Friday, May 28, 2004
You're most welcome, SCS.
The phone rings constantly.
The conversation (invariably) goes something like this:
Josh: Y-ello.
Mother: Josh, you haven't been blogging.
J: Hello, Mother.
M: I mean, I go to missionofjoshie.com, but you haven't been updating.
J: How are you?
M: Do you think you could? Please?
Well I have caved. I hope you're all quite happy with yourselves.
That said, where to even begin? Perhaps it's best if we don't even try to start at the beginning. Or really even at the present. I find novelists increasingly wary of just starting in the middle. And yet, I think you'll all agree, that's pretty much exactly where we are.
So righto. I've just always assumed someday I'd play in a bluegrass/ska/fusion band called "No one lives in Namibia." NOLIN, I reasoned, will catapult me to stardom in ways my diplomatic career, well, just hasn't. But then I got in the car this morning out to Buzin, the chique new Zagreb suburb that's home to the US Embassy. We hear something rattling around in back. Quoth the driver, "Oh, that's just some cheap wine. Don't worry -- the Macedonians make great glass." There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Coming to 9.30: MMGG. We'll make a million dollars.
That said, as you can see, settled into a "real" job and once again surrounded my slavs and still not getting any smarter...
So why haven't I been blogging? Is it the exciting fast-paced lifestyle? The frequent meet-and-greets with Croatian elites? The endless cups of coffee with the State Secretary for Agriculture? Trips to Split hospitals? Am I too weighed down by all the cevapi and ice cream to focus on the task at hand? Am I too busy watching "Potraga za Nemom" on my new DVD player from Bosnia? I mean, honestly -- aren't you? What do you expect?
Well here I was planning to regale you with my many adventures -- when the phone rings, the Bulldog pub calls. And on that happy note, I wish you all the best of days.
Josh: Y-ello.
Mother: Josh, you haven't been blogging.
J: Hello, Mother.
M: I mean, I go to missionofjoshie.com, but you haven't been updating.
J: How are you?
M: Do you think you could? Please?
Well I have caved. I hope you're all quite happy with yourselves.
That said, where to even begin? Perhaps it's best if we don't even try to start at the beginning. Or really even at the present. I find novelists increasingly wary of just starting in the middle. And yet, I think you'll all agree, that's pretty much exactly where we are.
So righto. I've just always assumed someday I'd play in a bluegrass/ska/fusion band called "No one lives in Namibia." NOLIN, I reasoned, will catapult me to stardom in ways my diplomatic career, well, just hasn't. But then I got in the car this morning out to Buzin, the chique new Zagreb suburb that's home to the US Embassy. We hear something rattling around in back. Quoth the driver, "Oh, that's just some cheap wine. Don't worry -- the Macedonians make great glass." There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Coming to 9.30: MMGG. We'll make a million dollars.
That said, as you can see, settled into a "real" job and once again surrounded my slavs and still not getting any smarter...
So why haven't I been blogging? Is it the exciting fast-paced lifestyle? The frequent meet-and-greets with Croatian elites? The endless cups of coffee with the State Secretary for Agriculture? Trips to Split hospitals? Am I too weighed down by all the cevapi and ice cream to focus on the task at hand? Am I too busy watching "Potraga za Nemom" on my new DVD player from Bosnia? I mean, honestly -- aren't you? What do you expect?
Well here I was planning to regale you with my many adventures -- when the phone rings, the Bulldog pub calls. And on that happy note, I wish you all the best of days.
Saturday, May 01, 2004
So here's one man who *can* live by grilled meat alone
Really just a few short days into my stay in Croatia and my knowledge of English grammar has already begun to fail me. Surprising? Not so much.
That said, let me be among many to congratulate the latest wave of EU entrants. And in case we forgot, yes, Slovenia has already added an EU flag outside their embassy in Zagreb. Hitting to old country hard, as it were. And on this magnificant labor day in Southeastern Europe, I had a chance to observe (if, sadly, only partially participate in -- not for lack of trying, so much as fear of tomorrow's newspapers) the big labor parade from Trg Bana Jelačića up to the park at Maksimir. As on every May 1, we feasted on the finest grah -- bean stew soaked with sausages -- in the land. Stjepan was there, big business was too. And of course the unions. Needless to say we bonded instantly. And I get paid for this?
A few points on participating in labor demonstrations:
(1) Try to set yourself apart from the demonstrators by dressing differently. You know, suit, tie, raincoat, umbrella, diplomatic ID in your pocket. That will come in handy when the police get bored.
(2) Someone will try to hand you a flag -- don't take it.
(3) Try -- I mean, try as best you can -- not to appear in the newspaper with a bunch of aging communists. Or those 19-year-old majorettes at the front of the parade. That would be bad too.
Righto, shall I back-track a bit. The essentials: I arrived on Wednesday after a jaunt through New York and then Vienna. A black passport in hand I set off for my new home -- Bog, Zagrebe, kak' si kaj? A large diplomatic-plated van conveyed me to my new home -- so conveniently located among many myriad cafes and the Bulldog Belgian beer garden. My colleagues spent the next several days showering me with fun things to do but also feeding me all the while. Hence, the grilled meat. Not bad really -- I got to party with Marines, the Japanese ambassador, Big Labor, the boys from Commerce, the ladies from USAID, and scores of my South Slavic brethren. Finally, say we.
How ARE you all. Not I mean that. Have I asked before? I really do -- mean it, that is. More soon.
That said, let me be among many to congratulate the latest wave of EU entrants. And in case we forgot, yes, Slovenia has already added an EU flag outside their embassy in Zagreb. Hitting to old country hard, as it were. And on this magnificant labor day in Southeastern Europe, I had a chance to observe (if, sadly, only partially participate in -- not for lack of trying, so much as fear of tomorrow's newspapers) the big labor parade from Trg Bana Jelačića up to the park at Maksimir. As on every May 1, we feasted on the finest grah -- bean stew soaked with sausages -- in the land. Stjepan was there, big business was too. And of course the unions. Needless to say we bonded instantly. And I get paid for this?
A few points on participating in labor demonstrations:
(1) Try to set yourself apart from the demonstrators by dressing differently. You know, suit, tie, raincoat, umbrella, diplomatic ID in your pocket. That will come in handy when the police get bored.
(2) Someone will try to hand you a flag -- don't take it.
(3) Try -- I mean, try as best you can -- not to appear in the newspaper with a bunch of aging communists. Or those 19-year-old majorettes at the front of the parade. That would be bad too.
Righto, shall I back-track a bit. The essentials: I arrived on Wednesday after a jaunt through New York and then Vienna. A black passport in hand I set off for my new home -- Bog, Zagrebe, kak' si kaj? A large diplomatic-plated van conveyed me to my new home -- so conveniently located among many myriad cafes and the Bulldog Belgian beer garden. My colleagues spent the next several days showering me with fun things to do but also feeding me all the while. Hence, the grilled meat. Not bad really -- I got to party with Marines, the Japanese ambassador, Big Labor, the boys from Commerce, the ladies from USAID, and scores of my South Slavic brethren. Finally, say we.
How ARE you all. Not I mean that. Have I asked before? I really do -- mean it, that is. More soon.
Danas je . Čitate stalno Joshievo izaslanstvo.