WTF x 50

My friend and i went to see the Younger than Jesus exhibition today. 50 artists from 25 countries all under 33. Sounds really inviting, i know. Our opinions on the exhibits were as different as day and night are. I saw spinning staircase, a boring retail piece taken from a department store, she saw life leading nowhere. I suggested i could bring my broken radiator to send the world a message that the ice age is coming. However, my idea didn’t get accepted with clapping and thrills of excitement as i imagined it might and i was even called an art mocker on top of that. Well…

There was an artist that got my attention for sure. Chu Yun hired women from 18 to 40 years old to sleep in the bed in the middle of the gallery the whole day. Sleeping beauties high on sleeping pills. The bed looked comfy and the sheets seemed to be of a good quality. Pratesi for sure! Again, she thought it was sexist. WTF, OMG, r u f-ing kidding me, i am so NOT the iGeneration!!

The photography part was really good though but still, my favorite art of the day was on the corner from the New museum – graffiti on the wall with John Lennon, Statue of Liberty and Kate Moss posters and another one with instructions how to shoplift. So, see, very useful art that has existed since Ancient Greece. Ok, i’m gonna hear about this from Livia, the art expert/lunatic, so i better stop and say it was a day well spent, with a great weather and even better company!

I’ll dream about the staircase tonight. But mine will lead up to heaven. Just like Zeppelin’s.

I’m fiiine!!

For someone so seriously in love with the City that never sleeps i haven’t been feeling that connection much lately. Too many people. Too loud. Too fast. Too cold. … No one. Too quiet. Too slow. Too hot. All of the sudden i don’t want to be bothered talking to the guy at the register, explaining him why i need to buy 15 boxes of Kleenex. A moment later i’m cursing the world with a homeless guy who’s giving me a free therapy and sharing his views about my situation that is obviously not even close to his life problems, packed in a cardboard box. Why the hell does the Indian taxi driver need to know why i’m sobbing on the back sit of his yellow office on wheels? I’m sure, my boss’s dog walker could also do without the front row Broadway drama i let out on him the other day. Broken heart comes with a broken personality? It’s like being thrown in the middle of the ocean with the waves pushing you wherever they want to – one day you see the beautiful sand shore in front of you, the next moment, you’re trying to swim away from the rocks you’re about to hit. I’m a non-pregnant woman with all the symptoms of one that actually is. Lets work 14 hours a day to forget about it – can i have a day off, i feel too tired to even breath. I have to call him – lets burn the pictures. I can’t eat anything – i never have enough chocolate for emergencies like that. Don’t feel sorry for me – why don’t you check in on me every 5 minutes of the day?! I’ll save all the money and travel somewhere far to reset my views on life – ah, i need two pairs of Calvin Klein jeans, new iPod, some purple grandma plant and a glittery blue fish for my room… all the stuff to feel the emptiness that suddenly appeared. It works. For the first two hours. Then you see that even Calvin gets stained, the fish’s water needs to be changed, you need to take care of that grandma plant, and your break-up music on your new iPod sounds just as sad as it did before.

I guess when you tell your parents about every major movement and decision you made in your life, things get serious. They get worried so much that they are virtually packing your bags and having you sitting on the first plane going back home. It’s the same with your closest friends. You can see their faces, tears that they share with you, how they are on your side and your side only, 360° and more (even when you’re acting like the biggest jerk), sending chocolates in packets and courage in their voice over the ocean. You can only imagine, how desperately i wanted to just hop on the plane and come home for some real face-to-face conversations, or just to cry for hours in a giant hug, with someone telling me that everything will be ok. Somehow I knew that already. Now i have to accept it. Start with the little silly things like stopping to admire a bird’s nest, looking at magnolias proudly showing off in their favorite time of the year. Children laughing. Dogs running. Saxophone playing in the distance. Rays of sun coming through the leaves… Corny things like that. I’ve been told it helps. Getting drunk sounds so much easier.

On those rare days of extreme uplifts when you feel there’s no mountain high enough, no ocean wide enough, when you could just pick up the whole entire earth, spin it on one finger and throw it in a giant basket ball hoop, screaming scoooore, everything seems normal again. But it’s not. It’s just me now. Me. A new fact i have to adopt as an opportunity or a key if you want, to unlock new doors and see what’s behind them. And not just routinely, with excitement and passion, just as i once did! Bla bla bla…

Today I lost a shoe. Don’t even ask how. But then I thought, well, aren’t break-ups just like losing a shoe? How will I get to work with just one shoe??! Jumping on one foot seems like a smart thing to do for a while but soon you realize that not only you’re out of breath, but your other feet is hurting and people are looking at you funny. It makes you sad knowing that even if you get a new shoe to match the one you got left with, it will only be a fake, one night stand replacement. But the next thing you know, you’re walking down the 12th avenue, half shoe-less and not even carring anymore. As they say – it’s plenty of shoes out there. You just have to find the ones that fit perfectly.

Arooba-dooba-doo or falling in love with Jeff Buckley

Gosh, this will be hard to put in words. I feel i should wait a month or two to process every day of the trip separately, or even better, every hour, than leave it breathe for a while for my mind to absorb it and start realizing it as something that REALLY happened. Surreal spiritual experience that started the second my plane landed in Aruba. And to be able to go through all of that with someone you care that much about and respect with no end is what i call living it large!

First thing i needed to check was if the sea is really colored as dreamy turquoise as shown on every picture or is it just a Photoshop saturation that makes our eyes pop and tongues roll on the floor. And…it is…exactly…like…THAT! Well, to be totally honest, the pictures don’t really do it justice. Ah, kitchy… like pink flamingos, old VW vans with flowers all over them… or sunsets that change their color every 10 seconds. Try ever getting bored of that!!

Snorkeling with exotic fish colored so insanely beautiful and so wild and unafraid that can be tickled behind the fins while eating corals.

Boogie boarding on sneaky waves was another great experience. Who would have guessed i actually have hidden potentials as a surfer? Or maybe i’m just stupid to ride 7 foot high up in the air, not caring i’ll get thrown on the sand or centrifugated under water with my bathing suite coming off. All the way! Anyway, i prefer to call myself fearless adrenalin junkie. Haha… And we pumped up that adrenaline quite a lot. First of all, whoever made that Wrangler Jeep, should be awarded with as many prices as possible, because the places that four wheels took us, you won’t even consider walking, let alone taking your car. Halleluyah… And here we go. Jeff Buckley. That guy took us on mountains with endless views and flew with us through galaxies, when the stars were raining, planets colliding and dreams being born. 

I can certainly say we definitely weren’t the usual tourists – joining the local car races, visiting caves at night and then running out, almost screaming like a baby after seeing a bat. That was just one bat, Brian! And you screamed like a girl!! If i only think i took you there to protect me from the rattlesnakes! Maybe it’s your squirrel mix that’s making you soft-skinned. However, the double ride through the Natural park at crazy hours with unusual snake/crab/donkey encounters was an experience of it’s own. Or skinny dipping in the middle of the night not really thinking about the sharks and getting excited with rubbing our asses on the sand. Baby skin, baby skin! Rock’n'rolling around and making rock piles. Peeing in the Tunnel of love… The most tourist thing we did was probably the dinner at the Flying Fishbone restaurant where you can chose to sit right next to the ocean, put your feet in the water and enjoy your sex on the beach. Or sneaky peach as i did. I’m talking about cocktails, you know that, right?

I would also like to thank to the room service lady, in the name of both of us, for always keeping our room on Alaska temperature, so we had to open the windows first thing coming home, to let some hot air in before loosing our fingers from frostbites. What about the yellow Naci bracelets we never put on? Ah… Pu Chee!! I kill ya!! Run around the pool in circles!

Coming back to NY was a shock. I envy Brian’s shoe that got left in Aruba and is now looking for its New Balance on the top of the highest mountain… Freezing. Snowing. Getting yelled at by a stupid Indian taxi driver who got up whit the wrong foot. Almost getting punched by a black chick, that obviously has some anger issues, by touching her arm by accident when squeezing on a subway. Putting on sunscreen to go to work, just because it smells like Aruba. Trying to look at the stars in the city of lights… No, you can’t have that One Happy Island in New York. That’s why i made my own. You should have seen the size of the rocks and corals i brought from there. Together with my boogie board, a flag and a bag of sand, it’s almost like an altar or a sanctuary. And Jeff Buckely. That’s a must!!

So, stop asking me how was it… I got “I love Aruba” sticker, what more do you need to know?

P.S.: Brian, i knew you were gonna miss your plane back to LA. Too bad. We could make that hug a little bit longer. Love ya my guitar-playing-boogie-boarding-guru-crazy-four-wheeler Dori.

Lost in the wind ali Kam izginjajo naše najljubše knjige?

Tale besedna diareja me drži že nekaj časa. Za navdih so zaslužne slovenske cvetke, ki mi, kljub temu da je vmes cel ocean pa še par dodatnih metrov trdega materiala, povzročajo takšne alergijske reakcije, da si pulim lase in bruham namesto da bi kihala. In oči se mi solzijo. A to je od žalosti, ker počasi pokopavam svoj patriotizem. R.I.P.

 

New York Times je prejšnji teden na prvi strani poročal, kako je v letu dni službo izgubilo več kot 2 milijona in pol ljudi, ne po lastni krivdi, temveč v spomin na bivšega predsednika. 2,5 milijona!! To je do dobra nabasana Slovenija, ljudje!! Pri nas pa negujemo bedake, ki dobivajo žulj na riti in njen odtis na oblazinjenem stolčku s koleščki, počnejo bedarije in jih potem zagovarjajo z argumenti bolj votlimi od lastne glave. Govorim o slovenskih knjižnicah, jasno. Kopirano z  www.pocestnica.si: “Ob mednarodnem dnevu knjige 2008 je avtorica darovala po štiri izvode Pocestnice vsaki slovenski splošni knjižnici,” zraven pa donacijo komentirala kot smiselno le, ko so knjige sveže, brane in iskane. UNESCO je leta 1996, 23. april razglasil za mednarodni dan knjige in pod osnovni namen navedel “približati knjigo široki množici in razširjati bralno kulturo.”

Vir: www.pocestnica.si

Potem pa podari knjige knjižnicam sam avtor in jih ti mojstri razšenkajo naokoli: pridnim bralcem, poslovnim partnerjem in – drznem si sklepati po kulturi dojemanja – verjetno tudi prijateljem.  Živela slovenska ignoranca! Za lažje razumevanje pravkar napisanega, saj imajo nekateri očitno s tem še vedno težave, lahko naredimo preprost matematični povzetek. Široka množica ≠ poslovni partner. Razširjati bralno kulturo ≠ podariti knjigo enemu bralcu. Bo zdaj šlo? Hvala ministrstvu za reformo šolstva. Nivojski pouk bi prišel prav očitno tudi v splošnih knjižnicah, ha, ha. Fino.

Nikakor ni vse v interpretaciji. Zdrava kmečka pamet in ščepec razuma pa je takoj vse kristalno jasno. Morda bi nekateri pač vseeno potrebovali Kosmačevega Tantadruja, da jim obesi kakšnega izmed svojih zvoncev okrog vratu in jih pošlje prežvekovat pojočo travico na miren klanec, kjer bi veselo mukali, drugi pa bi redno hodili na obisk s kanglico in jih lepo pomolzli. Da bi se za spremembo pač vloge še malo zamenjale.

 

Zahvaljevati se knjižnicam, ki so po opozorilu vendarle postavile manjkajoče izvode Pocestnic na police, kamor so bile namenjene že prvotno, nima smisla. Lepo od njih, vendar kljub vsemu prepozno. Ljudje so čakali, da se zagrizejo med omenjene še vroče platnice tudi do pol leta in več. Knjižničarji so medtem sedeli na vročih knjigah 9 mesecev. Diši po svinjariji? Meni vsekakor!! Bom pa še naprej vriskala in pesmi v podobnem stilu piskala na ušesa tistih, ki tega še niso storili in se raje posvečajo raziskovalnemu novinarstvu po internetu v stilu FBI. A sem prepričana, da zagotovo ne v času delovnih ur…

 

Kaj ima to opraviti z mano, smrkljo jezikavo? Veliko in vse. Berem, plačujem davke, stojim za poštenjem in tu  pa tam imam koga rada. Na srečo se na drugi strani sveta lahko afnam med bogato založenimi policami vsemogoče literature. Newyorške knjižnjičarje bo pa itak kap, ko jim povem o tej burleski iz slovenske kure in garant se bodo še največji ateisti med njimi križali od ogorčenja. Jaz se že. Pamet z vami! Amen.

In sickness & in health…

 

…dokler me smrt ne loci. Ja. Obveza, ki me spremlja ze dobri dve desetletji in ki jo ob dnevih kot je danasnji, se bolj zavzeto obnavljam in na trenutke skoraj obzalujem. Grozno je bit bolan!! Trije dnevi prisilne bolniske so za hiperaktivnega norca prej kazen kot karkoli drugega. A tokrat sem si tudi sama, po filmskem “skupzlezenju” sredi Broadwayja, napol gluha, napol slepa, po konjsko kasljajoca in nagravzno smrkajoca priznala, da sem way past my bedtime. Pocivam. In se pustim razvajat. Mislim, da bi mi slo prav dobro tudi kot lenuhu, ker vec kot ocitno kazem potenciale.

Kaksen odfukan lajf pa je moj moto zadnjih nekaj mesecev, ko je par nepopisno odstekanih in fantasticnih ljudi prikorakalo v moje zivljenje in ga obrnilo na glavo se bolj kot ga znam sama. Da ne bo pomote, v vec kot pozitivnem smislu in samih superlativih. Krivci, da mi mozgani brnijo se par sto kilometrov hitreje, da sem dva tedna pred sabo videla samo dias okvircke, natrenirala smejalne misice zaradi neprestanega smeha in v koncni fazi odgovorni, da sem sploh prisla domov. In da ne nastevam…

Sicer pa je bil ta obisk simbolicen zacetek vsega mogocega; prvih korakov v zivljenje v dvoje, spet drugih le do prvega vogala dokler te gravitacija ne potegne na rit se varno zavarovano v plenice in tistih do se vecje samostojnosti, prvih posmrkanih objemov s smejoco ciklamo na Brniku, obnavljanje prijateljstev, ki so morda rahlo zbledela, a nikoli bila zares pozabljena, prvih pubertetniskih razgrajanj pri stiriindvajsetih letih kar za domaco mizo z razstavnimi eksponati za mame in ate, prvo skoraj zamujeno novo leto zaradi vztrajnega sklocanja in nastavljanja fotoaparatu, zacetek moje tocnosti, ki je znala impresionirat le ljudi, ki so bili z mano v stiku vsaj vec kot 2x tedensko ter tekanje po grajskih sobanah v popolnem prepricanju, da sem princesa, ki isce svojega princa. V morilski obleki, se boljse!

Morda si izlet v Maribor zasluzi poglavje zase. V kaksnem drugem formatu. Koji kurac. Smeh do solz ob gledanju Tv Petelina, oziroma katerekoli pernate zivali ze, je bil vreden zlata. Spanje v pajkicah. Navdusenost nad obsezno razstavo hrastniskih fotografskih mojstrov. Jesus rocks. Point 21. All exclusive solata v mariborsko-sezanski druzbi v ljubljanskem Intersparu. Dr. Janja in kapljice za vsako telesno odprtino posebej. Aboridzinsko paljenje uses. Pravi rock koncert v G-duru najmlajse kitaristke v posebni kitarski tehniki. Mandarine. Masaze. Bozicek, ki pride na dom. Caj z mlekom. Kuhan por. Nekdo, ki prevozi 120 kilometrov samo, da ti pove, da noce, da gres. Naj naj 4 in Tajci. Ti si moja cokolada. Rock’n'roll lutke, ki ne znajo najt domov. Pingvini. Kresnicke. Ceca ob 3 AM. LA VIP zur. Vedezevalci, ki po dnevu garanja se vedno vidijo svetlo prihodnost. Zasavci. Napol spraznjene steklenicke parfuma SJP zaradi dolgcasa in podhladitev. Z vlakom. Duma. Haha. Zaroke na porocni dan. Voznja v Zagreb ob 5 AM po dveh dneh brez spanja. Milijon daril za se en ekstra kufer. Solze ob odhodu in vedno prekratki objemi. Nekje pred tem se je zgodil se London, ki je tokrat pustil slabsi vtis in bil zato selektivno izbrisan iz spomina. Z izjemo trenutkov, ki smo jih posvetili okolju z namenskim varcevanjem vode. Pokriti so bili torej vsi zanri od komedij do tragedij in se vsega ostalega vmes.

HVALAAAA za vse te dragocene trenutke. Se najdemo on-line. Ali pa v NY. Zdaj ste vi na vrsti. Z dobrimi argumenti pristanem na “meet me half way” varianto, a to potem pomeni nekje na valovih Atlantika. Za posebno druzbo pridem v nevtralno Svico. Se raje v Las Vegas. Decembra na Kubo. V glavnem… don’t be strangers, a ne?

Vedno vasa,

Lotti

In itak, kako bi vendar slo brez fotk?! Polaroidni kolaz, se bolj skonfuzlano nastrelan kot zgornji tekst. It was my pleasure. Hahaha.

No Longer Lost…

“I am certain that as we stand in the care of this faithful force that what has seemed dead, is dead no longer, what has seemed lost, is no longer lost, that which some have claimed impossible, is made clearly possible.”

(from The Faithful Gardner by Clarissa P. Estes)

 

Drobtinice od tu in tam

 

Sobota. Kaj ima clovek za delat pokonci ob sedmih zjutraj?! Brisat prah in pulit plevel okoli tegale tako zelo zanemarjenega bloga. Brni mi. Ampak to je itak ze del serijske opreme cistokrvne pasme Gracnerjev. Novega ogromno, vecina starega in nepotrebnega je koncno reciklirana, v povprecju pa si tako ali tako najmanj trikrat na dan recem kako odfukan je ta lajf. Decembra se priguncam domov, za vse, ki vas to zanima in za vse, ki vas ne. Ce tole po kaksnem cudnem nakljucju slucajno bere moja draga mama, jo bo vrglo na rit in zasukalo okoli, ker se do tega prelomnega blog momenta, ki bo cez par let ekvivalenten Jezusovemu , razen parim srecnim izbrancem z VIP unlimited kartico za vstop v Barbi.com, ni niti sanjalo, da King Kong zapusca Empire in pride s haubo na glavi pozirat pred kozolce. Sicer bo pa skoraj boljse, da ji tokrat prej povem, ker imam obcutek, da si od mojega prejsnjega nenajavljenega prihoda, se do danes ni cisto opomogla. In ker bo to ravno v casu okrasenih smrecic in nacickanih izlozb, sprejemam darila osebno na domu oziroma po dogovoru na zeleni lokaciji. Preden kdo osivi, si populi lase ali nakravzlja mozgane do onemoglosti zaradi silnega razmisljanja o tem kaj kupit tako do skrajnosti razvajeni smrklji… Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Baje. Pa se lazje jih bom prenasala sem in tja pa gor in dol kot zlate palice. Po pravici povedano se bom pa hvalezno prodala ze za poln kroznik zelja z matevzem ali pa za gobovo juho z ajdovimi zganci. 

In a nutshell pa: Ce se hoce kdo porocit, govori vam vasa duhovnica, ki vas zdruzi pred ta zgornjim cisto legalno in sila ugodno, a je treba prit v moje konce, po Evropi povezava ne vlece. Se vedno se mi kolca po noci carovnic, ker je to pac edini dan v letu, ko si lahko privoscim soocenje s svetom v svoji naravni podobi. Obamo smo naselili v Belo hisko, medtem ko smo mi migrirali iz zabacenega Bronxa v lepi Queens. Vmes smo zapili se najmanj en rojstni dan skupaj z najvecjo cokoladno torto kar jih je svet videl!! Fotoaparat je letel po tleh in sekundo za njim se jaz, v solzah, da bi si zasluzila glavno vlogo v katerikoli venezuelski zajfnici. Predraga Pink se je koncno pustila ujet, premuckat in prelupckat, sal je pa baje se vedno v omari. So what… Premuckana pa je bila tudi uradno najlepsa in najbolj smejoce-sijoca dojencica na svetu. In premuckan in prelupckan bo se marsikdo, s startom v Londonu 15. decembra, potem pa pocasi v smeri jugovzhod do Kekceve kure. Get in line. Tickets on sale soon!

Drum roll puh leeze, i’m alive!

 

After almost eight months of non stop slavery, two weeks of intensive laziness and hedonism felt damn good. It’s also the longest period without seeing a single skyscraper, riding the subway, being ran over by a cycling Mexican monster or seeing a special character from Sex and the City. Well, i guess i’m lying about the last one – had her over for dinner two nights ago. Ah, cheeky liar pants on fire. Getting excited over first mosquito bite of 2008, observing little ants enthusiastically picking up crumbs of my breakfast toast, not being able to sleep cuz the damn crickets just won’t shut up EVER, cycling around and being afraid of running over a suicidal squirrels jumping over the street… that’s just a couple of side effects that appeared after being away from the hectic City, which is becoming my official home in, wait, one, two, three… ten days!! To sum all the fuss and tantrums around it … how, why, WHY, oh, lord WHHHHYYY???!!! … here’s a song that fits perfectly: “That day, that day when everything was a mess and everything was in place. And there’s so much hurt, sad, small, scared, alone and everyone’s a cynic and it’s hard and it’s sweet but it’s supposed to be like this…” And it’s EXACTLY that simple, although you can still say a little prayer for me, with the positive vibes coming my way.    

More kids, J Lo & things on the block – some people with expired warranty got the final warning. I’m lifting my hands up on the matter, my blood stopped curdling because of that a long time ago, so we might as well help save the rainforest and spare ourselves some theatrical mourning and pretend-friends crap. Sayonara bitches, c u around as famously said by i-know-who and if you don’t that’s probably better. Ah, do, did, done. It sure feels nice.     

After hopelessly trying to get this ‘resting palace’ back to it’s existing state, i crushed down, admitting myself i’m beating an already lost battle, fighting the windmills even Don Quixote gave up on, looked powerless to the sky and confessed my defeat. I’m a horrible looser. Huh, look at that! There’s a double meaning in that sentence. Hahaha. So, yes, a horrible looser. Picking up windex and taking my last breath. I don’t know why exactly, but i had mercy on me. But when it happens, if it happens, that shall be the way i want my life to be taken away from me. With windex. A pretty shinny way to die, don’t you think?

Drunk or not drunk. I’ll let you be the judges of that.

Before i go on with this paragraph i need to make an advance apology. I admit, it’s funny if i know i shouldn’t do it and i’m gonna do it anyway… does saying i’m sorry for it really count then? Who cares, Mateja, you Fresh princess from FB, sorry for spilling the beans again, announcing publicly we’re related. lol So there we go, a big yeeehaaaaaw to my sister who is now, according to Slovene ministry for education & sport, smarter than me and supposedly even way more prettier then i am, as claims a certain witty someone from the land of Down Under. Shallow me doesn’t give a damn about the first one, but please, just try to look that hot with a windex pistol pressed against your head and THEN i’ll be open for a discussion. Oh, yeah, since we’re small chatting and not saying anything useful – after over two years of spearing my hair being eaten by chemicals, i’ve finally decided it’s time to ruin it some more. Ok, the truth is also elsewhere. The main reason was finding my forth gray hair the other day. Anyway. A nice shade of brownish brown should look nice. Eeee. Wrong! I came out with english ginger with a special sunset glow. Bleh. I guess everyone knows the result – back to black. One day, when i’m really high, i’ll try platinum blond. Just to see if i can get more stupid as i already am.

Anyways, on that note, that’s pretty much how the cookie crumbles and how we’re rocking and rolling at the moment. 

SWELL. Whoot! Whoot!

Oh, yes, Pro world traveler BFF Queen of night reunion & convention Sep 18, 2008. Don’t be there!

One very Steel Magnolia

It doesn’t happen all that often that you meet remarkable people. Even in NY. Shirley MacLaine is definitely one of them. She was introducing her eleventh book (well, yeah, she’s been around for a couple of… decades lol) at the Barnes & Noble bookstore. From my personal point of view listening to her was hugely uplifting. It was quite obvious that everyone was charmed by her playful wittiness, forwardness, knowledge and life experience. Obviously the store needed to be closed at some point but she didn’t allow herself to be bothered by her publicist, reminding her nicely, it’s was almost time to start signing the books. “I’m not in a hurry. I’m having fun!” And another 30 minutes went by. People were waiting at the bookstore since early afternoon, just to get the autograph and a little chat with her. Needless to say it was v-e-r-y crowded. So this time, since i always come fashionably late (each time with a good reason), i was sure i’m not getting in. Press or no press, i’m not climbing over or elbowing through hundreds of these people, because they’d probably kill me anyhow. I did however talk to her publicist over the phone earlier that day, arranged the accreditation and everything. I got his number through someone who knows the guy who knows the woman who knew the guy and then that guy knew David Brown. So, i didn’t want all that hustle to be worth nothing, so i’ve done what needed to be done – went to someone who worked at Barnes & Nobles and seemed important enough to understand how important i was. Hahaha. “Excuse me, coming through. Press. Excuse me, press, coming through.” I did nothing but follow that guy and this was by far the most unbelievable experience as a press ever. People from the beautiful land of Kekec could actually learn something from it. You’re treated as an very important part of the whole charade thing around here, not like some kind of annoying human being with flashing light and big lens. Well, anyway, i’m turning this into another blog that doesn’t make any sense…

The sum up of the event through the pictures… If you doubt in the accuracy of my material, well, suit yourself, it’s a free country, 1 AM and i’m off to bed.

Listen, you punk, i had one billion dollars and i blew it all, ok?!

So, what can i do? Ha?? Do you think i can just magically transform your rusty van into a shinny BMW?

I hate how people don’t want to believe me. Just because i won an Oscar, 3 Emmies, 10 Golden Globes and wrote 11 bestsellers doesn’t necessarily mean i own a gold mine!

What’s wrong with yoooou?? I’ve told you I-HAVE-SPENT-IT-ALL!!

Omg, i cannot believe this is happening again. Ok. Ok. Ok. Shirley, sweetie, calm down. It’s ok. Back to the loving place, back to the loving place…

You’re still insisting on having it your way? Fine…

…i just don’t care anymore. I give up. Why did i even bother coming here…

…i’ll just pretend i’m busy reading. That will give them a hint i’m done talking… Once there were three little pigs…

More @ Dax Photo

Soon.

X files, Crossroads, Wolevs & Happy Birthdays

 

The first sign of working to much: When someone from the other side of the world knows more about the events happening in your town then you. So, thanx to Luka or should i say, my boss, i managed to get my ass to a fantastic seminar about the new upcoming movie The X files: I want to believe, held in Apple Store in SoHo, where the producers, Chris Carter and Frank Spotnitz were talking about the making of the movie, about the X-Files series as well as answering the questions from the enthusiastic fans. Quite an interesting fellow this Chris Carter. Thanks to my irresistible charm i was lucky enough to meet him after. Doing black magic probably helps too.

 

More can be seen @ Dax-Photo

Yesterday was all about slovene movies. At the Crossroads: Slovenian Cinema started at the Lincoln Center. Don’t know how many of you know this, but for me Polona Juh is one of the loveliest and most talented actresses in Slovenia. Knowing that it won’t be that big of a shock hearing how i almost got run over by a taxi, spinning my head 180 just to get a second, a third and a fourth glance at a big movie poster hanging on 66th St & Broadway. Beyond her window. Anyway, i went to the Walter Theatre on Sunday to see The Valley of Peace. I love those two kids, Lotti and Marko. And i don’t know if you knew this, but this John Kitzmille, African-American actor playing a pilot in the movie, actually received a Best Actor award in Cannes and became the first person of African descent to receive such a major festival prize. Around 50 people in the theatre and everyone was laughing, crying and agreeing that this was one damn good movie. After that i felt into the zone and HAD to see the next one. Vesna. It’s funny that Vesna was directed by a czech director, Frantisek Cap who had immigrated to Yugoslavia after Tito’s break with Stalin. Some say he actually shows the carefree days he remembered from Prague and projects the lovely moments of his country to his new home, Ljubljana. And I know all this, because before every movie there was a short introduction by a wonderful Joseph Valencic. The last one was Outsider, because i needed to see something in more that 2 colors. Hahaha. Anyway, i’m always interested to see how this newborn patriotism awakens inside me as soon there is something related to Slovenia – i’m watching Narnia: Prince Caspian and suddenly get overpowered by this incredible urge to stand up and share with entire audience that THIS, oh yes, was filmed in one of the most beautiful parts of Slovenia!! Beat this you fake artificial hand-made Central Park!!  Or i wake up, chocolate deprived, whit this mind blowing idea, how i’ll contact the Gorenjka factory, ask them for some free samples and then walk the streets of Manhattan, stuffing pieces of that cocoa treasure into people’s mouth and saying: “Yes, that’s in fact how the chocolate was supposed to taste like, you brown-plastic eating freaks!!” Ok. Earth calling Barbi. I want to believe. The truth is out there. Swell…

Oh, yes, and i got myself a third or fourth copy of Women who run with the Wolves. Two copies in Slovenia, one in London and another one in New York. And the same is happening with guitars. See, i’m spreading music and wisdom around the world. Not to mention all the other aspects of my super witty personality. Yes, indeed, i love myself – i’m achieving similar results on other people, too but not quite to the level i would want to. One step at a time, one step at a time. Of course, i’m supper drunk, how can i not be, it’s my employers birthday. Woo hoo, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, you old bat! :*