Sunday, November 28, 2004
Well: I've added a little blue "J" to the site. I think it gives it a little more personality. (Is that really what I need? Do I feel another introspective bout of presentation versus content coming on?) If only OL and LTBL would follow suit. Find out how here.
Friday, November 26, 2004
Finally -- my Kashubian friends and I will have a way to communicate. (Now we'll just need something to talk about.)
Slovio, is the international simplified Slavic language, as simple as Esperanto but understood by some 400 million people around the world. This makes Slovio one of the most widely understood languages around the world.This international language is gaining, daily, new ground: because it is as simple as the simplest constructed language and at the same time can be put to an immediate daily use for communication with some 400 million speakers. Unlike traditional Slavic langauges, it uses only the most basic latin alphabet, without any accents or special characters, and it can be typed on any keyboard - including the U.S. keyboard. You will be amazed how many people will understand you, how many people will talk to you! Slovio will open up a whole new world for you, for your business, for your website, for your products, for profits, for education, for friendship and for pleasure. Slovio is the planned language of choice for modern people. Simple logical grammar, simple phonetic spelling, and full compatibility with all European languages - only simpler.
Slovio, is the international simplified Slavic language, as simple as Esperanto but understood by some 400 million people around the world. This makes Slovio one of the most widely understood languages around the world.This international language is gaining, daily, new ground: because it is as simple as the simplest constructed language and at the same time can be put to an immediate daily use for communication with some 400 million speakers. Unlike traditional Slavic langauges, it uses only the most basic latin alphabet, without any accents or special characters, and it can be typed on any keyboard - including the U.S. keyboard. You will be amazed how many people will understand you, how many people will talk to you! Slovio will open up a whole new world for you, for your business, for your website, for your products, for profits, for education, for friendship and for pleasure. Slovio is the planned language of choice for modern people. Simple logical grammar, simple phonetic spelling, and full compatibility with all European languages - only simpler.
"Accession by Turkey would change the nature of the European project," whines Valery Giscard d'Estaing in yesterday's FT. (FT.com seems to think if they keep asking, I'll eventually pay to read a newspaper I get in hard copy every day free at my office. If you get a chance, read Thursday's op-ed piece from Giscard in defense of a 'privileged partnership' for Turkey at the December 17 EU Ministerial. But preferably not after you've just eaten.) And then just about when the Gaullism is getting to you and you feel like making a move for Alsace/Lorraine, read the New Yorker's crack-up article from a few weeks ago on the internal politicking of Le Monde.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Always with our finger on the pulse of what we're (ok, I'm) thinking: how much of this problem in Ukraine stems from how d%rn alike the names of the two candidates are? There's a growing concensus we're talking about:
Viktor Yanukovich (the Kuchma one) versus Viktor Yushchenko (the opposition one)
Hello, Ukrainians! Just vote for Viktor?!
Like most things, I find the name confusion even funnier in French, where the candidates are (in the same order) Monsieur Ianoukovitch and Monsieur Iouchtchenko. Even the Poles (who, really, taught me most everything I know about said Ukraine) can only come up with Janukowycz and Juszczenko. What's a poor, isolationist, what-are-they-Muslim? American to do?
Viktor Yanukovich (the Kuchma one) versus Viktor Yushchenko (the opposition one)
Hello, Ukrainians! Just vote for Viktor?!
Like most things, I find the name confusion even funnier in French, where the candidates are (in the same order) Monsieur Ianoukovitch and Monsieur Iouchtchenko. Even the Poles (who, really, taught me most everything I know about said Ukraine) can only come up with Janukowycz and Juszczenko. What's a poor, isolationist, what-are-they-Muslim? American to do?
Saturday, November 20, 2004
The words {ad, hoc, ergo, and propter} all come to mind when I think about my own hot-and-cold love affair with blogging and the recent dismissal of Vibor Kalogjera, a third secretary at the Croatian Embassy in Washington, in retaliation for his blog. (Which, so sad, has disappeared -- only after being quoted liberally in some Croatian dailies.) Apparently the 25-year old Vibor used his blog to recount at length the boredom of diplomatic meetings, his rather visceral thoughts on some Croatian politicos, and well, somethings ill-suited to a family medium like the PMJ.
What does this mean for the future of PMJ? Somewhat inspired by OL's peek in the mailbag but finding no real shame in not even pretending to make up the letters myself, let's switch to a little Q and A for a sec here.
Q. So, tell me more about this alleged Vibor.
A. Ptt! I've already said too much. Do you hear that sound? That sound is the sound of children's laughter silenced -- and ships sinking.
Q. I find sometimes when things get rough you resort to stock phrases that don't really make sense in context. How do you respond to allegations from the blogosphere that you're really just a waning hack?
A. First of all, I'd like to thank you for your question and your interest in the machinations of the myriad disaffected youth that comprise the modern blogosphere. Now, to address the substance of your question, let me just say that: look! It's Smurfette.
Q. It's a low blow.
A. Low, perhaps, but effective all the same. If ever there's been a neo-Byzantine cartoon character, Smurfette is she.
Q. I'm sorry -- did you say 'neo-Byzantine?"
A. No.
Q. No, but you did!
A. Did what?
Q. You, my friend, are infuriating.
A. Yeah, ok, sorry, I've got to move on to a few 'must-calls' here for a sec... Yes, Ralphie.
Ralphie. Yes, good afternoon, thank you so much for calling on me.
A. Ralphie, it is my pleasure to call on you.
Ralphie. Thank you again, that's quite good of you. What I'd like to ask is -- why do you keep doing what you do? I mean, surely at your age, it's time to start thinking about a successor... and in your case, on one level that's suicide, on another more practical level there's the logistical challenge of finding another Joshie. When will it be time to call it in?
A. Ralphie, you really cut through it all, don't you. Let me just say it has been a real privilege being Joshie over these past several years. And I'd like to assure our readership that I will continue to be your Joshie with all my strength until a successor has been named. As you know, I blog at the pleasure of Blogspot. Brenda?
Brenda. Funny-sad?
A. A little to the left, little more, little more, ah: perfect.
What does this mean for the future of PMJ? Somewhat inspired by OL's peek in the mailbag but finding no real shame in not even pretending to make up the letters myself, let's switch to a little Q and A for a sec here.
Q. So, tell me more about this alleged Vibor.
A. Ptt! I've already said too much. Do you hear that sound? That sound is the sound of children's laughter silenced -- and ships sinking.
Q. I find sometimes when things get rough you resort to stock phrases that don't really make sense in context. How do you respond to allegations from the blogosphere that you're really just a waning hack?
A. First of all, I'd like to thank you for your question and your interest in the machinations of the myriad disaffected youth that comprise the modern blogosphere. Now, to address the substance of your question, let me just say that: look! It's Smurfette.
Q. It's a low blow.
A. Low, perhaps, but effective all the same. If ever there's been a neo-Byzantine cartoon character, Smurfette is she.
Q. I'm sorry -- did you say 'neo-Byzantine?"
A. No.
Q. No, but you did!
A. Did what?
Q. You, my friend, are infuriating.
A. Yeah, ok, sorry, I've got to move on to a few 'must-calls' here for a sec... Yes, Ralphie.
Ralphie. Yes, good afternoon, thank you so much for calling on me.
A. Ralphie, it is my pleasure to call on you.
Ralphie. Thank you again, that's quite good of you. What I'd like to ask is -- why do you keep doing what you do? I mean, surely at your age, it's time to start thinking about a successor... and in your case, on one level that's suicide, on another more practical level there's the logistical challenge of finding another Joshie. When will it be time to call it in?
A. Ralphie, you really cut through it all, don't you. Let me just say it has been a real privilege being Joshie over these past several years. And I'd like to assure our readership that I will continue to be your Joshie with all my strength until a successor has been named. As you know, I blog at the pleasure of Blogspot. Brenda?
Brenda. Funny-sad?
A. A little to the left, little more, little more, ah: perfect.
I guess I shouldn't be so surprised that recherche des pneus sloveniens took me to, well, Slovenia. (That said, who goes to Slovenia to get new tires? Am I finally living the life I've always dreamed of? The border guards certainly seemed to think so...)
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Combine a couple cub political officers from Slavic countries that may or may not in Europe, throw in some military pomp and a few outings into Slovenia and you just might have: a weekend that speaks for itself.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Our dream is a world of 462 electoral votes.
I'm sorry, did I say 462? That's exactly what I meant. But after everything we all went through this past week, let's not get to greedy or anything. I mean, the Dems did come up about 3.5 million votes short. But rather than reflect (rather pointlessly) on Electoral College reform for another four years, why not realize that 2008 can be different if instead of heading off to Canada everyone heads off to New Mexico, Iowa, Nevada, and Alaska?
So sunny! So corn-fed! So many casinos eager to give us money! So many moose!
And, for all your Olsonian number types, just 109,449 people would do the trick. It's a tantilizing as it is ridiculous. But when the times get desparate, the desparate make web pages.
So there you have it: now go vote with your feet.
I'm sorry, did I say 462? That's exactly what I meant. But after everything we all went through this past week, let's not get to greedy or anything. I mean, the Dems did come up about 3.5 million votes short. But rather than reflect (rather pointlessly) on Electoral College reform for another four years, why not realize that 2008 can be different if instead of heading off to Canada everyone heads off to New Mexico, Iowa, Nevada, and Alaska?
So sunny! So corn-fed! So many casinos eager to give us money! So many moose!
And, for all your Olsonian number types, just 109,449 people would do the trick. It's a tantilizing as it is ridiculous. But when the times get desparate, the desparate make web pages.
So there you have it: now go vote with your feet.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
More on the election, Belgrade, Balkan politics, and other witticisms in a second. (Do you think I'm affected by the media blackout? Am I the media? If not me, who?) But first...
Eek: I'm having lunch tomorrow with the European Director of the IMF. Please send your brilliant insights into Croatian monetary policy here.
Eek: I'm having lunch tomorrow with the European Director of the IMF. Please send your brilliant insights into Croatian monetary policy here.
We, the people, must redeem
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!
(This and more fine Langston Hughes poetry here.)
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!
(This and more fine Langston Hughes poetry here.)
Danas je . Čitate stalno Joshievo izaslanstvo.