09-II-2025.
We hit the hay a tad early, I around 23:30, and she soon after me. I woke around half four, roomy rest and a cigarette, and just when I lit it I heard the Telegram. Well lemme see what's up, and there Nina posted two videos - today they made a birthday party for Sanda and Linda, candles blown and all. Alisha and Whitney with some of the kids were there too (Whitney has five, and it's already impossible to get them all to go anywhere), twice seven candles were blown, and Sanda's seventh was just stubbornly holding on.
Despite so much water in the pangazijus, the fish čorba came out great, what with rose petals... that's how the minced feferona* looks like when it boils over and all the pulp falls off, only the red skin remains. Niiice hot. And the hake, not sliced and fried in a pan, but all four of them in a glass bowl, potatoes on the bottom, greased up and put in the oven. All excellent. No crunchy edges, but at least this way getting the bones out is a no-brainer, I used a fork for the first half, and then went on fingering, without getting too smeared, just fingertips, left hand only.
An email came from Alphonse... says someone anonymously donated 300$ (prob'ly canadian), which is en annual subscription, so he decided to spread them at will, and I'm getting one. Just when I successfully weaned myself off the UA, whole week now. My sense of time is off kilter for a while already. My usual feeling is that something that I remember as having happened recently actually happened two months ago; now I some events which I think happened two months ago actually happened bare ten days ago. I lost the interesting times habits.
And then we went to the new Svetofor in Železnička (railway, adj.), in the hangar of once Ogrev's lumberyard, by the track. Actually there's an old industrial track running through their yard, goes to the Duvanika (tobacco plant... industrial plant), a block away. She found some pot soil, cheaper than what Najka says. There, we buy nothing for two weeks, then two days in a row.
We parked nearby, by the overpass. Even though I hold this sense of being less acquainted with this end of town because I rarely venture across the river and even that only to the main square, I actually do know this, used to work there for a few years, it's just across from the wreck of Bangro's building. There we walked to Avala. It's called Avala because there was the movie [theater] Avala (named after Belgrade's mountain), which was torn down for the magistral highway through town, along with the house where my grandfather's tavern was, almost next to it, and there's the photo shop that I visited when I stopped working (v. 06-VIII-2019.). When we got there the protest was already rather strong. The [green] market's parking was full of tractors, at least a dozen, which then want on maneuvering, to take positions. The essenesjis had started, from the beginning of the protests in november, trying to provoke violence, inserting their agents, beat squads and piledriver cars into the mass. The protest got the wiser really soon, and against at least the latter ones, started parking tractors around. The peasants were, it seems, eagerly waiting for a chance to take a part, their steam was also near critical pressure too... Don't remember having ever seen so many tractors in one place.
The weather was nice, excellent light, sun low. Though, there was some breeze and temperature went close to zero soon, when it went down and the whole overpass got covered by the left skyscraper's shadow - the boulevard is facing straight west, but the sun still sets a tad leftier, i.e. souther. I shot about ninety, even put together two-three autopatches.
There were really heartwarming scenes, e.g. one old lady, whom her grandson brought, or the other way around. She was smallish, I think her eyes were level with the kidneys of the guy in front of her, and the grandson wasn't big either, aged fifteen at best. At least three fathers with children on their shoulders, including this kid who kept trying to unfold the „your hands are bloody“, on the little space between me and the nearest house, which isn't larger than a 15m squared. There we kept waiting for the walk to begin, which it did, several times, and then stopped after a meter or two. May be warmer so, but actually isn't, standing still. So we snuck out to the sidewalk and walked ahead to that one novogradnja by the overpass, it has a raised gangway level with the high ground floor, to get a better view, better vantage point for more shots. There, among the thousands, I spotted one familiar face - S. Gunić aka Ben Kvik.
He's a separate legend of zrenjanin photography, from almost the very beginnings. He was not really a porn photographer, or if he was it never became public. He managed to get hold of various young glory seeking girls, so since the early seventies he sometimes supplied half of the front page photographs in Čik. He came to the club at times, we had to teach him the temperature of color and how to have his slides in regular colors and not all orange and yellow... But he was stubborn in what he was doing, and kept doing so until beyond retirement. And he gained at least some local fame. When he was recovering from stroke a couple of years ago in Rusanda (mud spa in Melenci), his friends went to visit him there, what with an accordeon player and an article on some local news portal... Wasn't sure he recognized me this time (did a dozen years ago), but he immediately knew he should have, so he was pleased unseen to have met me again.
There we again waited for the walk to begin, but fuckit, coordinating the fiftysome orderlies, a squad of tractorists, a dozen bikers and the welcoming committee on the other side of the overpass took a while. We snuck to bypass the mass from the right side and climbed the overpass by its staircase. The staircase was built right on and used for just a few years, while the railway was busy and the crossing was closed too often - there are some four tracks and the crossing is right between the main passenger station and the cargo station. But then the railway started dying its slow death, and the pedestrian path under the overpass was established, and nobody had a reason to climb up on this side and down on the other. Still, useful for this occasion, just mind the dislodged or fragmented steps. We came up just when they started moving, tractors first, then bikers. When the walker (brow of the column, three slogans held by the front line, stretching over four lanes) was nearing, we decided that we froze enough, and my bladder was already sending yellow alert, anouncing red soon, so scram.
The Joda was parked nearby (which, roughly, was the plan). We had to drive around a bit, through the street where tanti used to live (her house is still standing, equally decrepit as it always was, whoever bought it did nothing in these twenty years), then towards downtown through Cara Dušnana... A young cop girl bars the traffic in the direction of the protest and reroutes in the other directions, nimbly and swiftly, with joy. The older coleague nearby just walks about, no rush, relaxed. Somehow all the cops I saw today look so at leasure and composed, guess for being happy to do something for the people and not like those whom Nemanja Šarović from the local (cable) KTV (television) shook out of their pants in Kikinda, where Vučić held the mike on how he'll write a book by the summer on how he won over the painted revolution and how he'll soon publish a declaration on Vojvodina as part of Serbia (well wasn't that covered with the declaration on Serbia a couple of months ago, if it's already its part?)... those cops looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, just not there.
Drove to the home through a ghost town. Not a live soul, as if it were an eclipse... By six I already did the photos for yesterday and and today, put a couple of better ones on burundi, some on the platoon meeting on Telegram. Then Nina called and we had a nice chat, mostly about how the tworthday was, then she went off to assemble the table - the couch of last time she already put together. While we were talking, Borče called to announce the tomorrow's frendz parti, all okay. In the evening, around ten, Go called, so we talked about this and that, and Stanley jumped in with his story about his father and uncles... „and then uncle Bill says how dad is doing great, lives clean, takes care of himself, doesn't take booze nor drugs, doesn't smoke, keeps himself in shape... yeah, right, and of the last ten years he lived at least six in cars full of trash, that's healthy... I mean when you had four uncles and two of them killed themselves and the other two don't speak with your dad for years... you can only hope that the madness will hit you as late as possible“. Well, no, I said, you've gone some tenth path away, the reason for existence of a vicious circle is to show those who are smart enough to know how to jump out of it. Which you did long ago.
Anita made ten snowm... snowpeople („can't call it snowman, don't want to misgender them“), Neša made one but that one was the craziest. Not that they had much snow, none of these snowfolks were above 60 cm in height.
We talked with them almost until one, then entertained ourselves, then had just two and a half shots (poured the rest back into the bottle), went to sleep a bit before four. Good day.
When we started walking to Borče in the evening, it was well freezing. I wore the winter jacket, a whole second time this winter, and she tried to wear the lamb fur-inside that we bought back then in Sokobanja, and it's somehow tight in the shoulders. So she tried a couple of other jackets, and none fit the bill... so she took her fur coat eventually, which she wears perhaps once per season. We didn't hit the stride, specially not up the stairs, she also dictated an easy tempo with a breather break on each landing. We heard Dragana as early as third floor, the stairwell was quiet and her voice carries.
We drank just about two shots (cherry, just like last time) because Borče served the roast (something spiked, no clue what, with his signature finely chopped potatoes) as early as around nine. Yup, he put a battery into the wall clock so we now knew the time. The talk meandered as usual, and somehow the leitmotif of the evening was Trieste, and who went there, when and how. It actually started with his claim that we weren't allowed to wear jeans in the first grade of gimnazija. Though, I didn't have em then, got my first pair the next suummer, in Trieste, I wouldn't let them be washed for half a year, and then it somehow became fashionable to wear them faded. Got ahead by accident. There I got my chance the whole adventure about the vacation in Vrsar and hitching from Koper to Vrsar (22-VII-1976.). Mentioned also how we were supposed to hook up with Sleš there but he didn't show up, so stumbled on Vasa and Dragica there, and talked them into switching into the camp, and the whole story.
There Dragana remembered how a friend of hers wanted to buy a house in the lower colony, and they cut a deal at 40000€, then it turned out to be 45, the seller changed his mind, but the number was still within their bracket of 50000, and they laid the good faith advance, and it turned out that the guy changed his mind again, someone came up wotj 48000. At least he returned the advance. And then as she was amid the diatribe about the guy's bad manners and generally him being a louse, Dragana asked who the guy was - and it was none other but Vasa. Well, my schoolmate... (... 161 word...)
There Dragana remembered to ask us what we mean to do with the old house, and there we repeated the usual mantra of „if anyone comes and puts 40000€ cash on the table, he may take it“. We don't have the time nor will to do anything with that house, don't even have any idea what to do with it, neither to wash it nor to make new... So she suggested her hairdresser, the one who got stiffed out by Vasa, said they are scouting the area, anywhere between ruža and šećerana would be fine. Well okay then.
Should have updated her on the price, starting with 50K then meeting at 54 was the idea. And if there was anything in the house that we wanted to keep... well, if we didn't bring it over so far, we obviously don't need it at all.
When we got home we were already sleepy, but still could do the shot an a half that remained in the bottle. My ankles were swollen from sitting and wearing socks, it hurt when I shod myself, guess the veins... Gone by morning.
Near next day's lunch, the prospective buyer called... and we set the visit there for the next day. We'll see.
Talked with Nina in the evening, said she sent Mark off, told him in clear terms she won't be his resort (or rehab), he'd either come and stay or not come at all. He seems adamant to keep things as they are, change nothing, he's fine as is.
Then Go said that Dražen had a stroke, „causing a serious scar on the heart“. Um, could the granny have died? Go'd be sad to see the old house go... um, yeah, when we count all of us, we didn't spend two days a year in it, nor did we bring anything that matters from there. No people, no house. It's a house while there's someone inside. She had a few more complaints, which got us annoyed so we took an extraordinary shot and a half that was still in the bottle, and then didn't feel like going out to pour more. Hey, what about that red ljebelj (label, pronounced in russian) we recently discovered, must have been brought by Stojan a few years ago, and we forgot. Not bad, except the stopper was something complicated, with a glass ball in it, took me two forevers to drip half a shot. There she becunted and took the crochet hook and yanked the mechanism out, so we poured a humane dose and... it's not that good either. No matter how much I laughed inside at my dad's claims that rakija is better than whiskey, it wasn't for the claim itself but for the wrong fake accent of its delivery. And the rakija at the time wasn't as good as ours now. We sipped half a shot but it just wouldn't go. We poured it back into the bottle and went to sleep.
Wednesday, twelfth... solved one matter in the mrz, actually in the tools - the sort indicator, the triangle in a grid header pointing up or down when it's sorted, which dabo draws there, doesn't show up. Looking at the code in the current version of catal6.prg (a seven since long ago, now reworked for python/dabo), found it, removed, inserted a ↑ instead, then replaced that with ⥣ the next day, looks better. By the evening I had a constructive way to chop an album into songs, i.e. it worked on the command line, I chopped out a song from an album, inserted it into the playlist and it did play right away, with even tags filled in, which I wasn't expecting. Now to automate it, to do the whole album, insert all the songs into the playlist, with proper tags, source or default, and to have the filetimes preserved... there'll be an oodle and a quarter of work.
After lunch we went to the old house, luckily she had the presence of memory to bring the wd40 so we lubricated the gate lock, as it was getting hard to open. Soon the two appeared, those whom Vasa stiffed... Nice young couple. We gave them a thorough tour of the place, told them whatever we remembered. We'll see. Dropped by Roda on the way back, they have heir serekeš, so she had the balance printed out to compare with the last one - so now she nows the size of her retirement - 42600, mine is 39800 - then to Lidl to buy coffee and a bunch of parsley. So much from us, the boycott remains... like before, we buy what we need or if it's a good offer, but not the rest of it. We were properly chilled. Found the Poletarac-autumn book, it was on the table in our once room, which Nina parked to take home and forgot. When she showed us the other three books recently, it did ring a bell, I remembered having seen it somewhere, so noticed it right away.
Some time after the guy calls and asks whether it's all pressed clay, so I explained where it's a yes and where a no. Then Lena called, so we watched Tanja again. Said she'd have called the day before but was crowded so today. All okay, Tanja was nimble and happy, specially after a good pull from the tits, during which we mostly kept mum, because she keeps taking her mouth off the nipple whenever anyone says something, in the room or through the speaker, must see what's going on. No teeth yet, but she's just salivating less the last three weeks. Lena almost felt something under [her] finger, but not really. Which means probably soon.
In the evening we decided to try the last year's quince again, to see how is it now. Well, excellent. Smooth, slides, spreads slowly through [one's] chest, need no better. The forecast for the next frendz parti is that 0,8 liters should go. Around midnight we remembered that it's the actual twins' birthady now... well, Linda's not yet, eventually will be at 0:05 centraleuropean, and Sanda's was ten minutes before midnight.
Thursday, 13th. Everyone congratulated Sanda and Linda their birthdays, in the platoon meeting and in the „baba, deda, girls“ group. The two called, they are not buying, thanks for the time you dedicated to us. Tanja ate what parents ate, including meat :).
Saturday. The beans, third day. Omitting the bone from the butkica was the right move, there's too much meat in it anyway. Doing mostly nothing all day, watching what's going on in Kragujevac, and then in sMitrovica too. Looking at Šarović's channel... it's incredible how that silly KTV now comes out as a bastion of independent journalicity. We did watch them sometimes, in the nineties, by antenna, never had cable here, they weren't too bad but weren't much either... And now look at them. This time he had two or three near miss chances of getting beaten up, because he ran into guys who know him from before. „What are you pretending here now, you carried [beer] crates for Šešelj, and betrayed him later“, to which he repiled „I supported Šešelj while he was in the Hague, and while he was true to himself, but he betrayed himself, what he turned himself into“. None of the vips was in the mood to talk with him, not even Žeks (who went into the truck where his broadcasting equipment was, surrounded with ten gorillas, including that Vladica guy whom Šarović turned on the spit last time in Kikinda, who turned out to have been the gorilla for Joca Amsterdam, a famous mobster)... The regular folks were more talkative, mostly evading questions or parotting one of the official lines (which change at least daily).
The live feed from Kragujevac we first found on srbin.info, and of course they kept all three četnik flags and both ikons always in the frame, we know who srbin.info is. Then moved to A1 but their reporter didn't move around much, didn't talk with people, fuck that, switched to Šarović again. When the sMitrovica masturpiss was finished, what with the usual long cadres of dozens of people leaving the sports hall and heading to their buses while Vučić is still talking, visible on the big screen above the square, I found blokada.info, same team from my college in the broadcasting and the philosophers in front of the lenses, and it all got better.
Our beans took the „pump it, pump it“ chant seriously... so we delayed the entertainment for a day.
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* the hot pepper which lent its name to the pepperoni sausage which, then, is not hot. Fuck Columbo.
Mentions: 22-VII-1976., 06-VIII-2019., Alphonse D'Alchembert, Anita Jennifer Berger (Anita), Bangro, burundi, butkice, catal6.prg, čorba, Dragana Vitas (Dragana), Dragica, Dražen, frendz parti, gimnazija, Gorana Sredljević (Go), Jelena Sredljević (Lena), Joda, KTV, Linda Sredljevich Aquilla (Linda), Mališa Borkovski (Borče), Mark Anderson, Mika Zelenić (Sleš), mrz pladžer, Nenad Berger (Neša), Nevena Sredljević (Nina), novogradnja, rakija, ruža, Sanda Sredljević Aquilla (Sanda), serekeš, Stanley Berger, Stojan Nastić, šećerana, tanti, Tanja Nastić, UbiquAgora (UA), Vasa Šančev, in serbian
10-II-2025 - 25-III-2026