27-I-2025.
Rolling the news all day, reading Danas, Radar and burundi in turn... the great blockade of Autokomanda [big square in Belgrade, actually two squares connected by an overpass above the highway; the same place where I couldn't switch lanes, v. 01-V-2021.]. In the preceding years I drove there several times - when going to VMA or when I got Joda - so I know how huge it is, and it seems entirely incredible that they managed to fill it with people and keep it so for 24 hours.
At least I grabbed some sleep during the day, so I was game for an evening walk, except I had to catch my breath while donning socks, belly getting in the way. Well, regardless, we reached Dragana's right on time, despite dropping by two supermarkets (got the wine at Persu, peeked into Aman by the cemetery to see what's it like, never been there), and Borče got there just a few minutes after we did.
The drink was last year's cherry (not cherry), ran fine, we had three each. For meze she had a really good hard cheese and some domestic sausage, done just right, smoked without any whelming* and with the right ingredients. Better than, say, those from Neša, where you always find some bone bits. The dinner was eventually at nine... interesting how all those sour cabbage dishes are a mainstay of our cuisine, and still turn out so differently. She simmered the podvarak (sour cabbage covered with meat, baked in a plek in the oven) down to brown, while ours is light, and yet both are good. Roast I remember there was some, but not which was it. And I sharpened her knives again.
I just had to pack some of yesterday's shots into my phone, Dragana insisted on seeing Tanja. She was properly astonished, they pored over the shots with attention, and our selfie with Tanja was specially praised. Well, it got high marks from me too, it's now my wallpapaer over both monitors.
To differ from several of previous sessions, when Dragana tied to pass some of teevee grub regurgitated for public use, of the „opposition is even worse“ and „what, Đilas?“, which made me laugh really loud, what do you mean, Đilas is some opposition? Today, muted, the political discourse was skilfully avoided. Well yes, when even the tiny Brus and Sokobanja rose up... As someone said, even places which were silent against the Turks are now up.
There we agreed that in the meanwhile, next monday, we sit at our place, and view that Radovan the third, meaning we sit on the couch and watch, no dinner no wine, just rakija and snacks.
We dispersed, quite colorful, around two. Had I not had trouble with the operator, who couldn't understand the location, „in front of Lesnina“ was always enough, I wouldn't even remember how we got a cab. The time on the call was 2:05.
I spent the next day again with eyes peeled to the screen, reading Danas (Today, the independent daily), Radar (former NIN, which was a serious weekly which I began reading as a teenager, and which under new management since last year; the new boss said the magazine will reorient itself into a more atractive fields, like showbiz; the whole staff quit and founded Radar). The irrelevant guy resigned... what's that falling? The gov't is falling („šta to pada - pada vlada“, a song by Bajaga). But it seems this time he's not getting away with just resignation. He resigned because he „feels responsible“. Yeah, so why didn't he resign on first of november (question put up by many). During the day photos appeared on which his son is best pals with the one of the four [guys] with baseball bats, who came out of the party's offices and beat the students who were putting stickers on their window, around three in the morning, and broke one girl's jaw. The friendship was well documented (including the PM himself, in company of criminals) because they actually bragged with these ties and put those photos on social networks.
On twonyninth I rode my bike downtown to feed the Big brother, i.e. to register my mobile number. So far the prepaid was anonymous, and it nearly stayed so, would have, had Žeks's Globaltel had a proper registration webpage. The name and JMBG (unique citizen number), which I had ready, I'd call myself something romanian, like Ionel Vulpescu, and would be born in 1969. But that page didn't work until you log in, didn't have the save button; once you do, and enter the six digit code they send you, that page vanishes and gets replaced with something far more convoluted and demanding, they ask to take a photo of your ID and your face, to scan a QR... And despite the ingrained conviction that the current authorities are the culprit of all the bullshit, in this case their guilt is just in blindly obeying all the shit coming from EU, for which they keep getting more delays, moving of goalposts. Though, if I was any such union, I wouldn't be with them anyway.
The main street was practically vacant, barely any passers by, fair weather... and not a cigarette butt in sight. Ever since the protests pass here almost every day, it's cleaner than ever. And, lo, there's nobody at the serekeš at the glasshouse, and it's got cash. One needs to pick the right date.
Thirtieth. Wrote this on burundi, in re grafitto „ĆACI U ŠKOLU“, sprayed on the gatepost of Jova's gimnazija in Novi by some SNS 'activist', who was then mocked incessantly for three days by whole Serbia („Ćaci seen in Jagodina“).
Some explanation here: one of the feeble propagandistic efforts by the SNS is that students (both academic and hischoolers) should be in their classrooms and not on the streets. The slogan was supposed to be „Đaci u školu“ - students into school - but the poor slob painted ЋАЦИ (a non-word, now taken as a (nick)name) instead of ЂАЦИ (pupils, disciples).
Been thinking some about that Ćaci guy, and how the whole country started mocking that next minute, on three four now**, in today's language, virally. Okay, I did stretch a mustache into a smile, a little... because the gag is lingual, but that't not the point. That one character painted the substance of this regime, its reliance on cheap aliterate fools who do what they're told, and have long ago grown accustomed that turning the brain on during the task is inconvenient.
This is where several fuses blew. The crembil [cretin+debil aka imbecil] probably never learned all the latinic letters, and gets tasked with spraying a grafitto in cyrillic, which he fondly remembers... but feebly. But a task is a task, and he goes to scribble those three words, on one of almost sacred places, and the Ćaci is born.
The krembil is just a side effect of what the regime is perpetrating on education and culture, he's their mass produced item, standardized. And the side effect of what regime is doing with cyrillic, almost all wrong.
It's indicative how the regime played dead over this whole fiasco, kept completely mum, because what can they say, that it was not them who sent the illiterate fool, when it's obvious to everyone that they sent him on this mission. And then what next, to wait for the question why do they collect and accept such [guys] into their ranks... I don't believe anyone there dares to pull the end of that yarn, because in three easy steps the sweater would be gone.
From this a long string of reactions ensued, from ćirjakian culturological and sociological disgust over ourselves for the schadenfreude over the debil's stupidity, over „just fuck off with that, they delight all the time in what they do to us and specially for their impunity“, or, in my words, „Ćaci's dad is the clod from the corner who got the job you couldn't get, because he signed up and you couldn't stomach the membership. And he just tipped himself off, what an expert for the job he is. Will you deny yourself the right to gloat over him a little?“. To which Gari added „who fucks them, they all had a choice, and they are all enemies now, and in almost any surroundings it is known that they are the worst people, worst neighbors, scum and barrel bottom. As one gari said, my enemy is the whole american nation, not just the elites, thinking primarily of the dockers who go on strike, but regularly pass the shipments of weapons for genocidal Israel“. And Plačkica adds „'ćacić is embraced and walks with us, it began as gloating, after few hours of oversharing and explaining who and what is 'ćaci' supposed to be, and the context in which he was created, ćaci became one of us. eventually even the most stubborn gave up trying to explain the context and that's about the best that could happen to him“. Gari: „Ćaci is the filthy esenessjian, without diploma from elem or hi school, but in significant numbers with a bought diploma from one of their private colleges; I find no empathy for him in any combination“.
Even the farthest cunthoods, like Zaplanje in the Gadžin Han municipality, which I can't even find on the map, took the joke and rose. Even our dežurni Montenegrin on the forum adds „Ćaci is a typical snsjian who is just so a bit pidstu and incapable but isn't so evil and is even a bit glad to see these students and all this positive atmosphere“.
Thirtyfirst passed in nothing. She was finishing yet another sweater, and I just zigzagged the net, looking how those 900 students walk to Novi, being greeted as liberators along the way, how much positive energy surfaces there, people cry, well I feel like crying while looking at that, and even now (morning of second) while I'm writing this. And the kids are sweet, if I was there I would have fallen in love every five meters, now it happens every five minutes as I watch the live feed... which began on 1st, at 15:00. And lasted for good 25 hours. I couldn't take my eyes off the monitor the whole afternoon. This is television as it should be and as it's impossible to be now, because fuckit the business. This was straight from the streets, no ads. And everyone saying „energy, wonderful energy“.
During a break I ponder over the perceived beauty of everyone I saw there. For one, they are all so natural and emotional, some smile, some happily cry. The other thing is that these are just regular people, there are no sponzoruša with silicongers and pumped up lips, no built up zbitoglavs [as per Vasa's definition, when the stupidity and evil influence their form, and they become just as beasty on the outside, shaped by inside], the kind I see in the news all the time (and that's with no television, imagine with that). And not too many shaved heads, but seeing none need not mean they are out of fashion, it was just near freezing and they wore caps.
By evening Nina called so we talked at large. She's rearranged some furniture already. The big white lazy chair from the playroom corner is gone, sold, two shelves there now; the sideways hanging shelf by the entrance is upright now (she mentioned some trouble when rescrewing things where they fit now, hard boards). Linda came to cry over something again (in a game she gained something that Sanda already had, then lost it in two minutes, and it's not something you gain by practice and skill, it's a random thing, it comes when it comes. So mom comforted her.
On sunday we got up relatively early, she by 6:30 I guess, me around seven. I made coffees, she cigarettes. And we kept watching the rest of the live feed until 15:30. During these four days, in parallel with this, I talked with Marinko about some dot nyet things, how best to talk to esskewl server from it, but in strictly OOP manner, the way we did it in fox, how to create an orthogonal set of classes and funcions, for which the examples on the net are scarce, the OOP seemingly going out of fashion. It seems they recommend that too much code is not a bad thing, and who cares if maintenance becomes screwier and screwier, you have them builders and all the help from the VS and... sranje kroz gusto granje (literally: shitting through thick branches). Parallel, I said, because he mentioned the Woodstock just 3km away from him exactly zero times.
In the evening we stayed long talking with Go and Stanley, almost until one. I managed to get a few hearty laughs from them, though the last one wasn't exactly mine. She commented on their shopping at Costco as a „good buy“, which sounded as „goodbye“, to which I added that „there's a good buy, better buy, best buy“, to which Stanley laughed his ass off and said „I'm sure all of them are already incorporated somewhere (the last one is, positively). Anita entered the frame a few times and we all felt a bit sorry that she won't stay this klinceza forever. By then Neša also woke up, so they got ready for another trip to Costco, to finish the buy, as last time they had time to see less than half of it. Then I poured a liter of the 2024.1 tutifruti, to give that a try again, and it turned out quite interesting, we recognized the fig and some apricot and blackberry. Two shots before sleep, just right, it passed the exam. Maybe a wee ketone still hiding in there, which should air out by the time its next turn comes.
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* did you notice how whelmers never do it right? It's always either over- or under-.
** something like „steady, ready, go“, of unknown origin, yet everybody knows this synchronizing call. The „three... four... now“ needs no explanation, the third word is the go signal.
Mentions: 01-V-2021., Anita Jennifer Berger (Anita), blockade, burundi, dežurni, Dragana Vitas (Dragana), fox, gimnazija, Gorana Sredljević (Go), Joda, klinceza, Lesnina, Linda Sredljevich Aquilla (Linda), Mališa Borkovski (Borče), Marinko Protić, meze, Nenad Berger (Neša), Nevena Sredljević (Nina), Novi Sad, plek, rakija, Sanda Sredljević Aquilla (Sanda), serekeš, sponzoruša, Stanley Berger, Tanja Nastić, tutifruti, in serbian
28-I-2025 - 25-III-2026