How time flies. I blink and a week goes by. I've worked practically every day over the past week, except of course on the little known holiday Christmas. It's a big thing here. Who knew these crazy Czechs were Christian. Or Catholic. Or whatever. There is this tradition here, which trust me when I say it is weird. The Czechs buy a live coy, put it in their bath tub in their flat (most flats have but one tub), and let it live for a couple days before Christmas, swimming around in the small volume of water that is provided. And then, on said holiday, it is promptly eaten.
My first question to all of this, was where did they shower, or bathe, when they had their very own carp enjoying its last days? Do they not bathe? Or worse, do they shower with that thing swimming around, nipping at their toes? I am still at a loss.
In the days leading up to Christmas (actually, we noticed it the night we came back from Dresden), they set up large tubs in the street, filled with hundreds of coy. Their, in the freezing weather, men pull one coy out after another, gut it, stick it on a scale, and sell it for a price. Poetic, I know. Thousands of innocent coy lost their lives over the last week. The Czechs, in their bountiful knowledge, tell us that the coy live for over fifty years if they are left to themselves. The Czech nation, obviously, is one of the leading mass murderers of these long living fish.
It has also been told to me that the women bake cookies in the whole month of December. And bake they do. Non stop. The Czechs are still backwards in that way, where women are still solely in the kitchen. Which, for us Americans watching on the sidelines, note how really fucked up society is here, but they dont seem to mind. At least on the outside. Plus, they're baking cookies and forcing them on you. How could you go through a feminist movement while baking cookies? I've never heard of such a thing.
Anyway, I don't feel like going into the social implications that my earlier paragraph just wrought. Better to tell of our Christmas! We had a Mexican Christmas, to be sure. Jamie and I cooked chicken fajitas, drank homemade eggnog (pretty good actually), and laughed. I'm sure we did other things too. That eggnog was pretty strong.
We each opened a present on Christmas eve. I got Jamie books, and not only because I got a large discount at a certain bookstore. No, these were books I really thought she would like to read. She got me a wallet, the very one that I had exclaimed upon laying eyes on it, "I wish I had a new wallet!" She took that to heart. Good girl. She got me a tie too, which I wore on Christmas day. Very nice gifts. It was pretty funny, because the next day when we saw our fellow American friends on the street (it rarely happens), they told us in detail how they made enchiladas for Christmas dinner. What a coincidence we said, we made fajitas! A good laugh, that was.
By the way, Pavel, my manager at Anagram, had no bloody idea what fajitas were. I said fajitas, he thought I said vahitas, which is ridiculous, and even after I corrected him, he was still wondering. So he said, is it like burritos and I said yes.
Close enough.
21 December 2007
Dresden
By the time Jamie and I got back to our flat in Prague last night, we were wiped. The jump to Dresden had gone over as expected, with some minor troubles. It started out like this:
Jamie and I sat at the Holesovice Station watching the various different people walk past, all staring at whoever or whatever was staring back. The train station is the happening place to be it seems, and to watch (see: check out) the inhabitants of the dingy station. It would be a major juxtaposition later in the day when we would be sitting in the Dresden station. Jamie remarked, "The Germans must have a lot of money. Just look at this station, compared to Prague." Indeed.
It was funny how it all worked out, us going to Dresden. We had just enough between the two of us to buy our tickets out of there (essentially our travel visas), with a couple crown to spare. Those couple crown went to buying freshly baked pizza from the vendor in the train station, enough to calm our frenzied growling stomachs. Oh, and when I saw freshly baked, I mean baked. I'm not sure there is a Czech word for 'fresh.' We just happened to have 30 euro between us saved from our debacle in Madrid, which would be used towards whatever happened to come our way in Dresden.
The ride north was really beautiful though. Most of it was riding along a river (not sure which, the Elbe? the Vlatkva?), with little towns and small cabins and cottages dotting the riverside. Those little dwellings remind me of an easier time, life without modern frustrations clogging our arteries. I could feel my being pulled towards that simpler lifestyle, but it didnt last long. For all its woes, I do enjoy modernity. While still in the Czech Republic, the train conductor spoke three languages in succession: Czech, English, and German. When we crossed the border, the conductor graciously spoke one: German. Those Germans. They are antagonistic.
Oh, and whats with the border guards stamping your passports with stamps sans ink? What is that a cruel joke or something? I'm trying to be illegal and you're fucking it all up! Have some decency!
When we arrived in Dresden, I was excited. This is the city I've read about engulfed in a firestorm, burned to a crisp! The RAF bombing units 10,000 feet up in the air could feel the magnificent heat of their thousands of incendiary devices exploding over the 'Jewel of the Elbe'. People trying to survive the fire jumped into fountains filled with water, only to be boiled alive due to the intense heat. Us Allies really knew how to stick it to those Germans, bombing a non-fortified city. But...I guess they had it coming.
Anyway, it was cold. And not a haha I love the cold. And not a haha I live in Seattle I know what cold is. This was a cold that creeped through your eye sockets and froze your very brain. Jamie complained of brain freeze. I couldnt feel my fingers. We needed to find some place warm. But before that, we walked the wide boulevards of a remarkably new city, looking at the giant shopping malls that seemed to be everywhere. I wasnt too surprised that everything was new. Kurt Vonnegut said when he crawled out of slaughterhouse basement and he came upon the ruins of Dresden, it was like looking out on the face of the moon. So a lot of this stuff was recently built. But I could see buildings that looked pretty old, that I'm guessing were rebuilt after the bombing, that we were steering for.
By the time we finally reached those buildings, right on the Elbe, there was some sort of graduation going on. Military graduation, to boot. Hundreds of young German military students stood in formation on a large plaza, awaiting the military band that was getting set up behind us, and I'm sure their commanding officer and whatever else they had in store for this graduation. I love seeing so many Germans standing in military formation. Reminds me of those olden days.
When we came upon the future of German's military, Jamie was visibly shivering and I could no longer feel either my hands or feet. So that was bad. We ducked into a restaurant right of the staging ground of the troops, a little place on the river called 'Radeberger Spezialausschank'. If you ever travel to Dresden, I highly recommend it. I ordered blood sausage and liver sausage with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. I have to say, I was going out on a limb. I never eat liver, and I certainly never order anything with the word blood in it. But, to my delight, it was excellent! Best German meal I've had by far. And the portions at this place were great. You were meant to eat a lot. Jamie and I drank hot wine (Gluewine) and talked about family, the future, and whatever else came up. We stayed there 3 hours, drinking the hot wine and just staving off for the cold that would envelop us soon enough.
It was sad when we had to go. When we got outside, I wasnt even cold! That wine sure did the trick. Why didnt we think of this earlier?? I thought. With the last remaining light of the day we did a photo shoot. I saw a little Chinese boy go head first down some steps. He didnt even cry. Just stared at me while his mother got all bothersome over him. Kid was a trooper. I'd probably cry if I went for a nose dive down some wide German cement steps.
My camera died when we were at this cool little Christmas market. We saw some people just laughing, choking up on their own laughter and laugh some more. Apparently, some people had had more wine than us. Jamie and I danced in the courtyard just outside of an ancient (or rebuilt) church. Jamie kept saying, "Dip me! Dip me!" Which I did but it didnt look as good as in the movies. We got some looks. People were jealous.
The remaining three hours of our stay we prowled the mall. That was about all we could do. The night had come and it was cold. We found a 1 euro store. Everything was 1 euro except for a dildo. That was 3 euro.
As we sat in the nice new train station, we watched 5 or 6 police officers corner 3 Arab men, demanding their passports. They were still there determining whether or not they were terrorists by the time we had to go, about 30 minutes after they were originally cornered. By that time, more cops were called in, and standing about, watching for any sudden move. I wondered, What happens if they missed their train? What if they needed to be somewhere at a certain time? And then I wondered, What if they were terrorists? I'm sure the police were thinking the same thing. I guess I'll never know.
The ride home was relatively uneventful, until a man who I swore was homeless, and had no control over the voices in his head came on board and sat next to us. He would say anything that he was thinking. Which seemed to have something to do with 'Aero City,' because he said that about 2 hundred times for the 10 minutes he was sitting next to us. I was relieved when he left, muttering about Aero City and god knows what else. I can only take a certain amount of insane in my life.
We got our stamps going back into the Czech Republic. This time they had ink. Which is good, because that was the whole point of our trip. And that it basically was a Christmas present, decidedly since all that money had been earmarked elsewhere. There are always birthdays I suppose...
I do hope to go back there, soon. When the winter starts to thaw, especially. They had some of the most amazing electronics in the mall. I will have to go back and see what crazy things those Germans are engineering next.
Jamie and I sat at the Holesovice Station watching the various different people walk past, all staring at whoever or whatever was staring back. The train station is the happening place to be it seems, and to watch (see: check out) the inhabitants of the dingy station. It would be a major juxtaposition later in the day when we would be sitting in the Dresden station. Jamie remarked, "The Germans must have a lot of money. Just look at this station, compared to Prague." Indeed.
It was funny how it all worked out, us going to Dresden. We had just enough between the two of us to buy our tickets out of there (essentially our travel visas), with a couple crown to spare. Those couple crown went to buying freshly baked pizza from the vendor in the train station, enough to calm our frenzied growling stomachs. Oh, and when I saw freshly baked, I mean baked. I'm not sure there is a Czech word for 'fresh.' We just happened to have 30 euro between us saved from our debacle in Madrid, which would be used towards whatever happened to come our way in Dresden.
The ride north was really beautiful though. Most of it was riding along a river (not sure which, the Elbe? the Vlatkva?), with little towns and small cabins and cottages dotting the riverside. Those little dwellings remind me of an easier time, life without modern frustrations clogging our arteries. I could feel my being pulled towards that simpler lifestyle, but it didnt last long. For all its woes, I do enjoy modernity. While still in the Czech Republic, the train conductor spoke three languages in succession: Czech, English, and German. When we crossed the border, the conductor graciously spoke one: German. Those Germans. They are antagonistic.
Oh, and whats with the border guards stamping your passports with stamps sans ink? What is that a cruel joke or something? I'm trying to be illegal and you're fucking it all up! Have some decency!
When we arrived in Dresden, I was excited. This is the city I've read about engulfed in a firestorm, burned to a crisp! The RAF bombing units 10,000 feet up in the air could feel the magnificent heat of their thousands of incendiary devices exploding over the 'Jewel of the Elbe'. People trying to survive the fire jumped into fountains filled with water, only to be boiled alive due to the intense heat. Us Allies really knew how to stick it to those Germans, bombing a non-fortified city. But...I guess they had it coming.
Anyway, it was cold. And not a haha I love the cold. And not a haha I live in Seattle I know what cold is. This was a cold that creeped through your eye sockets and froze your very brain. Jamie complained of brain freeze. I couldnt feel my fingers. We needed to find some place warm. But before that, we walked the wide boulevards of a remarkably new city, looking at the giant shopping malls that seemed to be everywhere. I wasnt too surprised that everything was new. Kurt Vonnegut said when he crawled out of slaughterhouse basement and he came upon the ruins of Dresden, it was like looking out on the face of the moon. So a lot of this stuff was recently built. But I could see buildings that looked pretty old, that I'm guessing were rebuilt after the bombing, that we were steering for.
By the time we finally reached those buildings, right on the Elbe, there was some sort of graduation going on. Military graduation, to boot. Hundreds of young German military students stood in formation on a large plaza, awaiting the military band that was getting set up behind us, and I'm sure their commanding officer and whatever else they had in store for this graduation. I love seeing so many Germans standing in military formation. Reminds me of those olden days.
When we came upon the future of German's military, Jamie was visibly shivering and I could no longer feel either my hands or feet. So that was bad. We ducked into a restaurant right of the staging ground of the troops, a little place on the river called 'Radeberger Spezialausschank'. If you ever travel to Dresden, I highly recommend it. I ordered blood sausage and liver sausage with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes. I have to say, I was going out on a limb. I never eat liver, and I certainly never order anything with the word blood in it. But, to my delight, it was excellent! Best German meal I've had by far. And the portions at this place were great. You were meant to eat a lot. Jamie and I drank hot wine (Gluewine) and talked about family, the future, and whatever else came up. We stayed there 3 hours, drinking the hot wine and just staving off for the cold that would envelop us soon enough.
It was sad when we had to go. When we got outside, I wasnt even cold! That wine sure did the trick. Why didnt we think of this earlier?? I thought. With the last remaining light of the day we did a photo shoot. I saw a little Chinese boy go head first down some steps. He didnt even cry. Just stared at me while his mother got all bothersome over him. Kid was a trooper. I'd probably cry if I went for a nose dive down some wide German cement steps.
My camera died when we were at this cool little Christmas market. We saw some people just laughing, choking up on their own laughter and laugh some more. Apparently, some people had had more wine than us. Jamie and I danced in the courtyard just outside of an ancient (or rebuilt) church. Jamie kept saying, "Dip me! Dip me!" Which I did but it didnt look as good as in the movies. We got some looks. People were jealous.
The remaining three hours of our stay we prowled the mall. That was about all we could do. The night had come and it was cold. We found a 1 euro store. Everything was 1 euro except for a dildo. That was 3 euro.
As we sat in the nice new train station, we watched 5 or 6 police officers corner 3 Arab men, demanding their passports. They were still there determining whether or not they were terrorists by the time we had to go, about 30 minutes after they were originally cornered. By that time, more cops were called in, and standing about, watching for any sudden move. I wondered, What happens if they missed their train? What if they needed to be somewhere at a certain time? And then I wondered, What if they were terrorists? I'm sure the police were thinking the same thing. I guess I'll never know.
The ride home was relatively uneventful, until a man who I swore was homeless, and had no control over the voices in his head came on board and sat next to us. He would say anything that he was thinking. Which seemed to have something to do with 'Aero City,' because he said that about 2 hundred times for the 10 minutes he was sitting next to us. I was relieved when he left, muttering about Aero City and god knows what else. I can only take a certain amount of insane in my life.
We got our stamps going back into the Czech Republic. This time they had ink. Which is good, because that was the whole point of our trip. And that it basically was a Christmas present, decidedly since all that money had been earmarked elsewhere. There are always birthdays I suppose...
I do hope to go back there, soon. When the winter starts to thaw, especially. They had some of the most amazing electronics in the mall. I will have to go back and see what crazy things those Germans are engineering next.
18 December 2007
Schengen
A couple days ago when I was about to leave Anagram after a hard day of watching customers and reading, my fellow American colleague asked me what I was doing for Christmas, and whether I was going home. I replied of course not, where the hell would I have the money for that after working for less then half the minimum American wage. Turns out he was going home, and then said, I just hope they let me back in the country. As in CZ, the country I live in now. To which I was slightly confused, and said, What are talking about? Of course they will let you in. Not so, he said. Here is why:
The European Union has passed laws dropping all border controls along all EU nations' borders starting this Friday, December 21. In other words, when you travel between the Czech Republic and say, Germany, the border guards will no longer stamp your passport. The border guards thankfully all get to keep their jobs, but it puts us expats living abroad in a slight fix. The problem is that while in theory this is a great idea, which has been imposed on all Western EU allies for years now, it is something new to Central and Eastern European countries. Effectively, the Schengen Laws (which they are called), makes it near impossible for illegal immigrants to hop out of their country of residence and renew their three month travel visa. This has been the practice for many of the thousands of expats living in Central Europe. Instead of going through all the ridiculous hoops of obtaining a work permit and work visa (two separate entities), expats have been renewing their travel visas (allowing them to stay in that country for 3 months) by hopping on a train to a nearby country, and coming back in, letting the border guards stamp their passport for another stint in that selected country. The EU has decided to crack down on these travel visa tyrants.
I find it ironic that after 17 years, the laws change right when I arrive. Fantastic. Fate has a sense of humor.
What is worse about all this is that there is no information anywhere about this. There are articles published in the Prague Post, which I duly noted once I had heard about it a couple days ago. But nothing posted around Prague or on the news networks. No wait, let me rephrase that sentence. Nothing posted in English around Prague, which is just the sort of thing that should be published. Only now, when I walk down the street, I see small billboards with an outline of the Schengen Laws. All in Czech. The only reason I know it is that is it has a large picture of Europe and something about Schengen in the title. Thanks for the heads up guys.
When this information finally came to light, a couple days ago, I had my little freak out session but after that, I knew what we had to do. Get out of the country and back in before the December 21 deadline. Give one last Fuck You to the system. Until March, when we get to figure out what to do about the illegal status. Luckily for us, by that time, Jamie should have her visa covered. She has heard that I can have status on her visa as her non-marital spouse. But that is still hearsay and not confirmed. I could technically get a visa, but I need a company here to sponsor me. I do have the option of letting Culinaria sponsoring me, but to be honest, I really don't like the business, and the non stop 12 hour shifts are ridiculous, and boring. Why would I want to put myself through hell every day? Its either that, or staying illegal. Tough choice.
So Jamie and I leave for Dresden on Thursday for a day trip. I told one of my Czech coworkers about it and she had no idea where Dresden was. It's the closest city outside of the Czech borders. 1.75 hours by train. Christ what is wrong with these people?
If I wanted to stay illegal I could always hop on a flight to the UK in March. Since they are not in Continental Europe, they are exempt from the laws. Also they wanted no part of them, anyway. You gotta love those Brits. Stickin it to the rest of Europe.
In short, the Schengen Laws will change the way I and many others living in Europe deal with the system. As the EU cracks down on immigration (much the same in the US), lives change and it gets tougher. But I have no worries about staying here. The cops are all corrupt and you can buy them off if need be. But I hope it does not come to that. I have never bought someone off and I dont expect to start now. Jamie's parents have decided to urge her to come home if things do not start to change and look up by the end of January. For all of you who know how I feel about her parents, I don't have to say anything. For those who don't, they suck.
If these Europeans think they can get the better of us, they are wrong.
The European Union has passed laws dropping all border controls along all EU nations' borders starting this Friday, December 21. In other words, when you travel between the Czech Republic and say, Germany, the border guards will no longer stamp your passport. The border guards thankfully all get to keep their jobs, but it puts us expats living abroad in a slight fix. The problem is that while in theory this is a great idea, which has been imposed on all Western EU allies for years now, it is something new to Central and Eastern European countries. Effectively, the Schengen Laws (which they are called), makes it near impossible for illegal immigrants to hop out of their country of residence and renew their three month travel visa. This has been the practice for many of the thousands of expats living in Central Europe. Instead of going through all the ridiculous hoops of obtaining a work permit and work visa (two separate entities), expats have been renewing their travel visas (allowing them to stay in that country for 3 months) by hopping on a train to a nearby country, and coming back in, letting the border guards stamp their passport for another stint in that selected country. The EU has decided to crack down on these travel visa tyrants.
I find it ironic that after 17 years, the laws change right when I arrive. Fantastic. Fate has a sense of humor.
What is worse about all this is that there is no information anywhere about this. There are articles published in the Prague Post, which I duly noted once I had heard about it a couple days ago. But nothing posted around Prague or on the news networks. No wait, let me rephrase that sentence. Nothing posted in English around Prague, which is just the sort of thing that should be published. Only now, when I walk down the street, I see small billboards with an outline of the Schengen Laws. All in Czech. The only reason I know it is that is it has a large picture of Europe and something about Schengen in the title. Thanks for the heads up guys.
When this information finally came to light, a couple days ago, I had my little freak out session but after that, I knew what we had to do. Get out of the country and back in before the December 21 deadline. Give one last Fuck You to the system. Until March, when we get to figure out what to do about the illegal status. Luckily for us, by that time, Jamie should have her visa covered. She has heard that I can have status on her visa as her non-marital spouse. But that is still hearsay and not confirmed. I could technically get a visa, but I need a company here to sponsor me. I do have the option of letting Culinaria sponsoring me, but to be honest, I really don't like the business, and the non stop 12 hour shifts are ridiculous, and boring. Why would I want to put myself through hell every day? Its either that, or staying illegal. Tough choice.
So Jamie and I leave for Dresden on Thursday for a day trip. I told one of my Czech coworkers about it and she had no idea where Dresden was. It's the closest city outside of the Czech borders. 1.75 hours by train. Christ what is wrong with these people?
If I wanted to stay illegal I could always hop on a flight to the UK in March. Since they are not in Continental Europe, they are exempt from the laws. Also they wanted no part of them, anyway. You gotta love those Brits. Stickin it to the rest of Europe.
In short, the Schengen Laws will change the way I and many others living in Europe deal with the system. As the EU cracks down on immigration (much the same in the US), lives change and it gets tougher. But I have no worries about staying here. The cops are all corrupt and you can buy them off if need be. But I hope it does not come to that. I have never bought someone off and I dont expect to start now. Jamie's parents have decided to urge her to come home if things do not start to change and look up by the end of January. For all of you who know how I feel about her parents, I don't have to say anything. For those who don't, they suck.
If these Europeans think they can get the better of us, they are wrong.
10 December 2007
08 December 2007
a little Culinaria
Second day of this Culinaria job. Basically give people what they want when they ask (and hope you know the language they speak to you). The Czechs obviously have no idea about the legal implications working 12 hour shifts without extra pay. Oh yeah, by the way, I work 12 hour shifts. For 70 crown an hour (so I hear). That's $3.93 at the current exchange rate. And no overtime. Frickin wonderful. And this is the place that my producer friend naively told me that the owner payed wages worth of the United States. Not so...
Its not hard work but its difficult staying on your feet continually for 12 hours. You do have on 30 minute break, and thankfully my flat is one minute walk away (literally), so I can go home and eat or see Jamie when I can. Still, that's 11.5 hours of work. And this aint no PA job where you actually get paid according to what you do (sort of). Anyway, it was my second day, and I've already figured out the system. Which is good, because I dont have to be nervous about what will happen next. My first day was actually the one day Sylvia (owner, Canadian, the 'bitch' from an earlier entry) was down in the shop for most of the day, adhering her loyal workforce to her wishes. They were not always loyal, though, and this would cause outbursts. But she would usually cause these outbursts to begin with. She was pretty ridiculous and supposedly she is never like that. I feel that she is always like that and she just happened to be in the shop more than a fleeting minute in her busy schedule. So my first day was a challenging one, and now that I got through the second, it has become clear what the usual atmosphere is like in the shop.
So I'm working 7 days a week, for shit pay. Lovely. Not to mention my online work that I do for Robert, the man at T-Mobile in Seattle. He's paying me so that is good, but I still do minimal things for him. The problem, as can be imagined, is that I do actually have to undergo training for this job, and he is rarely able to speak long enough on gmail to really go over comprehensible material. Its annoying. But typical.
Jamie and I are good. We always seem to get into at least bickering argument every night after I get home. And maybe its because ive been on my feet for 12 hours straight, or she's frustrated about work or whatever. Or a combination of a number of things going on at that moment. And it just sucks. We've always pulled through, and I am forever thankful for that, but those times just suck. Thats all that I can say.
Well, I must bring out the recycling, so I will have to go. Until next time...
Its not hard work but its difficult staying on your feet continually for 12 hours. You do have on 30 minute break, and thankfully my flat is one minute walk away (literally), so I can go home and eat or see Jamie when I can. Still, that's 11.5 hours of work. And this aint no PA job where you actually get paid according to what you do (sort of). Anyway, it was my second day, and I've already figured out the system. Which is good, because I dont have to be nervous about what will happen next. My first day was actually the one day Sylvia (owner, Canadian, the 'bitch' from an earlier entry) was down in the shop for most of the day, adhering her loyal workforce to her wishes. They were not always loyal, though, and this would cause outbursts. But she would usually cause these outbursts to begin with. She was pretty ridiculous and supposedly she is never like that. I feel that she is always like that and she just happened to be in the shop more than a fleeting minute in her busy schedule. So my first day was a challenging one, and now that I got through the second, it has become clear what the usual atmosphere is like in the shop.
So I'm working 7 days a week, for shit pay. Lovely. Not to mention my online work that I do for Robert, the man at T-Mobile in Seattle. He's paying me so that is good, but I still do minimal things for him. The problem, as can be imagined, is that I do actually have to undergo training for this job, and he is rarely able to speak long enough on gmail to really go over comprehensible material. Its annoying. But typical.
Jamie and I are good. We always seem to get into at least bickering argument every night after I get home. And maybe its because ive been on my feet for 12 hours straight, or she's frustrated about work or whatever. Or a combination of a number of things going on at that moment. And it just sucks. We've always pulled through, and I am forever thankful for that, but those times just suck. Thats all that I can say.
Well, I must bring out the recycling, so I will have to go. Until next time...
05 December 2007
update 5-12
I got a haircut. Very Euro. Jamie and I saw Swan Lake last night for free. She is applying to teach ballet at the State Opera. The director escorted us to our seats. That's service. The ballet however, was not so good. Even I could see inconsistencies (Jamie was much more harsh). Friday I start training for the new Culinaria job, but it wont last long. The owner will not hire me past December because I am an illegal immigrant/worker (who knew?). I met my landlord's godson. A big burly man who fixed our bathroom light. He works in a film too. I gave him my CV to pass off to his producer. Build contacts.
30 November 2007
The Producer and the 'Bitch'
Wednesday saw a couple of new developments. I finally was able to meet up with a local producer over here in the city. We have been in contact for a couple months now, and circumstances were always limiting our ability to meet up and talk about film and work and whatever else. So I went over to his office in the morning. Turns out he just started his own production company, called The SoFa. When I first called him back in late October, he was just starting out, literally. So it makes sense that we could not meet until now, what with his trying to figure managing a business and flying back and forth to the States (I think for financing, and probably shoots I would think). His offices are in the same apartment as a larger production company, called Sebel. I havent heard of it, nor have I really looked it up yet. But it seems that they were gracious enough to let them set up house in the same area as Sebel.
So the producer, Fady Salame, turned out to be a really down to earth and nice guy. Almost immediately he told me he would help me with whatever I needed, and that whenever a shoot came up he would call me up to be a runner or PA or whatever. Basically the lowliest job in the business, but everyone starts somewhere. Usually at the bottom. It caught me off guard because most people around here are not that honest, nor gracious to people whom they've only just met. He wondered about Brian Carmody (my contact who provided me with Fady's name and number) and our meeting up. Who knew a trip to Australia 5 years ago would provide a contact now. Anyway he was cool and balked at my current wages at Anagram, and told me he had a friend who owned a business. It's called Culinaria, which is basically a store/cafe with an assortment of foods. Its hard to describe, because its not a restaurant, but it has food. It has wine and alcoholic beverages, but it is not a bar. But the best part about it is that it basically imports all their items from the States. It has Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Ben and Jerry's! Holy crap! That's nuts.
So he gave me the name and email of this woman, who he described outright as "She's a bitch, but she's my friend. Just remember, she's a bitch. But I'm sure you will be fine." Great, I thought. Four minutes after I emailed her she called me to set up an interview. I dont know about bitchiness, but this woman is prompt.
So I go in for the interview in about a half hour, and I am excited to see what comes of it. Especially since he seemed to think I would get much higher wages working for this woman, Sylvia, than slaving away at Anagram. And besides, I'm being let go anyway, so it really doesnt matter. So we shall see what becomes of it. Fady told me he has a shoot coming up, and that he would call me. But it's not finalized, so its still up in the air. But that is still good news.
So the producer, Fady Salame, turned out to be a really down to earth and nice guy. Almost immediately he told me he would help me with whatever I needed, and that whenever a shoot came up he would call me up to be a runner or PA or whatever. Basically the lowliest job in the business, but everyone starts somewhere. Usually at the bottom. It caught me off guard because most people around here are not that honest, nor gracious to people whom they've only just met. He wondered about Brian Carmody (my contact who provided me with Fady's name and number) and our meeting up. Who knew a trip to Australia 5 years ago would provide a contact now. Anyway he was cool and balked at my current wages at Anagram, and told me he had a friend who owned a business. It's called Culinaria, which is basically a store/cafe with an assortment of foods. Its hard to describe, because its not a restaurant, but it has food. It has wine and alcoholic beverages, but it is not a bar. But the best part about it is that it basically imports all their items from the States. It has Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Ben and Jerry's! Holy crap! That's nuts.
So he gave me the name and email of this woman, who he described outright as "She's a bitch, but she's my friend. Just remember, she's a bitch. But I'm sure you will be fine." Great, I thought. Four minutes after I emailed her she called me to set up an interview. I dont know about bitchiness, but this woman is prompt.
So I go in for the interview in about a half hour, and I am excited to see what comes of it. Especially since he seemed to think I would get much higher wages working for this woman, Sylvia, than slaving away at Anagram. And besides, I'm being let go anyway, so it really doesnt matter. So we shall see what becomes of it. Fady told me he has a shoot coming up, and that he would call me. But it's not finalized, so its still up in the air. But that is still good news.
23 November 2007
jobs outsourced
One other thing that has been brewing the last week. I got another job working as a personal assistant to this guy in Seattle. He has his own company and deals with T-Mobile (USA). In essence, he offloads some of his work to me, which is basic stuff like setting up new users and transferring their information on to the next part of the set up. Really easy stuff. I thought it was funny and ironic that this guy from Seattle outsourced to Prague and found another American from Seattle.
So that hasnt really started up yet but we've had discussions on what the work is (and I've gotten a taste of it when he sent me a name and let me set up his user interface), the pay, the contract, the taxes involved, the under-the-table-ness. All that good stuff.
It's getting so dark so quickly now. And Jamie has started to make fun of my blogging right about now, so Im going to sign off.
So that hasnt really started up yet but we've had discussions on what the work is (and I've gotten a taste of it when he sent me a name and let me set up his user interface), the pay, the contract, the taxes involved, the under-the-table-ness. All that good stuff.
It's getting so dark so quickly now. And Jamie has started to make fun of my blogging right about now, so Im going to sign off.
Giving thanks?
Yesterday was Thanksgiving. The Czech Republic obviously does not celebrate the American holiday because the Mayflower never landed in Prague and the settlers never gave thanks to the Czech Native Americans...if that makes any sense at all.
So it wasnt much of a holiday for Jamie and I. I worked in the morning until the late afternoon at Anagram. When I was about to leave, Pavel asked me to step outside to talk for a second. I thought this was ridiculous, considering it was below freezing at that point. But I stepped out anyway, wondering what the crazy Czech had to say to me that it had to be said in the frost-bitten air.
Do you want to continue working here, he said? Now what is this about, I wondered? I told him that of course I did, leaving out the fact that I liked the work and the atmosphere, regardless of the fact that the pay was shit and I wasnt exactly getting any good from working there. He continued to tell me that he thought I was a good fit in the bookshop, but that after reviewing finances with the owners, he was going to have to let me go in the beginning of January. Which caught me quite by surprise, considering the fact that in the beginning, he told me that he did not want anyone who was going to have to leave in a couple months. He wanted someone who he could rely upon to be able to work in Prague for at least a year. And here he is telling me that I was going to be let go after a couple months. Mind boggling. And the fact that it was a financing issue. It was not as if they were giving me a good salary. It is equal to American minimum wage at the beginning of the '80's. Maybe. If the minimum wage sucked big time. If they even had minimum wage back then.
But I have to take it all with a grain of salt. They do pay me shit and I did feel anchored by the part time aspect of the work. I should be working somewhere else anyway. The fact that they were letting me off is probably the break I needed to really figure the work thing out here, but I love the bookshop and it makes me sad to think that I wont be there in the future, employed. After all, it was my first job here in the city, and it gave me hope. Without the spark that the thrill of work gave me, without that I would have had a hard time slogging through financial strains and emotional upheavals that come with those strains. In short, I am thankful for what it gave me. It is too bad that it must end so soon. But, in much of the cases, you have no choice. This is absolutely one of those cases.
So that threw a shadow over my Thanksgiving. Not to mention that I did not get to have any pumpkin pie. That's like a tradition. My favorite dessert, and its almost impossible to find the pie here. Finally, Jamie and I found a place that makes it, and it only costs something like 40 USD. Talk about gourmet pumpkin pie. So no pie for me this year. Which is very very unfortunate.
So it wasnt much of a holiday for Jamie and I. I worked in the morning until the late afternoon at Anagram. When I was about to leave, Pavel asked me to step outside to talk for a second. I thought this was ridiculous, considering it was below freezing at that point. But I stepped out anyway, wondering what the crazy Czech had to say to me that it had to be said in the frost-bitten air.
Do you want to continue working here, he said? Now what is this about, I wondered? I told him that of course I did, leaving out the fact that I liked the work and the atmosphere, regardless of the fact that the pay was shit and I wasnt exactly getting any good from working there. He continued to tell me that he thought I was a good fit in the bookshop, but that after reviewing finances with the owners, he was going to have to let me go in the beginning of January. Which caught me quite by surprise, considering the fact that in the beginning, he told me that he did not want anyone who was going to have to leave in a couple months. He wanted someone who he could rely upon to be able to work in Prague for at least a year. And here he is telling me that I was going to be let go after a couple months. Mind boggling. And the fact that it was a financing issue. It was not as if they were giving me a good salary. It is equal to American minimum wage at the beginning of the '80's. Maybe. If the minimum wage sucked big time. If they even had minimum wage back then.
But I have to take it all with a grain of salt. They do pay me shit and I did feel anchored by the part time aspect of the work. I should be working somewhere else anyway. The fact that they were letting me off is probably the break I needed to really figure the work thing out here, but I love the bookshop and it makes me sad to think that I wont be there in the future, employed. After all, it was my first job here in the city, and it gave me hope. Without the spark that the thrill of work gave me, without that I would have had a hard time slogging through financial strains and emotional upheavals that come with those strains. In short, I am thankful for what it gave me. It is too bad that it must end so soon. But, in much of the cases, you have no choice. This is absolutely one of those cases.
So that threw a shadow over my Thanksgiving. Not to mention that I did not get to have any pumpkin pie. That's like a tradition. My favorite dessert, and its almost impossible to find the pie here. Finally, Jamie and I found a place that makes it, and it only costs something like 40 USD. Talk about gourmet pumpkin pie. So no pie for me this year. Which is very very unfortunate.
10 November 2007
the flu and other endeavors
The past week has been hectic and crazy for a couple reasons. First, I was I was sick and it hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute I was on my feet feeling good, the next minute I'm bundled in all the clothes and towels and blankets I could find, still freezing and wondering when my head would stop pounding. All this while Jamie stood over me with my camera, taking pictures of me, telling me how cute I looked all bundled up. Yeah, thanks. That's really what I wanted to hear right about then.
The debilitating fever only kept me down for a night, though. A combination of factors probably led to my sickness. Everyone seems to be getting sick, and then I was working at Anagram and with the breakfast documentary that was shooting at the time. The running around in the cold with the camera equipment probably had the most effect on it. But finally it ended. Being sick is one of those things that everyone has to go through, but when it starts to happen, and you feel the sickness just about to rush in and blitz your sinuses, I cant help to wonder: Why now?
Unfortunately for the Czech workers in Anagram, they came down with some virus and all are bedridden. Which makes me wonder if I happened to be the one who passed it on. The other American working in the bookshop, Brent, isn't sick. He made a quip about the 'superiority of our race' to Pavel, the manager. Understandably, he was not amused. Then again, I would never put anything past his dark humor.
So I said goodbye to the documentary crew last night over dinner. They were good guys and are only at the beginning of their journey. It is sad to see them go. A part of me wants to continue with their shoot, stops in Budapest, Nice, Barcelona and Marakesh. But I am happy enough here to be in Prague. I shot off an email to one of my fellow EAP alumni who is still living in Budapest, gave him Bryan's (the director) email, and told him to expect them. So hopefully he will be able to get them into contact with his local friends and show them the sites.
The documentary was pretty funny. It's all about breakfast, and what different cultures eat for breakfast (if they eat it at all). We would interview people out on the streets of Prague and the answers ranged from eggs to pig legs. And most of these people spoke broken English at best, so Henrik, the host, had to do a little deciphering on the beat to keep the subject talking. It was fun and good to watch. And be part of a shoot again. I miss that lifestyle and the work.
Their production office is up in Sweden, so I told them if they ever needed an editor, to shoot me a call. I wouldnt mind a trip up to Sweden. Plus, Henrik was telling me its warmer than Prague. Which is hard to believe, considering how farther north it is. I guess I'll just have to find out.
What else is going on...Jamie's friend Katie came in from the States two days ago. I was worried about her staying with us for a second there, but we hit it off so nothing to worry about. We went out to a dance club called Akropolis last night with the rest of Jamie's TEFL students, now graduated. It was fun to a point. Akropolis was less of what I was expecting, which is too bad. There was a drunk old man dancing and sloshing a beer around. A woman in a wheelchair was out in the middle of the dance floor, and I thought that was pretty awesome to see. I have no idea how she ended up in that chair but I was glad to see she had never given up. There were a line of men staring at the girls dancing. It reminded me of when Jamie and I were in Split, Croatia, and a US naval regiment had just docked, and all the men were sex starved and eyes aggogle. I've never seen so many guys blatantly stare at the female half of a couple. It was ridiculous. Thats what it felt like, but it was in a dark room with music and packed with a bunch of drunk American girls.
The debilitating fever only kept me down for a night, though. A combination of factors probably led to my sickness. Everyone seems to be getting sick, and then I was working at Anagram and with the breakfast documentary that was shooting at the time. The running around in the cold with the camera equipment probably had the most effect on it. But finally it ended. Being sick is one of those things that everyone has to go through, but when it starts to happen, and you feel the sickness just about to rush in and blitz your sinuses, I cant help to wonder: Why now?
Unfortunately for the Czech workers in Anagram, they came down with some virus and all are bedridden. Which makes me wonder if I happened to be the one who passed it on. The other American working in the bookshop, Brent, isn't sick. He made a quip about the 'superiority of our race' to Pavel, the manager. Understandably, he was not amused. Then again, I would never put anything past his dark humor.
So I said goodbye to the documentary crew last night over dinner. They were good guys and are only at the beginning of their journey. It is sad to see them go. A part of me wants to continue with their shoot, stops in Budapest, Nice, Barcelona and Marakesh. But I am happy enough here to be in Prague. I shot off an email to one of my fellow EAP alumni who is still living in Budapest, gave him Bryan's (the director) email, and told him to expect them. So hopefully he will be able to get them into contact with his local friends and show them the sites.
The documentary was pretty funny. It's all about breakfast, and what different cultures eat for breakfast (if they eat it at all). We would interview people out on the streets of Prague and the answers ranged from eggs to pig legs. And most of these people spoke broken English at best, so Henrik, the host, had to do a little deciphering on the beat to keep the subject talking. It was fun and good to watch. And be part of a shoot again. I miss that lifestyle and the work.
Their production office is up in Sweden, so I told them if they ever needed an editor, to shoot me a call. I wouldnt mind a trip up to Sweden. Plus, Henrik was telling me its warmer than Prague. Which is hard to believe, considering how farther north it is. I guess I'll just have to find out.
What else is going on...Jamie's friend Katie came in from the States two days ago. I was worried about her staying with us for a second there, but we hit it off so nothing to worry about. We went out to a dance club called Akropolis last night with the rest of Jamie's TEFL students, now graduated. It was fun to a point. Akropolis was less of what I was expecting, which is too bad. There was a drunk old man dancing and sloshing a beer around. A woman in a wheelchair was out in the middle of the dance floor, and I thought that was pretty awesome to see. I have no idea how she ended up in that chair but I was glad to see she had never given up. There were a line of men staring at the girls dancing. It reminded me of when Jamie and I were in Split, Croatia, and a US naval regiment had just docked, and all the men were sex starved and eyes aggogle. I've never seen so many guys blatantly stare at the female half of a couple. It was ridiculous. Thats what it felt like, but it was in a dark room with music and packed with a bunch of drunk American girls.
25 October 2007
The Greek Statue at Post
Today was my first opportunity to start working in Anagram Bookshop. It was more of a 4 hour training exercise, but then again, there is only so much you can train for in a bookstore. What it came down to was really quite simple. I was shown all of the sections of books (not many, considering this is an independent enterprise), the filing system (the same program I used at Jigsaw Editorial), and the cash register. That was about it. And, since no one was coming in for the first two hours, I was literally left with browsing the books, getting to familiarize myself with all of them. I have a reading list now. Its long. And those books are expensive! Even with my 20% discount.
Something I found odd in the first minute of starting out, was the closet. This was no ordinary closet. And no, it wasn't like a magical doorway leading into a land of talking animals and parallels with Christianity. No, this closet had a toilet inside it. Now, when I say a closet, I mean that the area of the closet would probably never be able to house a human being, and especially hard with a toilet inside. I'm not sure why anyone would want to be so claustrophobic when using the bathroom. Doesnt make much sense to me at all. But there it was. Of course, this "bathroom" was a bathroom no more. It had been transformed into the coat rack, and small storage area. But still. Weird.
My manager, Paval, is this funny Czech guy that I am still trying to figure out. When I first met him he didn't seem like much of a reader to me. He has this pessimistic attitude, but it can change off and on. And he's pretty funny, but I dont think he is trying to be. It just sort of happens, and it surprises himself when it does. But maybe he is trying to make it seem that way. I'm still not sure. After the grueling four hour shift I had today we were having a smoke and he says, "You know, you are too serious. You are like one of those Greek statues." And proceeded to laugh at his own joke. But then, I want to be serious on my first day of work right? Business is business. I told him he had not seen me with a couple drinks in me, to which he got serious again. "Never at work, Hunter." Jeez, I was just kidding. Of course not at work.
I think its funny when people walk in and start talking in Czech to me in an English language bookstore. And then when they figure out I don't speak their magnificent tongue, they can't believe it. And then they don't know English. What the hell are you doing in an English language bookshop then?!?! Thankfully Paval is always there to save me, but he won't always be there. Which always gives me the warm and fuzzy feeling that soon I will be left to fend for myself in the confines of an alien language. At least I will have my books to save me.
Something I found odd in the first minute of starting out, was the closet. This was no ordinary closet. And no, it wasn't like a magical doorway leading into a land of talking animals and parallels with Christianity. No, this closet had a toilet inside it. Now, when I say a closet, I mean that the area of the closet would probably never be able to house a human being, and especially hard with a toilet inside. I'm not sure why anyone would want to be so claustrophobic when using the bathroom. Doesnt make much sense to me at all. But there it was. Of course, this "bathroom" was a bathroom no more. It had been transformed into the coat rack, and small storage area. But still. Weird.
My manager, Paval, is this funny Czech guy that I am still trying to figure out. When I first met him he didn't seem like much of a reader to me. He has this pessimistic attitude, but it can change off and on. And he's pretty funny, but I dont think he is trying to be. It just sort of happens, and it surprises himself when it does. But maybe he is trying to make it seem that way. I'm still not sure. After the grueling four hour shift I had today we were having a smoke and he says, "You know, you are too serious. You are like one of those Greek statues." And proceeded to laugh at his own joke. But then, I want to be serious on my first day of work right? Business is business. I told him he had not seen me with a couple drinks in me, to which he got serious again. "Never at work, Hunter." Jeez, I was just kidding. Of course not at work.
I think its funny when people walk in and start talking in Czech to me in an English language bookstore. And then when they figure out I don't speak their magnificent tongue, they can't believe it. And then they don't know English. What the hell are you doing in an English language bookshop then?!?! Thankfully Paval is always there to save me, but he won't always be there. Which always gives me the warm and fuzzy feeling that soon I will be left to fend for myself in the confines of an alien language. At least I will have my books to save me.
17 October 2007
new contest
Today was pretty normal for what has become my 'days.' Really, what I do is watch Jamie leave in the morning for her language school, wander around the flat looking for things to do, read, watch tv, email. But it only lasts for so long. This is one thing that I can't stand, the point when you have nothing to do, therefore, completely pointless. Really though, I'm waiting. Yes, I could be out there looking for work at English pubs, but I'm waiting on what happens tomorrow. My contact from Stillking Films finally comes back into the country tomorrow, so I will see what comes of that. But for now, something else has caught my attention.
Jamie came home talking about something she saw on the Prague Post today, the local newspaper for us English speakers. It's got news around the country, and job postings. But it is mostly for TOEFL certified individuals, which is Jamie soon enough. That English teaching thing just is not for me, but I'm sure it pays more than the Anagram bookshop. Oh, right, what she came home to tell me. She came home to tell me that The Prague Post is hosting a screenwriting contest. Anyone can join, as long as you are a Prague resident. I was about to contact my buddy Nick, long time roommate from long ago, but then, he's not here next to me in Praha. Next time good buddy. Regardless, I definitely want to enter, and since I have until the end of November, and nothing to do the next couple days (I probably start work at Anagram on Tuesday, unless something else comes along), I should definitely get my butt into high gear and start writing. I already have the plot, but I wont spoil it here. I'll wait until later to publish it.
But again, this is another example of Jamie and I vying for the top spot in the writing category. She's been renovating her play she wrote while in Lit class in Budapest. She and I were the only two people in a class of 12 that wrote a play, while the others wrote a short story, poems, or self-proclamation on the anti-Jewish properties of the Magyar people (you would have to be there to understand, trust me). So, while I write now, I remember those times, and I smile because our little writing conflict never seems to end, and we always end up in some competition, vis a vis writing, anyway.
The play. Stay tuned.
Jamie came home talking about something she saw on the Prague Post today, the local newspaper for us English speakers. It's got news around the country, and job postings. But it is mostly for TOEFL certified individuals, which is Jamie soon enough. That English teaching thing just is not for me, but I'm sure it pays more than the Anagram bookshop. Oh, right, what she came home to tell me. She came home to tell me that The Prague Post is hosting a screenwriting contest. Anyone can join, as long as you are a Prague resident. I was about to contact my buddy Nick, long time roommate from long ago, but then, he's not here next to me in Praha. Next time good buddy. Regardless, I definitely want to enter, and since I have until the end of November, and nothing to do the next couple days (I probably start work at Anagram on Tuesday, unless something else comes along), I should definitely get my butt into high gear and start writing. I already have the plot, but I wont spoil it here. I'll wait until later to publish it.
But again, this is another example of Jamie and I vying for the top spot in the writing category. She's been renovating her play she wrote while in Lit class in Budapest. She and I were the only two people in a class of 12 that wrote a play, while the others wrote a short story, poems, or self-proclamation on the anti-Jewish properties of the Magyar people (you would have to be there to understand, trust me). So, while I write now, I remember those times, and I smile because our little writing conflict never seems to end, and we always end up in some competition, vis a vis writing, anyway.
The play. Stay tuned.
16 October 2007
Anagram Bookshop
This afternoon was the start of something good. Maybe great. Depends on the way you look at it. I went to one of only three english language bookstores here in Praha, and was wandering around not really looking for anything in particular. I am always looking for the next book to read, much like some men look for the next woman to marry or women with their next shoes to buy. But that is generalizing, and I hate doing that. So disregard that last statement. I was looking around, and Jamie was there across the aisle, and she looked up at me with a sly little smile and said, "Why don't you get a job here?" Which at that very moment I had just started thinking about that myself. Which is also strange in itself, because sometimes I swear she can read my mind, and vice versa, but then often times, it is the complete opposite. Such is a relationship.
I asked the guy working, an American, and he told me the manager was gone traveling and that he wouldn't be back until the end of the week, but that I might try the owner at his other bookshop, called Big Ben. I was standing in Anagram Bookshop. The guy liked to own English language bookshops it seemed. So I shrugged and wandered away with Jamie into the hoards of tourists passing by.
The next day (I know I started this post as if I was writing about today, but...I guess not). I found Big Ben, asked the man up front, and he directed me to the owner, sitting outside smoking a cigarette and sucking down a beer. What could be better? We got to talking, and he told me he was hiring for Anagram (I was glad, Big Ben was way too small anyway) and that I should come in tomorrow to the bookshop to have a meeting. He later called it a 'chat' which was funny, because I see 'chats' as more of a serious problems in a relationship sort of thing, but not so with this man. But he was cool. I came in the next day (today--when this post originally started) and we talked about my CV and work there and the general sort of interview/chat sorts that you talk about. It went really well. He seemed to like me, and offered me a job, which would be official once the manager of Anagram got off his holiday from hiking all over Spain (Christ, Spain!) on Monday. But he said it seemed like a sure thing.
Now here's where it all seems to go downhill. I've always wanted to work in a little independent bookshop, working, reading, doing whatever. And getting a job in such a short time is pretty impressive, especially in a foreign country. But it pays 75 CZK/hr. Which, for all you math wizzes out there, is 3.50 USD. Pretty impressive. I'm not sure if they have a minimum wage here in the country, but lemme tell you, this place wouldnt make the bar. Or at least, I would hope it wouldnt.
So I'm sort of interested to see what happens. I know that I could find a job at an English pub in the nights, to make sure my income was able to take care of all of my expenses. And then, there is the contact at Stillking Films that still has yet to show itself. So we shall see what becomes of all this. At least I have some time before I am officially a part of the bookshop.
I asked the guy working, an American, and he told me the manager was gone traveling and that he wouldn't be back until the end of the week, but that I might try the owner at his other bookshop, called Big Ben. I was standing in Anagram Bookshop. The guy liked to own English language bookshops it seemed. So I shrugged and wandered away with Jamie into the hoards of tourists passing by.
The next day (I know I started this post as if I was writing about today, but...I guess not). I found Big Ben, asked the man up front, and he directed me to the owner, sitting outside smoking a cigarette and sucking down a beer. What could be better? We got to talking, and he told me he was hiring for Anagram (I was glad, Big Ben was way too small anyway) and that I should come in tomorrow to the bookshop to have a meeting. He later called it a 'chat' which was funny, because I see 'chats' as more of a serious problems in a relationship sort of thing, but not so with this man. But he was cool. I came in the next day (today--when this post originally started) and we talked about my CV and work there and the general sort of interview/chat sorts that you talk about. It went really well. He seemed to like me, and offered me a job, which would be official once the manager of Anagram got off his holiday from hiking all over Spain (Christ, Spain!) on Monday. But he said it seemed like a sure thing.
Now here's where it all seems to go downhill. I've always wanted to work in a little independent bookshop, working, reading, doing whatever. And getting a job in such a short time is pretty impressive, especially in a foreign country. But it pays 75 CZK/hr. Which, for all you math wizzes out there, is 3.50 USD. Pretty impressive. I'm not sure if they have a minimum wage here in the country, but lemme tell you, this place wouldnt make the bar. Or at least, I would hope it wouldnt.
So I'm sort of interested to see what happens. I know that I could find a job at an English pub in the nights, to make sure my income was able to take care of all of my expenses. And then, there is the contact at Stillking Films that still has yet to show itself. So we shall see what becomes of all this. At least I have some time before I am officially a part of the bookshop.
11 October 2007
the Written word
Jamie and I have this thing, that sooner or later one of is going to get published. I just started mulling the idea, seriously that is. I've thought about writing much more than I've written, and then I get sidetracked and never do what I really want to do. That is, write what I want to write when it pops into my head. She, on the other hand, has always believed, and rightly so, that she will publish a book one day. I think some days she wavers on what she really wants to do with that, but I feel that a casual 'race' of a publishing nature might push her into high gear.
We sit right now at different desks. Mine, a cheap plastic imitation of a desk that never ceases to stop its incessant squeaks as I type. And hers, a less than modern solid desk of Czech (maybe) origin, with no inclination to squeak whatsoever. To put it lightly, I hate my fucking desk. But I suppose that it is not the desk that makes the writer. It is the wit, and the ability, that makes the writer do what he (or she) must do. And as I sit here, listening to my desk sway and quake with every little tap of the keyboard, I wonder what exactly makes me write this post, or rather, what makes me write in general.
Whatever the reason (I do not feel like having a written argument with myself), I love the written word. Plus, I want to beat Jamie. And now I have to help her put up a hook for our scarves. Oh, the life in Praha.
We sit right now at different desks. Mine, a cheap plastic imitation of a desk that never ceases to stop its incessant squeaks as I type. And hers, a less than modern solid desk of Czech (maybe) origin, with no inclination to squeak whatsoever. To put it lightly, I hate my fucking desk. But I suppose that it is not the desk that makes the writer. It is the wit, and the ability, that makes the writer do what he (or she) must do. And as I sit here, listening to my desk sway and quake with every little tap of the keyboard, I wonder what exactly makes me write this post, or rather, what makes me write in general.
Whatever the reason (I do not feel like having a written argument with myself), I love the written word. Plus, I want to beat Jamie. And now I have to help her put up a hook for our scarves. Oh, the life in Praha.
Muffled, but it came through
There are two types of people in this world. The first, a most tiresome bunch, can be easily agitated, and thus, easily manipulated. The second, understanding and open to the challenges of life, are out there, somewhere. As I sat in the most uncomfortable chair in an airport ever, a mother and her child came into my field of vision, as I tried desperately to stay awake during my thousand hour layover. The girl, no more than 5 years old, was obviously bored out of her mind and wanted to be noticed. She stood in the middle of the terminal and started to scream. Not the scream that has become synonymous with horror films, or being thrown off of a 10 story building. It was youthful, fun. She was trying to be noticed, was all. She was, after all, only five.
Two reactions came from the crowd of people standing and sitting (some groggy in their half asleep layover sadness) around her. The first, and that of the most tiresome bunch, looked at her in absolute disdain, and, realizing she would never get the hint, then looked to her mother to quiet the little bitch down. What the hell was she thinking, letting her scream like that?! The men and women who had once been that same age, an age of youthful innocence and wonder at all around them, had forgotten. They had forgotten what it felt to stand in the center of people, not caring what it meant to yell, scream, shout. They had forgotten what it meant to be young. And then, on the other side of the spectrum, were those who understood. I saw some, not many, who smiled. No looks to the girl. No looks to her mother. Just a simple smile, one gesture that can mean so little, and yet so much. An understanding, a rememberance, of what it meant to be young. And that she would grow up, and probably forget what it meant to stand in the center of society and scream just for the hell of it.
Her mother, taking a cue from the first group, slapped her hand down on her daughter's mouth, and made a hushed remark. More likely, a demand. But it did not seem to sway the girl, who kept wailing for all she was worth. The scream was muffled, but it was there. She was not finished yet. She took off down a length of chairs, her mother puffing along behind her, desperately trying to cover her outrageous daughter's cries of pleasure before anyone else gave her the look of death. From where I was sitting, it was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time, especially watching the first group of irksome travelers who had no patience for the audio-oriented pleasures of a little girl gone crazed. Her mother finally caught up with her at the giant plate-glass window, covering her little girl the best she could, but she just kept wooping and screaming. Muffled, maybe, but it was heard.
What does it mean to stand in a crowd and scream, or better yet, to speak your mind? Will the first group, the easily manipulated, make the rules? Will those who understand be forgotten by the wayside, or worse, pushed to the side while others look on in silence? I hope the little girl, the little girl who could scream in a Dublin layover terminal and never be silenced, even with the hand of authority muffling her cries, will never forget what it felt like to do what she did that day. She might, and then she will inevitably make her way into one of the two groups. Or, maybe, she can make her own. Before doing that, she must remember what it felt like to be the five year old, bored and eager to do whatever it took to gain the attention she deserved.
Two reactions came from the crowd of people standing and sitting (some groggy in their half asleep layover sadness) around her. The first, and that of the most tiresome bunch, looked at her in absolute disdain, and, realizing she would never get the hint, then looked to her mother to quiet the little bitch down. What the hell was she thinking, letting her scream like that?! The men and women who had once been that same age, an age of youthful innocence and wonder at all around them, had forgotten. They had forgotten what it felt to stand in the center of people, not caring what it meant to yell, scream, shout. They had forgotten what it meant to be young. And then, on the other side of the spectrum, were those who understood. I saw some, not many, who smiled. No looks to the girl. No looks to her mother. Just a simple smile, one gesture that can mean so little, and yet so much. An understanding, a rememberance, of what it meant to be young. And that she would grow up, and probably forget what it meant to stand in the center of society and scream just for the hell of it.
Her mother, taking a cue from the first group, slapped her hand down on her daughter's mouth, and made a hushed remark. More likely, a demand. But it did not seem to sway the girl, who kept wailing for all she was worth. The scream was muffled, but it was there. She was not finished yet. She took off down a length of chairs, her mother puffing along behind her, desperately trying to cover her outrageous daughter's cries of pleasure before anyone else gave her the look of death. From where I was sitting, it was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time, especially watching the first group of irksome travelers who had no patience for the audio-oriented pleasures of a little girl gone crazed. Her mother finally caught up with her at the giant plate-glass window, covering her little girl the best she could, but she just kept wooping and screaming. Muffled, maybe, but it was heard.
What does it mean to stand in a crowd and scream, or better yet, to speak your mind? Will the first group, the easily manipulated, make the rules? Will those who understand be forgotten by the wayside, or worse, pushed to the side while others look on in silence? I hope the little girl, the little girl who could scream in a Dublin layover terminal and never be silenced, even with the hand of authority muffling her cries, will never forget what it felt like to do what she did that day. She might, and then she will inevitably make her way into one of the two groups. Or, maybe, she can make her own. Before doing that, she must remember what it felt like to be the five year old, bored and eager to do whatever it took to gain the attention she deserved.
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