Western Journalism At Its Best

I generally prefer to write about events happening around me, because the story is mine and no one can lay claim on it. Sure, someone else can have a similar experience in the same place and write a similar story, but they aren’t writing about your experience, they’re writing about their experience and telling you about it. That’s called journalism.

I’m no journalist. Maybe something like a personal journalist, but I just can’t see someone saying journalist when they come to describe me. Whatever. The fact is, when real journalists are writing their articles or creating their television shows, I would hope they know what they’re talking about.

It would help if they had correct information. That’s the first step.

The second step is making a compelling piece that hooks you throughout, and trying not to blow it at the end.

Which is exactly what CNN did today. Way to go guys.

Pestiside, one of the best (and sarcastic) blogs about current events in the Hungarian nation, alerted readers as to the strange events happening on the CNN Video page. One of the videos, titled ‘Serb ultranationalists rally,’ focuses on the disintegrating situation in Belgrade, home to war criminal Radovan Karadzic, the fellow who finally was apprehended after 13 years in hiding. His followers, who seem to remember who he is after all this time (and neglect his genocidal nature), came out en masse to demonstrate against his imminent extradition to The Hague.

Police in riot gear with shields and batons beat back the demonstrators, running around dispersing crowds and bowling people over. The demonstrators respond by throwing rocks and whatever they can carry. But they don’t look that old. Are you sure you were around when this guy was in power? Or is this just your right wing parents telling you what to do?

This relative mayhem goes on for a minute and a half, and by the end I’m thinking, Ok well that was a riot, when’s the next one going to happen around here? And then I stop on the last sequence in the video. People are running around and hiding from the falling tear gas grenades, and a fire is raging in the middle of the street. Someone looks to be running for cover down the stairs of a metro stop. It would all be fine and dandy to end it on this image of Serbian outrage if it weren’t for one small problem.

That wasn’t Serbia. It was Hungary. The yellow metro stop sign enshrouded in tear gas (on the left) is none other than the symbol of the Millennium Underground, the oldest metro line in continental Europe.



Wow. You just fucked up that one.

I find it hard to believe that the leading outlet in Western journalism somehow messed up footage from the Serbian riots of 24 hours ago, with the Hungarian riots of 2 years prior. Really. What are you guys thinking? Sure, both riots were led by right wing nationalists, and both were set in a land far far away from a New York office. But being ignorant about two sovereign peoples is just retarded.

Someone should fire their Continuity Specialist.

UPDATE 1:

The video has been taken down from their site. They must have realized their stupid mistake (or angry ultranationalist Magyars called their New York offices threatening to riot on the streets of Budapest until CNN figures out who they really are).

Solicited

So there we are, sitting on the steps of Sándor Petöfi’s imposing statue, sipping beer, smoking cigarettes and planning out our next short film. Jaro and I had gotten it into our heads to make the same type of videos I make for my work, except make it as sarcastic and disingenuous to the viewer as possible. So, as the voice over praises the beauties of the ‘Jewel of the Danube,’ we show neo-Nazi skinheads chanting or a dirty homeless couple fucking in the stench of a metro station.

All can be easily accessible in this beautiful city.

The Danube is on our right, with foreigners and Magyars alike walking up and down the strip next to the river, called the ‘Korzó.’ This is prime real estate in Budapest: major hotels like the Marriot and InterContinental are based side-by-side on this strip of riverfront, giving guests unparalleled views of the Danube and the hills of Buda.

What we didn’t know was that it was home to something much uglier.

Jaro is talking 100 miles a minute, writing about what shitty juxtaposition we should show next, and I’m taking a drag of my cigarette, not really thinking about anything, letting my eyes wander across the faces passing by, looking at the river, looking up at the statue, talking to their friends or families, and…. I stop. My mind is trying to comprehend something but it takes a second. That guy. He wasn’t looking up at the statue.

He was looking at me.

I size this guy up pretty quick. He’s just standing there, looking at us. A younger guy, a boy almost, stands next to him, looking at us but looking away every few seconds to follow the steps of passer-bys. This guy staring at us, he looks like Nicholas Sarkozy. Except really tan. Brown almost. He’s smiling too, but I can’t tell what its about. Something is wrong. A chill goes up my spine. I nudge Jaro.

Umm. What the fuck is up with this guy?

Which guy?

That one. The one staring at us.

Oh. Ummm… I don’t know.



I’m looking behind me, to make sure he might not be looking at someone else. The only thing behind me is the base of Petöfi’s statue. There’s nothing else behind me, but…

Jesus, do you think it’s the statue?

Jaro looks up. What?

The statue! He might think its sacrilegious or something to drink beer on this thing. Or something.

I doubt it. I bet Sándor was doing the exact same thing in his day.

I’m shaking my head, looking up at Petöfi, still very aware of the man’s eyes on us. Could that be the problem? Does he think we’re pissing on the Magyars for sitting and drinking on the statue of Hungary’s most famous poet? Petöfi was supposedly the model Hungarian; no one could beat his patriotism. But I can’t believe that. This is Hungary. I’ve drank, pissed and thrown up over these streets, and nothing has come to pass. My gaze returns to the Korzó. The man still stares, with his little smile, and eyes like a vulture’s. Except his boy companion has been replaced by another boy, younger this time, who does the same as the other: watch people walk by like a hawk.

What the fuck is going on Jaro?

I don’t know. I don’t even care. Just ignore him. He’ll get tired of whatever he’s doing…. Jaro trails off. Or he won’t, he finishes.

I look at him. Uh huh.

So what about that story idea?

We continue to talk about ridiculous juxtapositions in our city, and all the while the man with his boys stares at us. He rarely takes his eyes off of us. We don’t ignore him. We stare back at him, but later it would become clear that was not the thing to do. It probably wouldn’t have mattered. This guy was on a mission. We just didn’t know it yet.

After twenty minutes of talking about our new idea and writing it all down, Jaro finally stops, and says, Maybe this is something else. Maybe we’re not seeing the whole picture.

Yeah genius, it obviously isn’t about the statue, or else he would have just yelled at us to get the hell off his precious hero.

Jaro’s phone rings. He picks up. I’m trying to listen to who it is. Szilvi? I can’t be sure. I look back at the guy, and he’s talking on his cell too. But. Wait. No he’s not.

Shit. Jaro. I jab him, and motion to our admirer. Watch.

Jaro is still talking on the phone, but now he can see it too. The guy is playing copycat. The guy is twenty meters away but I can see his eyes. They’re afire.

Oh no. It’s not the statue. It’s something else. A game.

Jaro is now obviously talking into his phone and staring right at the guy, gesturing like, Yeah we know you’re fucking watching us dick head! The guy’s eyebrows jerk up. The signal. He looks like Sarkozy on crack. He gets up.

Oh crap.

Oh, now you did it, you fucking idiot. I’m shaking my head at Jaro. Why the hell did you have to do that?!

I don’t know!

The guy is walking up the steps, but stops, looks beyond us for a second, and then continues towards us. I look on my right, where our creepy friend has just observed, and I see an older man sitting with his son. But… His son. He looks familiar. Wait, I’m saying. But I don’t have time to finish.

Our stalker is upon us.

Where are you from? He asks in fluent English.

Where are you from?! Jaro shoots back.

God damnit Jaro.

Here, he says.

California, Jaro says. What’s your problem?

You like boys?

Oh. No. I hate these situations.

Jaro must be drunk. Oooh so that’s what you are about! It all makes sense now!

The guy looks excited. Yeah? He asks.

No! We both say at once. We’re not into that, I finally pipe up. God damnit.

No? He’s asking us. What are you into?

We both have girlfriends!

So?

So? So… We don’t like men!

Boys. He corrects us.

Ugh.

Fine. Whatever. We have girlfriends and we are very set thank you.

He nods his head, views the scene for a second, then starts back on us. You know where you are? He asks.

The Duna?

Sex Row.

What… Here?

Yeah. This is where I work. Everyone comes here for sex. And I give it to them.

Fantastic. We’ve just entered a conversation with a fucking Hungarian pimp.

We don’t like what you have to offer, Jaro is saying.

I’m looking back at the old man I saw earlier. His son… He picked him up. Christ. I grind my teeth and look at this guy. He makes me sick. Jaro is egging the pimp on, possibly not aware of the situation to our right.

We’re not interested, I finally say. And that’s it.

Oh, ok. He looks slightly hurt, but his grin returns almost immediately. Well good luck, is his finishing line. At least I think it is.

Jaro is yelling after him, Yeah good luck to you too!

Dude, do you know whats going on around us right now? He shakes his head. What, you mean the crazy gay pimp? No, not him. Well, ok yeah, that was weird. But look over there. I point and he looks.

Now its his eyebrows that arch. Oh…

Yeah. Oh.

The ‘son’ is now sitting closer to his ‘old man’, laughing and giving his older companion a look.

I wonder how old he is? I ask.

Umm.

I look back at the guy, but my eyes are drawn to three girls walking by. They look Swedish. Wow. Ok, that’s nice. I forget about the fucked up shit happening around this venerable hot spot of Budapest, and watch the three blonde hotties walk past. As their flip flops slap past our statue, the pimp catches wind of our search, and as they pass by his position, he looks at us with big crazy eyes and does a motion with his tongue. I don’t have to tell you what he was implying. It was sick enough. I have to look away, but all I can see is the old man and his own catch. Christ.

I glance back and now he’s coming back.

Oh shit, he’s coming back! I hiss. Jaro looks back, and sure enough, he’s walking up. But he doesn’t say anything, just looks at us and sits on the other side of Petöfi’s statue.

Ok… Dude. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this situation.

Yeah, is all Jaro can say.

We get up, pack our things and go. We say good bye to the pimp. He sits, legs spread, watching us with eyes filled with light. Im just glad he doesn’t wear a kilt. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stares and watches us go.

Good luck! He screams after us.

Yeah good luck my ass, I’m saying. That guy was a fucking creep.

Dude I know. I have to piss so bad though. Oh here’s a bathroom!

Jaro goes in. It’s one of those bathrooms available to the public, for a price. Always some small amount of change that really shouldn’t matter, because c’mon, I just have to piss and really do you need to charge me the equivalent of a quarter to get in? But yes, they really do, and they’re usually underground – so European – and have not been cleaned in years.

I have to go too, but I wait. I hate those places.

I stand, leaning against the railing above the river, watching it pass underneath Erzsébet Hid. I’m still comprehending what just happened. I look up, and gulp.

He’s standing in front of me.

Shit.

Oh, hi, he says, and walks past, looking at my ass as he goes by.

God DAMNIT!

I see Jaro coming up, and make a beeline for him.

Let’s fucking go, Jaro.

Um, ok. Jeez, what happened?

Our friend is following us. Now lets get more beer and forget about this horrible experience.

We walk three blocks up and find a CBA, which is basically the Hungarian version of 7-11, except better (no slurpies though). I look behind us before entering, but the street is empty. Ok, good. That guy was fucking weird, I’m saying. Yeah no shit.

The aisles are narrow but we finally find the beer section. Hmm. What should we get? Well, do you want to go cheap or get something else? I don’t know. We’re leaning over looking at our choices and someone brushes past me, but a little roughly, and fuck I hate these Hungarians, can’t they see where they’re going? I shake my head, neglecting to look at the moron who whipped past me, and grab some new bottles.

We saunter up to the register like we own the place, and then I stop. I think Jaro stumbles, but I can’t be sure. There he is. The guy. The pimp, in front of the register, looking at us with that same smile.

And then I know who bumped into me while I was bent over. Christ. That fucker.

Now I’m pissed. What are you doing? Im asking, acid slurring my words.

He doesn’t answer, and the check-out lady is looking between us and him, alarmed.

Jaro is silent, and I collapse in silence, because I know what is going to happen if we don’t get away. We’re going to kill this guy if he keeps following us. And both of us know it.

We’ve had enough of this guy.

We walk out the door, and the guy is still inside, watching us. I take a deep breath. Jaro and I look at each other. Lets. Get. Out. Of. Here.

Yes, lets.

We left, but not before checking behind us for some time. He was gone, at least in the now.

But I can’t shake his face. The grin. The eyes.



The sick pimp.

It's Still Coming

I have found birthdays can be funny things. Some people really don’t like birthdays. They don’t like any holiday, and especially not personal ones (which of course are the most selfish of the bunch). Whenever I meet said people I nod like I know what they’re talking about, look off into the distance, and say, So wait, why don’t you like birthdays?

I’m not one of those people.

But it is interesting to think about. What if you looked back, and focused on each and every birthday you’ve ever had. So, say you’re 50. That’s fifty days out of…umm, 50 times 365. 18250 days. Damn. That’s only an infantile percentage of your life. Would be a good film though.

Ok. Where was I going with this. One of those posts I know what to write about but I don’t know how to start…

Well shit, I know I had a deeper meaning, but I’ll just talk about that Saturday. My birthday. I’ve never been out of the States on my birthday. Unless I was really young and don’t remember going somewhere. I think my not being in my homeland must mean something for this one. Because it was a good one. One of the best birthdays I’ve had. Definitely the best tailored for my state of mind, the place, and occupation.

I started, like many other days, at Jaro’s. I brought my little man-bag-purse thing. Satchel I suppose. All the Hungarians call them purses. Even for men. Ok. Inside my man-bag-purse thing are my video camera, my still camera, my keys and my sunglasses.

I would be racking my brains later as to what exactly I had in there.

So I started at Jaro’s, like always. Before I came over, he calls and says, Hey Boldog umm…umm…Szilvi how do you say Happy Birthday?

Christ. What a guy.

So there we are. Tamas is there too, but he’s studying his stock exchange. He wants to get rich this way. I expect a percentage of his monies after having to listen to him talk about it for hours.

I feel really good though. The weather is perfect. Clear sunny skies, but windy. Such a great feeling. And of course I’m riding high. It doesn’t matter that I’m incredibly broke and still looking back on some decisions I’ve recently made. All that seems to melt away and I’m free of whatever has been worrying me.

Jaro and I set off in the direction of Lanczhid, or the Chain Bridge. The bridge closes down every weekend during the summer, and they have this festival for all ages. Basically it’s a way for Budapest to sell little trinkets, and incredibly overpriced kolbasz sausage, but its still damn fun and damn good to eat. Probably bringing in good money for the system too.

I, of course, have to shoot for one of the Budapest videos. At first I was pissed about this, like, why the hell do I have to do this today of all days? But then both Jaro and I had our cameras. And we were stopping every 3 minutes to shoot something. It took us 2 hours to get to the bridge. You can walk there in 30 minutes. No problem.

We were obviously caught up.



When we finally finished shooting the Duna and Statue of Liberty, we clambered up onto the bridge. I swear I never heard Hungarian spoken. It was German, French, English, Spanish…other languages I don’t know. Probably Polish. I’m glad I didn’t hear Czech. I’d have probably socked them.

There were stalls set up every few meters selling traditional Hungarian trinkets. But that’s not why I go to these things. I like to watch the people. It’s probably the best thing. Jaro and I sit and watch a Magyar acoustic band playing under one of the huge archways of the bridge. It’s cool. They are cool.



We get to the end of the bridge, exhausted of shooting and hungry. There’s a sausage stand at the end. Yes! You’re finally doing something right Hungary! It’s 1000 forint for a sausage. Damnit! You were so close Hungary. You just had to fuck it up.

Like always.

We ate (hunger > wallet) and wandered up the Duna, on the Buda side towards Gellert Hill. Jaro tells me how Gellert Hill got it’s name. It was named after a priest. Gellert. When the Pagans and Christians had a power struggle trying to determine which way Magyarorszag would lean, the Pagans took it upon themselves to show the Christians who was boss. They took Gellert the priest, shoved him into a barrel with spikes - on the inside - and threw it down a big fucking hill. Which would later bear his name.

And you know what? Christianity still won. That’s what martyrdom does for you.

I’m listening to this story thinking about Gellert’s last thoughts. Yeesh. ‘That sucks man!’ is all I can say.

And suddenly, Jaro gets it into his head: wine tasting! Umm, ok yeah. Don’t worry I’ll pay for it. Its your birthday.

Allright!

The one day I can do this.

We go into a Best Western, asking where the closest wine tasting cellar is. The old Hungarian with perfect English says, Go outside, walk two meters. Its on your left.

Sweet. The wine cellar is next door!

But what we walk in to is no wine cellar. Instead it’s a courtyard filled with a wedding. Some woman is reading the vows to the bride and groom. Have you ever seen Wedding Crashers? Jaro asks. I look down at our clothes – ragged t-shirts and shorts. Umm. I don’t think that’s going to happen Jaro. But really, good thinking!

We walk upstairs, thinking the cellar is upstairs (sometimes my genius exceeds me). Suddenly we’re standing on a balcony now overlooking the wedding. People are staring. No, every person in the wedding is staring at the two retards looking lost above their heads.

Excuse me!

We look down. Is that guy talking to us?

Excuse me! Come down from there!

Oh yeah, he is. Should we go down?

We’re looking at each other, at the man yelling at us, and at the wedding going on directly below us, which now has the entire crowd staring at us, including the bride and groom. Man, who knew we could screw up this bad?

We saunter downstairs. Where is the wine bar?

The guy ushers us out the way we came in.

Go around the other way. There’s another entrance, he says.

Oh.

We walk around and find an outdoor patio. Oh! Jaro exclaims. I’ve been here!!

Well fucking great. Should have told me that before we walked into the awkward wedding service.

We sit down. Waiter comes up. Looks like a nerd. But cool. He speaks English. Of course. What would you like? He asks.

Wine.

Yes.

Glasses of wine.

Yes.

Dry wine. Suggestions?

Would you like a suggestion?

Umm.

Dúzsi Tamas. Excellent choice!

Ok fine we’ll have two glasses.

Oh no, you can only order a bottle!

But we just said… and I trail off. The guy is looking at us, smiling. Is he fucking with us or is it the language barrier? I can’t tell.

I look at Jaro. I can see he’s weighing his options. 6000 forint for a bottle of wine.

Happy birthday, Hunter. This better be fucking good.

I look at the guy, walking away. You’re telling me, I say.

Two hours later: Oh man this wine is like so good dude! So worth it…



We stumble along. I think Jaro has paid for the bill. It’s my birthday! I’m yelling.

I know dude, as Jaro shakes his head.

Fast forward three hours. Wait how did I get here? I’m scratching my head. Before us is Heroes’ Square, packed with thousands of drunk Magyars and possibly some foreigners. Oh yeah! I’m thinking. Carlos Santana!

I saw he was playing a free show two months before, and I was like, alright if there is anything I want to do, I want to go to a free show, featuring Santana.



But it was a little hard to maneuver. There were thousands of people milling around. It was hard to walk anywhere. Where we finally ended up, somewhere on the street about 3 blocks away from the actual concert (they had big viewing screens up so that those losers in the back – us – could at least enjoy some of it), a guy with a bicycle carriage sat. One of those things you see in footage about the streets of China. And he’s just sitting there, in a giant crowd of people, and two older women are sitting inside the carriage, waiting for someone. Or something. I never stayed around to see how they got out of that mass of people. It was probably a good story though.

We only stayed for three songs. Or rather, we got there at the end so we could only see three songs. At one point we saw Santana on the giant screen. But the rest was blurred debauchery, set in some foreign land. Night fell, and we left with the rest of the crowd.



Before the trudging along got to us, Tamas and Miki (who I just remembered was there) started playing football (soccer) with a crushed water bottle. Jaro, Tamas and Miki are running around swatting at this bottle, bouncing off people, not seeming to notice. I have to pee like its my job, and I look up the lighted streets of Andrassy utca with the mass of people and cops lining the sidewalks. Hmm. Gotta get something to keep my mind off urination.

So I run after them. Leaving Szilvi behind. What the fuck?! I think I hear her yell after me.



We run and jump and kick and run into as many people as we can, falling over police cars and making fools of ourselves. Someone asks me what my problem is and I scream ‘its my birthday!’ and run off. I don’t look back to see if he understands. Probably wouldn’t if I wasn’t drunk and had to pee like a mad man. Only the running after the ball – plastic bottle – keeps me sane.

We reach Oktogon and I’m standing there looking up at the lights and dark night sky, hearing the masses of language and people pass behind me, around me, through me. I must be smiling. I can’t really remember, because after everything, after all that I had gone through and all that I knew I would have to go through soon, after all that came crashing down on me, I was still there, looking up at the lights and night sky. Still standing. Still alive.

I’m hungry, I say, looking around.

We dip into a park where I once told Szilvi she could never hurt my feet with my boots on. She looked at me that night and said, Are you sure? Of course I’m sure, I boast. Her heel comes crashing down on my toes and I’m bowled over like a hurricane just ripped my big toe off. What the hell is wrong with you?!?

We never played that game again.

Jaro, Szilvi and I sit on a bench and talk. She gives me a box of toffee filled chocolate, and chocolate covered banana. Did you really get this for my birthday or did you just get this to eat? I say, looking at the boxes with a dubious expression on my face. I don’t think she answers me, but tells me Happy Birthday instead. It was actually really good, the chocolate with toffee and banana.

We get up to leave. Someone has mentioned McDonald’s. It’s up the street at Oktagon. At this point I can eat anything. I look back at the bench as I leave, and at the homeless people laying and drinking on the opposite bench. I don’t know it then but I will be wishing I had photographic memory.



45 minutes later we’re standing on the 4-6 tram, going towards Jaro’s flat. We’ve just eaten at McDonald’s and wow. Such a drunk food. Whenever I eat it I think of Super Size Me, but obviously that hasn’t stopped me. Sometimes, it is good to splurge on really bad food for you. After all, Hungarian food is really bad for you, but at least its not fake food. Like McDonald’s.

I call it McFood.

So we’re standing on the tram and I’m watching the lights go by and people around me are talking. Something is bothering me. I check my phone. No, it’s not 12 yet. I can still pull off the birthday thing. What is it? I shake my head and continue to watch people around me. Jaro and Szilvi are close and talking about something. I can’t hear them, but my mind is racing. What is it?

Oh SHIT.

My mind is jumping back throughout the day. The shooting. The bridge. The sausage. The wedding. The wine. The concert. The park. What did I have with me the whole time? My bag. I look down.

Hmm. No bag.

FUCK.

Jaro is looking at me now. Szilvi too. They look concerned. I must be ash white. I’m still thinking back. My heart is somewhere near my ankles. I can’t fucking remember where I last had my bag! I haven’t said anything, and now Jaro is asking me whats wrong.

My bag.

His eyebrows arch. Uh oh.

I make a quick inventory of what exactly I had in there. Hmm, let’s see. Video camera. Still camera. Wallet. Keys.

Fuck. Me.

I look at my phone again. It’s still not the 29th. God damnit. So much for an amazing birthday.

The tram comes in to Blaha at this point. I’m getting off, I say. Tamas and Miki say something like, Ok have fun. Jaro and Szilvi get off with me. I think they understand my predicament.

Where was the last place I had it. In the park? I’m thinking back. Hard. I can’t remember. Jesus Christ. If I left it there, those drunk homeless Hungarians are sure to have it by now! I can’t even think about it. They’re probably having sex with my camera by now.

No. I didn’t leave it at the park. Remember? I looked back. I looked at the bench. I put the chocolate in my bag. And I had it with me. Yes!

And then my heart falls again.

McDonald’s. God damnit.

I’m standing at the night bus stop, with Jaro and Szilvi in tow. I’m saying something incomprehensible. Like, Fuck me fuck me fuck me I cant believe I did that that is my life oh my god oh my god I am so fucked and McDonald’s really what the hell was I thinking?!

Jaro is looking at me again. He tells me not to worry. He’s left his stuff places all the time. I’m just going through the natural frenzy that happens when you lose something.

I’m trying to ignore him. God damn logic.

‘And plus, you had this coming.’

I look at him. What? Why? And then I think back. Oh yeah. The shit storm. He had made this point earlier in the day: I had a shit storm coming. It was on the horizon. And I had a good reason for it, too. I had just broken up with Jamie, and while it was the best for the both of us, I still had it coming. That’s what karma is. It doesn’t let you go for good behavior. It will come. Because it always does.

God damnit. I can’t take the shit storm right now, I’m mumbling, now on the night bus back to Oktagon. The bus rolls up to the rippling square, and I jump out, running towards the entrance to McDonald’s. I’m ready for anything. Except for what was waiting for me.

My bag. It was still there.

I run in and snatch it up with a big smile on my face. People are staring. I look at my phone. What is the time? 11:59. No shit. I walk out with my bag on my shoulder. Jaro and Szilvi are laughing. I’m laughing.

My 23rd birthday. It was amazing. And it even had some drama thrown in. I take a deep breath. And think back. And frown. The clock ticks twelve. I can hear it somewhere. A church?

The shit storm.

It’s still coming.

Yes. I'm still alive.

Some time has passed since my last post, and while I have been taking a hiatus from writing (I have been thinking about the reasons behind this, and they will be shared soon), I plan to be back soon in the pilot seat. And just to make sure you believe I'm still around, this is I three nights ago:

Some future stories I will share involve my long birthday, being solicited for sex (you wouldn't believe where), getting stuck in the rain in Buda with no night transportation (that's me above soaked to the bone) and whatever else comes to mind.