month late but here is my post on Sicily, or part of the weekend anyway. Carnivale will come eventually it will just require me to sit down and do it. Then I will do Paris and then Venice..........
I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a terrible tendency to forget conversations and events ever happened. Rachel knows all about this disorder I have, I mean I could not begin to quantify how many times I have had this conversation:
Rachel: So about the (insert subject here)
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Rachel: Ugh, we talked about this last night.
Me: Um.....no we didn’t.
Rachel: Yes we did!
Me: No we did not.
Rachel: You never #@*$?%! listen to me when I talk.
And then I’m left with an honestly confused and bewildered look on my face.
Anyway that’s neither here nor there, for the purpose of this post is not to prove my insanity nor my blatant case of early onset Alzheimer’s but to transcribe, as accurately as possible, the thoughts and events of one of the most interesting experiences of my life. I know I have other posts to make but I figured I would try and get this one of the way as soon as possible before the short term memo..........why the fuck am I on a train right now and who is this long haired freak sitting next to me?
Well without further ado here is my trip to the land of many words, 99% of which I can not comprehend.
The Voyage
Well since I have posted previously on my disdain for air travel I will keep this as brief as possible , but in all likelihood I will ramble and you my good sir or madam will grow tired and either give up or jump ahead . Do as you wish but if I found out you didn’t read it......
The journey can be summed up in a few points about the journey.
1.I got amazing views of both the Alps and Mt. Etna thanks to it being a daytime flight and Alitalia making it a point to fly by at a slower speed so those onboard can take decent pictures. Thank you Alitalia!
2.Alitalia has so far provided the best in-flight food I have had to date, decent sandwich and a free MARS bar.
3.McDonald Douglas makes one loud fucking engine.
4.All three airports I visited bothered me for different reasons, here they are as follows.
a.Brussels: Like IKEA Brussels airport takes you through everything thing they offer even through you aren’t going to buy anything.
b.Milan: Build more terminals or make travelers disembark in the rain?
c.Catania: Now I know this will make me sound like an alcoholic but why doesn’t Catania have a decent bar? All I wanted to do was sit at a bar and drink crappy Italian beer, is that too much to ask?
5.My fifth and final point is probably the most disturbing. Turbulence used to scare the shit out of me , it made me realize that “Holy shit I’m thousands of feet above the earth!” It left me clutching my arm rest, breathing deeply and whispering “Serenity now!”
Now it doesn’t bother me, its like hitting a bump on the highway, the car shutters and then everything’s fine. Don’t get me wrong this development is great for my nerves and for those of the people around me, but take a dislike with what transpired in my head while en route from Milan to Brussels. While flying we hit a bout of turbulence, and since I am now apparently a veteran of flight my nerves of steel did not break. But instead I thought to myself.
“I hope we don’t crash right now, because I really need to get back to school”
Read that again.
Did I forget something? Oh yeah I forgot the fact that if my plane plummeted 32,000 feet I would most likely die and never get back to school. But noooooooo I’m concerned about how it wouldn’t fit into my life plan at the moment. Am I that self-centered, or just crazy?
The Arrival
Upon arriving to Catania I went through the motions of disembarking the plane and what not, the sudden realization that the plane is packed, the awkward “should I say good bye in the local vernacular or in English?” moment, then the “Where the fuck is my luggage moment?”
Well the “where the fuck is my luggage moment” lasted way longer than expected. The wonderful people that work in Catania national airport decided unilaterally, and without telling me I might add, to put all the luggage from all the arrivals onto one of the 6 conveyor belts.
I think now is an appropriate time to tell you about my struggles with the Italian language. I have taken six year of Italian since 7th grade even graduating High School as a two year member of Honors Italian. Yet after finishing my final senior year I was told that there was no way I could be given a grade for what was an “attempt” at taking my final. So needless to say when my luggage had not turned up after 20 minutes I was up the proverbial creek.
At this point I am now frantically trying to locate the guy who sat next to me on the plane because in my mind if I can find him I will find my luggage, its a simple correlation. But there is only one problem, , my brain loves to make my life a living hell. That man could be wearing a blue suit, glasses and an obvious comb over but my addled brain would have me believing he had a clown suit on with a pink Afro, so no help there.
My next course of action was to randomly choose a belt and hope to god it was the right one. I chose the one at the far end and just went with it, doubting my course of action the entire time. For the record my hunch was correct and I got my luggage eventually but only after enduring the death stare from Rachel piercing my back. I was afraid that if I didn’t get out of the luggage area in the time allotted by Rachel’s brain she was going to smash the glass barrier and then drag me out by my hair. Nothing gets between Rachel and me when she hasn’t seen me in two and a half weeks.
But I finally got my luggage walked out the gate kissed Rachel, met Fabio and there was much rejoicing.
The Car Ride
Italians drive like Belgians ride bicycles with little to no regard for the rules of the road. To put it bluntly they drive like crazy people. This coming from a man (yes I called myself a man) who boasts that no one (and I mean no one) passes on the highway.
I mean it is perfectly acceptable to pass someone any where at any time as long as you can avoid a car wreck you’re all good.
Needless to say the first time Fabio pulled into the oncoming lane of traffic and nearly collided with a truck I nearly shit my pants. I immediately grabbed the seatbelt and jammed it into the buckle only to be told that in Italy one does not need to wear a seatbelt in the backseat. So they really are crazy! I’m sure that my look of bewilderment/horror at this statement is what caused Fabio to slow down and avoid passing people for the rest of the ride. That and he kept asking if he was driving to fast every 5 minutes.
The Family
It would not be an Italian experience if I didn’t meet the entire family the first night I was there. When I first met Rachel’s whole family in the states I said it was akin to Ian meeting Toula’s family in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” My first night in Syracusa one upped even Ian’s first night with the Portokalos.
Here are 12 points about the evening:
1. Not a single Sicilian I met the entire weekend spoke English, and the little English the family knew I knew the same words in Italian. Useless.
2.Rachel had decided without consulting me that she would not speak English to me in front of the Italians. Perfectly logical, because it just so happened that during my flight I had developed the ability the ability to communicate telepathically, what an amazing coincidence! And who wants to be able to communicate with at least one person over a five day period? Not me!
I love sarcasm! And exclamation points!!!!!
3.Like Ian no one can say my name correctly. My first name all week was “Kayvin”, and in the one up department my last name all weekend was “Costner” as in Kevin Costner, this was because the only Kevin anyone knows in Italy is Kevin Costner. If anything this development has convinced me that cooler Kevins must be developed before the next time I go to Sicily.
4.The meal I had had so many courses that I don’t remember how many I actually had. I just remember there being five forks on the table and by the end of the evening I was asking for extras. Pasta, fish, shrimp, crabs, meat, squid, mussels (first time btw), Italian ice and much more.
5.English? Let me check, nope fresh out of it.
6.Ezio kept pouring glass after glass of wine, pretty sure they all think I’m an alcoholic
7.When someone gives you the limp wrist signal you immediately think gay, right? So when someone yells down the table “Kayvin, Darrio” and then the limp wrist signal is thrown out there, tou respond with “Gay” but because you are in Italy and you know the word for gay in Italian you try and be cool and shout “Finocio!”
Well a limp wrist does not mean gay in Italy and I had just insulted the person whose room I would be sleeping in for the next four nights, in front of his whole family. I turned a rare form of red.
8.Rachel received birthday gifts from 20 people she had known for a week. I brought myself. A rarer form of red.
9.We sat down to eat at 9:30 PM and I think that was early for them.
10.The whole kissing of both cheeks greeting really fucks with my head and I never know when it applies. Tonight was no exception.
11.Bringing an Italian-English dictionary is always fun especially with little kids around, and old crazy men.
12.At one point during the evening a clip from CSI came on the TV and Fabio looked over at me and said “CSI.” Now I have never seen CSI, never had the urge, but for some reason or another the mention of the show’s name caused me to start talking in English for a sold minute or so before I noticed the blank stares I was getting from the rest of the table. This is when I realized this was going to be an interesting weekend.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I have a terrible tendency to forget conversations and events ever happened. Rachel knows all about this disorder I have, I mean I could not begin to quantify how many times I have had this conversation:
Rachel: So about the (insert subject here)
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Rachel: Ugh, we talked about this last night.
Me: Um.....no we didn’t.
Rachel: Yes we did!
Me: No we did not.
Rachel: You never #@*$?%! listen to me when I talk.
And then I’m left with an honestly confused and bewildered look on my face.
Anyway that’s neither here nor there, for the purpose of this post is not to prove my insanity nor my blatant case of early onset Alzheimer’s but to transcribe, as accurately as possible, the thoughts and events of one of the most interesting experiences of my life. I know I have other posts to make but I figured I would try and get this one of the way as soon as possible before the short term memo..........why the fuck am I on a train right now and who is this long haired freak sitting next to me?
Well without further ado here is my trip to the land of many words, 99% of which I can not comprehend.
The Voyage
Well since I have posted previously on my disdain for air travel I will keep this as brief as possible , but in all likelihood I will ramble and you my good sir or madam will grow tired and either give up or jump ahead . Do as you wish but if I found out you didn’t read it......
The journey can be summed up in a few points about the journey.
1.I got amazing views of both the Alps and Mt. Etna thanks to it being a daytime flight and Alitalia making it a point to fly by at a slower speed so those onboard can take decent pictures. Thank you Alitalia!
2.Alitalia has so far provided the best in-flight food I have had to date, decent sandwich and a free MARS bar.
3.McDonald Douglas makes one loud fucking engine.
4.All three airports I visited bothered me for different reasons, here they are as follows.
a.Brussels: Like IKEA Brussels airport takes you through everything thing they offer even through you aren’t going to buy anything.
b.Milan: Build more terminals or make travelers disembark in the rain?
c.Catania: Now I know this will make me sound like an alcoholic but why doesn’t Catania have a decent bar? All I wanted to do was sit at a bar and drink crappy Italian beer, is that too much to ask?
5.My fifth and final point is probably the most disturbing. Turbulence used to scare the shit out of me , it made me realize that “Holy shit I’m thousands of feet above the earth!” It left me clutching my arm rest, breathing deeply and whispering “Serenity now!”
Now it doesn’t bother me, its like hitting a bump on the highway, the car shutters and then everything’s fine. Don’t get me wrong this development is great for my nerves and for those of the people around me, but take a dislike with what transpired in my head while en route from Milan to Brussels. While flying we hit a bout of turbulence, and since I am now apparently a veteran of flight my nerves of steel did not break. But instead I thought to myself.
“I hope we don’t crash right now, because I really need to get back to school”
Read that again.
Did I forget something? Oh yeah I forgot the fact that if my plane plummeted 32,000 feet I would most likely die and never get back to school. But noooooooo I’m concerned about how it wouldn’t fit into my life plan at the moment. Am I that self-centered, or just crazy?
The Arrival
Upon arriving to Catania I went through the motions of disembarking the plane and what not, the sudden realization that the plane is packed, the awkward “should I say good bye in the local vernacular or in English?” moment, then the “Where the fuck is my luggage moment?”
Well the “where the fuck is my luggage moment” lasted way longer than expected. The wonderful people that work in Catania national airport decided unilaterally, and without telling me I might add, to put all the luggage from all the arrivals onto one of the 6 conveyor belts.
I think now is an appropriate time to tell you about my struggles with the Italian language. I have taken six year of Italian since 7th grade even graduating High School as a two year member of Honors Italian. Yet after finishing my final senior year I was told that there was no way I could be given a grade for what was an “attempt” at taking my final. So needless to say when my luggage had not turned up after 20 minutes I was up the proverbial creek.
At this point I am now frantically trying to locate the guy who sat next to me on the plane because in my mind if I can find him I will find my luggage, its a simple correlation. But there is only one problem, , my brain loves to make my life a living hell. That man could be wearing a blue suit, glasses and an obvious comb over but my addled brain would have me believing he had a clown suit on with a pink Afro, so no help there.
My next course of action was to randomly choose a belt and hope to god it was the right one. I chose the one at the far end and just went with it, doubting my course of action the entire time. For the record my hunch was correct and I got my luggage eventually but only after enduring the death stare from Rachel piercing my back. I was afraid that if I didn’t get out of the luggage area in the time allotted by Rachel’s brain she was going to smash the glass barrier and then drag me out by my hair. Nothing gets between Rachel and me when she hasn’t seen me in two and a half weeks.
But I finally got my luggage walked out the gate kissed Rachel, met Fabio and there was much rejoicing.
The Car Ride
Italians drive like Belgians ride bicycles with little to no regard for the rules of the road. To put it bluntly they drive like crazy people. This coming from a man (yes I called myself a man) who boasts that no one (and I mean no one) passes on the highway.
I mean it is perfectly acceptable to pass someone any where at any time as long as you can avoid a car wreck you’re all good.
Needless to say the first time Fabio pulled into the oncoming lane of traffic and nearly collided with a truck I nearly shit my pants. I immediately grabbed the seatbelt and jammed it into the buckle only to be told that in Italy one does not need to wear a seatbelt in the backseat. So they really are crazy! I’m sure that my look of bewilderment/horror at this statement is what caused Fabio to slow down and avoid passing people for the rest of the ride. That and he kept asking if he was driving to fast every 5 minutes.
The Family
It would not be an Italian experience if I didn’t meet the entire family the first night I was there. When I first met Rachel’s whole family in the states I said it was akin to Ian meeting Toula’s family in “My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” My first night in Syracusa one upped even Ian’s first night with the Portokalos.
Here are 12 points about the evening:
1. Not a single Sicilian I met the entire weekend spoke English, and the little English the family knew I knew the same words in Italian. Useless.
2.Rachel had decided without consulting me that she would not speak English to me in front of the Italians. Perfectly logical, because it just so happened that during my flight I had developed the ability the ability to communicate telepathically, what an amazing coincidence! And who wants to be able to communicate with at least one person over a five day period? Not me!
I love sarcasm! And exclamation points!!!!!
3.Like Ian no one can say my name correctly. My first name all week was “Kayvin”, and in the one up department my last name all weekend was “Costner” as in Kevin Costner, this was because the only Kevin anyone knows in Italy is Kevin Costner. If anything this development has convinced me that cooler Kevins must be developed before the next time I go to Sicily.
4.The meal I had had so many courses that I don’t remember how many I actually had. I just remember there being five forks on the table and by the end of the evening I was asking for extras. Pasta, fish, shrimp, crabs, meat, squid, mussels (first time btw), Italian ice and much more.
5.English? Let me check, nope fresh out of it.
6.Ezio kept pouring glass after glass of wine, pretty sure they all think I’m an alcoholic
7.When someone gives you the limp wrist signal you immediately think gay, right? So when someone yells down the table “Kayvin, Darrio” and then the limp wrist signal is thrown out there, tou respond with “Gay” but because you are in Italy and you know the word for gay in Italian you try and be cool and shout “Finocio!”
Well a limp wrist does not mean gay in Italy and I had just insulted the person whose room I would be sleeping in for the next four nights, in front of his whole family. I turned a rare form of red.
8.Rachel received birthday gifts from 20 people she had known for a week. I brought myself. A rarer form of red.
9.We sat down to eat at 9:30 PM and I think that was early for them.
10.The whole kissing of both cheeks greeting really fucks with my head and I never know when it applies. Tonight was no exception.
11.Bringing an Italian-English dictionary is always fun especially with little kids around, and old crazy men.
12.At one point during the evening a clip from CSI came on the TV and Fabio looked over at me and said “CSI.” Now I have never seen CSI, never had the urge, but for some reason or another the mention of the show’s name caused me to start talking in English for a sold minute or so before I noticed the blank stares I was getting from the rest of the table. This is when I realized this was going to be an interesting weekend.
Lost in Translation
I apologize for the lack of posting on Italy I, Paris and Italy II they will come along eventually I'm just lazy but here is a little something to wet you appetite.
Yesterday was my first foray into the committee meeting realm and to be honest there was so much shit going on in there I don't even remember what the meeting was about.
First off the fact that someone can translate from one language to another amazes me. You have to translate while at the same time remember what is being said so you can continue to translate. I would imagine that this would be incredibly exhausting and strenuous for the mind and can't even begin to comprehend the pressure that they feel.
Now that being said I was even more so amazed when the first six speakers in the meeting, who all spoke different languages, were translated by a single translator. How does one know 6 languages fluently and not go crazy? I mean I struggled for 6 years to learn Italian and I know next to nothing and this guy knows 6?
Now the funniest part of the meeting was the effects that translation had on the attempts at humor made by the MEPs.
Every time an English speaker would begin to talk, I would take off the translation headphones for obvious reasons. Well in the front there was this Irish guy who was a fucking riot, but every time he made a joke I was the only one who would laugh right away but then 4 seconds later the whole room would start laughing because of the translation delay. And some times people wouldn't laugh at all which confused me until I found my self on the other side of the situation.
There was this Czech guy who kept making the room burst out laughing every time he would talk except when it translated for me there wasn't any humor in the statement which puzzled me. Was my humour just that much different than European humor? Then it hit me, humor just doesn't always translate, certain words and sayings have different meanings from language to language so if the translators translates it literally then the humor will be lost.
It never really hit me until that moment that so much from culture to culture is lost simply because we can not express the true meaning adequately in any language other than our own. But then again thats what makes our cultures so different even if we do not have political borders (such as the EU is becoming) we have the borders of language to restarain us.
Yesterday was my first foray into the committee meeting realm and to be honest there was so much shit going on in there I don't even remember what the meeting was about.
First off the fact that someone can translate from one language to another amazes me. You have to translate while at the same time remember what is being said so you can continue to translate. I would imagine that this would be incredibly exhausting and strenuous for the mind and can't even begin to comprehend the pressure that they feel.
Now that being said I was even more so amazed when the first six speakers in the meeting, who all spoke different languages, were translated by a single translator. How does one know 6 languages fluently and not go crazy? I mean I struggled for 6 years to learn Italian and I know next to nothing and this guy knows 6?
Now the funniest part of the meeting was the effects that translation had on the attempts at humor made by the MEPs.
Every time an English speaker would begin to talk, I would take off the translation headphones for obvious reasons. Well in the front there was this Irish guy who was a fucking riot, but every time he made a joke I was the only one who would laugh right away but then 4 seconds later the whole room would start laughing because of the translation delay. And some times people wouldn't laugh at all which confused me until I found my self on the other side of the situation.
There was this Czech guy who kept making the room burst out laughing every time he would talk except when it translated for me there wasn't any humor in the statement which puzzled me. Was my humour just that much different than European humor? Then it hit me, humor just doesn't always translate, certain words and sayings have different meanings from language to language so if the translators translates it literally then the humor will be lost.
It never really hit me until that moment that so much from culture to culture is lost simply because we can not express the true meaning adequately in any language other than our own. But then again thats what makes our cultures so different even if we do not have political borders (such as the EU is becoming) we have the borders of language to restarain us.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The Haircut
As many of you know (all three of you) my hair has been cut by the same man since as far back as I can remember and only once have I strayed and that was because Tony was on vacation for two weeks and there was no way I was not going to get a haircut. Well now I'm in Belgium for four months and I have not had a haircut since mid-December and my hair is long.
With that in mind Nikolai and I decided to go in search of a place to get ze hairs cut. Within minutes we had located two candidates, one that looked chic and slightly inviting while the other reminded me of "Coiffures by Anthony" place located next to my dad's office. We went with the first one.
Never been to a hair salon, so immediately upon entering it was a completely new experience. Partly because of this and partly because I lack the testicular fortitude, I made Nikolai go first. His haircut went fairly quickly and looked like what he was shooting for, so in my screwed up brain that meant my haircut was going to go horribly wrong.
First off I get the hair washing routine which is basically a head massage, I don't even care that I was getting it done by a fellow male it was enjoyable, there I said it. I almost fell asleep by the way.
I wish I had a camera for what happened next part because after the hair washing I turned to the mirror and laughed out loud, I looked like (Get ready Rach) a long haired Gob Bluth with the slicked back hair. Nick couldn't help but laugh out loud at me either. Good times.
Next was the moment I had been dreading since the thought of having to go to someone other than Tony had crossed my mind; how to explain what I wanted. Tony knows me, I just need to nod my head and he cuts my hair the way I like it, its simple and I like it. This was going to be a whole different can of worms. For starters this guy did not have complete mastery of the English language and when I tried to explain what I wanted he looked confused, my heart sank.
After I had finally communicated what I wanted as best I could the haircutting began, and the angst continued to ride. As scared as I was the man did cut with confidence, he was quick and decisive and left no room for second guessing what I didn't understand was his approach. He was just all over the place, the back the front the side the top, all over. He also decided to split my hair right down the middle and work symmetrically mirroring his cuts from side to side. At the time though I didn't quite get this I thought he was parting my hair in the middle and giving me the Hugh Grant look, which yes I do have a strange liking for Hugh Grant but I could never pull off his hair style. At this point I was beside myself in fear of the final product, cursing myself for not getting a proper haircut just before I left.
But suddenly everything seemed to be falling into place, the sides and back were the right length, the side burns were perfect, and the front was shaping up to be better than usual. When all was said and done I liked my haircut, it worked, and I was happy.
But no one can hold a candle to Tony Ciulla.
With that in mind Nikolai and I decided to go in search of a place to get ze hairs cut. Within minutes we had located two candidates, one that looked chic and slightly inviting while the other reminded me of "Coiffures by Anthony" place located next to my dad's office. We went with the first one.
Never been to a hair salon, so immediately upon entering it was a completely new experience. Partly because of this and partly because I lack the testicular fortitude, I made Nikolai go first. His haircut went fairly quickly and looked like what he was shooting for, so in my screwed up brain that meant my haircut was going to go horribly wrong.
First off I get the hair washing routine which is basically a head massage, I don't even care that I was getting it done by a fellow male it was enjoyable, there I said it. I almost fell asleep by the way.
I wish I had a camera for what happened next part because after the hair washing I turned to the mirror and laughed out loud, I looked like (Get ready Rach) a long haired Gob Bluth with the slicked back hair. Nick couldn't help but laugh out loud at me either. Good times.
Next was the moment I had been dreading since the thought of having to go to someone other than Tony had crossed my mind; how to explain what I wanted. Tony knows me, I just need to nod my head and he cuts my hair the way I like it, its simple and I like it. This was going to be a whole different can of worms. For starters this guy did not have complete mastery of the English language and when I tried to explain what I wanted he looked confused, my heart sank.
After I had finally communicated what I wanted as best I could the haircutting began, and the angst continued to ride. As scared as I was the man did cut with confidence, he was quick and decisive and left no room for second guessing what I didn't understand was his approach. He was just all over the place, the back the front the side the top, all over. He also decided to split my hair right down the middle and work symmetrically mirroring his cuts from side to side. At the time though I didn't quite get this I thought he was parting my hair in the middle and giving me the Hugh Grant look, which yes I do have a strange liking for Hugh Grant but I could never pull off his hair style. At this point I was beside myself in fear of the final product, cursing myself for not getting a proper haircut just before I left.
But suddenly everything seemed to be falling into place, the sides and back were the right length, the side burns were perfect, and the front was shaping up to be better than usual. When all was said and done I liked my haircut, it worked, and I was happy.
But no one can hold a candle to Tony Ciulla.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Meeting
Today my MEP was called away to Poland for an urgent reason, even though he had an important meeting to attend. So that meant his assistant Weronica (in Polish Ws are Vs) and I got to attend in his stead and I got to take notes. Needless to say I was excited, and no matter what they talked about in this meeting I was going to be hanging on every terribly butchered English word spoken.
So I walked in and directly to my left there were a pile of sandwiches and an assortment of juices and waters, and yes everyone including interns could take them! So I grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water and sat down at a chair that had a microphone and translation headset at it and proceeded to pass the time by talking to Weronica about how she got mugged by Gypsies while at the same time a bunch of important looking people in suits filed into the room.
Suddenly the meeting started and I started to take notes. Immediately the comedy of the EU Parliament started to come pouring out, one of the MEPs attending made a fool of himself by calling one of his fellow sponsors a member of his own party (the Socialist Party) when in fact he wasn't and guessing by the laughter and disgusted looks his party is no where near the same ideologically. The "forgetful" MEP tried to play it off as a joke, but he failed, miserably.
Now what ensued was pure comedy. The sponsoring MEPs invited a bunch of lobbyists and concerned citizens voicing that the purpose of the meeting was to "bring government and the people together." Right off the bat you knew that was bullshit because the remaining guests belonged to the EU Commission, the real target. The dialogue when something like this:
MEP: "We would like to thank the EU Commission for coming today to take part in todays session."
EU Commission: "Whatever"
MEP: "We would like to express are gratitude for your service and expertise"
EU Com: "Get to the point before I stop faking like I respect you"
MEP: "But we come here today because we feel that we can improve the Emergency Response Service so that it works flawlessly"
EU Com: "You want my job? You can have it" Flips over the table and storms out of the room.
It of course was much more cordial and consisted of dialogue loaded with rhetoric, spite and contempt. It was all good fun.
The rest of the meeting was not all that interesting except for the "Forgetful" MEP who kept insulting America and using bad information but I didn't mind because American politicians still call French Fries Freedom Fries because of the policies of France even though French Fries are Belgian. So all ignorance is forgiven.
So I walked in and directly to my left there were a pile of sandwiches and an assortment of juices and waters, and yes everyone including interns could take them! So I grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water and sat down at a chair that had a microphone and translation headset at it and proceeded to pass the time by talking to Weronica about how she got mugged by Gypsies while at the same time a bunch of important looking people in suits filed into the room.
Suddenly the meeting started and I started to take notes. Immediately the comedy of the EU Parliament started to come pouring out, one of the MEPs attending made a fool of himself by calling one of his fellow sponsors a member of his own party (the Socialist Party) when in fact he wasn't and guessing by the laughter and disgusted looks his party is no where near the same ideologically. The "forgetful" MEP tried to play it off as a joke, but he failed, miserably.
Now what ensued was pure comedy. The sponsoring MEPs invited a bunch of lobbyists and concerned citizens voicing that the purpose of the meeting was to "bring government and the people together." Right off the bat you knew that was bullshit because the remaining guests belonged to the EU Commission, the real target. The dialogue when something like this:
MEP: "We would like to thank the EU Commission for coming today to take part in todays session."
EU Commission: "Whatever"
MEP: "We would like to express are gratitude for your service and expertise"
EU Com: "Get to the point before I stop faking like I respect you"
MEP: "But we come here today because we feel that we can improve the Emergency Response Service so that it works flawlessly"
EU Com: "You want my job? You can have it" Flips over the table and storms out of the room.
It of course was much more cordial and consisted of dialogue loaded with rhetoric, spite and contempt. It was all good fun.
The rest of the meeting was not all that interesting except for the "Forgetful" MEP who kept insulting America and using bad information but I didn't mind because American politicians still call French Fries Freedom Fries because of the policies of France even though French Fries are Belgian. So all ignorance is forgiven.
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